The Days Before: A Prequel to the Five Roads to Texas series (A Five Roads to Texas Novel Book 8)

by Brian Parker

  MARCH 26TH

  They went drink for drink, Lincoln and the woman he’d met at the bar. His friends had long abandoned him to her, returning to their homes across the city. She was an enigma to him. She was a lawyer, covered in tattoos, with short-cropped hair, rail-thin body, and a sharp tongue that had already bitten him several times. He’d tried to reply in kind at first, but his attempts at witty banter came across as juvenile. He attributed it to the alcohol and abandoned trying to impress her so he could take her home.

  Instead, he just chose to be himself. Somehow, that shit worked better than all the lines he’d used over the years, better than making up fake job titles to impress her, and even better than pretending he was rich and money was no object. The simple truth worked with this woman.

  The lights dimmed noticeably overhead and someone rang a bell at the far end of the long bar, sticky from a full night of spilled drinks. Then the music, which hadn’t been overbearingly loud to begin with shut off. He glanced, bleary-eyed at his watch. It was near closing time. His friends, his Crew, had left hours ago. “I didn’t know we were here so long,” he told his companion.

  Sidney stood on her toes and waved the female bartender down. “We’re closed, sweetie.”

  “Can I please get a shot of Patrón for me and my buddy here?” she implored with a lopsided grin. “You know. Liquid courage?”

  She glanced at Lincoln and grinned back. “Okay, just one shot. Then you’ve gotta close out your tab.”

  They took their shot and Lincoln grabbed the receipt the bartender placed on the bar between them. “Here,” Sidney said. “I’ve got cash for the tip. It’s better for the staff. That way they don’t have to report it.”

  He suppressed a comment about taxes and everyone paying their fair share. The woman obviously wasn’t concerned with his fiscally conservative viewpoints and he didn’t want politics to fuck up his chances at getting laid tonight. He put a zero on the tip line and signed his name.

  “Alright, so…” he drew out the word, slurring slightly. He’d always been able to handle his alcohol, but the two of them had drunk a lot. With such a thin frame, he was surprised Sidney wasn’t passed out on the bar.

  She ran her hand over his chest, still firm after all these years from rowing, and then stood, curling around behind him. “You want to know if I’m coming back with you, right?” She nibbled his ear.

  “Uh… Yeah. My place is only a few blocks away. We can Uber there in like ten minutes.”

  Sidney pulled against him. “Come on. Let’s go outside so they can close up.”

  Her hand found his as they walked through the front door. Lincoln’s mind raced. Had she agreed to come home with him or just asked him if that’s what he was thinking about?

  They walked down the 1776 Tavern’s old concrete steps. She whirled on him suddenly and pushed him into the shadows of the alley beside the building. “Whoa!” he cried out, losing his balance and falling against the rough cinder block wall.

  Sidney knelt in front of him and unzipped his pants. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

  She pulled back from what she was doing and said, “Shut up.”

  He was not the kind of guy to engage in public sex acts, but Lincoln obliged her, allowing the moment to take him. Even through his drunken stupor, he rationalized that it was dark in the alley and that no one could see them.

  As he came close to climaxing, a blood-curdling scream echoed across the night from somewhere near the water, causing him to jump. Sidney gagged and sat backward, down onto her butt. “Ugh,” she groaned. “I think…” She burped and gagged again.

  After a tense moment of Lincoln being completely exposed, she said, “Okay,” and returned to her position in front of him. When it was over, she told him to call an Uber for them to take back to his place.

  Lincoln’s smile must have stretched from ear-to-ear. He’d never experienced anything like that before. It was exhilarating.

  His smile faltered as more screams of terror filled the night. “What’s happening?” he asked aloud, pausing in his attempts to use his phone’s Uber application.

  She glanced toward the sounds, wiping the back of her sleeve across her mouth, and pulled her own phone from her pocket. She dialed 9-1-1 and told the operator where they were and about the screams coming from the river. The operator thanked her for the call, saying officers were already responding to reports of a street fight near the area that she described.

