The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance

by Ray, Timothy A.

  Luckily, he’d found a gas station that was still in service, and though it took nearly an hour to get to the pump, he’d been able to fill the tank. He was good for a bit and he reached over to fidget with the direction of the vent, trying to get the air just right as sweat had begun to break out underneath his arm pits, making him uncomfortable. The air thrust its way up his shirt and he basked in the brief pleasure it provided, then took another hit off his cigarette.

  Whatever was going on, it had things backed way the hell up, and he began to worry that it was like this all the way through Farmington.

  He glanced to the left at the Masonic Lodge, then to the Habanero Grill next door. The lodge looked empty, desolate, and locked up tight. The Mexican grill however had all its windows bashed in and there were a few teenagers hanging around on the sidewalk eating and pointing at the cars moving slowly past.

  No one hollered at the kids and no cops had been called to deal with their thievery. Word was spreading that the status quo had been changed, and he was surprised mass looting hadn’t already begun taking place. Then he thought of the phone call he got that morning, the advisory to stay inside, that they were getting paid vacation, and wondered just how many people bought that shit and were currently holding up in their houses, none-the-wiser that anything was amiss in the world beyond?

  A church appeared on his right, a large sign telling him that Jesus Saves on a billboard overhead. The parking lot was packed, which would have been odd at this time of day and week had it not been for the world ending around them. He’d never been a man of faith, had never sought the guidance of a higher power, and he hoped that those within were praying for him as well; even though he believed it was falling on deaf ears.

  If this was the Rapture, then why hadn’t the faithful been called to heaven? No, this was the first stages of damnation, and only the strong would survive the days ahead. The meek would not inherit this Earth. The question that plagued his mind was, which was he? He had never been a fighter, had always chosen to talk his way out of fights. He’d never swung his fist at anything with a pulse and didn’t even like the idea of hunting; the death of whatever he shot too much for his soul to bear. He had no love for snakes, or rats, but the death of a jackrabbit or bear could upset him, forcing him to turn his attention to other matters to keep it from disturbing him too greatly.

  Yet, the world dawning around them would require not only the slaughter of the undead walking the Earth, but those nasty souls that sought to take advantage of the apocalypse to obtain the power they’d never been able to get while society’s laws were in effect. It wasn’t just the dead you had to fear, but the living, and the kids glaring at him as he passed from the storefront on his left were proof of that.

  He saw a white building with several cars parked in front coming up on his left, Hutch’s Transmission Repair written in red across the top, a very large Hispanic male with a shotgun in hand watching from the door near the office. All the vehicle doorways were down, and he could see one or two faces in the glass behind the man peering out; they were prepared for a siege and he hoped that this would end before any of them had to test whether it was enough.

  He waved at the man. What else was he going to do? Yet, the man ignored him, his eyes passing to the cars behind him with disinterest.

  How long would he stand out there in the noonday sun? Would they take shifts? Why were they hunkering down there instead of at their homes, or trying to get out of town? He wasn’t going to stop and ask, so he kept going, and breathed a sigh of relief as traffic began to pick up, his speedometer slowly edging towards the twenty mark.

  A plane rocketed past and he winced at the racket it made, his ears ringing long after it was gone. The Airforce was still at it and he wondered where it was heading, if his route home had been compromised. If he couldn’t get through Farmington, he was probably screwed. The main highway led in the opposite direction, and he was quite sure that Albuquerque was a nightmare to be in right then.

  He had once had a passion to go there, to take the Breaking Bad bus tour and see the places the show had been shot at, but such things were in the past, the buses forever silent. No, he did not want to head in that direction and would be forced to find some unknown road south to the forty if they tried to route them away from town.

  The purpose behind the traffic slow-down became evident as several cars in front of him pulled to the left and headed towards the Mobil and Shell gas stations on the opposite side of the road. The pumps were backed up, people standing beside their cars talking and yelling at each other while they slowly took turns filling up.

  “Thank God I got gas before I got here,” he remarked, smiling as he began to pick up speed.

  His smile faded.

  On the west side of the road, blocking his way towards Farmington was a tank, three troop transports, and over thirty soldiers packing heat. Two more jets screamed past but none of the men appeared phased by it, as two men nearest him began motioning for him to move south along Main.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he commented with a growl.

  A vehicle in front of him stopped and the driver engaged one of the men in conversation. The soldier was emphatically shaking his head and pointing south. It was clear the driver wasn’t happy with that, and the soldier that had been waving for him to move forward paused, brought his weapon up and began walking around the back of the vehicle with renewed purpose.

  His breath caught as the soldier marched to the driver’s window and began yelling at the driver of the car. “You need to move your ass or I’m going to put a bullet in the back of your head. Proceed south, now!”

  Were they really going to gun down a civilian? Shouldn’t they be saving their aggression for the undead zombies that were rising from their graves?

  Whoever was driving the Ford truck in front of him seemed to think that was the case, as they defiantly yelled back at the man, refusing to move south as ordered, a hand visible pointing west.

