Arturo knew the group mentality of the gang. They would follow Lobo as long as the things they wanted kept coming and as long as they won any battles that arose. In effect, they had now lost two fights to these outsiders. That scared a lot of the members. They always came out on top when it came to violence, quick to pile on and use their numbers and ferocity to win every encounter.
And now they were losing.
Arturo scratched his face and rubbed his beard stubble. His people had picked up all of the magazines that were left on the road and were now searching through the bushes and overgrown lawns for more.
The second-in-command gave a short whistle and made a circular motion with his hand in the air. His people headed back to the hummers. They were not in their usual humor. There was none of the usual swagger in their movements now. They were not acting like predators anymore. They had come up against another group. Another gang, essentially, and they had gotten their asses kicked.
This last encounter was showing the Mojados that they were not the only people out here to fear anymore. The loss of three of their members was a stark signal that there were costs for their actions now. They were not used to suffering consequences; not on their side anyway. The new group had not just beaten them…they had made them look ineffective…like amateurs.
Arturo sighed as he considered all this. They were amateurs next to these guys, he realized. The Mojados, following Lobo’s orders, had fired thousands of rounds at the new group and it seemed like they didn’t hit one of them. No one even thought to shoot at their trucks and put them on foot. By contrast, the other group had issued a handful of shots, wounded two of their number and demolished one of their hummers — all of that damage resulting from just a handful of bullets.
The looting of the big sporting goods store put guns and ammunition in the hands of the other survivors out there. That was a problem to a gang that was intent on controlling the city. More weapons meant more resistance and more resistance meant dead Mojados. It was that simple, and the troops knew it. They weren’t happy about it, either.
Arturo wondered what would happen if the troops got so disillusioned with Lobo that they decided new leadership was needed. Would they look to Arturo? Or would they view him as part of the old hierarchy and take him out as well? Who knew?
“Let’s head back.”
Arturo slid into the driver’s seat of his hummer. As he led the other vehicle back to the hangar, he realized he might have to reevaluate his loyalty to Lobo.
✽✽✽
Marcus was squatting behind a concealing bush as the ex-National Guardsman watched the hummer slowly move up and down the road. They were eight blocks north of the neighborhood and the house he shared with his brother. The sounds of the vehicles had drawn him outside in the night to see what was happening. The military style truck would cruise slowly down the road until it attracted the attention of the infected, then it would speed up and leave them behind. As Marcus watched they repeated the maneuver several times.
They were looking for something, and Marcus suspected it was him and his people. Now and then the hummer would stop in front of a house, and three people would dash up to the front door while the driver waited with the engine running. The three gang bangers would smash in the door and duck inside. A few moments later they would emerge and get back in their vehicle. They had repeated this action several times as Marcus had followed them from street to street, always hidden from the Mojados as well as the Ragers.
This neighborhood did not have an overly large number of infected, but there were enough to prevent Marcus dashing from tree to bush as he maintained sight of the Hummer.
The big vehicle stopped in front of an old but neatly maintained single story home. They repeated their ritual of disgorging three people who rushed the front door and kicked it in. The first man through the ruined door had just stepped inside when Marcus heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun blast. The Mojado staggered back outside and collapsed on the porch. The other two started firing their weapons into the doorway at full auto. They quickly expended the ammunition in their magazines and paused to replace them with fresh ones. Before they could get their weapons recharged, there was a second blast that caught one of the gang bangers in the head, taking off most of it in the process.
The third attacker ran for the hummer, but Marcus observed a shadow lean out of the ruined door and fire a third shot. The fleeing gang member almost reached the door of his ride, but the shotgun blast blew away most of his spinal column. He fell to the sidewalk and screamed at the driver for help. Instead, the driver hit the accelerator and tried to speed away. There was another blast from the shotgun, but the heavy metal of the vehicle deflected the pellets and protected the driver.
Marcus realized he couldn’t let the last man get away. He would tell the others where this all took place, and this neighborhood was just too close to his home. Marcus brought the M4 up to his shoulder and fired off a string of bullets into the driver’s side window. The metal armor was resistant to shotgun pellets, but the window was only marginally effective against military grade bullets. The first two or three rounds smashed through the glass, and the following four destroyed the driver’s face.
The hummer drifted across the street and stopped when its tires impacted the curb. The engine continued to run, and the sound of the chugging diesel was eerie in the otherwise silent road.
Marcus knew the gunfire would soon bring the infected. He looked over to the house with the dead Mojado bodies strewn about it.
“In the house,” he yelled. “I’m not with those people. I’m a friend.”
A response came back from the shattered doorway. “I saw what you did to the driver. That doesn’t mean you’re my friend. I don’t know you.”
The voice was male and a little high pitched. Marcus guessed it was from a younger man, possibly still a boy.
“Listen to me, partner! That gunfire will have this place swarming with the infected any minute now. You don’t even have a front door on your house anymore. We have to get out of here and quick.”
A silhouette leaned around the door sill. “I guess that’s true. How do you suppose we can make it out of here?”
