by Casey Lane
Rod’s eyes were on me for a different reason. He no longer teased and played, but stared at me with a brooding hunger that he didn’t bother to conceal. I was anxious, confused, and tired enough without being dazed by constant sexual arousal, too. I was very happy Rod wasn’t riding back with us in the Cadillac.
I could think clearly away from his disruptive presence and I could talk to Liz. “Did Rod ever ask you if I was Cheyenne?”
“Out of left field, but okay,” Liz drawled. “No, why?”
“Something he said. It must have been Jane, although I guess it could have been anybody,” I mused aloud as I ran my fingers through short layers, unable to get used to the light, free feeling of no long hair to my waist for the first time in twenty years.
“He’s got an MSF degree.”
“Out of left field, but no shit?” I shook my head, my smile chagrined.
I thought of all the times in the last fourteen hours I had assumed he was just your average famous football superstar. A handsome hottie, a thousand times yes, but serious brains, too? It hardly seemed fair.
“No shit.” Liz winked at me in the rearview mirror. “The boy’s a total stud. Did you know he has an investment company? He helps other football players manage their money so they don’t lose it all and have nothing when their careers are over. Kind of like Tiger Woods, but without the ick factor.”
“Liz,” I laughed, “I don’t know anything about Rod. I don’t watch football or read celebrity crap, so I know nothing about Rod Ramaldi, his life before ten o’clock last night, or his ick factor.”
Liz shook her head and made a rude buzzing noise, like this was a game show and I was an ignorant contestant. “Not true! You and your musn’t-touch-it must sure know a big,” she paused and leered in the mirror, “something about Mr. Rod “Ram” Ramaldi?”
“Oh great, and here I was happy to get away from that subject for a while!” I muttered, getting up on my knees to look behind us again while Liz laughed and retorted we would never get off that subject as long as she was alive.
Seeing no white truck or nothing else alarming around us, other than a few abandoned cars on the side of the road, I launched into catching Liz up on Tryg Johnson and his stop by the farm earlier.
Her full lips tightened into an angry scowl. “Man, I do not like hearing that at all. What the hell is that scum up to? I cannot believe he managed to stay out of prison all these years.”
I agreed that was some kind of minor miracle. We continued to talk as we drove past Lake Marion. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of the white Silverado, but I thought I saw a man thrashing down on the sandy beach.
Not knowing what we’d run into out on the roads, our group had agreed we would not stop to investigate anything unless it impeded our ability to drive. I didn’t mention the thrashing man to Liz.
The quarry truck abruptly slowed down as we approached the huge intersection of Hwy 50 and Dodd Road. Liz swerved out a little on the left shoulder to see what was ahead. Across Dodd there was an accident in the oncoming Hwy 50 left lane. A minivan was crumpled up like an accordion against the orange pole of the traffic light. The pole was still swaying.
People in the lane behind the van had stopped their car. They approached the van to help, so the accident must have occurred only seconds ago. More people were running toward the van from a nearby gas station.
Overhead, the traffic light flashed red, and had reverted the intersection to a four-way stop. As we inched closer to our turn to cross Dodd, I opened my window and hung my head out to look over the minivan. Even halfway crushed, no doors or windows were open on the van. The front windshield was intact, but sagged inward under the fractures of a thousand tiny cracks.
Bobby’s turn came. Horns blared angrily when Liz hugged the quarry truck’s butt across the intersection, but I told her she was now worth double her weight in gold. I didn’t take my eyes off the minivan as we slowly crept towards it, unable to quell the sudden nerves in my stomach.
People were running in between the slow-moving traffic in the intersection towards the accident and I called out, “Be careful! There’s no other car, so the driver could be infected with that virus!”
That slowed some of them. We were level with the van when a fist punched through the windshield from the inside. A bloody arm and then a head worked the small hole larger, not caring about the glass tearing at its skin. I raised my gun. I didn’t know if this was a crazy, or if I was seeing my first zombie come completely back to life, but when it emitted that insane howl, Liz screamed back in terror.
