The pump was done, so he put his bags in the back seat, put the pump back in its holster, then climbed into the driver seat. He couldn’t help the turn of his head, the roaming of his eyes, and when he saw the kid hanging out on the other side of the store facing south, the boy’s face fixed on him, he knew that his every move had been watched, and would continue be until he was on his way.
Still, he had no intention of hanging out, regardless of what the kid might think. So he turned the engine over and began to pull forward, the Taco Bell sign coming into view and his stomach growling loud enough to be heard over the static of the radio. Hitting the power button, he gave the kid one last look, then headed for the restaurant nearby. He’d grab a grande meal and get on the road immediately after. He had been lucky so far and didn’t want to tempt fate by spending one second more in this town than need be.
II
Good news was he had a full tank of gas, soon to have a full stomach, and he was about to be back on the highway and on the way home. He was at the end of the drive thru, his foot on the brake, eyes turned left watching as several vehicles passed by, trying his best not to look and see if he was still being watched. He could feel it in the back of his mind, his neck hairs twitching, his neck arcing as he physically forced his head to keep still.
The cars passed, so he finally looked right just to insure no pedestrians were about to cross in front of him, and that’s when he saw the homeless man across the street in the strip-mall parking lot. It would have just passed unnoticed if the man didn’t have a hand to his chest, his face twisted in pain, his knees giving out as he pitched forward onto the asphalt below in the throes of a heart attack.
Reacting instantly, he picked up his phone and dialed 911, forgetting that the cell service was off. He had a hand on the door, his feet shifting as he prepared to get out, his rampant mind rushing his body through the motions before it could reason through what was happening. He stopped himself from opening the door, his eyes wide as he realized what was about to happen and his inability to do anything about it.
Well, almost.
He threw the SUV into drive and hit the gas. Bouncing across the road, he kept his hands firmly on the wheel as he impacted the curb, jarring his body forward, but continuing forward nonetheless. Before he could change his mind, he pointed his front end at the dying man’s body and shuddered at the loud thump and the bucking of his vehicle as he finished the job the man’s heart had begun.
He slammed his foot on the brakes and felt the tires skid as he came to a screeching halt.
A hand slammed into his hood, Ahiga’s face filled with rage, the gun no longer casually held but pointed straight at his head. Others were running their way, some to back up the youth with the gun, the rest to the man he’d just run over. “You just killed yourself!” the boy screamed at him, his voice breaking.
His fingers were trembling, his mind was racing, and he knew that even though he’d just done the right thing, he might just die for it. The President had said that they were all infected, that when they died they turned into one of these things, and even if the ambulance had already been on its way, they’d never get to him in time before he woke up as an undead. Then he’d be all over the unsuspecting populace around him and the serenity they were enjoying would be permanently shattered.
People began to scream behind him and it didn’t sound like it was due to what they’d found, but from pure terror. The boy’s gun wavered, unsure, then a woman rushed past, her hand over her mouth and her feet pumping faster than her larger frame should have allowed. The gun shifted, and the boy’s head bent to get a look past the rear of the SUV.
Whatever he saw, it must have been enough, because he dodged around the front end, along the side and into the sight of the rear-view mirror. There was only a slight pause, then the gun went off.
The homeless man had to have reanimated and attacked someone, that would be the only reason the woman would flee, that everyone was freaking out, and why the boy had finally pulled the trigger. The question that Ahiga would now be struggling with was whether the dying man would have turned if he hadn’t been run over by a white man in a SUV. He wanted to put it back into drive and take off, but that would look guilty and there was plenty of people with cars to help chase him down and put a bullet in his head.
He waited.
It took fifteen minutes, but Ahiga had finally arrived at a decision as he came around the driver’s side of the SUV and came to the window.
He had lowered it, having expected company, and waited to see if he’d be beating his family to the afterlife or be joining them in the few hours it would take for him to finally get there. “I did what I had to. The man was dead, no one could save him, and if he turned, your whole town would be in danger. I’m sorry.”
The boy’s lower lip was trembling, tears had formed at the corners of his eyes, and the innocence that had been there before was completely erased. It had been replaced with guilt, a questioning look of right or wrong, and the inability to voice his inner turmoil.
“You did the right thing.”
Ahiga’s eyes finally rose and met his, a flash of anger passing through and firming up his trembling lip. “I don’t know if you caused or stopped it. I know that Miss Tl’izilani will need to get her leg treated, but she should be all right, right?”
“I’m not a doctor, kid,” he answered reflexively, then softened his scowl. “I’m sure she will be fine. Get it treated, make sure that you keep her in isolation just in case, and pump her full of antibiotics. That’s all my show-watching training will give you. Now, are you going to punish me or let me go?”
Other voices had begun to rise nearby, and he had a worry that soon the choice would be taken from both of them.
Ahiga heard them as well. “Here, take this. I don’t want it,” the boy said, offering him the butt of the gun.
