Maureen said, “No one was trying to lose you. I saw a fire.”
“Where?” Ping said.
“It’s out now, Jackie Chan,” said Raul. “I think we should stay clear. Take another route.”
“What? Why? They might help us. They’re probably scared of us,” Maureen said.
“I doubt it. People who spend the night in the Glades aren’t exactly wallflowers. They don’t want to be found, so why would we want to find them?” Raul said.
“They might know the way out,” Ping said.
“Yeah,” Saura said, and Maureen had to stifle a chuckle.
Maureen dug in her paddle, and her kayak lurched forward. “You all can do what you want. I’m heading over there.”
She took several hard strokes and glided through the grass. At first, they didn’t follow her, but after two minutes she heard the telltale sounds of snapping grass as they pursued her. What choice did they have? She knew that without her, Saura and Ping would most likely starve while trying to find their way out of the semiaquatic maze that was the Everglades. Raul wouldn’t help them because Maureen felt she was the only reason he hadn’t taken off. His wife’s broken body lay a few miles away, and she felt guilty when she sensed herself getting warm at the thought of him staying for her.
Embers glowed through a smattering of cattails. Maureen panned her flashlight revealing the remains of a manmade fire, but no people. The others talked loudly, and Maureen didn’t think that was a smart idea, and she reconsidered her choice to investigate. Raul had been right. Whoever had started the fire, and put it out, didn’t want to be found. What that meant she didn’t know, but she didn’t see how it could be good.
“Sshhh,” Maureen said. She extended her paddle out as far as she could, turned her kayak, and headed back the way she’d come, but couldn’t. Her companions clogged the passage they’d forced through the grass.
A guttural yell pierced the night. “Moeeen they come.” To Maureen, the voice sounded a little like Tim’s.
There were splashing sounds as someone came toward them in the darkness, stomping through the shallow water and vegetation. Maureen shutoff her flashlight, and that may have saved her life. An arrow whished by her ear, and she rolled to one side, and almost flipped the kayak. Another arrow hissed through the night, and Saura shouted, and cried.
Confusion ensued, as Maureen tried to paddle forward, and Raul, Saura, and Ping strained to turn their boats around in the sawgrass-choked water. In the darkness, Maureen couldn’t see where she was going, and the sound of splashing got louder and closer.
There was the twang of a bowstring, the hiss of an arrow, and then a thump. Ping wailed in pain, and Maureen turned to see him slumped atop the deck of his kayak, an arrow protruding from his back. The blood that spilled over the bright yellow kayak looked black in the moonlight.
Saura trembled and cried, and Raul tried to quiet her by reaching over and putting a hand over her mouth, but this just made the woman more crazed. She thrashed and bucked in the cockpit, lashing out at Raul as he tried to help her. Saura’s kayak flipped, and she went sprawling into the water.
An arrow plunked into the front of Maureen’s boat, and she figured the time had come to get out of her bright green kayak. She rolled, and slithered out of the cockpit. As she moved away from the kayak, a snake wiggled past her, and several water bugs clung to her face, but she stayed silent.
Flashlight beams lit the night, and a man wearing waist-high waders stood five feet from where she hid, searching the grass and water reeds. The flashlight beam fell on Raul, who still sat in his kayak. He froze like a child caught sneaking snacks from the fridge. Another man from Maureen’s right stepped forward, pulled Raul from his boat, and tossed him like a piece of garbage. They had Saura too, and the young women wailed and cried as they dragged her toward land, away from her dead husband.
“Lookie what we have here,” one of the men said.
“She’s pretty,” said another.
“Touch her and you’re dead.” Raul’s voice was loud and forceful, but he paid a price for his insolence.
“That’s funny,” said one of the men. Maureen heard the smacking and pounding as Raul was beaten.
The man in front of Maureen moved away, and she crawled closer to the commotion. She still had her gun, but it had been submerged in the water, and she didn’t know if it would fire. There was only one chance. She stood, shouldered the rifle, and fired at the dark shape holding Raul.
The gun’s hammer clicked, and the weapon didn’t fire.
