by Z. A. Recht
Katie and Ron had shown up as well. They’d already been offered a small house back in the residential blocks. The owners had been among the victims of the pandemic, and the structure had stood empty ever since. The town didn’t mind donating it to their two new residents.
Rebecca and Mbutu had both elected to come along, and stood with the rest of the group on the sidewalk, checking over their gear one last time to make certain they were ready to continue their journey. Packs were filled with food and clothing and strapped to backs over fresh clothing donated by Keaton. Weapons were distributed. Finally, all seemed to be in readiness—all that was missing were their vehicles.
After nearly an hour of waiting, the sound of Arctura’s garage doors sliding open drew the attention of the assembled group. Jack appeared in the open doorway, a wide grin plastered on his face. He was covered in grime, oil and bits of debris, having been working nonstop on the vehicles for nearly two days alongside Jose.
“You guys are in for a treat,” Jack said. He looked over his shoulder into the garage. “All right, Jose, bring her out!”
The sound of a truck engine revving echoed through the garage, and Jack stepped aside as Jose drove the utility truck out of the garage and into the street—except it could barely be called a utility truck anymore. It was somewhere in between its former incarnation and a tank.
The back end of it had been gutted and then reinforced, creating a wider, more comfortable space in the back. Firing slits had been cut in the sides and those had been protected with jutting steel mesh. The tires had been replaced with larger, off-road numbers, and the front grille had been armored with iron bars. A triangular-shaped device had been attached to the front of the truck that looked like some kind of a plow. Sherman realized that was exactly what it was—a way for the truck to push its way through abandoned cars or a horde of infected. A pair of swiveling spotlights had been attached on top of the cab, and every visible part of the truck had been armor-reinforced. A rusting metal cylinder jutted out from underneath the truck, and Sherman saw it was a fuel tank from the cab of an 18-wheeler. This, too, had been armor-reinforced, and, if Sherman had to guess, most likely doubled the fuel capacity of the truck.
Most conspicuous of all, however, was the gunnery turret that rested on the roof. The purloined M-249 sat there, welded into place on a swiveling tripod. Jack and Jose had cut out a hatch that could be opened and closed from within the rear of the truck, allowing an occupant to pop up through the roof and put his hands on the firepower waiting there.
Finally, the pair of grease monkeys had redone the camouflage paint job that Sherman and the others had slapped on weeks earlier, only they had managed to make it look halfway professional—the entire utility truck was done up in woodland camouflage, all flat paint with no shine. If Sherman didn’t know better, he would have guessed it was an actual military vehicle.
“Holy shit,” Brewster murmured from just behind Sherman. “I call gunner.”
“Fuck you,” Krueger riposted. “I’m the best shot here; I call gunner.”
“Ah, but wait, we’re not through yet,” Jack said. “Wait here a second.”
Jack vanished back into the garage. A moment later, a second engine revved and out pulled the raiders’ truck. The vehicle had already been massive, a gas-guzzling behemoth, but Jack and Jose had managed to make it appear even larger.
The group’s old pickup—which was sitting abandoned a few miles from Abraham near the original ambush site—had seen its bed reinforced so riders wouldn’t be in danger of getting snagged by an infected as they passed by. That job had been held together with spit and duct tape. Jack and Jose had done one better.
Steel rebar had been threaded through the truck’s metal frame, and used as supports for the aluminum siding that now ran up all four sides of the bed. The siding, which Jack commented had been found in the alley behind the shop, had been welded together and secured firmly to the steel rebar. Firing slits similar to those on the utility truck had been cut out of the armor, though there was no matching turret. The tires had been replaced with the same large off-road numbers on the utility truck, and the paint job had been changed from flat black to the professional-looking woodland camouflage they’d managed on the first vehicle.
“I have to say I’m impressed,” Sherman said, grinning and folding his arms across his chest. “You two went above and beyond.”