  Satisfied that she’d done her due diligence, Sidney put her phone in her pocket. “Sorry. I just get like, hyper aware of screams in the night since my time in Africa. Life doesn’t matter there at all.”

  “Africa?” Lincoln asked, trying to remember if they’d talked about Africa during the night. They probably had, but the last several drinks were beginning to settle on his brain.

  “I was in the Peace Corps. Did a year in Senegal—that’s Africa—and a year in Bangladesh.”

  “Wow. That must have been tough.”

  “I learned a lot about how to make a can of soup last two days,” she chuckled. “But, the experience taught me independence, which is something I was sorely in need of as a kid.”

  Sidney grabbed Lincoln’s hand once more “Enough about that stuff. Let’s go back to your place,” she purred. “I need a nice, long night of fun to distract me from all the real world bullshit.”

  He nodded dumbly and kept his mouth shut. He’d done well enough already, and as long as he didn’t fuck it up by saying something stupid, he was going to get laid tonight.

  Gunshots rang out from the waterfront as the weird screams continued. “Yeah, let’s get away from this bullshit,” he slurred.

  She looked at him and laughed. “You okay, big boy?”

  “I’m good to go,” he replied, staggering. That last shot of—What was it?—had put him over the edge. He was really drunk.

  She squeezed his fingers in hers. “Don’t you dare pass out on me in that Uber. This isn’t only about you. I need a release tonight too.”

  “I’m good to go,” he repeated. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up! he repeated to himself.

  LONGMONT, COLORADO – MARCH 27TH

  The woman pushed past Sarah and went directly to the cabinet where she kept her wine glasses. “Uh, good morning, Bonnie?” she said, haltingly as she began to close her front door.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Washburn,” a little girl said.

  She turned to see Bonnie’s two children, Amelia and Lionel, standing on her porch with their backpacks on. “Aren’t you guys going to school today?”

  “There were crazy people at the drive-thru,” the eight year old stated.

  “Huh. Well, I guess… Come on in.” Sarah stepped to the side of the door to allow the children inside. Once they were past her, she closed the door and called out, “Ah, sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company this morning and I was rearranging our old DVD and VHS collection.”

  She walked into the kitchen in time to see Bonnie gulp down a glass of red wine. Her neighbor looked completely frazzled, but then again, it was Bonnie Henderson. That woman could work herself into a frenzy over just about anything.

  Bonnie poured another glass with a shaky hand. “Everything okay?” Sarah asked. “The kids said there was some trouble at the drive-thru?”

  That sent Bonnie into a fit of hysterics and she began blabbering about lunatics attacking people and blood everywhere. The hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck stood up. Had there been a mass shooting in Longmont?

  Sarah didn’t have the news on. She glanced at the television where the old Spies Like Us movie played quietly. It was at one of her favorite parts right now. Fitz-Hume and Millbarge were taking the test to become field agents in the CIA. Chevy Chase’s character was on the floor copying answers from another person’s test while Dan Aykroyd was fanning him with a test booklet. It was classic 1980’s comedy gold that didn’t get the credit it deserved because it made fun of the geopolitical nightmare that
was the Cold War, including playing Trivial Pursuit to determine nuclear weapons locations. Hilarious.

  “Okay, Bonnie,” she said, placing a hand on her neighbor. “Can you calm down and tell me what happened?”

  Bonnie took another sip of wine, then tilted it back all the way, downing the entire glass once more. “I—I can’t believe it,” she finally managed to say.

  Sarah glanced at the couch where the DVDs were spread from cushion to cushion. She’d prefer to have Bonnie sit there, but it was hopeless right now. “Why don’t you come sit at the table and tell me what happened.”

  Bonnie nodded. She grabbed the wine bottle by the neck like she was going to forego the glass and just drink from the source. Then she picked up her glass and walked stiffly to the table.

  “Ah, kids?” Sarah grunted. “Why don’t you set your bags by the front door? You can go play in the back yard.”