“Oh, look at that. One for me,” said one of the men. Maureen was dragged through the mangroves toward the hardwood hammock where she’d seen glowing embers. The fire blazed up again, and the entire area filled with light.
There were three men. One looked to be older than the other two, and appeared to be in charge. He sat by the fire, drinking from a bottle of whiskey, while he ordered the other two around. They all wore camo waders, and from listening to them talk, Maureen had learned that their names were Jeb, Kenny, and the leader’s name was Stilts. Jeb and Kenny tied Maureen, Raul, and Saura to trees, and started stripping off their clothes when Stilts yelled, “Stop that, you barbarians. They’re for the boss, and if he sees you’ve damaged his toys, they’ll be hell to pay for you both.”
“Don’t you want them out of here before the kid comes? He’ll see them,” Jeb said.
“So what?” Stilts said. “I don’t give an egret’s ass about the kid. What’s he gonna do, call a cop?”
“Still, you think Drago would want the kid to see them?” Kenny said.
“How would he know?”
“He might run into the kid in the city. The boss likes to hit the clubs when he gets restless,” Kenny said.
Stilts grunted, but conceded the point. “All right, take them back to Drago now, and I’ll wait here to do the deal.” The older man got up and stripped off his waders. Stilts’ legs were bones covered in sagging skin, and they looked like they might snap under his weight.
Maureen remembered little the next few hours. Hands tied, they marched across the hardwood hammock, and were put on a skiff, where they waited while Jeb and Kenny partied and relaxed. Saura was out cold when the men came looking for her, and when Maureen kicked Jeb in the nuts, they figured it was best to listen to Stilts and leave them be.
Jeb piloted the skiff in the dark, being careful not to hit anything. He’d clearly traveled this way before, and he twisted and turned through the labyrinth of small streams and ponds as if on autopilot. They beached on an island, and marched through a thin forest that brought them to the edge of a lake. At its center, a tiny island stood out in the blackness, and Maureen thought of Gollum, and his island beneath the mountains.
There was a two-person kayak on the shore, and after an elaborate series of timed calls and yells, Jeb got the okay to transport his prisoners across to the island. Kenny kept an eye on Saura and Maureen as Jeb held a gun to Raul’s head as he paddled. Then it was Saura’s turn, and then Maureen’s.
They left Kenny behind and hiked to clearing at the center of the island where Drago’s camp was. The boss’s was an old green army tent, which had probably once belonged to a field officer. It was four times the size of the others, and it had a Honda 2000i generator gently humming beside it.
A man came out of the main tent and met Jeb. He was huge, and wore army fatigues, a cowboy hat, and sunglasses despite the darkness. He carried a bottle of rum. He took a pull off the bottle, and sized up Maureen and crew. The man harrumphed and took another swig. “Where’d you find these city rats?” he asked.
“We was waiting for the kid, and they stumbled into our camp, all disoriented and confused. Stilts figured the boss would want them. Especially these two.” Jeb grabbed Maureen’s arm with one hand, and Saura’s with the other, and presented them to Mr. Sunglasses.
“Put them on ice,” the man said. “Drago will see them in the morning.”
The blow came from behind
, and Maureen had one final thought as the sky spun, and her body shut down: I should have gone to Disney World.
Chapter Nineteen
Like many people, Dempsey’s choices when it came to automobiles reflected his personality and image, or at least the appearance he wanted to project. Don chuckled when they entered the ride dealer’s garage. There were two vehicles there, and they reflected the two lives of Rick Dempsey.
An old Toyota Celica that looked like it had been through a war sat in one garage bay, and a classic VW bus restored to its former glory, and tricked out with many modern conveniences and flourishes occupied the second bay. The VW was deep purple, and narrow rectangular windows ran all around its upper half. With some fortification to the sides, they could easily hide from gunfire in the old bus.
The beat-up Celica was a red street racer with a black hood. It didn’t take a federal agent to figure out which was drug dealer Dempsey’s car, and which one Dempsey the father and husband drove. Don thought of Dempsey’s family. He’d never asked the man about them.
