The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

  "Leave the conversation. Wait outside the helicopter."

  "But it's freezing cold!"

  "Don't make me tell you again," Liz answered through clenched teeth.

  Liz waited until both sons were gone. "Now, Dr. Crowley, Albert has informed me that my facility was attacked and destroyed last night. He also told me that you have operational knowledge of the men responsible?"

  "Yes, ma'am, I do..."

  Wilson continued to explain how he was captured and tortured and forced to give up the truck routes. He detailed how West and his group intended to split; that some were going to track down the last truck and destroy it, while others were going to petition government support.

  "They talked about going to some bunker, but I don't know which one. They never said it around me."

  "That's everything?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Okay, Dr. Crowley, hold on," Liz said, using her tablet to mute her side of the video call.

  Lizzy turned to her mother. "This is not good. The Farm is destroyed. This means no more production. If West gets to that truck, we will have no more vaccine."

  "For the moment, but yes, I understand what you are saying."

  Dr. Crowley cleared his throat in an effort to gain their attention. "Uh, excuse me, but, um, there's something else."

  Lizzy scolded him for the interruption, but Liz held up a hand.

  "Hold on, Lizzy. What is it?"

  Wilson stuttered the first words. "The delivery of Ambrosia...the cases you intended to use at Blue Springs-"

  "Yes, what about them?"

  "Dr. Stone brought them back with him. I personally loaded the cases into his vehicle. The windows were blown out from the blast, but it looks like it was parked far enough away and doesn't seem to have been destroyed. So, not all of the Ambrosia is on truck three, Ms. Baron."

  For the first time during the emergency meeting, Liz Baron's demeanor shifted in a positive direction.

  "Dr. Crowley, to be completely honest with you, that statement saved your life. I was planning on having you killed for your betrayal..."

  Wilson's eyes popped wide open.

  "But now it would appear that you have some further use to me..."

  For the next few minutes, Liz described that usefulness.

  "Now you may leave, and if you do exactly as instructed, all will be forgiven. You might even find yourself moving up in the company."

  Dr. Crowley was visibly relieved. "Th-thank you, thank you so much. I won't let you down. I promise."

  "On your way out, you can tell Albert to return."

  Wilson nodded and pulled open the sliding door.

  "Lizzy, go outside and get your brother."

  "Yes, mother.”

  Albert arrived back on the screen, and when Daytona sat down at his seat, Liz informed them both about West's unfinished business. "So, we need to get to the Sergeant Major before he gets to that truck."

  "Why don't we just alter the route, then West won't be able to track the truck?"

  "I actually happen to agree with you, sister," Albert said, slightly shivering. "While improper or ill-advised changes to the route could compromise the truck and subsequently the payload, I have already begun to prepare a workable change to the itinerary that would be relatively safe-"

  "Don't bother," Daytona interrupted. He mumbled something while using his fingers to count. "Based on the elapsed time, West will be within hours of an attack position."

  "How do you know?"

  "Look, I know I've messed up, but I understand strategy and I understand West," Daytona said, wirelessly linking his personal computer tablet to the large conference screen. "He will be counting on us to change the route, but it doesn't matter. Look at the highway the truck is on right now..."

  Liz, Lizzy and Albert followed the red dot on the virtual map of the United States.

  "It will be entering southwestern Wyoming soon. There's nowhere for it to go."

  "He's right," Albert said, assessing the routes. Using his handheld device, he highlighted good routes in green and bad ones in red; there were very few green lines. "The only choices we have are to send it through northern Denver. Bad idea. Turn around, drive a few hours back the way it came and head down through New Mexico, across Oklahoma and into Kansas. Feasible, but there is a high probability we would be sending it right into West-"

  "Or," Daytona interrupted politely, "we have the driver continue on course and you send me and a squad of my men. I will set up a trap, and I promise I will kill West. We have an opportunity to finally take him out of the equation. I’m just asking that you give me the chance. I can do this, Mother, I really can."

