But the horizon was clear and satisfied, I moved back to my shelter for the night.
When it was dark, I’d pull out my night goggles and looked again to see if he was sneaking up on my while I slept. I had become far more afraid of James than of the dead. The dead were predictable, James was not.
I plugged in one ear bud of my radio and listed to Sandia Station warning survivors of more waves of dead heading towards the Albuquerque area. Nothing new there. I pulled out my now tattered and used map for the thousandth time to locate the safe house I was aiming for. It was something called a B52, whatever that was (maybe a building?), at a museum that the people at Sandia had sealed up, ran power to from a small solar array, and stocked with food, ammunition, weapons, and radio tuned to call Sandia. The safe house was located next to an open field where they could come and retrieve the survivors. I would be there tomorrow. I put my map away and scanned the horizon to the south one last time before calling it a night.
As usual, nothing living moved along the stretch of I-25. Maybe it would have helped if I had looked north towards the city. Probably not. And what difference would it have made?
In the morning I scanned the horizon and surrounding area again for a whole hour, looking back and forth first to the south to see if anyone was coming, then to the north to map out my path through the Minor Wreck of Albuquerque.
I looked at the map of the city and saw there was no belt route, no alternate path around the downtown area. I sighed and began breaking down my shelter and packing my gear. That meant I was going to have to make may way through the thick of the dead. I would have to take I-25 north past the Albuquerque International airport before I could get off the main highway and onto the side streets. But once I was past the airport, it was only a few miles to the safe house.
Before I climbed down the tower, I switched on my radio and listened to the Sandia update one last time. I listened to Sandia issue another alert to all travelers. The dead were moving in again from every direction except north and would be entering the area late this afternoon.
I had a just over thirty miles to go to get to the safe house. It was now six o’clock and the sun was just coming over the mountains so I could be there by nine or ten, at the latest. Enough time to get into the safe house, seal up, and let Sandia know where I was.
I checked that all of my gear was secured to my bike and trailer and looked around me at the burnt out and ruined Wreck. I straddled the seat of my bike hoping this was the last ride I’d have to make for a long time. I was right, but not in the way I imagined.
I pushed off and got rolling, cruising out of Las Lunas and along an open, empty stretch of I-25 passing over the Rio again, then finally approaching the Albuquerque airport turnoff. I stopped there, checked my map, and drank water while listening to the radio. The dead were moving quickly into the area and would now be here before noon. I looked at my watch: nine o’clock. I had move slower than I had thought but still had plenty of time to reach the safe house. I pushed on.
A few miles later I exited I-25 onto Central Avenue and headed directly east passing along the edge of a wrecked military airbase before finally hitting Eubank Avenue. I stopped at the intersection of Central and Eubank looking south. I could see the sign for the museum just a few blocks away. The radio broadcasts had been becoming more and more urgent until the announcer was frantically telling people to stay inside or to seek shelter immediately.
I sprinted the last few blocks and rolled up the cast iron fence of the museum. I found a reinforced gate with a keypad lock on it. The sign next to the gate said the code was “1945” and the safe house was located inside the B52. I punched in the code, the gate beeped, and I pushed open the gate. I rolled by bike in and slammed the gate shut and looked around for a building marked “B52.” There was nothing but a bunch of old planes, missiles, and trucks scattered around the wide open yard. There was even the top half of a submarine sticking up out of the dirt. Where the fuck was the safe house?
A few blocks to the south, I could hear the dead screaming and coming this way. I didn’t know what do. The museum itself had collapsed in and surely was not the safe house. I could climb up on top of the roof if I had to, but the dead could easily follow me if I was spotted. I looked south and could see the hordes pouring around the buildings and into the streets. They would be here in minutes. They would see me standing in the middle of the yard, pour over the fence, and that would be it.
I stood there, just a few yards for safety, and the dead would finally have me. Maybe the safe house had been destroyed or maybe I was in the wrong place? It didn’t matter. I didn’t have time to figure out where it might be and would only have a few more minutes to decide what to do.
I began pushing my bike towards the wreck of the museum building. It would have to do. I glance south and saw the dead were just over a quarter mile away. I’d have to scale the rubble and move to the other side of the roof and hope they couldn’t see me.
As I glance back I looked at the two massive airplanes sitting in the middle of the museum yard. Too bad they weren’t open. Either one would have made a great hiding spot. All metal, thick, small windows, doors that locked from the inside…
And then I saw the sign on the bigger of the two airplanes: B52.
The airplane was the safe house. I dropped my bike and sprinted towards the airplane as the dead approached the museum. I reached the door and undid the bolts yanking the door open and jumping inside just as the dead hit the south fence. They smashed up against the steel fence as I slammed the door shut, locking it in place. I scrambled to the front of the aircraft to see if the dead were pouring over the fence, but they had split apart and ran around the outside.
There were so many of them! I watched for ten minutes to make sure none of them had spotted me as they poured past the museum. Finally I moved out of the cockpit of the airplane and towards the back.