“Dempsey, where are your wife and kids?” Don asked.
“Long gone, man. My girl is in California trying to be an actress, and I don’t know where my boy is, or his bitch mother. The woman had no problem with what I did for a living until my income fell, then I became a drug dealer. She tried to poison my kids against me, and she was mostly successful. My daughter only talks to me because she feels guilty.” Dempsey took a deep breath. “Shit, do I owe you money? That’s more than I’ve told my shrink in months.”
Honesty and humility always impressed Don, regardless of the situation. He pulled his hand from his pocket and thrust it toward Dempsey. “You with us? If you are, I promise I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
Dempsey took his hand hesitantly, and said, “I’m in. No choice really.”
Lester asked, “So what’s the plan?” As always, he was sweating profusely.
“We fortify the van against bullets, and then go to the airboat and drop in on Drago.” The rest of the night was spent eating, drinking caffeine, working on the van, and studying a map of southern Florida. The Everglades are huge, and they could get lost in the maze of rivers, lakes, and forests. Lester suggested trying to get his GPS to work, but when he’d tried it earlier, it had been out of service. Even if they could get it to work, the Everglades would be little more than a green patch of nothingness. The GPS would also know nothing of blocked roads, or areas of possible ambush.
“The good news is we need to go south. Bad news is there’s no way to avoid populated areas. We need to head down here,” Dempsey said, as he pointed to a spot on the map marked Homestead.
“Where is the airboat?” Lester asked.
“It’s by a friend’s place out on the edge of town. I give him ride, and he lets me hide my boat on the back of his property.”
“Isn’t he worried that if you get caught he can be charged as an accessory?”
Dempsey laughed. “You don’t get it, man. He’s on the edge, and he has a hundred acres.”
Don understood. His friend’s piece of land was so large, and wide open, that one person couldn’t be expected to know what was happening on every inch of it at all times. He’d buy that. “So we have a long walk?”
“Couple miles out into the Glades.”
Lester grunted.
As they went about their final preparations, the end game came into focus. If he got a sample, and successfully communicated with his people, it was not out of the question he could be extracted before the clock struck midnight. Granted, many things had to happen in perfect succession with no delays or setbacks, but he had to make it happen. The longer he stayed within the contaminated zone, the harder it would be to get out, and the greater chance he would become infected.
Dempsey asked, “You ever been in shit this deep?”
“Not one with so many lives at stake.” Dempsey’s shoulder’s sagged. “Fear not. I was a military brat and had to fight for everything since I was a kid. The academy, officer’s candidate school, SEAL training, FBI instruction at Quantico; they all prepared me for something like this, but I never thought it would actually happen.” If he couldn’t get it done, few others could. This confidence drove his entire life, but also left him alone and adrift. With each passing year, that revelation came home to roost more often. Maybe when he got out of his current sea of shit, he would call Desiree and ask her to have dinner.
Dempsey shrugged. “Training ain’t doing.”
To that, Don had no response.
They removed the rear seats from the VW bus and screwed Dempsey’s metal coffee tables to both interior sidewalls. With everyone locked and loaded, they secured the dogs in the rear via makeshift harnesses constructed by Lester. Don’s wingman had also scavenged outdoor speakers from Dempsey’s deck and mounted them atop the van. In case a nuclear option was needed, Don had made five high-end gas bombs from wine bottles and tiki candlewicks.
The grey of daybreak leaked into the garage as Dempsey lifted the large door. Don drove out and waited while Dempsey shut the door and jumped in the passenger seat. Dempsey rode shotgun because it was his town, and from here on out, they would be in his hands. Though the white scars on his face marked him as infected, Don’s concerns about Dempsey had fallen away. The man wanted to save his skin, and that was a strong motivator.
“What kind of hole does this snake live in? And how is it the cops haven’t found it?” Don asked. They hadn’t discussed tactics beyond getting to Drago’s place. No point. Don didn’t understand what he was up against. He inched out of the driveway and headed for the land bridge.
