by Greig Beck
Carla nodded. “Do we have enough fuel?”
Reed nodded. “Just. We’ve stripped out most of our heavy armaments, and included an extra fuel tank. Our job is remote patrol, rather than engagement, so we can usually get a couple of hundred extra out of her. We’ll be rolling in on vapor, but that’ll do.”
Silence fell again. They passed Rome, Cedartown, and Rockmart, traveling well south before swinging back toward Atlanta. Megan nudged Carla. “I’m busting.”
Carla winced. “I know how you feel.” She leaned forward. “Sergeant Reed, can you tell me if we’ll be taking an, umm, comfort stop soon?”
Reed looked back, frowning. He glanced down at a storage crate that held a large bottle. Carla followed his gaze, and her face dropped. “Not in a million years, buddy.”
“Do you think you can hold on for another … hour or two?”
“No,” Carla and Megan said in unison.
“Fresh air would be good.” Matt squinted as he peered toward Reed. “This insecticide is giving me a headache like I’ve been on a six-hour vodka binge.”
Reed looked at Metzger, who kept his eyes on the road. “What do you think?”
Metzger shrugged. “We just passed Powder Creek. Getting more built up the closer in we get, but still pretty empty out here.” He looked at Reed and shrugged again.
Reed nodded, then pointed to a stand of trees just off the road. “Pull in under there.” He turned. “We’ll take ten.”
Metzger bumped up into the field. “Want me to get on the barbecuer?”
Reed looked along the tree line for a moment. “Nah, should be okay, as long as we’re quick.” He raised his voice. “And we will be quick, ladies and gentlemen.” He turned to his driver. “Be good for both of us to stretch our legs as well.”
Metzger pushed the ASV farther into the field, bumping across the uneven surface. The independent suspensions and portal-geared hubs lifted the tough machine a good sixteen inches off the ground, clearing the largest holes and bits of debris. The vehicle growled to a halt under some trees, and Metzger let it idle for a few moments before switching it off. Both men sat staring out into the green edges of the field. The long afternoon shadows made the darkness under the low branches deep and secretive.
“I don’t like it.” Reed’s eyes were narrowed. “In and out, and no sightseeing.” He punched the release and the rear cabin doors whined open. A rush of fresh air flooded in, and everyone tumbled out, the attraction of leaving the cramped space impossible to resist.
“Not far and not long,” Reed called after them.
Joop groaned as he straightened up, putting hands in the center of his back and stretching. “I wonder where Kurt is now.”
Matt looked up into a sky darkening toward twilight. “He’ll be okay. He’s trained to survive.”
“I should have gone with him.” Joop looked pained, and Matt patted his shoulder.
“Might have been a bad move. For now, it’s safer for us to all stick together, and definitely with the soldiers, until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Joop nodded. “I think so, too.”
Matt saw that Carla and Megan were headed toward the trees; he followed. In the warm evening climate, cicadas zummed from the trees and crickets sang in the grass. It took Matt a minute to work out what was missing – there were no birds. This time of year, swallows should be zooming past them, low to the ground, and other birds warbling from within the green branches. He inhaled deeply. Things were different now, the soldiers had said.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Megan turned and smiled.
“Just an escort.” Matt squared his shoulders and grinned back.
“I don’t think so.” Megan waved him off.
“I do.” Reed had his hands on his hips. He looked squarely at Matt, but his warning was for all of them. “Go with them, and keep a lookout. This is no time or place for shyness.” Reed held out a squat handgun, but Matt shook his head.
“It’s okay, we’ll just be a few feet in.” He turned to Megan and Carla. “Won’t we?”
“Suuure,” Megan threw back over her shoulder as the women ducked behind a couple of large trees.
Metzger had moved into the tree line a few dozen feet farther down, and was urinating in a rapid stream against a trunk, reminding Matt that he needed to go as well.
“Hurry up, I’d like a turn this century too.”
“Pass me the roll of paper, will you?” Megan laughed. “Or am I supposed to do the shake?”