  He sure as shit wasn’t going to argue when it was his turn to pass through, despite his strong feelings about Albuquerque; these people looked serious.

  As if to illustrate the point, the soldier’s gun went off, blood splattering the windshield as the driver’s head was blown apart.

  The man on the opposite side of the car had raised his gun but stood there silently, unmoving, as if filled with shock at what his compatriot had done.

  The truck began to drift forward as the freshly made corpse’s foot fell of the brake, and the man with the M-16 turned and pointed his rifle in his direction.

  He nearly wet himself.

  Other soldiers had begun moving towards the road, several waving at him to continue moving, while a couple of others raised their weapons at him and the cars to his rear.

  He didn’t have to be told twice.

  Applying pressure to the gas, he veered between the soldier and the coasting truck and steered south, the eyes of the soldier fixed on him and chilling him to the bone. There was no remorse in the man’s eyes, his face stern, his meaning clear; if he dared to stop his head would be blown off as well.

  He nodded as he drove past, then floored the gas pedal as he steered onto Main and away from the armored convoy. His heart was in overdrive, his hands shaking, and he felt the bile in his stomach threatening to unload all over the steering wheel. He knew that the reaper had just passed him over and couldn’t believe he had almost died at the hands of the military and not the monsters they were supposed to be fighting.

  This can’t be happening.

  Maybe it was some rogue branch defying the orders of their superiors with the knowledge that no one could be spared to rein them in; declaring Farmington as their new sanctuary. Resources were just as important as defensive weapons, and the more people that swarmed out of the major cities the less the rural ones would be able to support their lower populations. Still, to kill a man for arguing with them?

  “What the fuck?”

  The wor
d was out and the stream of vehicles heading south along the 550 were increasing their speed and trying to put distance on the armed men to the rear. He had to force himself to keep his speed as the other vehicles burst past, his frayed nerves not ready to add reckless driving to the mix; he was barely holding it together as it was. As long as they didn’t crash into each other, he could give a damn what the other drivers did. He had something to live for and getting out of town five minutes sooner wasn’t worth the risk of driving himself off the road or into another fleeing car as they fought to get free of the mad world around them.

  Several cars had begun to slow and pull onto the right shoulder and his eyes narrowed as he studied the sign announcing the road ahead. Highway 7010 to Napi HQ. He seemed to remember that name and was sure that he’d seen it before. He couldn’t Google it, but he felt certain that it was south of Farmington, and if that were the case, there might be hope to getting back on track after all.

  The locals seemed to think so, as they pulled off the main highway, letting the more eager ignorant drivers to keep heading South and whatever horrors that awaited them at the road’s end.

  He wasn’t about to take that chance, as he pulled into the break down lane, turned on his turn signal, and swung onto the two-lane highway with the few others ahead of him.

  Picking up his phone, he called his wife, his heart pounding with every ring, praying that she’d pick up.

  “Hello?” Penny asked.

  “Hey Pumpkin,” he greeted his daughter, relief flooding him at the sound of her curious voice. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine. Where are you?”

  “I’m heading your way. Think I’m about four to five hours away. Did you sleep okay?”

  “Yes,” his daughter answered. “Mommy, Daddy is on the phone.”

  Just like that, Penny was gone as Carrie’s concerned voice came on the line. “You through Farmington already? That was fast.”

  “Not so much,” he commented, trying his best not to think of the fate he’d almost met. Who’d have cared for his wife and kids then? “I was forced to take a detour. Do you remember the name Napi HQ? Did we see that somewhere when we were here last?”

  “Wow, you did get detoured south. Remember that barn that was a porn shop? The one with the Jesus is Watching sign just outside? That was near the highway that ran south towards Gallup. It goes through the reservation. Though, I doubt anyone is going to object to you taking it, especially if they aren’t letting you through the main city. Is it bad? What happened?”

  His relief was increasing, his heart rate slowing, this wasn’t a bad detour after all. If what she was saying was true, he just had to turn south for a bit, then head west once more and he’d be back where he needed to be. In fact, it might have even been faster than going through Farmington, as it was way more populated than Aztec and appeared to be under military control.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know. It’s going to hell out here,” he responded, seeing a sign for the Navajo Mesa Farms on his left, another announcing a turn south towards Newcomb in a quarter of a mile. Newcomb was another name he recognized, and it wasn’t that far north of the forty. He was finally starting to get closer to home.

  “No, I do want to know. The television is going through reruns of Gidget and without the Wi-Fi, I’m basically back to reading hardbacks for entertainment. And if you remember, we don’t have many of those here. So, what is going on?” she pushed, trying to leverage information out of him.

  They had always promised honesty with each other, but where did you draw the line on that? When did things become just too horrific to relay?

  “The National Guard has been mobilized, and they aren’t playing around. They shot a guy for talking back to them. Blew his head off. I was nearly shot myself. I’m okay though, I’m passed it. I’m turning south on the 371 right now. I’ll be in Gallup before you know it. How’s Ralph holding up?” he inquired, trying to change the subject before her mind processed what he’d said.

