by Zuko, Joseph
When a house in this area was put on the market, they were normally purchased within weeks. Bidding wars often broke out. If you were able to snag a chunk of real estate in this zip code, you counted yourself lucky.
Look at this, unique situation?
Structure fires. Vehicles left everywhere like losers from a demolition derby. Bodies, in different states of decay, littered the grounds or raced toward the fleeing Hummer.
Everywhere her gaze fell was met with tragedy. She understood what Mason and Brady were saying. Everyone’s expiration date was radically altered and there was nothing we could do about it.
Maybe it’s a waste of time to fret?
Maybe?
Maybe God has a plan?
Maybe?
She hated that word even more.
Before she could dive any deeper into her mounting depression, Alayna opened fire on a squad of infected.
Who has time for philosophical debates when you’re busy surviving?
Lisa put her foot into the gas and rocketed through the stragglers.
She glanced at her mirror and thought.
How are the others in the convoy faring?
Michael winced as Lindsey wrapped his wounds with gauze. He panicked, “Will these turn me into one of them?”
Lindsey circled his limb once more then tied off the bandage. “Any deeper and they would need stitches.”
Michael’s body shook. He barked, “That’s not what I asked!”
Lindsey secured the gauze with a length of tape. She studied the wounds on his other arm.
“Will I turn!?” Michael twitched. Rage festered. Anger bubbled to the surface.
Lindsey reached into her bag for another roll of gauze.
“Answer me, please.”
She raised the limb and pointed to the slices in his flesh. “I don’t see any infection spreading yet.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You’re more than welcome to seek a second opinion.” She lifted a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
Michael’s glassy eyes begged for mercy.
“The answer is, I don’t know.”
“How do you not-”
She cut him off, “This is going to hurt,” and poured the liquid onto his wounds.
Michael’s face turned bright red, veins bulged, and from the pit in his stomach grew a massive scream. Tears streaked his cheeks and his body trembled violently.
She wrapped gauze around the cuts, starting at the top of the wound, and methodically worked her way to his wrist. “You ask for absolutes. I have none.”
Agony blocked his ability to speak.
Lindsey continued, “This unknown disease can bring a corpse back to life. That’s science fiction. As of yesterday, the greatest minds on the planet believed it was empirically impossible, yet here we are. If I had a proper facility, full staff of specialists, and years to study this virus, I might have an answer. So, when I say, I don’t know, that’s the honest to God truth. The good news is, if you are infected we will find out soon.” With that, she fastened a length of tape around the bandage.
She then packed away the medical supplies and zipped her bag shut. Her hands moved with purpose and searched another pouch on her pack. She extracted a box of ammo, popped the magazine from her rifle and proceeded to feed rounds into the metal case.
Michael regained control of his body, released his clenched fists and discovered everything still worked. He coughed, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I apologize for my…” He let another wave of pain pass through him. “…grumpiness.”
“Apology accepted.” Between each loaded bullet she glanced outside.
He rested both arms on his thighs and steadied his breathing. “Talk about something to get my mind off the pain.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me about yourself. That’s a subject most people can handle.”
Lindsey examined Michael’s profile. Strong jaw, thick hair, a perfect smile. She inspected his physique: trim like a swimmer and close to six feet tall. He was youthful in spirit and normally she didn’t go for that. Lindsey preferred her men to have a few more miles on them, but she made a promise to herself and given her limited choices in this convoy this was the best she could hope to find.
He will do.
She changed her posture and instead of her regular dry tone she opted for a slightly flirtier option. “What do you want to know?”
“How do you do it?”
“What?”
“Balance science and religion? Doesn’t one conflict with the other?”
Lindsey grinned and loaded the last round into the mag.
Michael was confused by her expression. “What?”
“It took you a full year to ask me that. Generally, when someone discovers my occupation, it’s their first question.” She slid the mag into her rifle.
“And the answer?”
She closed the box of shells, set them in the pouch on her bag and zipped them into place. “Science can answer many of life’s questions and having knowledge can be powerful. It gave us this bus, this rifle and the tools needed to heal your wounds.” Lindsey worked the band from her messy ponytail and let her wet hair fall to her shoulders. “But it doesn’t have the power to answer everything.”
“You ever find yourself conflicted?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Lindsey captured the loose strands of hair around her face and pulled them all back into a tight new ponytail.
“I suppose you’re correct.” Michael studied his hands. Intently watching for evidence of the infection.
Lindsey dug through her bag and produced a piece of cloth. She slid her foggy glasses from her nose and dried the lenses. “Medicine can keep me alive, but what’s the point of living if you don’t believe in something larger than yourself.” She was rusty, but knew she had to execute this next move to send him the signal. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she said, “Don’t you agree?”
Michael turned from his bandages and caught the full view of her beautiful green eyes. They were a stunning dark jade and for the moment, his pain fell away. Her hand remained on his shoulder. He couldn’t believe it. This was the moment he had been hoping for all day. He wrangled his emotions and muttered, “I do. It’s why I became a pastor.” He shifted in his seat and turned toward her. “Would it be okay if I lead us in prayer?”
