Just after they crossed the Mississippi River, with downtown Minneapolis looming to their right, Mark saw something moving inside an MTC bus. The bus had obviously crashed at a high rate of speed and the entire side had been peeled open. Mark slowed down and saw the inside of the bus was churning with activity. He felt a brief surge of hope, but those hopes were dashed as he realized what he was looking at. Rats, hundreds of them, had scurried up from the river to feed on the dead. He quickly averted his eyes, but the scene would haunt him for the rest of his days.
South of Owatonna, Duran Duran gave way to A Flock of Seagulls. Tina kept the volume at a level that made conversation impossible. It was obvious to Mark that she didn’t want to talk. He found that he was okay with that. Up ahead, heading towards them in the northbound lanes, Mark spotted their Good Samaritan. Whoever was clearing the freeway, was doing it with a MnDOT dump truck with a V-plow. Mark could see an arm extend from the window, waving frantically. Matt must have seen it, too. He pulled over as the orange dump truck rolled to a stop. Mark braked the RV to a halt and shifted into park. “What are we stopping for?” asked Tina, walking up from the back.
Mark pointed to the MnDOT dump truck. “That’s the guy who has been clearing the road,” he said, “looks like he wants to say hello.”
They were on an empty stretch of interstate, without any sign of death; just two ribbons of concrete separated by the median and surrounded by freshly tilled fields. Tina picked up the shotgun. Mark thought about telling her to leave it, but after what she had been through, he thought better of it. He climbed out from between the seats and walked over to the side door. He tried to give Tina a quick kiss, but she backed away like a scared dog. He opened the door and stepped outside. Matt and Wen stood at the front of the RV, while the boys followed Poncho as he circled the Bronco 2. “What do you think?” asked Matt, warily.
Mark watched as a thin man with chocolate skin and white hair climbed down from the cab of the plow truck. He began waving again, as if they were long-lost friends. Mark smiled and waved back. “We don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Famous last words,” muttered Tina.
“He looks friendly,” said Wen.
The old man walked across the green grass of the median, shaking his head, a big grin stretched across his face. He was dressed in a work uniform, a light blue shirt over navy blue trousers. He rubbed his hands with a red rag. “You folks are a sight for sore eyes,” he said, “first cars I’ve seen all day. I’m Fred Coogin, but my friends call me Buster.”
Mark shook Buster’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Buster,” said Mark. “I’m Mark SleepingBear.”
Introductions were made and Mark was happy to see Tina lean the Remington against the side of the RV. “I get paid to keep the road clean,” said Buster, “at least I used to get paid for it. I just thought it was the right thing to do.”
“We can’t thank you enough,” said Lindeman. “Can we, Wen?”
“No, we certainly can’t. That must have been quite a job.”
Buster nodded his head. He started to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. “I try not to think about it,” he said. “I seen me some things no man should ever see.”
Mark thought it was a good idea to change the subject. “We’re heading down to Kansas City,” he said. “From what we’ve heard, there are a couple thousand people down there. Sounds like they’re starting over, you’re sure welcome to join us.”
“Kansas City, huh?” asked Buster, rubbing his chin. “You know, we just might do that. I’ve got a place outside of Lakeville. We were ready when it happened. I tried telling folks to get ready, but I might as well have been talking to myself. You know how it is, once they see you as a conspiracy theorist, they plug their ears. Least they used to. Ain’t no joy is sayin’ I told you so, not now.”
“Oh boy,” said Lindeman, “we can sure relate to that. Our neighbors thought we were crazy. We tried to warn them, didn’t we, Wen?”
“We certainly did,” said Wen. “How many are in your group?”
Buster stuck his hands in his front pockets and stared down at his work boots. “No offense,” he said, meekly, “but after what happened, we decided it was best not to give out too much information. Now, I can see that you people are good folks, but ain’t everyone who survived as nice as you. You hear me?”