  “What do you mean, blew his head off? Like, he wasn’t sick? Maybe he was bit and you didn’t know it.”

  “The President seemed confident in her speech that being bit didn’t matter as long as you treated it,” he corrected, knowing full-well that the man had been shot for defying their orders, not because of any injury he’d sustained. If that had been the case, the first man wouldn’t have been shocked by the other’s actions. “How is my son?”

  “Bored out of his mind,” she sighed heavily, resigning herself to the fact that she had gotten all that she was going to get. “No Facebook. His friends aren’t answering. And no Wi-Fi means no Xbox Live, so Call of Duty is out. You’d think the world was ending,” she remarked before she realized what she was saying, then a soft sob erupted as it dawned on her as well. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do or even why we’re doing it? Have you thought this through? How the hell are we supposed to raise them in a world like this?”

  “The only way we can, by moving forward,” he responded softly. “I know you’re scared, I am too, but I’m not going to give up and neither should you. We have to be strong together, protect them the best we can, and just hope that we make it through to the other side.”

  “Easier said than done Babe.”

  “I know. Just, hang in there. I’m almost there. Be glad I didn’t have to drive from Chicago, I may never have gotten out of Illinois alive. Just a few smaller cities left and a lot of highway, then I’ll be there to hold you and the kids. We’ll discuss what comes next once I’m there. Until then, go back to reading your book and I’ll be there before you know it. Hell, you could watch Lord of the Rings and I’d be pulling up by the time it was over.”

  She chuckled, and he could hear her sniffing the tears away. “Do you always have to judge driving distances by the length of Peter Jackson films?”

  He smiled, “it’s that or Mel Gibson movies, and I don’t know all their lengths enough to make that work. I could go old school and tell you to watch Gone with the Wind, but I am quite sure we don’t even own a copy.”

  “Yeah, no,” she answered simply. “I’ll try to put the kids down for a nap, check to make sure that we’re all locked up here, then I’ll get back to my book. Just get here, okay?”

  “I’m trying.”

  Chapter 9

  I

  He hadn’t gotten more than fifteen minutes down the road before traffic appeared on the horizon, either not moving or going slow enough to not be perceptible from this distance. The last thing he needed was another damn traffic jam; the last one had gone to shit and there was no reason to believe this wouldn’t either.

  They must be preventing traffic from entering Gallup, self-preservation kicking in as they tried to protect their own from the masses fleeing their way. He didn’t blame them, but he had no use for anything they had to offer either. He just needed to get through to the interstate to the south, and it looked like he was going to have to start getting creative.

  This wasn’t Yuma though, you couldn’t just pull off the highway and set off into the desert. Not only could you get lost, but if you broke down, you were more than likely fucked. Not to mention, life was plentiful in the desert and most of it was out to kill you, even the plant life.

  He saw a small settlement to the left with an overabundance of vehicles surrounding it, sunlight twinkling off the dashes and burning his retinas. There was a gas station to the right and a lonely highway that led into the mountains. He had no clue where he was, no idea where that highway went, but no one else was turning in that direction and the stalled traffic was growing closer by the second.

  Making a snap decision, he eased his battered SUV to the right and applied pressure to the gas pedal, giving the overcrowded gas station a brief look as he shot past and into uncharted territory.

  It was crazy and not something he’d ever have done before this, but what choice did he have?

  Picking up his phone, he saw something he’d hadn’t noticed ea
rlier that day, his data appeared to be back online, his GPS active. Smiling, he brought up his Google Maps and typed Show Low into the destination bar. Two-hundred miles, that’s all that remained until he finally reached his family, yet it still felt like there was a country between them. He hit the route button, then cursed as it told him to pull a U-Turn and head back towards Gallup.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  He turned the sound off and ignored the continued suggestions to head back the way he came. Apparently Google thought, even with the traffic problems, that the main highway was still faster. Yet, it wasn’t taking into consideration the Human factor, the way fear had a way of disrupting the norm, creating chaos out of everything it touched. Soon, every city would begin barricading itself against the outside world, attempting to protect their limited resources, and any new mouth would be nothing more than a drain on that; they’d choose themselves first.

  As would he once he got to Show Low, whatever it took to keep his family alive.

  He should have knocked on wood. His eyes picked up on something blocking the road and his insides began to groan. He could turn around, but to what end? Another roadblock? He couldn’t go west, south, or north and there was no clear way east, and it would be in the completely wrong direction even if there were.

  Hopelessness started to settle within his heart; he’d never make it as far as his family, not in a car anyways.

  Eyes falling on the mountains before him, he tried imagining hiking the last two-hundred miles and knew that he didn’t have that kind of time, nor ability to pull it off. He’d die in the wilderness, then join the hordes of undead scorching Humanity from the Earth.

  A light brown RV was parked across the highway, two old trucks from the fifties angled on either side, two men in the truck beds with rifles pointed in his direction. They hadn’t fired on him yet, which was promising, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t open up at any second.