I’m going to head for the next town over, to hell with the National Guard. If I have to shoot it out with them, so be it.
He drove through town and deduced that traveling through the foothills or along the railroad tracks were not viablke options.
“Fuck it.”
He mashed the accelerator and barreled toward the Highway Four on ramp. He ignored the cries of “Stop!” and headed straight for the sand bag barricade fortified by a military vehicle that resembled an earth mover.
Ned Lathan is not going to let people shit on him any more…
Tears filled his eyes as he ducked. His intentions were clear, as were those of the soldiers, who took cover along the side of the road and let off a fifteen-second spurt of gunfire. Ned’s car windows became a sea of red before the vehicle slammed into the sand bags and then the large truck. The black and orange fireball that followed delivered an eardrum-shattering roar as pieces of flaming metal fell from a tower of flames.
***
9:00 p.m.
The Channel 8 Newscasts, the only channel available, resembled a video put forth by enemy combatants who’d captured a U.S. soldier. The anchorman read as if someone was in the wings with a gun pointed at him. There was no mention of the rail accident, the border blockade, zombie attacks or contaminated waters. The anchor did mention that “Access to main roads leading to Eastern Contra Costa County are blocked off.”
Later, of the three major network newscasts, only CBS Evening News ran the chemical release and train wreck story, leading off its program with a live, but hardly informative report from Antioch. The anchorperson at CNN was the only person who mentioned that there were rumors of “involuntary psychiatric commitment of eyewitnesses to some sort of disturbance on a transit system platform in Concord.”
The film of the Grass Valley incident was withheld for reasons not given.
Bay Area news station KGO reported via radio, “A man who appeared to have committed suicide at the Concord BART station, was later said to have attacked passengers waiting on a train. The man was gunned down by local police.”
There was no mention of the beheading or even the name of Archibald Walker.
FOX News and MSNBC reported on the growing tensions between the U.S. and Canada due to “The leak of a dangerous chemical over parts of the northern U.S. and Canada, which supposedly caused hyper-aggression in both humans and animals.”
They also made brief mention of the escalation of tension between the U.S. and Russia.
***
9:13 p.m.
Forrest flicked off the TV. “This shit is dying down, just like I said it would.”
“How can you say that?” Darlene asked. “We have no idea how dated that information is.”
“If things were worsening, the reports would have been more extensive. Hell, they didn’t tell us anything that we didn’t already know.”
“And you trust that?”
“Stop being so damn paranoid, woman.” Forrest raised up off the edge of the bed. “We’re going home.”
“Did you forget the roads are blocked?”
“We live in Pittsburg and have ID to prove it. Why wouldn’t they let us return?”
“What’s wrong with staying here?” Duke asked. “I don’t care nothing about what that newsman said. Me and Noodles know what we saw last night.”
“Y’all was probably smoking weed with those thugs you were cooped up with,” Forrest scoffed. “And I thought you wanted to be with your new found friends.”
“They’re probably gone.”
“Uh-huh.” Forrest grabbed his car keys. “Saddle up, y’all. I’d feel more comfortable knowing that we’re together at home.”
“We don’t know what’s going on out there,” Noodles said.
“Just pack your shit,” Forrest said sternly. “I’ll warm up the car. Y’all got five minutes.”
When Forrest went outside, Noodles gave his mother a pleading look, as did Duke.
Darlene shrugged. “We better get packed, because you know how your daddy can get.” She sat between the boys and put her arm over both their shoulders. ”When we get home, we’ll let the neighbors know we’re back.”
“That’s assuming they’re still around,” Duke said.
“You two said they were armed to the teeth.”
“Why does he want to go back there all of a sudden?” Noodles lamented. “It makes no sense.”
“You know your daddy. This motel is costing us money, as is eating out. Staying home is free.”
“Well, we better not keep his honor waiting,” Noodles said. “I hope he has sense enough to take the gun out of the trunk, just in case we run into trouble.”
“We’ll be fine,” Darlene said. She repeated herself, because she needed to believe it as much as Duke and Noodles did. “Let’s go.”
***
Duke’s, Noodles’ and Darlene’s collective footfalls echoed through the motel courtyard. Forrest sat in the idling car and glanced at his watch. Once Darlene and the boys seated Forrest nodded his approval.
“With a minute to spare,” he announced. “We should hit town in a little over an hour.”
He activated the windshield wipers, and threw the car into gear. As the car lurched forward a fist came through the driver’s side window. A pair of thick, green-hued arms encircled Forrest’s neck and attempted to drag him through the window. The car slammed into a telephone pole, and those who ran to their doors to see what the commotion was, immediately retreated and barricaded themselves in their rooms.
Duke, seated behind Forrest, climbed out of the car and tried to pry the growling, struggling beast off his uncle. Two more of the things leaped upon Duke and snatched his head back with such force that it broke his neck. Forrest was dragged through the window of his vehicle, his side torn open and his entrails severed by shards of glass.
Noodles recognized that to try and get to the gun would be futile. He came over the seat like a high jumper, western roll style. He knew that it would be futile to try and save his father, and Duke was gone, too. With his mother trying to flee through the front passenger door, Noodles had to grab her by the hair and hold her as he used his left hand to try and restart the car.