“Go the shake … but just remember, no matter how much you shiver and dance, the last few drops end up in your pants.” Matt smiled broadly at the trees.
Carla popped her head around the tree. “Nice one, Matt.”
He bowed. “Benefits of a higher education, obviously.”
Carla stepped out, zipping up her pants, and – much to Matt’s relief – she was soon followed by Megan. Joop had disappeared a few trees farther up. Matt mock-saluted the women. “Changing of the guard?”
Megan pointed to the largest tree. “There’s a good one. Need me to stand watch?”
Matt shook his head. “Nope; I suffer from stage fright.” Matt jogged into the tree line and looked back. Reed gave him a small wave, keeping a close eye on the spot where he and Joop had entered, and also on the thickets of trees to the north and south of them. Taking no chances, Matt thought.
As he relieved himself, he saw that Carla had walked up close to the young soldier and was talking rapidly, while Reed nodded and folded his arms. Matt exhaled slowly at the satisfying release of pressure, and looked up into the trees, noticing that the cicadas’ song had silenced. Bit early for bedtime, he thought.
“Matt,” Megan called, softly but urgently.
“Huh?” He zipped up and stepped out. The group was turned toward him, and he frowned at the scrutiny. As he took a few more steps, he saw that their focus was actually directed beside, or behind him, toward the trees at his rear. He turned his head and froze, feeling a jolt all the way up his spine.
Metzger was being held by the strangest individual he had ever seen. Raggedy, loose clothing, his head completely covered in red-soiled bandages. The creature could have been mistaken for a cheap extra in the next Egyptian mummy movie, but for the fact that, where one hand held the collar of the young soldier, the other held the stubby black pipe of a shortened shotgun, jamming it into Metzger’s neck.
Matt eased backward. There was a crackling from the forest as more of the miserable creatures ambled out toward them.
“Keep coming, Professor Kearns … slowly.” It was Reed, but Matt didn’t need to be told. He’d keep backing all the way into the truck if he could.
Megan grabbed him and pulled him close. He spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Who … the hell … are those guys?”
“Skinner militia – they dose themselves up with a cocktail of steroids, antibacterials, and anything else they can find. They manage to keep functioning, even bandaging their bodies to stop them falling apart.” Reed lowered his hand toward his holster.
“We call them militias, but they’re more like a cult, or some sort of quasi-religious fundamentalists. They believe that the shedding of their skins is the Lord’s punishment – the skin coming off a sign of evil being cast out.”
“There’s so many of them.” Megan sounded nervous.
“Yep, and I’ll give you one guess who they blame for their predicament.”
“Great.” Matt looked over his shoulder toward their vehicle – running distance, he thought.
Joop crowded in close. “What do they want?”
Reed licked his lips. “What do they want? They want everything – our food, water, clothing, vehicle … and us. Back up … slowly.” He started to move.
“Can we talk to them?” Carla stood her ground.
“No, they’ll burn us alive, to save us … from ourselves. Now, back up toward the vehicle.”
Carla still didn’t move, her face bec
oming furious. “What about Corporal Metzger? We can’t leave him – I won’t.”
“Can’t do a thing with a handgun. They’ll shoot us all down in a blink. Got to get to the flamethrower – that’ll even things up a bit.”
Matt saw that the forest was bleeding disembodied spirits wrapped in filthy bandages. The one holding Metzger shook him and marched him forward, leaning in close and whispering something in the corporal’s ear. Matt saw that his sidearm had been removed. The soldier’s expression was blank, but there was the paleness of fear in his cheeks. He looked like a man who knew he was going to die.
“You folk stop right there now. Believe me, that devil’s cannon is not going to be used this day.” The voice that came from the bloody slit in the bandages was surprisingly strong and clear. There was intellect and education behind those wrappings.
“Keep going.” Reed spoke softly. “When I say run, you damned well run.”