  Liz Baron tapped her fingertips together, pondering the options. "Fine. Daytona get your best men and get going. We will pull together satellite imagery and attempt to locate West."

  "MIA, send the information to my plane, so I can begin to narrow down potential ambush sites," Daytona said, taking the steps two at a time.

  "And Daytona," Liz called out, stopping him at the door, "do not fail me again."

  Daytona nodded and ducked out of the room.

  "What do you want me to do, Mother?" Albert asked, picking at his nails.

  "Come back to HQ. I want a full debrief."

  “As you wish.”

  The screen went blank as he signed off.

  "Now that it's just us," Lizzy said, turning to face her mother, "what are we going to do about the real problem? The people in Sergeant Major West's group who are heading to the bunker?"

  "They won't be a problem, you let me worry about that," Liz said, finally taking a bite of her toast. Though cold, she still enjoyed the cinnamon and sugar. "You know exactly what you are doing?"

  Lizzy nodded. "Consider it done. I'll leave after breakfast."

  "Good, then we can spend some time together.”

  Finishing the last bit of fruit on her plate, Lizzy said, “I think Albert is beginning to suspect something.”

  “He’s clever, but he knows nothing.” A long moment passed before Liz added, “It's almost sad."

  "What's that?"

  "That we have to bet on our family to fail.”

  “Sad, but necessary. Besides, after all their incompetence, they deserve what’s coming.”

  “And we must ensure phase three."

  Northern border of Utah and Wyoming

  December 2, 2009

  0800 hours

  Alex burped loudly after gulping down a Rockstar energy drink. “So tell me again, who was this guy?”

  Jones shifted in the front passenger seat. Whether from the sour breath emitting from Alex’s belch, nerves, or being generally uncomfortable, the cause was unclear. “His name was Roman. Cover your mouth next time.”

  “Was he one of the guys at the cabin in Washington?” asked Travis.

  Jones continued to swat the stale air around him.

  “No. Not one of those bastards,” he snorted in derision. “Roman was the best man I had on my security team. Ever. He was this paranoid vet who had a thing about being prepared for disasters. Before I hired him on, he had little emergency caches scattered across the U.S: random fields, bus lockers, and storage units like the one we are going to. West, turn left here.”

  “What’s so funny?” Clint said from the back.

  “Roman actually had the balls to interrupt me during this cocktail hour in Chicago and sell me on why I should hire him,” he answered, gazing out the window. “Crazy old timer made too many good points not to listen to. What happens if the grid goes down and you’re stuck where you’re at? What happens if you get hurt and hospitals are beyond capacity? Where will you get food, weapons, medicine? He made a hundred of these tiny ‘what if’ scenarios and backed up each one. He sold me by saying he was ‘a small price for a comprehensive insurance policy, thatwhen it happened, would pay off dividends.’ I hired him on the spot…”

  Jones took a sip from his personal water canteen and continued.

  “
I’ve been in South East Asia buying property when tsunamis hit. In 2001, I was in Peru when the 8.4 earthquake struck. I know what disasters are like and how people react to them...so about a month after contracting him, Roman brought me a map of the U.S. It had dozens of tiny pins stuck in it. He told me that each one represented a place that was stocked with everything I would need in the event something happened. I’m sure he was thinking of earthquakes or war, but this virus fits right in with the rest. One of the best investments ever, if you ask me.”

  “What happened to him?” inquired Alex. He burped again, but this time directed the fumes down his shirt.

  “Heart attack,” Jones answered matter-of-factly. “Ironic. For a guy who prided himself on being prepared, there was nothing he could have done. A small piece of metal from a war-wound dislodged and made its way to his heart. West, you can slow down. We’re here.”

  Along the curb, West shifted into park, turned around, and said, “For your sake, you better hope your man Roman came through for you.”

  Snow crunched under the men’s boots as they walked to the chain link fence guarding “E-Z Self Storage.”