When the engine turned (and he believed it was due to fervent prayer rather than quality being job 1), Noodles threw the car in reverse. With his mother’s screams causing severe tinnitus, and the radiator hissing, he burned rubber leaving the parking lot and didn’t stop driving until he crossed the Bay Bridge. The ride made up the longest ten minutes of Noodles’ young life, as his mother screamed the whole time.
When he exited the freeway Darlene looked over at him with crimson eyes and a tear-stained face.
“Where are you going?” She asked.
“To buy more gas. We’re barely above Egypt.”
As he pulled into a gas station, he leaned toward his mother who stared blankly through the windshield.
“You know we had to leave them behind. I couldn’t risk our lives, too.”
He waited for an answer, but all Darlene managed to do was throw her hand up and shrink deeper into the corner of the front seat.
“We’re not going back to Pittsburg.”
“Yes, we’re going home.” Darlene never looked at her son, but her voice was stern. “We’re all going to die, so we might as well do so at home and I’m not going to argue with you about this.”
Noodles got out of the car and went into the store to pay for gas. The clerk looked through the window at the damaged car and then gave Noodles a sympathetic glance. After Noodles filled up, he popped open the trunk and took out the shotgun. He got back in the car and set the gun on the backseat.
“I’m not taking any chances,” he insisted. “Anything else attacks, we’re not dying without a battle, and when we do make it home, I hope our neighbors are still around. If not, we’re in trouble.”
T W E N T Y – N I N E
10:03 p.m.
The rain fell steadily and
Cash, Roy, Valerie, Grace and the kids stood in the parking lot wearing slickers. Cash and Roy made sure everything was packed away, all but their pistols. Valerie had broken into the maintenance shed earlier and found an axe, and she held it close as if it were a newborn child. Their trunks and baggage was positioned nearby while Roy paced the parking lot and kept looking at his watch.
“Cash, I hope your buddy and that white boy ain’t trying to be slick. Otherwise, we gotta go there…”
The sound of airbrakes being applied drew everyone’s attention. A trailer truck marked with the letters USPS and emblazoned with the Postal Service logo pulled up to the curb. Roy smiled as he saw Tyrone jump from the passenger side and raise the rear door on the vehicle.
“Let’s hurry and get that stuff loaded, but put the kids in first.” He stared at Cash. “You help me and George put the boxes in after your friends are hidden. We brought along an extra postal uniform for you, and we’ll ride three-deep in the front.”
Cash had no time for questions, and after Roy hoisted himself into the rear of the truck, he reached out and assisted the women and children. Tyrone showed them how to lie under the mailbags, then how to position their luggage.
“Put these mail stickers on those things so that they look like legitimate cargo,” he added.
The white guy, George, sat quietly at the wheel.
After Tyrone thought everything in the back looked passable, he prodded Cash to dress hurriedly, and then whispered to him, “I didn’t tell homey how much money you gave me, ‘cause he would have wanted more.”
“That’s between you two,” Cash replied.
After he finished changing, Cash climbed into the cab between George and Tyrone. After introductions, George threw the truck into gear.
“I make this run every other night,” George said. “If I’m stopped, let me do the talking, Chase.”
“It’s ‘Cash,’ and I don’t have a problem with you doing the talking.”
“In five minutes we’ll know whether or not you can talk worth shit,” Tyrone said. He turned to Cash. “My car’s parked a few blocks from here and George is going to drop me off, then he’ll get you all outta here.”
George circled the block, and as he did so, a car with a bashed in left front fender and grill passed them going the other way. The car turned into The Low.
Poor fools, Cash thought.
George went left and drove two blocks. Both men checked the mirrors on their sides of the truck and when it was ascertained that all was clear, Tyrone bailed out near an underpass.
“Y’all be cool,” Tyrone said. “And thanks, Cash.”
“No prob.”
George continued on, moving about five miles slower than the posted speed limit.
“Where do you want to be dropped with all that stuff?” George asked.
“The Greyhound depot in Oakland,” Cash said.
“Then where y’all headed?”
“You ask a lot of questions for somebody being paid to keep his mouth shut.”
“I wasn’t trying to be nosey,” George said apologetically. “I wish I had the balls to do what you guys are doing, but sometimes the misery of the familiar is more comfortable than the optimism of the unknown.”
“Let’s just ride, okay?”
“Just trying to keep up some conversation.”
“I ain’t the talking sort, especially about things better left unsaid.”
Cash made up his mind that if it looked like he and Roy could get the drop on the guardsmen he’d try shooting their way to freedom. Such a scenario had already been discussed, but it would only come about if they were certain none of the children would be hurt.
The fact that the street lights were on reminded Cash of how little respect the so-called authorities had for the residents of the Low. It remained the only neighborhood without power.
George hit the on-ramp to the freeway, but as soon as he made the turn two National Guardsmen rushed the truck. Behind them were two burned out vehicles and what looked to Cash like a smoldering corpse.