Joop, the farthest out, started to creep backward a little faster. The bandaged leader moved the shotgun from Metzger’s neck, bringing it around to rest on his shoulder and lining up Joop. He fired, the blast deafeningly loud. Metzger brought a hand up to his ear, gritting his teeth, his eardrum probably ruptured.
Matt looked to Joop, but the scientist was gone. He’d been thrown ten feet farther back; the side of his head was missing just above his right eye.
“Jesus Christ.” Matt felt the gorge rise in his throat. Turning back, he saw that the shotgun was now pointed at him. His stomach flipped and he felt himself tingle all over, waiting for the next blast.
Once again the cultured voice rang out. “I’m real sorry you made me do that. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, so please stay where you are. Last time I ask … nicely.”
Matt could feel the eyes behind the slit move along each of their faces, weighing, analyzing, before stopping at Carla.
“You … I know you.”
Carla’s eyes went wide.
“You are one of those responsible. You made this happen, you brought this to us.” His voice rose, strong and sonorous.
“Brothers and sisters, I give you the corrupters, the CDC in all its oppressive and poisonous glory.”
“Oh God.” Carla edged back.
“Do not move.” Reed whispered the words and Matt saw him exhale, his eyes glassy and his face racked with indecision. Metzger still had his hand up beside his head, blood leaking from his ear. His eyes focussed on Reed. The two men stared at each other for several seconds, both becoming calm as an unspoken communication passed between them.
Reed spoke, the words barely audible. “Get ready.”
Faster than the bandaged man holding him could react, Metzger slammed his hand down onto the shotgun barrel, gripping it, and whipping his other elbow back – hard.
“Run!”
They all turned and sprinted. Even Carla only hesitated for a split second before dashing toward the armored vehicle.
At the door, Matt glanced back, allowing Megan and Carla to leap in. Metzger was shuddering. His grip was still on the barrel of the gun, but the bandaged attacker had his hand on the hilt of a huge hunting knife buried deep into the soldier’s gut. He jerked it upward, slicing deeper into the corporal’s belly, and brought his face close to Metzger’s, speaking to him – perhaps praying for him.
Matt had seen enough. He grabbed the doorframe just as a shotgun blast roared from behind them.
Reed was in. He yelled over his shoulder, “Door closing … now.”
More shotgun blasts, along with other caliber rounds, whacked and pinged off the toughened exterior of the ASV.
Matt leaned forward. “Are you going to use the flamethrower?”
The vehicle roared to life, Reed’s face a mask of furious determination.
“They killed them. They just killed them.” Carla shook her head in disbelief. Her voice began to rise. “Why would they do that?”
Matt raised his voice over Carla’s. “Reed, are you going to use the flamethrower?”
Carla shook her head. “But he knew me. Who are they?” She looked hard at Reed, searching for answers.
“Quiet down. Right now, I’m just going to get the fuck out of here.” The ASV started to spin, grass divots flying out from behind it. Reed turned the wheel hard, sending the vehicle into an arc that brought them close to the mob of bandaged horrors.
Now that they were out from under the trees, Matt could see what a putrid group of creatures they were. Most wore bandages on their head and hands, but some were fully wrapped in strips of cloth sodden with fluids that had exuded from their miserable bodies. Some of the creatures weren’t completely covered, and between the wrappings he could see the muscles and tendons of exposed flesh, where the dermal layer had been sloughed off.
He felt ill. If it wasn’t for Joop and Metzger being so readily dispatched, he might have actually felt sorry for them.
Shots peppered the vehicle, drum-beating against the panels and scarring the windows.
Reed spoke without turning. “Don’t worry; this baby can take just about anything these fucking freaks can throw at it.” Matt could see the leader directing his ragged troops, pointing to the wheels. Dozens of weapons fired at the thick rubber tires.
“What about the tires?”
“They’re run-flats – they can withstand a lot of punishment. As long as …” He trailed off, appearing to concentrate on his driving.
Matt looked out again and saw that the mob was keeping pace with the bumping vehicle. Several of them had shotguns, which they pumped and blasted, pumped and blasted, over and over into the tires. Others had handguns or rifles which they used to do the same. The vehicle started to lean toward one side.