“Yes.”
He extended his hands.
She lay her glasses in her lap and placed her palms against his. As his fingers closed in around hers, she squeezed him right back. He closed his eyes and inhaled a long breath.
“Dear Father in heaven, we ask that you watch over us in our time of need. To protect us on our pilgrimage north. To show us guidance. Please bless your faithful followers and give us the strength to shield these precious children from the evils that surround us. Lord, we ask you to please allow love to fill our hearts in these dark times. May we still find joy and comfort in the embrace of our fellow man. Lord we ask these of you, amen.”
“Amen.”
Michael opened his eyes, released her hands, and pivoted himself forward in his seat. Lindsey kept a tight grip and interlaced her fingers with Michael’s. Their joined hands came to a rest on the seat between them. It was a move straight out of middle school and he loved it.
Scott wept uncontrollably. He sat in the row across from Owen’s lifeless body. He needed to find the boy’s parents and tell them what happened, he had to make sure Brother Paul was in one of the vehicles and try to get a headcount to see how many people were lost. This was his main job and Paul would be disappointed if he wasn’t staying on task. But every time he reached for the radio, Scott broke down and sobbed.
He glared out the window. The destroyed landscape whizzed by in a blur. The convoy made a left and turned onto the main road out of Vancouver. This street was lined with commercial buildings. Places Scott frequented almost every day.
&n
bsp; They zipped by his favorite fast food joint, Killer Burger. They had this crazy peanut butter burger that was so delicious. Sometimes he would eat one there, order a second to go, take it home and munch on it a few hours later. He hated to admit it, but there were times he wished he had gotten a third burger for a late-night snack.
Thinking about it made his mouth water. Scott couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. On the other side of the street was a movie theater. Seeing the large gray building helped calm him even more. Scott chuckled when he recalled how many times he’d seen the movie, Titanic, in that theater.
Thirteen.
He was a sophomore in high school when it came out and like most boys his age, he had fallen in love with Kate Winslet.
Thirteen times he saw the epic, historical, drama and each time he cried. Thinking about how emotional he was as a young man helped him laugh at himself. The last handful of times he went to see the flick he lied to him Mom about where he was going. He was so embarrassed, even to this day, he never admitted to anyone how many times he’d seen the film.
The fond memory helped his panic attack subside. He brushed away the tears and inhaled a long deep breath. He dug through his pack and found the radio.
Scott cleared his throat, thumbed the receiver, and said, “Brother Paul, are you there, over?”
Paul raised the radio and answered, “Yes, I’m here. I’m located in the semi at the back of the convoy with Cooper, over.”
“Is anyone else with you, over?”
“No, over”
“Okay, I’m going to do a headcount. See where we stand and uhm…” The radio chirped, signaling the call ended.
“I didn’t catch that last part, say again, over.”
“…if you’re listening please help me find Anna and Chris, it’s about their son, Owen, over.”
Brother Paul sank into his seat. “Oh, god, no!”
His pride took a severe hit. Until that moment he was sure not a single child had been injured during their escape. Since the moment this infection began, everyone’s main goal was to keep the children safe. Even though there was nothing more he could have done personally to ensure Owen’s survival, he was consumed with guilt.
I have failed.
Anna’s voice cracked when she keyed the radio, already hysterical, she screamed for her son.
A hundred plus hearts broke at the same time. Scott sobbed as he explained what happened to their boy. By the end, Scott could barely choke out the words, I’m sorry.
Cooper and Paul brushed away tears and cried along with the rest of the congregation. A dark cloud followed the convoy as they reached the edge of the city.
Paul wished he had brought a bottle of booze.
If there ever was a time to drink, it’s now.
He said a short prayer and begged God to provide him with a case of something eighty proof.
Too much pain and anguish. So many conflicting emotions. They were surrounded by death, loss, and suffering. He wanted to sit in a quiet, dark room and suck down alcohol until he was numb. Shutting himself off from the world and drowning his misery with an expensive bottle of whiskey.
The road narrowed as the surrounding homes and businesses gave way to farmland and forests. There were less abandoned vehicles and fewer pockets of infected. The convoy’s pace quickened as they crossed the city limits.
They zoomed past a ransacked building called Hockinson Market.
“It looks like someone looted all of the good stuff,” Cooper nodded at the store.
“Yes, they did.” Paul checked the buildings and parking lots of this micro town. The closer they got to Battle Ground the harder he scanned the area for any sign of Jim Blackmore and his people.
Are you out there, Jim?
Paul thought to himself.
If I do find him and his family, will I make good on my promise?
Will I kill him where he stands?
Or do I let him explain his actions?
The staples at the back of Paul’s skull throbbed. His headache, all consuming. Sustained concentration was extremely difficult. He didn’t have an answer for the Jim Blackmore situation, but he was confident when the time came, he would know what to do.
He rubbed his forehead.
I should have taken the Doctor’s meds. He cursed his stubbornness.
Cooper reset his baseball cap. “A few more miles and we will be there.”