“You’ll have to turn back!” The Guardsmen shouted, with their weapons leveled.
“Hold on,” George argued. “Do you see how big this truck is? I can’t back this thing up without risk of damaging city property.”
“Sir, you’re going to have to back that truck up! This is not a request, its a FUCKING ORDER!”
“I’m going to need someone to guide me.”
“We can’t spare the manpower,” the National Guardsman shot back. “Get your partner to guide you! Now move it!”
George backed the truck up and before he straightened up, deliberately backed the twelve-wheeler into a utility pole.
“We got kids back there,” Cash snarled.
“Don’t trip. I’ll explain why I did this a little later.”
Once he straightened up George shouted to the passengers in the back, “Everyone okay?”
“We’re fine,” Roy called back.
They rolled toward the center of town before George made a left and took a frontage road. When they’d traveled three miles or so, they came to an intersection two blocks from another freeway on-ramp. This time there were six guardsmen stationed at the checkpoint, three of whom approached the truck.
Cash called to Roy, “Three guards approaching, three more at the blockade and I’m sure several more lurking in the shadows.”
The man who took the lead was a Latino gentleman firing off the sort of look that implied he’d been on duty too long without a break and was looking for a reason to hurt someone.
“ID cards, now!” The man shouted.
George rolled down his window. “Good evening, to you, too sir,” he said, trying to hold back on the sarcasm but failing. George and Cash handed over their ID. George also handed over his postal service ID.
After giving all three pieces a once over, the Guard asked Cash, “Where’s your postal identification, sir?”
“In Oakland, which is why he isn’t riding solo tonight. I have to goo back and get it, or face a week without pay.”
“For verification you can call the local Post Office,” George said. “Ask for the night supervisor, Tyrone Mack. His number—”
“That won’t be necessary, but we will need to inspect your load.”
“You’re going to have to come through the cab to do so,” George explained. “I had an accident earlier this evening at the Main Street, Highway 4 on-ramp.”
“So we heard,” the talkative guard said.
“Now if you’ll kindly give us room to get down, we’ll let you come up, squeeze through the seats and take a little look-see.” George hoped that with the sixty pounds of gear the guards wore neither would want to make the climb.
The lead guard looked at his two cohorts, as if trying to make up his mind about who to send into the vehicle. Finally he nodded in the direction of a baby faced black man and said, “Dawkins, you’re skinny. You can squeeze through there.”
“I dunno, Sarge,” the man said. “That looks mighty narrow. Maybe if we get a jack or something we could…”
“We don’t have time for that,” the Sarge snapped. He looked up at George. “No need for you two to get out of your vehicle. Just go through and drive safely.”
“Thanks.”
The Sarge let his eyes linger on George before he turned and left with his two men in tow. George moved forward at five miles per hour and passed the point where the other three armed guards stood.
“That was a close on,” Cash mumbled.
“Yeah.”
“How long before we get to Oakland?”
“About forty-five minutes or so.”
George accelerated down the four-lane roadway with no other cars in sight. As he began the incline up the Willow Pass Grade he received a radio call.
“Carrier two-five-nine-six.”
George picked up the radio. “Keep quiet, Cash.”
“Yeah.” Cash was miffed because George acted as if he didn’t
have sense enough to remain mute. As if he’s expecting me to blow a party horn or something.
George radioed back, “This is two-five-nine-six.”
“The area around the Oakland Center is cordoned off. Some sort of disturbance that brought out the local PD, Alameda County Sheriff Department and reinforcements from the National Guard.”
“What’s my twenty?” George asked.
“You’re freight is to be re-routed to Richmond.”
“Copy.”
George hung up the radio. “Now where do you want me to take you?”
“Drop us at a motel in El Cerrito,” Cash said, settling for the first place he could think of.
The detour wouldn’t hurt much. All it meant to Cash was that his follow-up piece of business would require working with people he didn’t know, but the plan was nonetheless doable.
***
Washington, D.C.,
11:10 p.m.
Benton, Crossfield, U.S. President Clifford Dillon and Vice-President Benjamin Keats were in the Green Room of the White House. The men sipped cognac and their talk was serious.
President Dillon told the others, “I’ve received reports of other invasions in eastern Oregon, throughout Idaho, parts of Montana and Wyoming. In western Nebraska there were reports of cattle running amok.”
“Thankfully the major networks held back under threat of causing a panic,” Benton said.
Crossfield served up a platter of gloom. “A local station in Wyoming Reserve played a clip of rampaging moose and elk in Yellowstone that was put down by park rangers, and included statements from rangers concerning the reanimation of the creatures. A visitor to the park used his cell phone to stealthily record the event.”
“Those men will be laughed at, like those crackpots who claimed to have seen an image of the Virgin Mary on a pancake.”
***
As they spoke the video hit MSNBC.
Other than that item, which the National Park Service attributed to “something similar to mad cow disease that strikes moose,” reports from the field over the previous five-hour period were few and unsubstantiated. However, the debacle in Oakland was making the rounds locally, until all cable channels in the Bay Area went off the air.
Zombie Factor Page 21