“It’s the monsters!” Liz yelled, and stomped on the gas to catch up with the quarry truck a few feet ahead. She then stomped on the brakes when she almost climbed right up its back end.
I cursed silently, my aim thrown off when Liz hit the gas. It was my own fault for not warning Liz that I was taking a shot. I partially raised the window and yelled for Liz to do the same, but kept my gun ready. We were past the van, but traffic was too slow for me to take for granted we were safe. There could be more zombies climbing out of that van in no time and lurching, or running, this way through the intersection.
Liz hit the button on her window as she shouted, “Come on, Bobby, hurry! Oh my God, I have never heard such a scary sound--I think I pissed my pants! Was that an eye I saw dangling? Did you see that dented head?”
“Oh, I saw it, alright.”
A few more seconds and we started to pick up speed again. I slumped back, exhausted by the latest surge of adrenaline and the need to be diligent. I rubbed my tired eyes briefly, but then forced myself to straighten up again. Terror and alertness was how life was going to be from now on.
“You okay to drive, Liz?”
“Yeah, I think so.” She visibly shuddered and her heart-shaped face was pale.
“Be sure, don’t think. There’s no shame in being shook up. I don’t want to have a wreck with those things running around, do you?”
“Oh, fuck no!” Liz agreed wholeheartedly. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hands loosening up on her death grip on the steering wheel, but eyes straight ahead on Bobby’s bumper. “Okay, I’m sure I can drive.”
“Good. Now tell me what you think about emotional love affairs.”
What Liz thought about emotional love affairs took us the rest of the way across Lakeville, through Farmington, and all the way east to Hwy 52. I had forgotten that her second husband was a workaholic, big name trial lawyer who spent more time with his paralegal than Liz. Even though Liz didn’t divorce him for being physically unfaithful, she swore he may as well have been. His inability to be as intimate with his own wife compared to his employee ruined their marriage anyway. That divorce had been killer for Liz, so she had a lot to vent on the subject.
I was fascinated by her retelling due to Deb’s outburst, but I could only listen with half an ear. My stomach was jumped up with nerves again. My eyes strained to see far behind us.
Crossing the overpass, we turned and followed the quarry truck down the northbound entrance ramp onto Hwy 52. The southbound lane had a fair amount of traffic, but it moved at a steadier pace than I-35W. A few miles down the road we crossed the highway bridge over the Vermillion River.
After the bridge, the highway inclined gradually and I asked Liz to pull off on the shoulder once we reached the top. Our 180th Street turn off was only a couple miles ahead and there were no other cars on this side of the road. It was a perfect spot to scout any traffic coming up from behind us long before they could see the Cadillac.
I didn’t like the jittery feeling I had in my gut. I didn’t know how to trail a car without my own truck being spotted, but those guys in the camouflage might be that good. I wanted to verify for sure the white Silverado had not followed us home. Liz thought it was a great idea. I sent a text to Rod again to let him know we’d be right behind them in a few minutes. Surprisingly, it went through.
His text came back immediately. Why?
Liz laughed at my si
gh, but I sent another text that briefly explained.
I heard nothing back, but the quarry truck did not slow down.
Liz and I got out of the truck and trotted a few yards back to the top of the hill. We kneeled in the ditch, guns drawn to avoid any nasty surprises.
“This would be a super time to have a pair of those binoculars we just loaded onto the truck,” Liz commented idly and offered me a piece of gum.
I agreed, popping it in my mouth with a grunt of thanks, but not taking my eyes off the road in the distance. We’d need to carry backpacks with supplies for survival anytime we left the farm in the future.
A couple cars and trucks passed us before Liz exclaimed softly, “Look! Is that a white truck? It is! How did they find us?”