  “I’m not seeing any footprints in the snow,” Travis said, eyes sweeping the area. “No infected. At least none that have been here since the snow dropped.”

  West nodded, adding, “Still best to keep our voices down.”

  Alex attempted to slide the gate manually, but the wheels stayed in place. “Won’t budge. Is this thing on remote or something?”

  “Try something a little more primitive,” West answered, holding a thick, combination Master Lock in his palm.

  “Just shoot it, and let’s get going,” Jones said, pulling his jacket tighter to his body.

  West raised a dubious eyebrow. “First of all, I don’t want to call over any infected that may be hiding in the area. Second, it doesn’t work like in the movies. You can’t just shoot locks off and not expect to get struck by shrapnel and flying debris.”

  “I’ll try looking in the office for a key,” Travis suggested, moving toward the square, one-story structure.

  Clint pointed back to the Suburban. “What about the wire cutters we used to get into the Ambrosia facility?”

  “They’re in the RV,” West said, looking around for something in particular. “There. That’ll work.”

  The Coca-Cola vending machine was on its side and appeared to have been pried open. All but a few soft drinks remained.

  “Dude, West, seriously, what is with you and sodas?” Alex asked, remembering his time with West at the town of Willop. “If you’re looking for a little rush, I hate to break it to ya, but Sprite is caffeine free.”

  West cracked a smile. He popped open the can and dumped out the contents. Next he unsheathed his fixed blade and began to carve the aluminum can into what appeared to be two lowercase "m's".

  No one had any clue what the ex-Delta operator was doing. Still, West continued carving the shapes, then performed some calculated folding until the two “m's” resembled “t's.” Last, he folded the projected sections, making them rounded.

  He placed one of the “t's” next to the arm of the Master Lock and pushed it down then turned it. He left it there and did the same with the other “t.” When he started to turn this one, the Master Lock popped open.

  “It took you two minutes to pick a lock with a soda can,” Alex declared, flabbergasted.

  “A souvenir,” West said, tossing the makeshift key to Alex.

  “Showoff,” Alex mumbled, pocketing the crude lock-pick. “Psst, Travis, come on man. West used a magic trick to open the lock.”

  The piled snow and ice made it difficult for the wheels to move along the track, but the men labored the fence open.

  “Clint, pull the car through,” Travis said, but then held up his fist.

  “What dumbass is honking a car horn?” asked Clint.

  “Where the hell is it coming from?” Alex said, instinctively putting a hand to the machete dangling on his hip.

  “Let’s go find out. Travis, stay here with the Clint and the car. We’ll be right back.”

  Alex and West sprinted to the nearest intersection. The honking had stopped only to be replaced by gunfire. Quickly, West peeked his head around the brick wall.

  “What’s with the frown?” Alex asked. “Switch with me. I wanna see.”

  On the far side of the street, a pickup truck was stuck in place. The vehicle was propped up over a fire hydrant. The driver tried repeatedly to accelerate, but the tires were slightly lifted off the ground.

  In the truck’s reinforced bed was a man who lined up a shotgun at the gang of infected who surrounded the vehicle. But for every one infected killed, more lurked toward the honking and shooting.

  “Idiots!” Alex cursed quietly. “Why the hell do they keep honking?”

  “Come on. Let’s get back to the others.”

  Alex grabbed West’s arm. “Wait, what? You’re just gonna leave them there? They’ll die. We have to help them.”

  “And do what, Alex? It’s you and me, and there are,” he said, pausing to count, “now twenty infected within twenty feet of the vehicle.”

  “Okay, so let’s get Travis and Clint and-”

  “You’re not getting it, Alex. It’s no use. See for yourself,” he said, moving aside.

  Alex peered around the corner, but was still unsure as to what West deduced. “What do you mean? They are still fending them off.”

  “Look closer,” West insisted. “See the chocolate shop window to the right of the truck? There’s someone inside it. One of their friends is trapped. See the coffee shop to the left of that? There’s another one inside there…”

  Alex began to understand.