“Ah, but there’s one final thing,” Jack said. He walked over to the large rusting fuel tank on the utility truck and kicked it. The kick rang solid, and the group could hear fuel sloshing inside. “Jose siphoned the gas out of a few of the impounded vehicles behind his shop and filled up both tanks with it. We’ve got about a 250-mile range with what we’ve got in the tanks, and . . .”
Jack let his sentence trail off as he walked around to the side of the utility truck and popped open one of the tool lockers there. Inside were a number of red plastic gas cans, all full.
“. . . we’ve got enough spare to get us the rest of the way to Omaha, provided we don’t have too many more obstacles along the way.”
“Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned since the pandemic, it’s that there’s always an obstacle,” Sherman said. “Still, hell of a job. I don’t know how to thank you both—you especially, Jose.”
“It was my pleasure,” said the mechanic, grinning. “You gave me back my daughter. You come back here anytime in the future, I’ll fix you up for free. I’ll never be able to truly pay you back for what you did for me.”
“We’ll consider this a bargain struck and filled,” Sherman said, nodding at the vehicles. “The slate’s clean.”
Jose chuckled. “If that’s the way you want to think of it, sure, but in my mind, I still owe you.”
Sherman turned to the gathered group.
“All right, gentlemen and ladies, it’s time we got on our way. Mount up!”
The group got busy, loading the supplies and tossing full packs into the vehicles. Sherman turned to Keaton.
“Thanks for taking us in, Sheriff. I have to say, we’ve had a good time here, except for the whole battle thing,” Sherman chuckled. “All the same, it’s been a pleasure, and I hope I’ll see you again down the road sometime.”
“Maybe you will, Sherman,” Keaton said. “We’ll see.”
The men shook hands and Sherman moved down the line to where Ron and Katie were standing. Rebecca was busy saying goodbye to Katie, who she had become rather close with over the past few months. They were teary-eyed and looked involved, so Sherman turned to Ron first.
“Glad you came along with us this far, Ron. We’ll miss you out on the road,” Sherman said.
“Same here, General. If it wasn’t for you, we’d be dead in Hyattsburg by now,” Ron said, shaking Sherman’s hand. “Like Jose said, we owe you. If you ever come back through here, look us up.”
“I will.”
When the good-byes had been concluded, the last remaining group members boarded their newly improved vehicles. Thomas took the driver’s seat of the utility truck, as he had in the past, and Sherman slid in beside him, slamming shut the passenger door. In the back of the truck, Krueger and Brewster were still arguing over who would take the gunner position. Mbutu, sitting in the driver’s seat of the pickup with Denton next to him, waved and flashed a thumbs-up to Sherman and Thomas.
Sherman waved a hand out his window and made a circular motion. “Let’s roll on out!”
More good-byes and well-wishes were shouted as the trucks pulled off the side street and onto the main road running through town. They turned east, and picked up speed, heading in the direction of the still-rising sun.
It wasn’t far to Omaha now.
I-80 West
March 13, 2007
1543 hrs_
ONCE TREV HAD GOTTEN BACK in the driver’s seat and pulled the group off the main roads, the journey actually began to go smoothly for a change. For a matter of days they hadn’t caught wind of Sawyer or any of his co
horts, sticking to side roads that ran parallel (mostly) to the Interstate that would take them directly to Omaha, Nebraska.
They’d covered hundreds of miles in less than a week, and the goal of Omaha was literally within sight. The terrain was flat and ahead in the distance, across a glistening river, was the city of Omaha.
Anna had briefed them all on what to expect, and the forecast hadn’t been pretty.
“Omaha is a relatively major city,” Anna had said. “Bearing that in mind, we’re probably looking at an overrun, infected dead zone. The bad news is that the Deucalion facility is on the far side of the city. The good news is that we can circle around pretty easily.”
“Good to hear,” Matt had said. “That keeps us from having to take out half the city on our way through.”
“And it keeps the infected from following us to the front door of the facility,” Anna agreed.
“What about the facility itself?” Trev asked. “What are we looking at there?”