“Damned if I know, but come on!” We both got up and ran back to the SUV. I jumped into the front seat while she pulled onto the highway and accelerated. “Are you up for leading them away from the farm and losing them in Coates?”
Liz looked over at me with raised brows and then we both laughed. “Okay, point taken. We can at least drive down the street in Coates and hide behind the tavern, or wait,” I brightened, “that trucking company lot with all the old trailers would be the perfect place.”
She nodded, “Better than the tavern. Should I slow down?”
“Get in the right lane behind that delivery truck first. It’ll look like we’re still trailing Bobby.”
Liz drove up to the delivery truck and we tailgated the poor driver for the next few miles. We couldn’t believe our good luck when he signaled to turn off on the Coates exit. Liz turned on our blinker, as well. She glanced in the rear view mirror. “Can barely see it, but there’s a vehicle back there.”
“Okay,” I leaned forward in anticipation. “Let’s see where this guy is going.”
The delivery truck exited the highway, but he continued east. We parted ways with a little honk of thanks and drove down the frontage road that paralleled the highway into the tiny town of Coates.
“Population 162, plus a few dirty dozen bikers,” Liz murmured.
“That’s right, they’re holed up somewhere around here, aren’t they?”
“We should drive around real quick and see if we notice anything out of the ordinary,” Liz suggested. “You know, like a few dozen motorcycles parked somewhere?”
“Probably not a good idea if we want to ditch that truck,” I responded vaguely.
I noticed a large, orange school bus on the side of the frontage road about a block ahead. The overhead yield lights were blinking. I couldn’t imagine what school actually held classes today.
“See that bus over there? Just before we reach the bus, the House of Coates tavern will be on the right. I think it’s the only place where you can turn. There should be another street behind the tavern where you can take a left and it will lead down to that trucking company.”
Liz took a right on the narrow side street where I’d indicated. As we passed the House of Coates back parking lot, I scanned the area for a possible second hiding spot to conceal the SUV, if necessary.
Without turning, I reached a hand over to Liz. “Slow down! Look over there--is that the weasel prick?”
She slowed and ducked down to see across me out my window. “Geez, it is!” Her voice rose in suspicion. “What’s that asshole doing in a back alley talking to a biker so secret-like?”
I was shocked to recognize the big, black beard biker that had licked his red lips at me this morning. I saw him take an envelope from Robert and tuck it away.
“Good question, but I bet the answer is bad. Robert just paid him off for something. Quick, drive over there and pull in.” I slipped down in my seat after I pointed to a driveway screened by a tall hedge. “We can follow that biker to find out where Tryg’s gang is hanging out.”
Liz grinned back and hit the gas. “What about the white truck?”
I laughed a little grimly. “You’re just full of good questions. Give me a minute to think it over.”
Liz pulled into the driveway and we both turned to watch the street. “Works for me, but the men are going to kill us for being gone so long.”
“Oh, no! I forgot!” I got out my phone. “Darn, no signal.”
Liz checked hers, but had no signal either. Her blue eyes met mine. “Nothing we can do about that for now, but I think we really need to follow that biker dude.”
I grinned. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
Liz snickered. “Once I got past pissing my pants at seeing that zombie, maybe a little.”
The motorcycle rumbled out of the back lot of the House of Coates. Black beard didn’t take a left to the frontage road, but hung right and then left again. He went roaring off down the side street we had planned to follow before we saw the two men.
Robert’s truck followed the biker quickly out of the lot, but he did go left. I wondered if he was heading back to King Farm.
Liz didn’t wait, but shot out of the driveway after the biker. We could see him up about a half a block. There was no sign of the white Silverado.
We went one more block after the biker and then he disappeared from sight. “Uh, Liz. Unless their clubhouse is actually one of these little houses, I think the only other building up here is that old trucking company.”
“Maybe you and Tryg are soul mates,” she teased dryly.
I made a face. “Maybe you need that dirty little mouth washed out with soap.”
