Inception_The Bern Project

by M James Conway

  “No. We are not all good here!” Russell yelled. “The riots have spilled into the eastside and are downtown Bellevue.” The other partygoers stopped what they were doing and turned toward Russell.

  A gray-haired man in his late fifties walked up to Russell and extended his hand. “You must be Russell. My name is Michael Nelson. It’s nice to finally meet you. Your daughter Kat is quite the musician. I apologize for the noise.”

  “No. No, the noise is fine. We just got back. As a matter of fact, Kat and Christina were just leaving. Thank you for the invite, though.”

  “You said something about riots? We heard about it on the news. Something going on in Seattle.”

  “No. It’s everywhere now and it’s not just a riot. There is widespread chaos and it has swept from Seattle and now it’s in Bellevue.” He didn’t want to say any more about what he and Sims had witnessed. By doing so, everyone at the Nelsons might end up looking to Russell and Sims to keep them safe. “You might want to hunker down in your house. I don’t mean to scare you, but the wave of violence…whatever it is…is moving east pretty fast.”

  Just as Russell was done talking, the sound of loud explosions ripped through the air, being carried their way from somewhere to the west. They were followed by intermittent gunfire in the distance.

  “Dad?” Kat looked to the west then back to Russell.

  “Kat. Christina. We need to go. Now, okay?”

  “Sure, Mr. Mixney, but…” Christina said as she walked over, “…what about my family?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “In Beaux Arts area.” Southwest Bellevue.

  “Well, we just came from that area. I’m sure if your family is at home, they’re doing fine. You try to call them if you want, but cell service is down.” Russell didn’t want to tell her that her family was in danger, but what could he do? If he said that, she might take off and go home, putting herself in danger. He didn’t want that either. “Why don’t you come on over to our house? We’ll see if we can get a hold of them, but I don’t think driving is a possibility right now. Okay?”

  “Uh. Sure.” Christina looked to Kat, then walked toward Russell’s house.

  Russell followed them all back to his house. Right after he closed the front door, a chorus of screams ripped through the air outside, coming from the west and getting closer.

  “Shut the lights off!” Russell yelled.

  He moved to the living room while Sims killed the living room lights, Kat turned off lights in the kitchen, and Christina ran through the hall, turning off the bedroom lights.

  Russell stood by the front windows, opened the drapes and stared down the long paved driveway to the street. Several shadows silhouetted by the street lights raced up and down the street.

  The screams grew in volume and number. More explosions were heard.

  Whatever this was had reached their neighborhood now and was moving fast.

  Christina started to cry.

  Chapter 16

  John moved through the winding alleyway, the darkness becoming more pronounced with each step. His footfalls echoed off the wet pavement, becoming heavy.

  He looked down, his feet taking on a darker presence, becoming weighed down, slowing his movement. He glanced down at his hand, the gleaming knife catching the reflection of distant street lights.

  His heart rate picked up, the rhythmic thumping bouncing inside his head, his breathing fast and controlled.

  A lone figure stepped out from the recesses of the darkness. His target, Vinny Tapper, was wearing what looked like an expensive suit, its gray material giving off the impression of shark skin, which went with his white and aesthetically shaped teeth, seen through the sinister and mischievous smile. His face took on a look of familiarity, like John had met him before.

  Yes. He must have known Vinny Tapper. No matter. He had a job to do. He raised the knife and swung it toward Vinny, missing him by inches, Vinny’s face taking on a look of sorrow, yet understanding. Did he know John was there to kill him?

  Vinny started crying. John began to swing the blade at him again and again, missing each time, yet getting closer. The last swing brushed across the surface of Vinny’s shiny suit. John focused all his energy on trying to move onward, manipulating his body to extend his reach.

  He swung again, his vision focused on Vinny’s torso, and the blade sunk in like into warm butter, the dampness of blood covering John’s hand. John felt himself smiling. Laughing.

  He looked up.

  Vinny’s face had taken on the appearance of Grandpa Henry Idgaff. John reared back, pulling the knife out of Vinny – no, his grandfather – tears cascading from his eyes.

  “No!” John dropped the knife. He saw his grandfather in the shiny gray suit falling backward.

  Henry Idgaff stared at John, a look of shock and betrayal on his face. He whispered, “You were wrong.”

  John, still stuck in the ground, fell as he tried to catch his grandfather, who was falling faster than John could move. “No!” John leaned as far as he could, reached out and fell into a leather wall, his face taking the brunt of the force.

  “You were wrong.”

  “Wrong about what? You all right back there?” Boogie said from the front seat.

  John opened his eyes and found himself resting his face on the back of Boogie’s seat. He sat back, his breathing intense. His heart was racing and he felt beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked around and saw dusk had settled in. “Sorry. I was dreaming.”

  “You kept moaning and making whimpering sounds. Sounded more like one of them nightmares,” Cindy said.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Just been a long day.” Normally, he’d dream of those he had killed, not those he planned to kill and definitely not his deceased grandfather.

  “Where are we?” Boogie asked.