Tina turned around and walked back to the Winnebago. She picked up the shotgun and climbed back inside, slamming the door behind her. “Don’t mind her,” whispered Mark, “we met up with a bad bunch, earlier today.”
“Two men had their way with Tina,” said Wen.
“And another member of our group was shot and killed,” said Lindeman. “We’re taking the accused to stand trial in Kansas City.”
“Accused?” asked Buster, twisting his face in confusion. “Didn’t you see what happened?”
“We saw what happened,” replied Lindeman. “She shot a man in the back of the head.”
Buster nodded. “And you didn’t put her down? Look, if this woman killed a man in cold blood, which is what it sounds like, you owe it to the rest of us to see that she don’t do it, again. Now, if you ain’t got the stomach for such things, why don’t you just leave her with me? I’ll take care of it.”
“I am an officer of the law,” said Lindeman. “I took an oath and I plan to live by it. This is still the United States and until someone tells me differently, we still have a Constitution.”
“And a Bill of Rights,” added Wen, “innocent, until proven guilty.”
Buster covered his face with both hands and laughed. “You go on and believe that,” he said. “I’m sure it helps you deal with everything that’s happened, but the truth is we’re on our own. If it were me, I’d give her just what she gave your friend. But that ain’t none of my business. Just tell me that she’s tied up.”
“Oh, she’s tied up,” said Mark. “She isn’t going anywhere.”
“That’s good. Well, I’d best keep workin’ my way north. I’ll talk to my people. We might decide to drive down to Kansas City, you never know,” Buster paused and scratched his chin. “Can I ask you folks somethin’?”
“Go ahead,” said Mark.
“Who do you think it was that done all this?”
“This was an act of God,” said Lindeman.
“An act of God,” said Buster, shaking his head, his eyes glazing over. “You folks be careful. I’ll be seeing ya.”
“Wait,” said Wen, “you don’t think this was an act of God, do you?”
“Hell no, this was an act of man! If God lets me live long enough, I’m gonna find out who done this and I’ll make them pay. We owe that to the dead,” he spread his hands out to his side. “Constitution, Bill of Rights, ain’t none of that worth a plug nickel, not anymore. You best get your minds around that. All we got is knowin’ right from wrong and our own two hands to deliver justice. You folks are livin’ in the past. I’d say it’s high time you wake the hell up. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, that’s just the way it is. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”
“Have a nice day!” shouted Wen.
“Nice to meet you!” added Matt.
Mark covered his mouth and looked away. Poncho was peeing on the Lindeman’s rig and the boys were walking in the shallow water of the ditch. Mark thought about what Buster had said and he knew the old man had been right. Transporting Tiffany to receive justice was foolhardy. There was no room in this world for people like her.
He watched as the plow truck roared to life, saddened that their visit was over so soon. Buster had told it like it was, and like it or not, the Lindeman’s were going to have to wake up and smell the coffee. The world had changed. Seeing it through rose-colored glasses was only going to get them killed.
Mark climbed inside the RV and he opened the back door. Tiffany glared at him with such hatred, that he quickly slammed the door. Wrapped in duct tape, she looked like a gray mummy. Mark walked up front and slid behind the w
heel. Tina sat in the passenger seat. “He was right,” she said. “We should have just left her here.”
Mark sighed and nodded his head. “Lindeman is a cop and he’s hanging onto that. I don’t like what he’s doing, but I respect him for taking a stand. He’s trying to set a good example for his kids. Look, we’ll be to Kansas City before dark. Once we get there, Tiffany is someone else’s problem. I promise you that.”
“I hate her stinkin’ guts.”
“I know you do.”
“I hope her skin peels off when they yank off the tape.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it will.”