The plane was gigantic. The Sandia people had torn out all the insides and set up bunk beds, shelves of food and water, a small shower and bathroom, a rack of weapons, and plenty of ammunition. All the way in the back, I found a small desk with a radio set perched on top of it. I would wait until later to call Sandi figuring they had enough on their hands right now than to listen to one sole survivor in a safe house ask to come and pick him up.
I looked out the north window of the airplane. My gear sat a few hundred feet away but there was no way I was going out to get it. The dead would spot me in an instant and swarm over the fence. I could get to the plane before they could get to me but then they would know I was here and that would make it much harder for the rescue people to come and get me. I had plenty of food and water and even weapons here so I’d just wait until rescue came, then get what I wanted from my old stuff when I left here. With that thought, I ate, drank water, and rested from my morning’s ride. Afterwards I’d take a nice, long shower!
I found the water was hot and there was soap in the little, makeshift stall. I washed away the grime and filth from the road then switched on a tiny cooler in the bunk area. It wouldn’t cool down the whole airplane but I took a bunk right underneath it and luxuriated in the cool, dry air pouring in from the vent. Without that cooler, I’d imagine the plane would become just about unbearable in the summer heat. I lay back on the soft blankets and quickly fell asleep.
I woke up a few hours later, ate a nice lunch of canned stew (Again! Yay for stew!), and went back to the radio station at the rear of the plane. I sat at the desk listening to the announcements knowing I might be staying here for a few days. It didn’t matter. There was food and water, a toilet, and a shower! I couldn’t smell the dead. I had a strong fence between me and the hordes. If I didn’t draw any attention to myself, they’d never know I was here. Fuck you, dead people! It was cool and safe and there were even a few old paperbacks for me to read when I got bored. I’d call Sandia, let them know I was here, and settle in for the long haul.
With that thought, I switched over to chann
el seventeen and pressed the send button, “Sandia Station, do you read? Over.”
“This is Sandia Station. We read you loud and clear! Who is this?” said a male voice I didn’t recognize.
I was a bit disappointed it wasn’t Greer but figured she must have the late shift, “This is Thomas Greenly. I’ve called in before and spoke with Georgia Clark. I have made it to Albuquerque and am now at one of your safe houses. I’d rather not say which one until you are ready to come and get me. Who’s this? Over.”
“Crazies. Understood. Thomas, my name is Casey and I can’t tell you how glad we are you made it and I want you to listen carefully: First, under no circumstances say over the air where you are located. We know where you are. Second, there are currently four groups of survivors in the area and two individuals other than yourself. One of the individuals and two of the groups aren’t coming in to Sandia. Do you understand? Over.”
I didn’t understand, “Can’t come in or aren’t coming in? Over.”
“We won’t let them in and, by all accounts, they don’t want to come in. At least not for good. They are crazy, Thomas. Fucked up beyond all belief. They like it out there but they want our food and water. They’d love to just rest up, take what we have, and move back out into the Wreck. Over.”
These people sounded like James, “I understand. I met a guy like that out there like that. I’ll stay clear of them. Over.”
“Yeah, we’ve had a few individuals as well who preferred to stay out with the dead. So Thomas, what we want to tell you is that these people have been moving from safe house to safe house. If the place is empty, they stay there for a few days, take what they want, and move on. If it is occupied, they pretend to be other survivors, get inside, and…well, I think you know what they do. Over.”
I did.
The radio operator continued, “We have no contact with any other groups of survivors who are not already aware of these other groups and are locked up tight in other safe houses so if anyone approaches your safe house, you do not let them in. Do you understand? Do not let them in. Call us, toss a radio out to them and we’ll determine if they are who they say they are. Over.”
“I understand. Can I ask you a question or do I need to get off the air? Over.”
“Go ahead man, we’ve got plenty of time. Over.”
“First, have you heard anything from the people in Las Cruces? And second, can you tell Greer I made it? Over.”
“I’ll let Greer know when she comes on shift. And yes, we’ve heard from the folks down at Las Cruces. They had some troubles with a crazy and lost a few people, but they seem to be OK now. Did you know them? Over.”
“I met them on my way here from Los Angeles,” I said relieved that they had fended off James and terrified who they had lost. Doc? Birch? Marti? “Do you know who they lost? Over.”
“My god, you’re the kid who walked across the southwest. Everyone is talking about it up here!” the operator said, “But, no. We know the Doc is OK so we’re still planning a trip south during the winter but that’s it. We can find out when you get in OK? Over.”
“OK,” I replied. I couldn’t think of anything else to say and I could feel the exhaustion and stress of the last few weeks pulling me down again, “When should I contact you again? Over.”
“You can call anytime you want if you need someone to talk to or anything comes up. Over.”
“Great. I think I’m going to sleep for a while. Thanks for being there. Over.”
“Can’t wait to see you, Thomas. Sleep well. Over.”
I set the radio down and made my way back to the cot. I lay there wondering who the other groups were and what I would do if they showed up banging on the door and begging to be let in. I guess I’d do what the Casey told me to: toss them out a radio and let Sandi figure out who they were. But if the dead were hot on their heels? Well, I’d cross that bridge if the time came. With the dead streaming by outside the fence, I didn’t think I’d see anyone anytime soon. And with that, I dozed off.