“We have a ride right here,” he said, pointing to the still-running hummer. He stood up. “All right, I’m coming out into the street. I slung my weapon, and I don’t mean you any harm. I’m just going to clear this vehicle. You need to grab whatever you absolutely can’t live without and run like hell. I have a place you can hole up.”
The shadow darted back inside the house and reappeared a few moments later with another, smaller figure being pulled along by the hand. Both of them were carrying backpacks. They ran up to the passenger side doors and opened them.
Marcus had just dragged the dead hummer driver out of his seat and onto the asphalt. He looked to see his new acquaintances. The older of the two was maybe twelve years old. He was blonde haired and fair skinned. He looked like a little bookworm type, but he still held his shotgun. The smaller one was a little girl, no more than seven years old. She was visibly frightened and clung to the boy’s arm with both hands.
A pack of infected came sprinting around the corner behind them; their screams and groans were blood-chilling.
“Get in, quickly!” Marcus commanded. He didn’t have to tell them twice. Both jumped into the backseat, and the oldest kid slammed the door. Marcus jumped behind the wheel and backed it up a few feet before cranking the steering wheel and hitting the accelerator. A few of the infected caught up to them just as they sped away. They pounded and slapped at the armored truck until Marcus got the speed up enough to leave them behind, shrieking in frustration.
“I’m Dwayne,” said the boy from the back seat. He leaned forward so Marcus could hear him over the sound of the diesel engine. “This is my little sister. Her name is Hermione, but we always called her Hermie. Thanks for your help back there.”
Marcus grinned. “I’m not sure you needed any. You did prett
y well against those guys all by yourself.”
“Yeah, but we would have been sitting ducks for the sickos. Like you said, we don’t even have a front door anymore.” He looked back over his shoulder as if he could still see his house. “That was our home. I guess we can’t ever go back there.”
“Our Mommy and Daddy didn’t come home from work.” That was from the little girl. Her voice was so soft that Marcus could barely hear her, but her words were heartbreaking.
“Well, Hermie,” Marcus said. “I have a place that I think you’re going to love. We have warm beds, plenty of food and lots of nice people. Heck, we even have a few kids your age. You’re going to fit right in, sweetheart.”
Marcus took the kids to his street and handed them off to the three women who were now sharing his house. With that done, he drove the Humvee away. He first intended to take it across town and dump it but when he noticed it had a full tank of gas and realized it could be useful in the case of an attack he altered his plans. Marcus drove the hummer three blocks away and pulled to the curb on a dark street. He sat for five minutes to ensure the noise from the engine hadn’t stirred any of the infected in the area, then he grabbed his rifle and exited the vehicle. Using the stealth he had learned from necessity, Marcus flitted from house to house until he found what he was looking for. A big split-level home sat directly on a corner lot. It had an oversized yard in which sat a large detached garage. Marcus tried to see in the windows in the twin doors, but he could only make out darkness within.
The previous owner had secured the two doors with a hasp and padlock. Using the pry bar he’d brought along for just such a possibility, Marcus popped the lock and swung open one of the doors. The moonlight did not reach far into the building, so he snapped on his little flashlight, shielding the beam with his fingers. The streams of light which escaped through his fingers showed the garage to be mostly empty. There were a few crates and boxes stacked around the walls, but there was more than enough room for what he had in mind.
Marcus pulled the second door open, then ran back to the hummer, started it up and backed it into the garage. With that done, he pushed the doors closed and slid the broken lock back into the hasp. From the street, the garage would look like it was still padlocked. One would need to get right next to the doors to tell that the lock had been broken.
With all that done, Marcus carefully made his way back home.
✽✽✽
Pops was in the entertainment room on the mansion level. His head was leaning back on the plush sofa, with his eyes closed as he listened to “Nadia’s Theme” on the stereo system. It was rare nowadays to find the room empty, and he was enjoying the relaxation of solitude. The hands of the former millionaire were folded on his chest, and he was almost to the point of slipping into sleep. At his feet, Lex was snoring loudly.
Sharon had come up from the clinic and wandered around the upper-level living quarters. She observed Dan Cole lying on the couch and longed to copy him. Relaxing while listening to music was one of Sharon’s favorite decompression practices.
At first, she thought the snores were coming from Dan Cole. She realized after a few seconds that they were emanating from the big black and tan dog on the floor in front of him. The physician took a moment to study her rescuer. She saw a tall man, slim but muscular with thick forearms showing beneath his short-sleeved t-shirt. His hair was a bit long, but he was clean shaven and even-featured. She decided he was a very handsome man, one that she would have been open to dating in the world before the apocalypse. She didn’t want to disturb him, though, so she quietly backed out of the room and resumed her inspection of the home.
She was impressed by the luxury and spaciousness of the mansion. It looked like one of those homes of movie stars she’d seen in magazines. Sharon had only been a doctor for ten years, and between paying off her student loans and tending to her dying mother, she had experienced little luxury in her life. Living in her mother’s old house had certainly not spoiled her.