Tina ejected the Flock of Seagulls CD and she inserted one by the Bangles. Once again, she turned up the volume until Mark thought his eardrums might split open. At the Iowa border, they stopped at a rest area. Thankfully, it had been empty at the time of the apocalypse. The drive to Des Moines was uneventful, and Lindeman led the way at a steady clip of 80 mph. They were just south of Des Moines, with Cyndi Lauper bopping on the CD player, when they hit their first real traffic jam. Here, the interstate was nearly impassable. Following Lindeman, Mark wove the big RV in and out of some monstrous pileups. There were more rats, thousands more, and they sat on their fat haunches and watched them as they drove by. Somehow, they managed to skirt the worst of these crashes and they continued heading south.
Lindeman pulled to the shoulder and Mark followed. Tina sat motionless, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Mark turned down the Thompson Twins. “I’m going to go see what’s going on,” he said. Without moving her head, Tina turned the music back up. Mark thought if he never heard new wave again, it would be too soon. He stepped out of the Winnebago and rubbed his tired ears.
“I’m getting almost twenty miles to the gallon,” said Matt, as if it mattered.
“Just over a hundred miles to go,” said Mark.
Lindeman nodded. Wen and the boys walked Poncho, up ahead of their vehicle. The sky had turned blue and the air was filled with the smell of fertile soil. For as far as their eyes could see, short buds of corn stood in endless rows of razor-straight lines. Lindeman walked back to his trailer and he hefted out two five gallon cans of gasoline. Mark had no doubt that he had paid for it. Working together, the men dumped the gas into the aging Ford. “Sure is a beautiful day,” said Lindeman.
“Yeah,” said Mark, “it’s nice to finally be able to see the sun.”
“How well do you know Kansas City?”
“I’ve never been there, how about you?”
Lindeman shook his head. “I was only there once, but I was just a kid. I never got directions from anyone. How do you suppose we’ll find them?”
“I’m pretty sure they’ll find us.”
“You’re probably right. How is our prisoner? Do you think we should let her out to stretch her legs?”
“Nope, she’s fine right where she is.”
“You didn’t, um… you didn’t kill her, did you?”
“Nope, but we sure thought about it. Once we find that group, we want her gone. She’s your problem.”
Lindeman gave him a sad smile. “I know that you and Tina don’t understand, but I thank you for playing along. I have a deep relationship with God and my country. I have to do what I feel is right. That’s all we have left. That’s all that separates us men from the beasts.”
“Best as I can tell, the beasts are all dead; except for the rats, did you see them?”
“How could I miss them? I think they’re taking over. We’re going to have to keep a close eye on them.”
Mark knew what Lindeman was saying was true. With an unlimited supply of food and no one standing in their way, the rats would continue to multiply. They would spread disease and threaten the livelihood of all those who had survived. He wondered how they were dealing with them in Kansas City. He held the funnel as Lindeman drained the last of the gas from the second can. “That ought to get you there,” said Mark. “We best get moving.”
“You aren’t going to leave us when we get there?” asked Lindeman. “I sure hope not.”
Mark shook his head. “No, us Minnesotans have got to stick together.”
Lindeman smiled. “You betcha,” he said. “Thanks, we were worried about that.”
“Why would you think we’d leave you?”
“Because, I insisted on taking a prisoner, I know you thought we should kill her.”
“That old man was right. We live in a different world, now. You might be forced to shoot first and ask questions, later. I hope you understand that.”
“Let’s hope it never gets to that point. Think positive, Mark.”
Mark shook his head and laughed. “Anything you say, boss.”
Mark climbed back into the RV and he ejected the CD. He drew the line when it came to the Pet Shop Boys. “I want to talk to you,” he said, “enough of the new wave.”
Tina tried reinserting the CD, but he gently took her by the wrist. “I don’t want to talk,” she said. “I don’t even want to think.”
“Well, you can listen and I’ll do the talking. We have no idea of what to expect in Kansas City. We just need to be prepared for every scenario.”
“I’ll die before I get raped, again.”
“That will never happen. I won’t let it.”
Tina laughed, bitterly. “Oh yeah, right,” she grunted, “just like you stopped Mitch and Clyde. Like I’m supposed to trust you? You don’t know what it was like. I’ll never be clean, not ever again!”