“Well, one of two possibilities,” Anna admitted. “First, there’s a chance that Frank and his friends—that’s the General I told you about who I asked to meet me here—have already arrived and secured the facility. The other possibility is that they haven’t arrived yet and we’ll have to clear it out ourselves.”
“Do we know if it’s overrun or not?” Junko asked.
“No idea,” Anna said. “We lost all communication early on in the pandemic. The facility closed its doors and buttoned up.”
“So that’s good news,” Matt said. “Maybe they survived. Maybe we’ll arrive and the place will still be running.”
“There’s a chance that’s the case,” Anna said tentatively. “But we’re going to have to assume that it’s not. There are only five of us here and we aren’t the best armed group out there, so if it’s infected, we have quite a chore ahead of us.”
“What about Sawyer?” Trev asked. “If it’s true he knew where you all were headed, won’t he be right behind us, too?”
Mason stepped up to answer that one.
“I’d say there’s an excellent chance that we’re going to run across him sooner or later, especially now that we’re getting so close. He knows exactly where we’re headed, he’s determined to stop us, and he has more resources behind him than we can muster. We’re just going to have to hope he isn’t here yet.”
“Hope’s a pretty flimsy thing to hang our lives on,” Matt said, frowning.
“Just be glad we’ve got that much,” Mason replied. “All right, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. Like Anna said, we’ll circle around the city.”
“Then we all go on foot to the facility,” Matt said, nodding. “Got it.”
“No, no,” Mason said, shaking his head. “Once we’re on foot, you’re all coming with me. I’ve done this before. Listen close to anything I say. If I stop, you stop. If I go, you go. Pay close attention to me and don’t fall behind. Got that?”
“Yeah, sure,” Matt said, shrugging. “Got it.”
Mason leaned in closer to Matt, narrowing his eyes. “I said, ‘got that?’ ”
Matt frowned at Mason. “Yeah, I said. I got it.”
Mason sighed, then continued. “Once we reach the facility, we’ll have to clear it room by room. That means we’ll have to set up a safe zone from which we can operate. That’ll be the main entryway, most likely, since it’ll afford us a quick retreat if we need it. We’ll reinforce the main doors, get situated, and then get the facility back up and running. If Sherman and his people are already there, then happy fucking day—we’re in for a picnic. Anyway, that’s about it. Trev, can you get us around the city?”
Trev looked over his shoulder from the driver’s seat of the pickup and flashed a thumbs-up at Mason. “Not a problem. I’ve been reading this map while you’ve been talking. I see a route that should be clear.”
“Great. All right, gang, here we go,” Mason said, sitting down and holding on to the siderail of the pickup’s bed.
Trev turned his head once more to address the passengers in the bed as the truck picked up speed, turning onto a narrow two-lane side road. “Attention all passengers: thank you for riding Westscott Roadways. We are now beginning our final approach into Omaha, Nebraska. Please keep your hands, feet, and all loose articles secured within the vehicle until it comes to a full and complete stop. In the event of an infected attack, fire at will and hope to hell you don’t fall out. Once again, thank you, and have a pleasant trip.”
“Now there’s a morale-boosting speech,” Junko chuckled.
“Mama always said I should’ve been a pilot,” Trev said.
The truck puttered on, turning from side street to side street. They passed through suburbs, and more than once Trev had to gun the engine to outrun a sprinter that caught on their tail. Once the sprinter lost sight of the truck, it would keep heading in the last direction it had seen its prey go, allowing Trev to throw them off with relative ease.
What had once been life-filled suburbs were now silent and eerie. Vehicles sat abandoned on the curb or in driveways, and children’s toys lay out gathering mildew in untended yards. Here and there were signs of violence. A burned-out car sat at one intersection, having collided with a telephone pole. Spent brass littered the asphalt in another location, and smears of blood led away from the spot, hinting at a last stand by a surrounded survivor.