She moved through the dining room with its twelve chairs and Cherry wood table and examined the crystal chandelier that hung overhead. That chandelier alone would have been worth more than her 2018 Toyota.
Sharon put her hands on her hips and leaned back to stretch out her back as she left the dining room and stepped into the kitchen. To say it was large would have been insufficient. She glimpsed a stainless steel restaurant-sized refrigerator and freezer standing side-by-side. There was a long granite island and what looked like marble floor tiles.
Sharon shook her head as she observed the opulence of the room. She looked around to see if anyone was watching her. Seeing no one, the woman went to the refrigerator and pulled it open. She searched the spacious interior until her eyes caught the gleam of amber-colored glass. Could it be? She reached out and her hand coiled around the chilled bottle. She drew it out and looked at it, almost believing she was hallucinating. Beer? An actual ice-cold beer?
Sharon took another look around before standing up straight and throwing caution to the wind. She twisted the cap off and turned the bottle up. The cold liquid flowed into her mouth, bringing with it memories of the normalcy that had reigned in the world until the sickness hit. A little thing like a cold beer after work was now a fondly-recalled luxury. Sharon stifled a burp then swallowed the rest of the bottle. The alcohol started seeping into her brain almost immediately, bringing its calming effects with it.
Sharon put the empty bottle on the counter and looked at the shelf with the beer again. There had to be at least a case of it in the overly-large appliance. She wondered if anyone would object to her taking another one. Surely their supply of the precious beverage would be limited. Would drinking two beers in one night constitute a sin so grave that she would be banished from this place?
“Go ahead, take another one. You earned it.”
She turned to see Dan standing behind her. She was a bit surprised that he had been so quiet. He was standing there in is stocking feet, probably having abandoned his shoes in the living room.
“Grab me one while you’re at it.”
Sharon extracted two bottles and turned to hand him one. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’ve already had one.” Her tentative smile displayed a single adorable dimple next to her lips.
Dan smiled. “Well, as I said, you earned it — we all like that boy downstairs. We have a doctor here, but his major activity is drinking himself into a stupor each day. I’m not sure I would trust him to safeguard our health effectively.”
She took a swig of the beer and shut the refrigerator door, then leaned against it. “Yes, I’ve met the man. I don’t like to criticize, but he could barely stand, much less be of help to George.”
“Speaking of George, how is he?”
“He’s going to be fine. I gave him a sedative so he could get some meaningful rest. I plan to spend the night down there with him. Do you mind if I use that little room next to your clinic?”
“Absolutely, Sharon. And thank you for caring so much.”
She shrugged. “Hey, I’m a doctor; it’s what I do.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “Can I ask a question, Dan?” When he nodded, she continued. “How did you accomplish all of this?” She raised her hands to show she was talking about the mansion and the floors below the main level. “I mean, your son… Virgil, is it?”
Dan nodded again.
“Well, he told me you hit the lottery and that explains a lot of it but planning this place must have taken a long time. Arranging the architecture alone must have taken years. That clinic downstairs? Someone with emergency medical knowledge must have designed and stocked it. With the equipment I saw down there I could even perform surgery if I had to. And then there is the matter of the other stuff I noticed in that big medical pantry. I’m not sure, but it looks like equipment to work on people’s teeth.” She shook her head slowly in wonderment.
“Virgil said you hit the lottery a little over a year and a half ago and I know money can do lots of things, bu
t I don’t see how making all this happen in such a short time could be possible.”
Dan smiled and held out a hand in the direction of the kitchen nook. They moved over, and each of them took a seat on the kitchenette arrangement.
Dan sat his bottle on the small table and folded his hands. “Most everyone has a dream, Sharon. I was a carpenter by trade, and I liked my job okay, but money was always tight. When Virgil’s mother left us, well, it got harder. The court decided I had to support her as well as myself and Virgil.”
He took a sip from his beer and continued. “As a result, I couldn’t afford things like movies, magazines, restaurant meals, and etcetera, so I found something else to entertain myself. At night, after Virgil did his homework and went to bed, I would sit at my kitchen table with a pencil and paper and plan this place.” He pointed around himself. “I was sure it would never happen. I mean, not really. How would a carpenter ever get enough money to build a home like this?
“I got help on the plans from the architects on the jobs I worked. Other construction experts pitched in now and then, to be helpful. I never let anyone know everything about the plans, partly because I was embarrassed about my dreaming and partly because, if I ever were to build such a place, I didn’t want all those people knowing about it.”
Sharon finished off her second beer and unconsciously looked over at the refrigerator again. The calming effects of the alcohol were slowly relaxing her. Dan noticed her actions, drained the rest of his bottle and pointed to the fridge.
“Could you grab us both another one?”
Sharon smiled and fetched two more. She sat them on the table and twisted the cap off both of them before sliding one over to him.
“Please, go on,” she urged.
Dan nodded and resumed his story. “So anyway, I had all these plans and, having no money to do anything else, I started looking on the internet for places to build my dream home. I saw this one place and, when I clicked on it, one of the selling features described on it was that it would be an excellent place for a prepper.
Virgil's War- The Diseased World Page 15