His voice wavered at the end of the sentence. He was about to break. They all were.
I should say something.
My people need encouragement to keep pushing forward.
Paul reached for the radio and thumbed the receiver. His voice deep. The tone solemn. His cadence precise and ensnaring. “My friends, I wanted to take a moment before we arrive at our new home and say a few words. This has been no easy task. Each of us has lost loved ones. We are all suffering and in dire pain. Never in recorded human history has mankind faced a more difficult test, but we will rise to this challenge. We will face any evil that comes our way. We are strong. We are true believers and have earned a place in the kingdom of God. It will not be easy. Think of any exceptional story in the bible. The heroes were always faced with odds they could never possibly overcome, and yet they managed to persevere. That is exactly what we will do.”
He set the receiver back on its cradle. Paul was never one to toot his own horn, but even his spirits were lifted by the speech.
The sun broke through the clouds. Golden rays struck Paul’s face. The smell of country fresh spring air filled the cab. It was going to be a long time before Paul could say he was back to his old self, but this was a good start.
A new beginning.
The landscape was beautiful. Acres of farmland stretched alongside the highway. A forest, thick with evergreens sat beyond the tilled land. Paul spotted their destination from a mile away. The building was massive.
“It’s pretty incredible out here.” Cooper eagerly sat forward.
“Yes, it is.” Paul took the time to check his weapon. Both his rifle and sidearm were fully loaded.
Having a military vehicle, with a fifty-caliber machine gun attached, leading their convoy might send the wrong signal to whoever was occupying the place or perhaps it would send a clear message.
Don’t mess with us.
As they approached, Paul could see vehicles in the parking lot. He guessed about forty. A set of armed guards were stationed at the gate. It opened immediately as the Hummer pulled into the driveway.
“Well, they seem friendly.” Cooper slowed the semi and waited his turn to enter the lot.
Paul grunted. He watched every move of the people scampering around the church. Twenty men and women armed with hunting rifles, pistols and edged weapons raced to greet their new guests. In the far corner of the lot was a stack of dead bodies. Beyond that, there were no other signs of the infected in the area.
Paul lifted the radio and thumbed the receiver, “Stay in your vehicles. Let me talk with whoever’s in charge, over.”
Cooper pulled the rig into a space beside the chain-link fence and killed the engine.
“Let’s say hello.” Cooper, adjusted his hat and sunglasses, and reached for his rifle on the dash.
Paul opened his door and jumped to the asphalt. Cooper jogged around the front of the rig and joined him.
The group of strangers walked toward the two of them. A man moved through the crowd and worked his way to the front. He appeared tired and on edge. His eyes dark. He held an axe and kept it at his side. The edge was coated with blood. Red, human blood.
“Howdy,” said the man.
“Hello, I am Brother Paul. Thank you for allowing us entrance.”
“No problem, no problem. You the leader of this outfit?” the man stepped closer to Paul.
“Yes, I am.”
He nodded to the Hummer. “That’s some awesome firepower you got there.”
“It keeps us safe.”
He stepped close enough, P
aul could tell the man needed a shower. “I’m the leader of this here group, for now anyways. My name’s Cane. Pleasure to meet ya.” Cane extended his hand. His fingers were crusted with dried blood.
Paul didn’t hesitate and shook his dirty hand.
Cane squeezed Paul’s fist with everything he had. “Whacha got in the rig?” Cane nodded at the semi’s trailer. “Food?”
Chapter 23
The sound of tearing flesh filled the tiny dark bedroom. Desiree howled. She yanked away from her father’s mouth. A jagged chunk ripped from her forearm. Red sprayed from the wound and showered the bed sheets. Blood dripped from its snapping chin. The old man’s knotted hands reached for Desiree. It leaned forward, crossed the edge of the bed, lost its balance, and crashed to the floor.
Desiree panicked, dropped the flashlight, kicked it. The beam spun and caused a strobe effect. She slammed against the dresser. Her fingers wrapped around the wound. Hands slick with crimson.
Troy grabbed Desiree and corralled her toward the door. “Get her to the backyard!”
Sara helped steady Desiree as she stumbled down the hall.
Troy aimed his shotgun at the creature. Its rail thin legs dragged across the floor. Arthritic hands clawing the carpet for traction. Its raspy vocal cords hissed as it inched along.
Troy whispered, “Sorry, sir.” The blast erased its waxy features. The skeleton of a man flopped to the floor. Black ooze drained from the concave hole in its cranium.
Troy shut the bedroom door and raced down the hallway, through the kitchen and exited the sliding glass door that lead to the backyard.
Desiree sat on a bench. A kitchen towel wrapped around her forearm. Sara stood ten feet from the woman, her rifle at the ready.
Sara asked under her breath, “What should we do?”
“Wait.”
Desiree heaved in short breaths. “That bastard son-of-a-bitch, he found another way to fuck up my life.” She peeled away the towel and glanced at the bite. “Shit, motherfucker! How long?”
“Minutes.”
Desiree begged. “Can you help me with one last light?”