  “It’s a multi-person rescue mission. It’s too risky. Even if we get the others, hell, even if you and I make a run to help them now, it wouldn’t matter. Besides, our efforts would signal the infected to our position, and I won’t compromise us for them.”

  Alex spun the handle of his machete while he comprehended the scenario. “I don’t like it. This is bull, man. We need to help them. If you won’t, I will.”

  West grabbed Alex’s bicep and yanked him back. “Alex, stop! Think about what you’re doing!”

  “I am thinking about it! I’m thinking about being a decent person being and helping those people!”

  “Look, I get it. Collin would have wanted to help them and you think you should too. In any other setting I would agree, but we are on a mission and we can’t waste our time and resources helping every person who’s in trouble.”

  “But those are people! Human beings-”

  “No, they aren’t,” West interrupted. “Those were people. They don’t realize it yet, but they’re already dead. Now if you want to go Kamikaze, be my guest, but if you want to save yourself and see your cousin and girlfriend again, then come with me.”

  Alex spared one more looked around the corner. He bit his bottom lip and breathed heavily through his nostrils.

  This is fucked, he thought, but then he thought about Steve, Lisa, Nick, and the rest.

  ***

  “You made the right decision,” West said, closing the gate behind Alex.

  “I made a decision, I don’t know if it was the right one.”

  “Twenty-three,” Jones declared, pointing to the black numerical marker.

  Travis was not the only dubious one. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I made Roman set up these emergency sites always using the number twenty-three as a reference or marker.”

  “But why? What’s so special about twenty-three?” Alex asked, stepping off the SUV’s running bar.

  “It’s the age I made my first million.”

  The men gathered in front of the steel door. On the bottom left, a thick, fifteen digit combination lock secured the door to a sturdy post. On the right corner, part of the metal frame had been bent outward, enough for a small person or a child to get through.

  “W
est,” Travis said, pointing down the row. Almost every other storage space had been broken into or attempted to be broken into. “Looters? We on someone’s turf?”

  “Maybe. Not a good sign.”

  “Just turn around,” Jones said, not so politely.

  “Seriously? Whatever,” Alex replied, spinning around with the others.

  Jones waited until everyone faced away before inputting the correct digits. Alex peeked just to spite him.

  West heard the sound of the lock click. “Moment of truth, Jones.”

  The billionaire stepped aside, closed his eyes and held his breath. “Please, please, please, please,” he mumbled.

  Despite West thinking so, Jones did not try to get a head start in the event the worst came to fruition. Uncharacteristically, he was prepared to own up to whatever fate was behind storage door 23.

  The metal frame hit roughly against the top, causing a pocket of snow to fall from the roof.

  “Well I’ll be damned.”

  To everyone’s surprise, the storage locker was filled with goods promised. There were cans and bags of food stacked neatly on pallets, and delicacies like alcohol and sweets stored separately. Jugs of water, some partially frozen, had been placed next to the food. Further along, was a small section of first-aid, medical, and pharmaceutical supplies.

  Secured to the left side wall, were the items West was most interested in: vests, ammunition, and guns.

  Jones exhaled, elated. “See, West, I do produce.” His voice shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

  “There’s the same cocky-asshole we know,” Alex said, following West into the unit.

  “Damn, quey,” Travis said informally as he sorted through the handguns and long guns. “Full autos, grenade launchers, explosives...most of this stuff isn’t legal.”

  “It is if you have a Class 3 license,” Jones stated matter-of-factly. “Besides, that wouldn’t stop me from getting the biggest and best.”

  Self-congratulatory, Jones popped the cork of a bottle of twenty-five year old sipping rum.

  “Who are you, Napoleon?” Alex began, but then the mocking reference led to, “Actually that would explain the little man syndrome.”

  Jones’ lips puckered as though he bit into a lemon.