Dead Highways (Book 3): Discord

by Brown, Richard

  “Yep.”

  “Get out of the way and let me drive. This one handed mess of yours is gonna get us in deep shit.”

  “Feel free to go ride with Ted if you don’t trust me.”

  “I could, but that ain’t gonna help you much.”

  “It’s sweet that you’re concerned about me. But one more word and I’ll put the cuffs on you.”

  Bowser busted out laughing. “Oh my Lord. Here we go with the cop shit again.”

  “I’ll do it. I will.”

  “I’d like to see you try. I really would.”

  Okay, I was mistaken. There was plenty of sexual innuendo.

  Peaches corralled my attention back by nudging me again. She wasn’t through with me yet. Unlike Bowser, she didn’t give up so easily, and she had magical lady parts.

  “Are you gonna let me drive now or what? We’re about to get moving again.”

  In the cart next to us, Ted had finished planning our route and was once again trying to figure out how to refold the map. “Everyone about ready?” he asked. “I think I know the shortest way to Dixon, course that doesn’t mean we won’t run into problems.”

  “Could pick up some followers along the way,” Robinson added.

  “If we do, just keep on going. These carts should be faster than most of the infected. But use your weapons if you have to.”

  Ted just made Aamod the happiest man in the world.

  “Don’t ignore me, Jimmy,” Peaches scowled.

  She was on to me. I was ignoring her.

  Not that I thought it would actually work.

  “Trade spots with me,” she continued. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Me, an idiot? Pfft.

  I wanted to growl at her like a lion.

  Grrrrrrrr!

  Stop trying to boss me around, pussycat. I’m a fucking lion. I’m the king of the jungle. I’m Simba.

  Grrrrrrrr!

  But I didn’t growl at her because I knew she was right—that and I had more in common with a farm animal than a lion. It was true that while I didn’t have the gun skills of Ted or even Robinson (I was more like Harry from Dumb and Dumber), I was better than her.

  My big claim to fame.

  I was a better shot with a gun than a woman who used to trade blowjobs for cash money.

  I’d take it.

  I grudgingly switched places with Peaches. In the passenger seat, I took out Sally and made sure she still loved me. It had been at least a week since she’d gotten any action. She always let me be in command, my Sally, never talked back or had a bad word to say about me. The perfect woman.

  We got moving again, leaving the golf course once and for all. Ted led us out into the street, west down St. Charles Avenue. Abandoned cars cluttered both sides of the street, giving us tough passage. Fortunately, the median contained an old streetcar railway. Even better, the police had blocked all traffic from crossing to the opposite side of the street, leaving our path wide open for many blocks.

  Not so surprisingly, the infected also found the train tracks better for travel. For her part, Peaches did a great job maneuvering around the dead. Because they were heading the same direction as us, most didn’t see us coming until it was too late—until we were many yards in front of them. They’d moan and trudge forward faster but not near fast enough to catch up to us.

  Despite following on Robinson’s bumper, which was risky enough, I was most worried about Aamod and Naima behind us. I kept looking back, making sure they were okay. Naima didn’t have any way to defend them if some renegade zombie should grab hold of their cart. Her father was more than willing to drive and shoot, a pump shotgun no less, if it came down to it. So far, the shotgun remained down by his waist, but still I sat nervously in the cart in front of them, glancing back every few seconds, expecting to hear the deafening sound of his shotgun crack apart the quiet morning air.

  We rode the train tracks down to South Carrollton Avenue and then continued following the tracks north. Very few infected chose to follow us. Carrollton was even more packed than St. Charles, but the median was just as clear. The police most likely wanted to keep the tracks unobstructed for quick transport of people or supplies during the first days of the outbreak.

  About a mile and a half later, we came to an abrupt stop at a major intersection where Carrollton met Claiborne Avenue. It was the end of the line for the train tracks. We stopped under an awning where people used to sit and wait in the shade for the next streetcar to stop. Today the benches were empty, but the highway in front of us was anything but. Parked cars everywhere, bumper to bumper, including in the middle of the intersection.