Hesitantly, he accepted it and set it on the passenger seat at his side. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Until now, no one here has risen. You may have brought this plague down upon us. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t know that you didn’t either. I will talk to them, try to explain, but you need to go. Head west on the highway until you reach the 12 to Lupton. It’ll take you to the forty and off our land. Leave before I change my mind and start screaming my head off.”
He didn’t need to look to know the boy meant it, his hand shifting into drive and foot applying pressure to the gas before he had even looked away. The SUV surged forward, bounced off the curb and put him back on the highway with little fanfare.
More than a few questioning glances were shot his way, but he ignored them as he crossed over to the right side of the road and sped down the highway.
Ahiga would be peppered with questions, the man’s death would need to be explained, and with one bounce of his car he might have destroyed their plan to keep people ignorant of what was going on. Yet, if he hadn’t been there, that might have happened anyway when the dying man rose and took a bite out of anyone that had run to check on him.
As he passed a McDonald’s, he glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure that no one was following him, then let out a sigh as no cars had yet to come screeching down the highway in pursuit. Whatever Ahiga was telling them must have been working, and with no working cells, they wouldn’t be warning those ahead of his approach either.
He saw a sign announcing route twelve and he slowed long enough to make the turn. He might have taken it a bit fast, but as long as his wheels stayed on the ground and he maintained control, he didn’t really care.
He was done.
He wanted to get home.
He wanted to lock the door and windows and hide from this madness chasing him down the highway faster than his SUV could drive. It had found him in Chicago, followed him to Denver, and had found him on the run in a small town in central Colorado. He had narrowly missed it in Durango and had barely avoided getting shot by the military in Farmington. Now, he had run over a d
ying man with his car with no clear reason to believe that the contagion had spread that far, no real belief that he would rise from the dead, and prematurely ended his life with the wheels of his car. That the man had risen and bit someone should have given him relief over his actions, but it only increased his guilt; someone else had been attacked, and it might have been his fault.
His phone vibrated; his service restored.
“Hello.”
“Hey, where are you?” his mother’s voice asked, relief evident in her voice. “I’ve been worried sick. Have you seen the television? Do you know what’s going on? Why haven’t I heard from you?”
“You want me to answer or do you want to just keep asking questions?” he returned, the tension in his voice causing him to be shorter than usual. He had just run someone over. He was not up for this.
The phone was silent.
“I’m on a road in the middle of nowhere heading to the forty, then onto Show Low. You still at home? How are things in Wickenburg?” he asked, breaking the silence. She was purposely being quiet to make a point and he didn’t have the patience to smooth things over, no matter what was going on in the world right now.
He was dealing with enough already.
“There’s been a lot of planes flying overhead, cars on the road, but otherwise everything is okay,” his mother replied after another minute of silence. “Your dad has talked about going up to the cabin for a bit, but I don’t want to go anywhere. This is my home. With all these people driving by, I can’t help but feel that someone will stop and break into our house. Everything I own is here. I can’t just leave it to the wolves.”
“Mom, things can be replaced, your lives can’t. You should listen to Dad and hit the road. Just, avoid going through Phoenix. Or Flagstaff for that matter. I would feel better if you guys were as far away from the major cities as possible,” he said without thought, automatically letting his concern take over as he tried to steady his breathing and trembling hands.
“We will talk about it tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere tonight. How’s Carrie and my grandkids? Did they get out of Mesa okay?”
“Yeah, they are already there waiting for me. It’s just taken longer than I thought it would. I should have been there already. Still, I think I’m about two or three hours away.”
“Okay, well, stay safe and call me when you get there. I hate the thought of you out there on your own. Were you in Denver? Did you happen to talk to or see your sister? I can’t seem to get ahold of her,” his mother pursued.
The guilt intensified.
“I couldn’t get to that side of town. I’m sure they are okay, the military reacted instantly to what was going on. I’m sure they are on the road heading south even now. You’ll hear from them soon,” he promised, not knowing even for a second if he was right. He hoped that he was, but he had no real belief in what he was saying. Still, it was what she needed to hear and with a heart filled goodbye, she hung up.
Her tears would flow the next day when his sister still didn’t call. She would refuse to leave her house, and either the military would show up, the monsters would come knocking on the door, or some asshole fleeing for his life would break in and try to hurt them, take them for all that they had. It was an ugly world, and nothing he could say would change what came next. He had a family to worry about, kids to protect, and he couldn’t save everyone, no matter how much they meant to him. It sucked but you had to work with a list of priorities; Carrie and the kids were at the top.
He saw the sign for Lupton coming up and felt some of his tension ease. No one had followed him south, he had finally made it back to the forty, and now only Holbrook and Snowflake stood between him and his family.
He was almost home.