  John looked around and saw the familiar tall evergreen trees lining both sides of the freeway. He figured they were about five minutes from North Bend, as Boogie took the car up the winding freeway into the mountains. “We’re about five minutes away, give or take.” He looked ahead and saw the cars at the top of the curve, a half mile away, with their brake lights on. He pointed and said, “But it looks like we might have a problem.”

  He was about to mention that they should merge to the right, but Boogie had already done so, though more aggressively than John would have done, getting angry honks and middle fingers in return.

  “I see blue lights up there,” Cindy said.

  John had to strain his eyes to see, but was able to make out a lone state trooper parked on the shoulder of the freeway. A Department of Transportation sign was blinking a warning, though they were too far away to make it out.

  They made it to the traffic jam and Boogie brought the vehicle to a stop. “Now how far?”

  “About one mile. Our exit is right where that state trooper is, but kind of before him.” John looked behind and saw the stream of cars coming to a stop, the backup already stretching about a half mile behind them.

  “Could be an accident?” Cindy said.

  “Possibly, but traffic isn’t moving at all. Not even way up there.” John pointed toward the top of the hill where the freeway wound its way up the Snoqualmie Pass. “If it’s an accident, it’s blocking all lanes.” John noticed a middle-aged man walking towards them on the shoulder. He seemed to have been walking for a while, as he looked out of breath and had pit stains creeping down the sides of his cheap white shirt with a plaid clip-on tie. As he got closer, John noticed the bags under his eyes, pale skin, and balding top with the classic comb over, and that he was holding about forty extra pounds of weight, mainly in the gut.

  Boogie had Cindy roll her window down so he could get his attention. “Hey there, feller. You know what’s going on up that ways?”

  The man stopped and took a couple of breaths before talking. “Some sort of bus accident just over the pass on the east side of the mountains. It caught on fire or something. Trooper said about four mor
e hours before they can open the road. I guess the fire is toxic and we can’t drive through it. They’re having trouble finding a tow truck or something.”

  “Why are you walking then?”

  The man looked to the east, then back to Boogie. He put his hands on his hips. “Oh, me? I ran out of gas while idling. I’m walking back to get some gas. I mean, shit…I’ve got plenty of time. Ain’t nobody going anywhere.” The man continued west on foot.

  “Dude will be lucky he don’t drop dead.” Cindy adjusted herself and sat lower in the seat. “So. What’re we gonna do? Just sit here? No food. No water. I’m getting tired.”

  John looked over his shoulder and saw reflections of flashes in the darkening sky from small explosions. They were well back to the west, but from what he saw, he didn’t like the timing of this. Being stuck on the freeway for several more hours meant the horde of the infected could reach them before they got home. The backup had now extended well over a mile and out of view. He pictured a horde of zombies running east on the freeway, hundreds or even thousands of people stranded in metal boxes, nowhere to run, trying to navigate through a maze of parked cars, getting infected…

  …Not good at all.

  “We need to get out of here. Might have to abandon this car and move out on foot.”

  “You bring up a good point.” Boogie shifted into gear and turned the wheel to the right, but didn’t accelerate. “But I ain’t giving up my baby to no one!” He turned his head and looked out the back window, saw the traffic behind them. “Looks like we got a good backup forming behind us there.”

  The sounds of horns coming from both behind and in front started increasing in frequency and volume, indicating people were getting antsy. Factor in that cell phone service seemed to be non-existent at the moment, traffic being at a standstill and it getting late, people were starting to lose their nerve.

  “What are you doing?” John was looking to the right, trying to see down the line of traffic as Boogie moved to the shoulder.

  “Traffic ain’t gonna move for us, so I’m doing a lil improvising.” Boogie accelerated and drove into the right side median. There was a quiet crunch sound but he kept turning into the median. A few seconds later, the right side of the car was lifted up at a forty-five-degree angle. John grabbed onto Cindy’s headrest while she gripped the handle to keep from sliding to the left.

  “He’s done this before. Ain’t no biggie. You see, in Texas, you can get away with a lot. We’ve got motorcycles driving between lanes during traffic, speed limits of eighty-five and no helmet laws. Everything is bigger in Texas, including ways of getting out of traffic,” Cindy said.

  Boogie accelerated the car, working the steering wheel with his right hand while his left arm hung limply out the window. The right side wheels were riding on the median and the left side ones were on the pavement, causing the car to move past traffic at a forty-five-degree angle with ease.

  John kept stealing glances through the back window, trying to turn his head to get a better view. He saw several people get out of their vehicles with shocked looks on their faces when they saw Boogie driving on the shoulder, and behind them, an increased frequency of explosions in a now smoky and orange sky. He looked ahead and saw the exit coming up.

  “Boogie, that turn-off up there is what we want.” John pointed through the windshield.

  “Copy that.” They approached the exit and Boogie worked the car back towards the flat ground. He let off the gas and eased his way to the left, causing the car to bounce as its right wheels touched the pavement. “Looks like we got ourselves an opening.”

  They approached the exit and John noticed that the onramp to get on the freeway across from them was blocked by two state patrol vehicles. One of the officers started motioning them to pull over to the right. John needed Boogie to go left.

  Boogie noticed the troopers about the same time as John. “What do you think?”