  Ted hopped out of his cart and started talking to Robinson and Bowser. After a moment, I joined them.

  “We gotta find another way,” Robinson said. “We’ll never make it. We’ve been lucky so far. But…just look at that. It’s not like we can just drive through them.”

  Them.

  Zombies. Hundreds. Navigating through the crowd of cars west down Claiborne.

  “We might have to ditch the carts,” Ted said. “Find a way to sneak by.”

  Robinson shook his head. “You sure there’s not another way.”

  “In order to get to Dixon we have to cross this Claiborne, unless you want to backtrack and take the long way around. And I’m talking hours, not minutes. And even then, there’s no guarantee we don’t run into worse conditions somewhere else. Forget that these carts won’t last that long anyway. I can check the map again if you like. But the map can only help us determine the shortest route, not the safest.”

  “Go. Check again,” Robinson insisted.

  “Fine,” Ted said, sauntering back to his cart.

  Aamod took Ted’s place at the side of Robinson’s cart. He had his shotgun resting against his right shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why have we stopped?”

  “Why do you think genius?” Bowser said, smirking. “You blind?”

  “I see. But did you expect this to be easy? Find a lane through and let me take care of them.”

  “Ted is gonna try and find a better way,” Robinson said. “Be patient.”

  Aamod headed off to the left, slipping between cars as he crossed to the corner of Carrollton. Peaches and Naima both joined the gathering at Robinson’s cart right as Aamod wandered off by himself.

  “Well, so much for being patient,” I said.

  “Daddy, where are you going?” Naima whispered.

  “You stay,” her father replied.

  The Indian man stopped in the grass and ducked down beside a large tree.

  “The fuck is he doing,” Bowser exclaimed.

  As usual, no one knew.

  Ted finished consulting the map. “Nothing better,” he said. “Dixon is only about two or three miles from here. This is our best shot.”

  Robinson sighed. “Dammit.”

  “Sorry. If there was an easier way you know I’d be all for it. But there isn’t.”

  “Two to three miles, huh. I figured we were getting close. I recognize this area.”

  Aamod hustled back to the median.

  Ted hadn’t even noticed he was gone. “Where’d you go?”

  “Just looking around,” Aamod replied. “I found a spot I think we can get through.”

  “Yeah…what about infected?”

  Aamod shrugged. “Tons. But we’ll just have to clear them out.”

  “No chance,” Ted said, frowning. “We don’t have enough bullets to clear them out. Remember we left most of our supplies back at the dock, and even if we hadn’t that would still be too risky.”

  “I’ll clear them out,” Aamod said. “Take the carts to the grass.” He pointed to the corner where he’d just come from. “I’ll stay here and draw their attention away. If I can get enough of them to stop walking and focus on me, that should give you enough time to slip by in front of them. There is a space between the cars about twenty or thirty yards up I’m pretty sure you can get through.”

  �
��Pretty sure?” Bowser repeated.

  “If you can’t get the carts through, ditch them and go on foot.”

  “I don’t like that idea,” Naima said.

  “You can ride with Ted, Naima. We’ll leave our cart here.”

  “It’s not the driving that I’m worried about. I just don’t want you going off on your own like that.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “She’s right though,” Ted said. “What are you gonna do if you get surrounded?”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  I thought back to the day we’d stopped off at the side of I-95 and got bum-rushed by a horde of people recently awoken from their comas. Aamod had drawn them away from his Toyota after getting it stuck in a muddy rut, all so Naima could escape. This plan sounded eerily familiar, and more dangerous.

  “Well…” Aamod pressed. “Does anyone have a better idea?”