Chapter 11
I
The highway was slower than he thought it’d be. Either traffic out of Albuquerque was non-existent, or something along the way was slowing people down. Either way, he had the road to himself as the sun first crested, then began its descent towards the western horizon.
What had happened back in that Navajo town still haunted him, but he was doing his best to hold himself together and stay on point; getting to his family. Nothing else mattered.
Taking a drink from his Coke, he held it with one hand as he screwed the cap back on, tightened it, then set it on the seat next to him, the 9mm pistol holding the bottle in place. The truth was, he’d never fired a gun, had never really wanted to, and though he should be comforted by the weapon’s presence, he was still uneasy as hell about it.
He’d run over a man with his car and was still struggling with it, even though in his heart he knew it was the right thing to do, what would pulling the trigger and watching someone’s head get blown apart do to him? It wasn’t a movie, the blood and brain matter would not be fake, and the corpse striking the ground do to his actions would remain there until the sun and elements took it from this Earth. They would not get back up, dust themselves off, and continue to the next act, he would be the bringer of their final scene.
The concept of kill or be killed wasn’t a new one, he just didn’t think he’d ever have to face it himself. Would he have the courage when the time came, or would he freeze up and end up dead like all the others in the world at that moment? It was not a question easily answered beforehand, and heavily dwelt upon after; he wouldn’t know for sure until it came and either he lived or died by his choice of action.
His phone notified him that he had an exit in ten miles, his eyes catching the sign announcing his arrival in Holbrook at nearly the same time. If memory served, there would be the main road that would splinter off and follow the highway on the north side, which would then cross and head south. He would cut across it and take the exit further on, the final leg of his journey fast approaching.
Question was, how was Holbrook fairing? Was he about to be stopped by the National Guard? Had the infection already spread throughout the city? Was he driving into a city full of undead?
He was about to find out.
Taking the exit for highway seventy-seven, he looked at the empty parking lot of the nearby motel, scanned the upcoming street for cars, and was surprised to see it devoid of any signs of life. Had the populace fled, or were they just waiting for him to come to a stop before emerging from the buildings in an attempt to run him down and eat him?
He remembered a line from a movie he’d watched as a kid, a woman talking about her fantasy being to get eaten alive by a bunch of old men and shivered at the thought of it actually happening to him. He had no such fantasies and had been severely sickened by a movie titled Cannibal Holocaust he’d once watched on Shudder on the subject.
No thanks, I’m good.
His phone startled him as he made the left onto Navajo Blvd and began heading south.
It was his wife.
“Everything okay?” he asked. They had just spoken a half hour before and something had to be wrong if she was calling him so soon after.
“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice shaken. “Maybe I’m just seeing things.” She sounded like she was talking in a hushed tone out of the corner of her mouth, and he barely understood what she was saying.
“Or you may not be. What’s up?” he pushed, bells going off in the back of his head. Was he too late in getting home?
Her breathing was heavy, as if worked up about something, and her soft whisper finally replied, “someone is skulking around the neighbor’s cabin. I thought it was just a trick of light, but now I’m sure of it. At first I thought it was shadows, then maybe an elk or bear, but they wouldn’t be sneaking around like that, barely visible and purposely evading detection. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s giving me the creeps. I should go over and warn them. They would tell me if they thought something was going on.”
“Do you have any idea what’s happening in the world right now?” he hurriedly asked, fear leaking into his voice at the thought of her doing just that. “It may not be a live being skulking about,
but an undead looking for his next meal. Maybe it hears them inside and their noise is drawing it towards a window or doorway. If you go out there, you may catch its attention, putting you and the kids in danger. If you feel strongly enough about it, call them, tell them what’s going on, but under no circumstances are you to open that door.”
“In fact, I want you to double check that all the doors and windows are locked. If it is someone looking for trouble, I don’t want to make you an easier target to contend with. After you do that, call them, tell them where and who is doing what, then hunker down and try not to make any noise. Get the kids to be quiet too, I can hear them arguing in the background. I’m less than an hour away. I’ll deal with it when I get there. Until then, I need to know you three are safe.”
Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, her voice stronger as she said, “it must have been nothing. I’ve waited and kept my eyes on the place I saw movement, but nothing has happened since I called. With all this shit going on, it must be playing tricks with my mind, making me see things that aren’t there. Paranoia is a byproduct that is not healthy for the nerves.”
“You’re telling me,” he replied automatically, not believing for a second that she had been imagining anything. “Still, I want you to double check the locks, fasten the bolts on the storm windows, and try to keep things quiet until you hear from me again. I’m going to stop for gas and top off the tank, then I’ll be on my way. It’s now one-forty-five. If you don’t hear from me by three, call the neighbors anyway and check in. See if they want to bunk up for the night, pool our resources.”
“That’s smart. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” she said in a monotone voice, not really hearing him. “Okay Hon, I’ll see you soon.”
Click.
The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance Page 12