  John thought about it for a few seconds. “Screw ‘em. They have more important shit coming their way. Turn left and ignore them.”

  “I like your style.” Boogie slowed as if he was making a right turn, then all of a sudden ripped the wheel to the left and accelerated. The 425-horsepower engine roared and the tires turned with fury, creating smoke and noise and throwing the rear end to the right. Boogie compensated by turning into the slide with his right hand and using his left hand – previously at rest – to flip off the troopers. Boogie started laughing. He sped under the overpass and followed the road east as it turned into North Bend Way. He was still laughing. “Man, I love this town. What’s it called again?”

  John was starting to like Boogie. “North Bend. Just like it sounds.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” Boogie asked.

  “I’m still trying to figure it out in my head. I need to make sure that Morgan and Frankie made it back.” He checked his cell phone. Still no reception. “Once we get back, and if they are there, we’ll see about getting us some food, maybe some good home cooking, and try to come up with something.”

  They were passing through downtown North Bend. John scanned the area, checking left and right. Everything seemed normal. Patrons were out walking to their favorite bar or restaurant, a typical weekend activity. Two teenage girls were walking on the sidewalk, looking at their cell phones with confusion on their faces, highlighted by the glow from their screens, perplexed that cell phone service was down.

  North Bend.

  A beautiful small town in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, it was populated by about six thousand folks. Those people were up for a rude awakening. The problem was, John didn’t know if he would be able to warn them of what was coming. Or had they been watching the news? Had anyone been watching the news? Was the news even covering it? Or had people become so obsessed and used to the internet and cell phones – cell phones that weren’t working – that they were oblivious to anything going on?

  “Okay, friend, we’ve passed the main part of town. Where to now?” Boogie asked.

  John looked through the windshield and noticed Torguson Park coming up on the left-hand side. “Keep going about one mile.” He gave directions that took them over the Snoqualmie River and to the south side of Mount Si, right at the base.

  He pointed to the right and Boogie turned down the dirt driveway and came to a stop at his gate. John got out, undid the three locks and opened the gate. He got back in and Boogie brought the car down the driveway.

  A bright flash lit up the sky. No sooner had Boogie yelled, “Fuck me runnin’!” and slammed on the brakes, than a man with a rifle was pointing it at them from the middle of the driveway.

  A calm voice stated, “Is a very nice car. But you’re a long way from Texas, partner. Now, I know that only two things come from Texas: steers and queers. And since you don’t look like me nor do you have horns, you’re going to have to explain yourself.”

  Morgan had made it back.

  Chapter 17

  The screams became louder and seemed to get closer with each passing second. The sound of gunfire was more pronounced, as were the screams that followed.

  Russell had closed the drapes to the front window and was peering out the corner, trying to see anything he could, with Sims right behind him.

  “What do you see?” Russell whispered.

  “Nothing, really. Be careful. Let me look.” Sims angled himself and bent down to get a better look. “Lights out everywhere. Can’t see shit.”

  “Can you guys hear that?” Kat was looking down to them from the top of the stairs.

  “Hear what? I can’t hear anything,” Russell said.

  Kat was staring into the distance, focusing on trying to hear. She closed her eyes and said, “It sounds like…kind of like…white noise. Or something. I don’t know. Come up and check, Dad, please?”

  Russell walked up the stairs and Sims started to follow, but Russell motioned with his hand for him to stay down. Sims nodded and walked back to man the front window.

 
; “It’s best to hear from your den.” Kat had walked in, with Russell following. Christina was already at the window, looking out, a shade paler than she normally was.

  Russell closed his eyes and leaned towards the window. He heard what his daughter was talking about. It sounded like a swarm of bees buzzing around their hive, all in unison, creating that low humming sound that becomes one. The sound brought back memories. The last time Russell had heard that sound was during the WTO Riots in Seattle when he was part of the Disturbance Unit. “Riot Cops.” His unit had been staged several blocks away and the protesters had progressed toward them, yelling, breaking doors and storefront windows, tipping cars over, and throwing rocks, and had produced a loud continuous yell that grew in volume the closer they got.

  Exactly like what Russell was hearing now.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

  Kat picked up on it and saw the look on his face. She glanced at Christina, who was still staring off into space, then back to her dad. “What? What is it?”

  “It’s not bees. It’s people. Lots of them. We need to move, now!”

  Russell left the den, with Kat following, and headed downstairs. He looked back and did a double-take, noticing that Christina wasn’t behind them.

  “Kat, go grab Christina. We have to move. Not too fast, but quick and quiet.” As Kat went back into the room, Russell walked to Sims. He checked behind him to make sure Kat wasn’t in sight and said, “Sims. That sound was people. A shitload of ‘em. It sounded like it was coming from the west. Remember the WTO?” Sims nodded. “Sounded like that.”

  “Shit,” Sims said.

  Before Russell could respond, several screams pierced the air from just outside the house. Russell and Sims both ran into the kitchen, where it sounded like the screams were coming from.

  “That sounded close. Real close.” Sims un-holstered his Glock 22 and started toward the back door that led out from the kitchen. Russell drew his Sig Sauer and was following Sims when he had a glimpse of movement outside the kitchen window.