My mind ran through several scenarios. “What do think if we find a long driveway and park in back of a house? You can wait there and I’ll run up this last block. I want a look at that building and then we can trade the Cadillac for a new ride back to the farm.”
Liz was startled, but then she smiled. “And that solves ditching the white truck, too--I love it! I’m coming with you, though, so don’t bother to argue. We need to stick together and it was my idea to find the bikers.”
I didn’t argue. Liz was very stubborn once her mind was made up, and truth be told, I was happy she wanted to stick together. We locked up and ran down the street, staying low by the parked cars. At the decrepit chain link fence surrounding the grounds of the building, we hunched down behind an overgrown yew. A rusty sign that read “Johnson Bros Trucking” scraped on the metal fence in the breeze. Liz and I raised our brows together after reading the sign. Maybe Lars had actually owned the trucking business and now Tryg had taken possession.
Liz complained in a low voice, “I guess we could have asked anybody in Coates where the bikers were. This isn’t exactly a hideout.”
I nodded in agreement. “Take a minute and slowly look around, then we’ll go.”
Liz nodded back, an excited sparkle in her eyes. She didn’t just look, but got out her phone and took shots. I always forgot my phone had a camera and got mine out, too.
Off to the side were several, rundown semi-trailers parked on cement pads that had weeds growing tall through the cracks. From our vantage point through the gaping holes in the chain link, we could see the front of the one-story, brown cement block building.
The front doors of the trucking company were propped open. Dozens of motorcycles were parked in an orderly fashion in the open, graveled area before the doors. I quickly counted forty-one. I did not see Tryg’s motorcycle in the open spot closest to the door. I remembered how much pride he took being able to park next to his dad’s chopper the time I went to the old clubhouse. I checked the rows of bikes several times to be sure, but I believed Tryg’s wasn’t there. Loud voices and music drifted out from the open doors of the building; it sounded like the party had started without him.
I carefully noted other details. The chain link fence gates hung wide open on bent posts with no locks in sight. There were seven rectangular windows on each side of the doors of the long building. The roof was flat, but there was a ladder…
I heard Liz utter a shriek of surprised pain next to me, but before I could react, my breath was choked off when a large arm wrapped aro
und my throat and squeezed. My gum popped out of my mouth. I was yanked up to my feet. I desperately clawed at that arm, my vision fading as I tried to get air.
Chapter Seventeen
“The edge…there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” -Hunter Thompson
The sun was setting when I drowsily opened my eyes. I was annoyed to be woken up from my dreams by a loud scream of pain. I shivered and wanted to sleep forever, but I couldn’t. I had too much to do because the zombies were coming…
A voice whispered in the dark, “Hey, good lookin’, wake up. I’ve let you sleep long enough while your friend’s had all the fun.”
My mind shouted, ‘What the fuck?’
A light clicked on and I raised a defensive hand at the sudden glare, even as my fuzzy brain fought to process why I was lying on a small bed in a cement room and why it was almost dark outside the window.
I groggily looked down. Reacting in panic, I smashed a fist into Tryg’s head and bolted upright. A rough hand on my shoulder slammed me flat back down again.
Tryg was in my face, his crazy blue eyes were an inch from mine when he snarled, “You ever raise a hand to me again, and I’ll give you a whuppin’ so bad, your own mother won’t know you!”
I jumped when another long scream sounded, followed by muffled curses. It was Liz’s voice, but I didn’t know who was cursing. My leg had jerked involuntarily when I jumped, but it didn’t go far. My ankles were bound somehow to the iron footboard.
I dropped my eyes from Tryg’s furious glare and tried to not go berserk at what was happening to my friend, but to think, to get a grip. If it was getting dark, we had been missing from the farm for hours and nobody had rescued us yet. We were on our own.
I clasped my hands, looked up and implored, “I’m so sorry I hit you! I didn’t know where I was or that it was you. Tryg, help me! Where are my clothes? Your men have tied me up not knowing what we mean to each other.”