The charred and gutted remains of a suburban house still smoldered off to their right. The fire hadn’t spread to any of the nearby homes, but had burned the leaves from the yard’s only tree, leaving behind a skeletal, haunting sight. Junko wasn’t sure but she thought she saw the outline of a human body, blackened from the intense heat, leaned up against one of the posts.
There wasn’t much conversation as Trev artfully dodged the obstacles left in the roadway and brought them ever closer to the side of the city where the facility was supposed to be located. Every occupant of the truck was busy in their own way; mostly, they worried over the possibility of imminent death, but others, like Mason, were once again running on autopilot, training taking precedence over normal emotion.
“We’re close,” Trev warned after taking a right turn onto a street running north. “Two minutes, maybe.”
Mason shoved the MP-5 he’d taken from Julie’s killer toward Anna, loaded and ready to fire. The other he looped over his shoulder. He checked his magazines, making certain they were topped off, and secured his sidearm in its holster. By the time he was finished running down his mental checklist, Trev had arrived at the spot he’d picked to ditch the truck.
The vehicle slowed to a stop and idled on a street corner. Trev looked over his shoulder to address his passengers.
“This is about as close as we can get without getting into the more-developed areas of the city,” he said. “Anna, if your information’s right, we only have about a six block walk from here.”
“Six blocks,” Anna repeated, nodding.
“That’s actually a lot, when you think about the number of infected that could be out there,” Junko mused, staring off in the direction Trev had pointed. “We’ll have to be very careful.”
“And that’s why I meant what I said back there,” Mason said, standing in the bed of the truck and flicking the safety to his MP-5 off. “Stay on me and do what I do. No talking. Don’t do anything—anything—unless I O.K. it first. Are you all ready for this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Matt said, jumping over the side of the truck and coming up on his feet, rifle at the ready.
“Let’s get to it,” Trev said, climbing out of the cab. Junko followed suit. Neither shut their doors; instead, they left them barely hanging open. They made no more noise than was absolutely necessary.
Mason silently signaled for the group to file in behind him and led them down the street in the direction Trev and Anna had indicated. Here were mostly industrial complexes: large, spawling acres of factory floors, warehouses and smoke stacks. Lining one side of the road, how
ever, was a long line of rowhouses and storefronts. Mason focused in on those buildings: if there were infected about, those would be the buildings where they’d elect to hide and wait.
They made it past the first two blocks without incident, but when they reached the third, Mason inexplicably stopped in his tracks. Anna, used to him, stopped immediately as well. Trev, Juni and Matt were less accustomed to Mason’s modus operandi and bumped into Anna’s back when she halted in place. Trev was tempted to ask in a whisper what had Mason spooked, but he remembered the ex-NSA agent’s warning to make no noise unless absolutely necessary. He kept his mouth shut.
Mason stared off down the block, eyes focusing in on shattered glass that lay scattered across the sidewalk. The storefront the glass belonged to was wide open. The rest of the doors and windows seemed secure.
Mason turned his head to look at the group. He pointed down the street, as if to say, “Proceed,” and then turned on his heel and marched briskly at a half-crouch down an alleyway, leaving behind his comrades.
“Where’s he going?” Matt whispered in an urgent tone.
“Shh!” Anna reprimanded him with a sharp glare. “We keep going. He knows what he’s doing.”
As the main group continued to proceed tentatively down the street, Mason crept along the alleyway behind the rowhouses, eyeing each rear doorway as he passed it. He finally reached the one on the far end. Instead of passing it by, he tested the doorknob and found it to be unlocked. A small smile creased his features as he disappeared into the store.
On the street, Anna felt less and less sure of herself. Whatever had spooked Mason was now spooking her, though she had no idea what it could have been. She aimed left and right with the MP-5, checking every nook and cranny the group came across, but found nothing. As they approached the far end of the block, she finally noticed the shattered glass.
Anna grimaced and stepped off the sidewalk, intent on walking around the glass to keep from crunching it under her feet and possibly alerting any nearby infected. Unfortunately, Matt didn’t notice her maneuver and proceeded straight ahead. His booted foot came down on the glass and crunched loudly.