  I sure didn’t, and given the rest of the groups silence, they didn’t either. Aamod was unpredictable, which often made him a liability, but if carefully utilized at the right moments, his brazen nature could also be an asset. His place in the group wasn’t without its problems. He and I certainly weren’t best friends. I hadn’t forgotten the time he threatened me just for talking with Naima. He was the one person in the group that didn’t really belong, and yet we kept him around for moments like this one. Perhaps there was something unspoken between the rest of us (minus his daughter), a sort of realization that when push came to shove Aamod could be used as the sacrificial lamb. He could save us again. He could give his life and we’d walk away satisfied—glad we kept him around for our own selfish reasons.

  Glad he was there when we needed him. And when he wasn’t anymore, glad he was gone.

  Ted went to the back of his golf cart and sorted through his pack, pulled out a small pistol. He offered it to Aamod. “Here. Take this.”

  Aamod looked down at the pistol, but didn’t reach for it. “Why?”

  “We won’t be able to back you up, and that shotgun has limited ammo,” Ted said. “In fact…tell you what.” Ted slipped the AR-15 off his back. “You can take this if you want.”

  “No, no. I don’t need that. I wouldn’t know how to use it properly anyway.”

  Ted slipped the AR-15 back over his shoulder and then offered the pistol to Aamod again. “At least take this. It can’t hurt.”

  Aamod hesitated for a moment and then finally took the pistol. It was amazing how hard it was for him to accept help. He wanted to do everything on his own. It was as though taking that pistol meant he was admitting to not being able to take care of himself. It hurt his pride. The evidence was written all over his face.

  Or, wait…

  Maybe he knew this was it for him.

  Maybe he knew he was the sacrificial lamb.

  Maybe he was volunteering.

  Maybe the extra pistol wouldn’t save him because he had no intention of being saved.

  Before we headed off in the carts, Naima gave her father a long hug, told him she loved him.

  Maybe she knew too.

  Chapter 88

  “Do you see him?” I whispered, sandwiched between Peaches and Naima. We were hunched down in the grassy area on the corner of Carrollton and Claiborne, using one of the golf carts for cover. Robinson, Bowser, and Ted did the same, hiding behind the cart next to us.

  “No,” Naima whispered back, noticeably concerned. Looking back toward the railway awning, Aamod was no longer where we’d left him. “Where did he go?”

  “He must have slipped away,” I said, instantly regretting my choice of words.

  One of these days, I’d say the right thing on the first try.

  “I mean…slipped out of sight, when we weren’t looking.”

  My second (slightly better) attempt to ease Naima’s mind didn’t appear to work. “I don’t feel good about this,” she finally said, looking around nervously, hoping to see some sign of her father—perhaps ducked down like us, hiding somewhere ready to pop out and start blasting away.

  Robinson came up behind us. “Come on. We’re gonna move down…find this white van.”

  Before going our separate ways, Aamod had said to look out for a white cleaning service van. He said it had a brightly colored logo painted on the side with a cartoon-looking mascot holding a mop and bucket. Behind this van was where he suspected we could sneak by, hopefully under the power of the golf carts. My cart still had more than half its charge left.

  “Okay,” I said. “Lead the way.”

  Ted was already off, cutting a wide path west. Behind us appeared to be another park, concrete walkways zig-zagging through the grass. I started to think you couldn’t turn around in New Orleans without running into a park. Robinson got back into his cart, Bowser still stuck as his passenger. Without a moment’s hesitation, Peaches hopped into the driver’s seat of our cart. Lucky number thirteen. I was through arguing over who got to drive. If she wanted me to shoot, then I’d shoot.

  “Looks like Ted forgot about you,” I said to Naima. Her cart, the one Aamod had been driving, still sat to our right on the train tracks. “No worries. You can ride with us.”

  “Come on,” Peaches said. “You two are both skinny. You can squeeze in.”

  “No need,” I replied, stepping up on the back bumper. I used my left hand to hold onto the upper frame. In my right hand, my dominant hand, I had Sally held down by my side. “I’ll just hang back here.”

  Peaches looked at me like I had just swallowed a fistful of pharmaceuticals. “What are you doing? You’re nuts.”

  “They’re leaving,” I said, pointing ahead at Robinson and Bowser now in fast pursuit of Ted. “Just go. I’m fine back here. I swear I won’t fall off.”