“We’ve all been through hell. I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to put it behind you. Don’t let them change who you are.”
“I don’t want to talk about it!”
Mark shifted into drive and pulled back onto the deserted interstate. Tina reached for the CD and he beat her to the punch. He pinched it between his thumb and finger and he sailed it into the back of the motorhome. Tina growled and frantically began leafing through her book of 80’s music. She removed a CD from the sheath and she gave Mark a daring glare. He recognized the look and he focused on the road. Tina inserted the CD and cranked up the volume. He cringed as he recognized the sounds of The Human League.
Chapter 30
Mark didn’t know much about Kansas City, except that he didn’t like the name of their football team. It was obvious that people were here, the wrecks had been pushed to the shoulders and the road signs bore spray-painted arrows. The sun was at the tops of the trees and Mark hoped they would stumble into someone who would relieve them of their burden. Being shed of Tiffany was at the top of his agenda.
Lindeman had slowed to a snail’s pace. With bright red arrows leading the way, he crawled along at speeds that rarely topped 25 mph. Mark rode up to within a few feet of Lindeman’s trailer. Tommy Tutone was threatening to drive him mad, something that Tina seemed keenly aware of. He had to get out of that motorhome before he crashed over the abyss. Tina was now singing along, singing that telephone number with such conviction that Mark was sure she knew the area code. Mark gripped the wheel with both hands, praying for serenity. He thought that if he ever met Jenny, he’d punch her square in the nose.
Just when Mark thought he was about to lose control, they drove up to a manned roadblock. Half a dozen men stood there, each wearing a different type of law enforcement uniform. Mark had never been so happy to see the police. He braked, shifted to park, and ejected the CD. Blessed silence filled the cab. “Hey,” said Tina, “I love that song.”
“Yeah, well I don’t. Let’s get out and see what’s going on.”
“Everyone likes that song.”
“I hate to break this to you, but no, they don’t.”
Mark led Tina out of the motorhome. Matt, strutting like a peacock in his Blaine Police Department uniform, was already introducing his family to the men. When he finished, Matt introduced Mark and Tina. The cops seemed genuinely happy to meet them. Everyone started talking at once. After ten minutes of this, they all seemed like old friends. Tina even opened up and was soon
smiling. Lindeman and a cop named Barker took Mark aside. Matt explained their situation and asked if they had jail facilities. Barker nodded his head. “That was good work, Lindeman,” he said, shaking Matt’s hand for what seemed like the tenth time. Barker was a beefy redhead with a face-full of freckles. His uniform identified him as Kansas State Patrol. “We do have a team at the jail and we’re trying to elect a judge. We’re hoping to have one sitting on the bench by the end of the week. We’ll probably hang your prisoner, but you never can tell.”
“I hate to ask, but can one of you transport her for us?” asked Mark. “It’s taking everything Tina has, not to blow Tiffany’s brains out.”
“I totally understand, sir,” said Barker. “I’ll take care of it, myself. Officer Lindeman, could you assist me?”
“You’ll probably have to carry her out,” said Mark. “She started getting destructive and Tina wrapped her up in duct tape.”
“Sweet Jesus,” said Lindeman. “What about her sunburn?”
“What about it?”
“You did what you had to do,” said Barker. “If you ask me, she’s damn lucky to be alive. You showed great restraint in not shooting her.”
“We did,” agreed Mark.
Mark waited at the door and it wasn’t long before he heard something crash inside the motorhome. “Where is she?” bellowed Tiffany. “I’m going to kill her!”
Tina looked at Mark from out of the corner of her eye. She then smiled and resumed her conversation. Wen quickly rounded up Ben and David and she hurried them into their vehicle. Barker, carrying Tiffany by the ankles, emerged first. Slowly, Tiffany appeared, writhing like a big gray snake. Lindeman had her under her arms. The skin around her mouth was an angry red and spackled with bits of adhesive.
Bunkers Page 25