Later I woke up as the late afternoon sun poured through the widows of the old plane. I looked outside and the dead, while not running their fool heads off, were still moving north by the thousands outside the fence. I looked around the plane and found the light switches, then went around and closed all the metal shutters that had been installed and closed two metal doors: one leading to the cock pit and one leading to tail gunner area. When I closed the last door, the entire inside of the plane was enclosed in complete darkness. I stood there in the pitch black by the light switch waiting to see if any light would come through. After a few minutes, I could still see nothing, I flipped on the lights. I then opened up the cockpit and rear gunner doors, turned the lights back out, and waited for the sun to go down.
As the sun slipped below the western horizon, I closed up the doors and window covers and flipped on the lights. I then made my way back to the radio station and turned the switch over the channel seventeen, “Sandia Station, are you there? Over.”
“Thomas! This is Greer! Over!”
I had met so few people who sounded so happy to her from me. It filled me with a rare sense of joy and peace, “Hi Greer. I made it! Over.”
“You made it! I prayed for you every night and when Casey told me you called in earlier today I couldn’t wait to talk to you! And now you can just sit back, relax, and think pleasant thoughts until we come and get you.”
And talk she did. Greer told me again of the other groups of survivors in the area, of the millions of dead that had poured into the area, and vast waves moving up from the south. Then she told me all about Sandia: Electricity, hot water, food, medicine, and people! She told me how no dead had ever been up in the mountains but they had patrols on the east side access road just in case and how they were all safe up on the peaks with plenty of room for every survivor they could find.
Finally, after almost an hour she wound down with, “And you’ll be here just as soon as we can come and get you. Over.”
“I can’t wait. Do you think you can find me a can or two of Coke? I’m dying for a coke. Over.”
“We have cases of them up here. Enough to last just about forever. Over.” She said with a laugh.
“I’m beat, Greer. Talk to you tomorrow? Over.”
“I come on at seven o’clock sharp. Talk to you then. Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the…well sleep tight. Over.”
I hung up the radio and crawled back into my bunk feeling safely tucked away in the belly of the old warplane. The metal walls surrounded me, the door was locked tight, and the windows were over ten feet above the ground. Nothing could get it. And when there was a break in the dead, I would make it to Sandia Station and be able to live far above this world, out of the reach of the dead, and out of the reach of James forever.
As I lay there beginning to drift off I could hear the pop and hiss of the radio. I had left it on when I climbed into the bunk. I got back up, went back to the radio station, and reached over to turn it off when I heard him and all my thoughts of safety and freedom vanished.
“Hey. Hey? Hey! Nut slapper? You out there? You listening, you little cat fucker? It’s your old friend James, buddy. Pick up and talk to me,” he said in a wired sing-a-long voice, “Talk to me! Talk to me! Come on, talk to me you gigantic coot jockey!”
I froze with my hand on the radio as thought my arm had turned to ice. Maybe I was dreaming, maybe this was a hallucination but then the radio spoke again.
“Oh, I know you’re there, buddy, buddy, buddy-o, friend o’ mine, aren’t ‘cha? All right, be quiet then and listen up you stinky, bung hole, cow diddler. Are you listening?” he said and waited a heartbeat or two, “I think you are,” he said and then he began.
“I learned a great many things on the road since we left Los Angeles, many things large and small, but you know the most important thing I learned? Buddy? Pal? I learned that I have never hated an individual human being more than I hate you. You hear that? And that hatred? It kept
me going, yes sir. It kept me going day after blistering hot fucking day. Through all the dead heading north, through all the shit. Just so I could hear your fucking voice and know that god had kept you alive just so I could kill you. Ain’t I blessed?”
Panic filled my head like a scream. The range of his handheld radio could only be what? Five or ten miles. Fuck! I was terrified that James could be that close.
“Oh, I’m close, all right. Almost at your front door, you might say, but I digress so let me get you up to speed you little shit ass. After I finished my business in Las Cruces, and I had a lot of business to finish, yeah buddy! I headed north again to catch up with you my old traveling pal only to find you weren’t there. But Old James is crafty, Old James is sneaky and I pulled out my tracking device to see, low and behold, you were headed south! South I say! I think, ‘what the fuck is that ass doing heading towards El Paso? Looking for me? Heading back to his now dead little girlfriend? You know, the blond one? Oh, she screamed a lot little buddy. Just as loud as you like. Said you had just fucking left her, that you’d betrayed her. But it wasn’t all bad. I think she about died from all the orgasms she had. God that cooch was tight! And everything else too. I kept a little souvenir from her just for you when I see you. I think you’ll like it.
“Oh and how we laughed at you when we were done! Side splitting, tears running down our cheeks, huge guffaws over your little, tiny dick and complete inability to perform in the sack. Yes, sir! Then I cut her open wide and fed her to the dead before she could bleed out. Double yes, sir! Watched her turn and start humping her way north. I think she’s probably still heading north with the rest of the dead. Might even me in Socorro by now. Maybe you can look her up.
But I digress. So I think, Maybe he’s heading into Mexico? Well, son Mexico was not going to be in the plans for you so I start hunting you down thinking to beat some sense into you when I find you and get us back on track headed north.”
The Great Wreck Page 34