  Peaches sighed and hit the accelerator.

  I nearly fell off.

  Did I mention the carts had pep to them? Once moving, I realized trying to aim and shoot one-handed was going to be a challenge I’d certainly fail miserably at, assuming I could even hold onto the gun in the process. Sally didn’t look like much, at least not compared to the cannons Ted carried around, but still she had some kick to her. It was rare that I shot her without having both hands around the grip. Thankfully, we weren’t going far.

  Not fifteen seconds later, we were on the northwest side of the park, on the corner of Dublin Street and South Claiborne. Peaches stopped our cart next to Robinson and Bowser. Ted was already up and out, using a large tree for cover, scouting the highway from this end. Even from farther back, I could see the white van Aamod had said to look out for. The cleaning company mascot painted on the side looked even more ridiculous than he had described. The van sat dead in the middle of the intersection with one-half of its front end climbing the rear bumper of a four-door sedan. One of its tires hung elevated inches off the ground, flat and falling off the rim. It had most likely blown when the crash occurred.

  Like before, we all hunkered down next to the carts.

  Ted tiptoed over a moment later.

  “You think we can make it through?” Robinson whispered.

  “Gonna be a tight fit, but I think we can,” Ted replied. “It’s hard to say for certain without getting a closer look, and as you can see this is about as close as we’re gonna get. But I’d say there’s about six feet between the van and the car parked catty-corner behind it. These carts can’t be more than five feet wide.”

  Robinson frowned. “That’s not much clearance.”

  “No, but it’s enough. I’m more concerned about the other problem.”

  Ah, yes, the other problem, heading west down Claiborne. They shambled by like a parade of town drunks walking home after a night of heavy drinking at the bar. I spotted many in the crowd way under the legal drinking age of twenty-one, not that there was such a thing as a legal drinking age anymore. One thing I didn’t spot, however, were any of the old infected variety. The post-coma awakened infected who could plan and scheme and communicate in some unspoken way like the group that had surroun
ded and stormed Robinson’s house weeks ago, after my Grandma had woken up during the night only to leave first thing in the morning. Those passing by us now were all of the post mutation period. In other words, the reanimated dead. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a living breathing infected person, or fast runners as I had begun thinking of them. Maybe a week ago, back at Brian and Cathy’s house. Since then it was only the slow stinking dead all day and all night.

  The zombies had become like that annoying neighbor you try to avoid at all costs, but instead of killing you with their boring work stories, these tried to kill you by brute force—by putting you on the dinner menu and taking a bite out of whatever part of you they could get between their bony-fingered claws.

  “How long we gotta wait here?” Bowser asked. He was carefully stretching his bandaged bad leg.

  Robinson shrugged. “As long as it takes.”

  I glanced back the way we had come. “You’d think he would have done something by now. Though he could have been waiting for us to get into position.”

  “And here we are,” Bowser said, smirking. “Waiting…in position.”

  Normally cooler and calmer than a glacier, Ted now had a look of mounting burden on his face. I could sense the pressure—the responsibility—of being the default leader of the group was starting to weigh on him. We all looked to him for answers. For guidance. For protection. We needed someone to follow, and we followed Ted as close as we could, even if it meant sometimes tripping all over his imaginary cape. No, Ted wasn’t the superhero guy we all needed him to be, nor capable of succeeding at the infallible leader position we’d selfishly assigned him. He was human, and like any human, he would eventually crack under enough pressure. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon, and then what would we do?

  “I don’t know about this,” Ted said, shaking his head. “We might be sneaking by after all. We could keep going farther west and see if we can find a better spot. Of course we’ll have to abandon these carts.”

  “Let’s wait a bit longer,” Robinson said.

  “Maybe we should go back and look for my dad,” Naima suggested.

  No one rushed to respond to her request. I think we were all thinking the same thing. If her father were alive, something would have happened by now. Aamod wasn’t the quiet type, meaning the silence could mean only one thing.