  “No!” Bonnie screeched. “No. They’re not going outside!”

  “Um, okay. I guess, just hang out then?”

  Sarah turned back to see Bonnie empty the last of the wine into her glass. So much for having wine with dinner, she thought. “What’s this all about?”

  Bonnie made an effort to calm herself before speaking. “We were running late and I didn’t have time to cook breakfast. So I took the kids to Cheep’s Chicken on the way to school. And they—they—”

  She began blubbering again and took another long drink of the wine. Sarah glanced beyond Bonnie to the microwave. It was only 8:45 and her neighbor had just killed an entire bottle of wine, minus the one glass she’d had last night. It was going to be a long day. “You were at Cheep’s and something happened?”

  “Yes. All these people… They came from nowhere—everywhere!” She put a hand beside her mouth to block it from the kids milling about in the living room. “I think they were all the homeless,” she whispered loudly.

  “Okay, homeless people at Cheep’s Chicken.” Sarah sighed. Bonnie was as wishy-washy as they came. One day she was championing causes to allow Longmont to decriminalize homelessness, the next she was back at the city council calling for a ban on homelessness due to the appearance of a used syringe at the playground. It seemed like today, she was back on the anti-homeless kick.

  “I don’t know if they were or not,” Bonnie amended, “But they seemed like it. They just came out of the bushes, a whole bunch of them. They tackled people in the parking lot and started biting. There was blood everywhere, oh God, so much blood.”

  That’s…” Sarah stood up and crossed to the living room where the television remote sat on the couch. She typed in the number for GNN and frowned at the commercial. It was asking people if they wanted to be part of a class action lawsuit against asbestos manufacturers. It seemed like every commercial during daytime television was for a lawsuit or some type of prescription drug, which is why she usually just ran movies while she was home instead of the television.

  “One of them even slammed into my car,” Bonnie continued. “They left a bloody smear along my window. I floored it and drove home.”

  Sarah glanced back at her. “And you came over here instead of your house?”

  Bonnie nodded. “I knew you’d listen. Andy’s at work.”

  Sarah thought about her husband, Jack, who was at work in downtown Denver. The news returned from the commercial break and the anchor’s face appeared. “New this hour,” he said. “We have breaking news of mass hysteria in several large cities across the US, which may be linked to a popular social media site. Later in our broadcast, we’ll show you new video of military intervention, taken by a helmet camera just outside of Sacramento with commentary by GNN Military Analyst, Colonel Steven Walsh.”

  “Bonnie, why don’t you go home and get some rest?” Sarah said, rubbing her neighbor’s shoulder. “Keep the kids home from school today. We’ll talk later after I can figure out what’s going on, okay?”

  Bonnie looked up from her empty wine glass. “Yeah. Sure. I need some more wine. Thank you for listening.”

  “No problem. I just…” It was Sarah’s turn to be speechless. “I just need some time to process what’s happening. I need to call Jack.”

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  The large airplane began to descend toward the Sacramento airport. Cameron Barnett tried to see around her toddler’s head to watch the final approach, but little Donovan was almost completely blocking her view. She was still like a kid herself when it came to flying. Each trip was almost magical the way the ground dropped away from view.

  She looked away in disappointment. It was Donovan’s first plane ride, she’d never deny the boy the opportunity to sit in the window seat. Across the aisle, her twins, Melissa and Colleen, vied for position to see out their own window. The two first graders were as excited as she’d ever seen them. Every one of them loved to fly. Well, except Mackenzie, she didn’t seem to enjoy anything except her cell phone these days.

  Cameron peered around the woman sitting beside her oldest daughter in the next row. Mackenzie had the window seat, but the telltale white cords running out from underneath her long, black locks told Cameron that she had her earphones in. The teenager stared down at her lap, probably getting in the last few texts before the mandatory announcement came to turn off all portable electronics.