“Don’t sweat it, we can run on four flats if we have to …” This time he finished his thought. “Just not very far.”
The ASV now had its armored rear facing the skinners. Before the gears could really bite, another of the back tires exploded. Even without his hands on the wheel, Matt could feel the vehicle’s performance becoming sluggish.
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” Reed was chanting to himself, his hands white-knuckle tight on the large wheel as he powered toward the road.
Matt turned back to the front windscreen, urging the vehicle on as they approached the end of the grassed area. A line of skinners ran ahead of them and appeared to pull on some ropes. Like something medieval, sharpened logs rose from the ground, six-feet long, pointed ends aimed toward the careening machine. More men arrived, carrying long wooden braces to hold the pikes in place.
Reed’s teeth were bared, and Matt could have sworn he heard the man growl. “The hell … you … do.” He swiveled in his seat. “Get up here now, and get on the flame-thrower.”
Matt felt himself go numb. “Huh?”
Reed struggled with the wheel and yelled over his shoulder. “If they stop us, we’re all dead. I need you to burn me a path.”
Matt started to climb in to the front, but Megan hauled him back. “You have the worst aim of anyone I know.” She shoved him aside and climbed in beside the soldier. She copied what she had seen him do before, flipping out the small panel with the control board and miniature screen, then placed a hand on the joystick.
“What do I do now?”
“Toggle the bomb site over what you want to hit, and then press the button down, hard, and keep it down … now!”
Megan moved the red circle toward a cluster of bandaged bodies. Small-arms fire whacked into the windscreen as she punched down hard on the red button. There was a whoosh, and a jet of jellied fuel shot forty feet toward one of the clustered groups. It coated them, their bodies exploding into greasy flames. Inside the cabin, they couldn’t hear the screams.
Megan shot another jet, and this time the skinners dropped their wooden braces and scattered, just a few remaining to dance madly, their clothing ablaze from the super-heated jellied fuel.
Reed accelerated, and without the braces holding them in place, the logs ex
ploded out of the way.
“Yeah, fuck you too.” Reed accelerated, and Matt and Carla crowded to the rear window, watching the band of bandaged men and women recede. “We’re safe, for now.” Reed used a sleeve to wipe his brow.
Matt leaned forward and placed his hand on Megan’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, putting her hands over her face and grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes.
“Who the hell was that guy? The big one in charge – he was no lunatic.” Matt asked, rubbing Megan’s back between her shoulder blades.
Reed wiped his face again. “I think the big guy was Dillon, their leader. We couldn’t have picked a worse place to stop for a piss. Maybe it was just shit luck, but I doubt it. More like they’re tracking us somehow. They even managed to set that ambush … or maybe they’ve got ambushes everywhere, and they just needed to get to it while we were there.”
Megan sat back, her eyes still closed. “They have a leader?”
Reed shrugged. “More like their local messiah; he hangs around the Atlanta outskirts picking off our patrols. We think he knows there’s plenty of activity going on inside the CDC, so he continually watches and monitors it.”
“How does he know?” Carla had been listening.
Reed’s face darkened. “We’ve found some of our people – they’d been tortured. He wants information … about us.”
“He knew me. He blamed the CDC … blamed me. His voice, I know it … from somewhere.” Carla frowned.
Reed turned back to the road. “He blames us all … for everything. You know the type, it was all a government conspiracy, we released it into the poor neighborhoods on purpose, we have a cure but aren’t releasing it, etcetera, etcetera.” He tilted his head. “But Dillon is different; he’s smart, and seems to know what we’re doing and when. Gotta be tapped in somehow.”
“Do you know who he is?” Carla asked.
Reed shrugged. “Just rumors. Chief suspect is Brock Dillonbeck. He was an evangelist who became a holy-roller senator. Got caught with a hooker and his fly open. He disappeared, but the infestation became a bigger issue than a shamed politician gone missing.”