“Drago moves around,” Dempsey said. “He’s got an elaborate series of tents and luxuries the pharaohs would have been jealous of. Generators and AC, TV, heat.”
“Anything notable about where he is now?”
“Not really. He always picks a small island with many trees. You can only get to his current place by kayak. I’ve seen…” Dempsey stared out the window.
Several walkers hid under a stubby palm tree next to a driveway. Don yelled back to Lester, “Get the tunes going as loud as you can.” He spun the wheel hard and pulled into the driveway. The walkers scattered like quail.
“When the boys hit the brew. When the boys hit the brew. When the b—”
Lester killed the music, and said, “So much for them learning to cover their ears, Don. Asshole.”
Don laughed and backed out onto the road. They passed their abandoned Pathfinder, its rear smashed. He made several twists and turns as they left Dempsey’s secluded neighborhood, and signs of the prior night’s chaos increased as they went. Dark bloodstains, body parts, burnt-out cars, forlorn pets, and many other signs of civil unrest sullied Chicken Key. Houses and buildings had already been graffiti’d, and light poles lay across several roads. A silence lay over everything. A few cars moved about, but everyone on the streets was being careful and staying away from each other. Don thought he saw a police car down a side street, but when he backed up to look for it, there was nothing there.
They hit the first signs of trouble when they had to cross County Road 821. They backtracked several times because the intersections were blocked with abandoned cars and the remains of the prior night’s pandemonium. When they finally found an open underpass south of where they needed to be, another obstacle sidetracked them.
A young woman was pinned on top of the concrete embankment beneath the bridge. A crowd of walkers surrounded her, and she fought them off with a pole. Don brought the van to a stop. Lester fired up the music and jumped from the bus. He fired the shotgun, and its loud boom rose above the clamor of the music and the barking dogs.
The walkers paused and looked his way. Lester ran toward them.
“Lester, wait,” Don said. His partner was already halfway to the fray. Don knew he couldn’t stop for every person in need or he’d never get the sample to his people, but Lester had acted without thought, and now Don had to support him.
>
From the bridge above dropped two dozen walkers. They looked like rag dolls as they lumbered toward Lester in a sleepy daze. They wore jackets, hats, masks, gloves, and every other imaginable piece of clothing to keep the sun off their infected skin. Don noted that several of these sleepwalkers were missing arms and bled from large wounds that hadn’t been caused by the disease.
Don jumped from the vehicle. “Stay in the bus. Close all the windows,” he yelled over his shoulder to Dempsey.
Don put the M16 on automatic and squeezed off six shots just above the walker’s heads. They paused, but didn’t back down. Apparently, they’d learned a few things during the night. Don flipped the setting back to single fire, sighted a walker, and fired. The bullet struck the sleepwalker in the leg, and it fell. The others backed away as Don advanced.
The young girl, feeling the opening just as Tank had the day before, ran through the crowd of walkers while their attention was focused on Don. As she ran past Lester, he backed down the embankment. He fired the shotgun, and was ready to fire again when he paused.
The walkers no longer had any interest in Don and his friends. The awoken one among them was now the focus of their attention. Don took a hesitant step forward, but realized it was hopeless. The walkers charged at the young man, who shrieked with pain as they piled on him like a rugby scrum. Don and Lester backed down the embankment and joined Dempsey and their new ward in the bus.
At the top of the embankment, the man Don had woken was getting mauled. Like a pack of wolves tearing apart a doe, the man’s arms and legs were ripped off, and smaller groups of walkers broke off with them. The concrete embankment was covered in blood, and Don heard Lester and their new friend retching. Don dropped the van into gear and left the underpass, exiting into the bright sunlight.
“My name’s Don, and this is Dempsey and Lester. Our two top dogs back there are Jessie and Tank.” The young woman stroked the animals, but said nothing. “You okay? You hurt?” She shook her head no. “Okay, then,” Don said. Both dogs were sniffing and inspecting her. Don and Lester exchanged glances. The girl’s clothing didn’t appear ripped, and there was no blood, but they needed to be certain.
Awake Page 14