  She sighed and reread her own transcribed voicemail from her father. He would meet them at the baggage claim. They had to hurry because something was wrong. The voicemail transcription app often made mistakes interpreting people’s words, and this time was no exception. It stated that he’d said, “crazies” and “infection” when the rest of the sentences made it plainly obvious that he actually said something else. Technology, it was a wonderful, but often flawed, tool.

  Murmurs began to spread across the cabin as passengers looked out the windows. It reminded her of when she and Malcolm flew past the rubble of the Twin Towers several months after the attacks that kicked off the Global War on Terror. Everyone in the plane had begun talking at once. All around her, aisle passengers were pressed in close to the window passengers as everyone struggled to see the ground.

  “What?” she murmured, gently pushing Donovan’s head out of the way so she could see what was happening.

  On the ground, still hundreds of feet below, clouds of dust swirled around a long line of tanks and military vehicles. Flashes of light appeared everywhere along that line. Cameron was no idiot; she recognized gunfire when she saw it. Hell, she’d shot thousands of rounds through Malcolm’s massive collection of firearms. But the sight below confused her.

  The army guys—or whatever—were firing toward the city where their plane was heading. That didn’t make any sense to her at all. Setting aside the fact that they were shooting at anyone, shouldn’t they be defending a city, not attacking it? Cameron sure as heck didn’t have a military mind, but she’d watched enough of those old war movies and History Channel documentaries to know that.

  She unlocked her phone once more and read her father’s message for the tenth time.

  “Cameron, it’s Daddy. I’ll meet you at the baggage claim. Don’t get your _(unintelligible)_. There are a bunch of crazies running around everywhere, attacking people. They’re _(unintelligible)_ infection. We need to get _(unintelligible)_. I love you, baby girl.”

  It was a strange message, but seeing the gunfire below, it sort of made sense now. He was saying they needed to get out of the airport right away, forget waiting on their luggage.

  Once more, she did a quick assessment of her children. All four were accounted for. She had the feeling that she’d be doing that a lot in the days to come.

  The speakers above chimed, pulling her eyes toward them. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain,” The pilot’s voice emitted from the little speakers. “We’ve been directed by the tower to circle the airport for a few minutes while they clear some debris off the runway. Should only be a couple of minutes.”

  Cameron looked out the window again. There were pe
ople—a lot of people—running away from the direction of the city toward the long line of Army vehicles. The soldiers were shooting at those people for some reason.

  She sent her father several text messages. He didn’t respond, so she called Malcolm. When he answered, she smiled, almost laughing out loud to hear his familiar voice. The connection was terrible, but still, her Malcolm was on the phone. She could draw strength from him.

  “Mal! Oh Mal, thank God you answered.”

  “Sorry? I fell asleep watching the game.” His voice was thick with sleep. It was only nine o’clock in Ohio, but he’d made no secret that he was going to use the family’s impromptu vacation as a time to catch up on sleep and reading.

  “Malcolm, they were shooting. And there’s tanks, and—”

  “You sound upset, baby. Everything alright?” His voice had lost the sleepiness as he was fully alert now.

  “I don’t know what’s happening out here,” she said trying to calm herself and stay quiet so she didn’t alarm the children. “My dad left a voicemail that said there was a war and something about infected, but now he’s not answering. We saw the Army shooting at a bunch of people, and now the plane can’t land at the airport, and—”

  “Calm down, baby,” he said in his easy, reassuring voice. He was her rock; had been since high school. He would know what to do. “You said they won’t let you land—”

  The speakers chimed again and she struggled to hear Malcolm while also listening to the pilot. “We’ve been cleared to land, folks. Please turn off all portable electronics. Flight crew, prepare the cabin for landing.”

  “Oh! They just said we could land,” Cameron said into the phone.

  “Okay, see? Just a temporary setback. Probably some crosswinds or something that had to blow through.”

  “Malcolm, I’m scared. Why is the Army shooting at people outside the city?”

  “I don’t know anything about that. Hold on, let me turn on the TV.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” a soft male voice said beside her. “You’ll have to turn that off, we’re preparing to land.”