Wheels' End: Book Four in the Wheels and Zombies series

by M. Van

“Well, I don’t have any experience in dealing with kids Ash’s age,” Angie said.

  “You were that age once,” I said. Angie shook her head.

  “When I first met her at that hospital, I thought I’d be able to relate to her, you know, growing up with cancer,” Angie said. She regarded me, and I nodded to confirm that I did know. The three of us had all gone down that road.

  “But when I learned what had happened with her sister, that she’d killed herself to spare Ash a life as a guinea pig,” Angie said and blew out a breath, “I can’t imagine how guilty I would have felt if it had been my sister.”

  Angie stared off into space, and I pondered for a moment whether I should derail from the topic, but she had handed me an opening and I felt curious.

  “Are you close to your sister?” I asked.

  Angie’s head twitched as if I had just brought her back into the real world from some faraway place. A combination of a smile and a grimace grew on her face, as she seemed to think about her reply.

  “She’s the overachiever type, and don’t get me wrong: I love her,” she said. “But she reached for the things that were expected of a woman in our family—college, career, then the golf-playing husband and a bunch of kids. For a long time I felt like I should at least emulate that.” She took a sip from her glass and shrugged. “I couldn’t do it.”

  I sank deeper into my chair. Maybe I should have changed the topic, because this was coming closer to home than I would have expected.

  “I have a sister and a brother like that,” I said. “They run a big part of my father’s company, selling the latest in computer technology. Well, sold, I think.”

  Angie nodded; she probably already knew that, having been with the FBI and all. She probably knew everything there was to know about my family and me.

  “They’re okay, right, your family?” I promptly asked. From what I’d been told, my family was okay, living back home in the Netherlands. The country had faced its share of the zombie plague, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been in the States. I had even been able to talk to my mom and dad, and they had ensured me everything was fine with them. Angie never spoke of her family, and it hadn’t occurred to me to ask.

  “My sister and her family are fine. My mom too,” she said in a reassuring voice. “They live out west, far away from the nearest outbreak.”

  “Thank God,” I said under my breath, relieved to hear that. We sat in silence for a while as we sipped our drinks. I had never been much of the sharing type, and fortunately Angie seemed to be the same.

  Still, as if unsatisfied with the end of our earlier conversation, she said, “Maybe she’s got an eye on a boy. Or a girl.”

  “Who, Ash?” I asked, taken a bit off guard. She wiggled her eyebrows at that. I chuckled as I replied, “God, I hope it’s something like that. But I’m going to find out next time.”

  With that I shot a weary glance at my bunk. During the winter, the days in Alaska were short, but my body felt tired, as if the days went on forever. I yawned. Angie, however, poured another glass for the both of us.

  | 6

  Ash

  Unable to find the pair of scissors I was searching for, I slammed the drawer shut. I must have gone over this entire kitchen and not one pair of scissors to be found. Cursing aloud, I picked up the bag of cookies with the packaging material from hell and hurled them at the sink. I rolled backward and knocked over a chair. As it clattered to the ground, I gripped the push rings and squeezed them hard in the hope of composing myself. I’d been agitated most of the morning and knew exactly why.

  Usually being able to talk to Mags brightened my mood and it felt good to see her. She looked good, with her dark blond hair short. She had cut it even shorter again after the commander of the base had asked her to participate in training exercises. I preferred the familiarity of the shorter hair, because that was the way I had come to meet her. Besides the hair, Mags’s complexion appeared a lot healthier than the last time we had seen each other in person, but then the loss of a couple of digits to her right hand might have had something to do with that. I hated how the conversation with Mags and Angie had gone. It had felt forced, and for all I knew, that might have been the last time I would talk to them. These days that could be a very real possibility, and although I thought I had learned enough to know that, I had lied to her. I had lied to both of them, and what was worse, Mags knew something was off. She just knew me too well.

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath and closed my eyes to calm my nerves. As I felt ready to pick up the fallen chair without the urge to break it in half, I opened my eyes. A pair of big, brown, fearful-looking eyes greeted me.

  “Ash,” Rowdy said in a tiny voice, “are you mad at me?” At the sight of the dazed-looking kid, I squeezed my eyes shut and internally cursed myself for a moment before opening them. With a reassuring smile, I straightened the chair and rolled closer to Rowdy.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I said as I placed my hands on his tiny shoulders. “Of course I’m not mad at you.” Rowdy just stared at me with those big brown eyes, making me feel like an idiot. “I was just being a bit clumsy. And stupid. This has nothing to do with you, okay?”

  His head gave a nod, but I could tell he was still upset. I wrapped my arms around him, pulled him onto my lap and into a hug. As I felt his small hand pat my back, I kissed the top of his head.

  “You okay now, buddy?” I asked as I released him. He nodded and gave me shy smile. “Why don’t you get back to your puzzle, and I’ll find a way to open those cookies?” His face lit up. While Rowdy made his way to the living room, I heard a knock on the front door, and I groaned.

  Mrs. Marsden had gone shopping with a couple of friends, and Mr. Marsden had locked himself in the garage where he worked on his hobby project. He had bought an old Camaro and had been fixing it for a couple of weeks now. When time allowed, which was usually after Mrs. Marsden had gone out, he’d work on his project. This left me in charge of Rowdy and the front door.

  “Just a minute,” I yelled as I rolled my chair from the kitchen into the hallway. As I steered past the hallway entry to the living room, I called out to Rowdy, “I’m gonna need a couple more minutes on those cookies, kid.”

  “’Kay,” was the reply I got, and I opened the front door.

  I was surprised to find a young soldier looking down at me. He stared at me, unblinking. as if he’d forgotten how to speak. Raising my eyebrows, I asked, “Can I help you?” He blinked, gave his head the tiniest of shakes before pointing a nervous thumb behind him.

  “I … uh …” he said and hesitated. Then he gestured at the black sedan with Miller and Baker in the front seats. As ordered by Mars, they had sat in the same spot and watched the house after he had left this morning to head back to work. “I’m Bennett, Luke Bennett, uh, Private.”

  I glared at him, waiting for some more information, which seemed to unnerve the young private even more. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to introduce myself.” Another pause and this time he wiped a nervous hand across his forehead. “Agent Marsden has added me and my colleague to your detail.” He pointed at another young man sitting behind the wheel of a green truck parked a few cars down from the black sedan.

  I cocked my head sideways and took in the young man who shifted his feet, seemingly uncomfortable on the porch. He had short brown hair and blue eyes. A small scar cut his left eyebrow in two, which gave a bit more credibility to his baby-faced features.

  “So they have twelve-year-olds working for the army these days?” I asked. For a second he looked shocked and shot a nervous glance over his shoulder at the black sedan. As his gaze returned, his eyes narrowed, studying me.

  “If I’m twelve,” he said, “does that mean I’m babysitting a nine-year-old. Besides, I’m not army.” He held my gaze as he waited for a reaction. I had trouble keeping back the grin that desperately wanted to form on my face and was saved by Mr. Marsden’s voice.

  “Ash, have you seen th
at box that came the other day?” Mr. Marsden yelled. “They’re parts I need for the car.”

  I quickly turned my chair and, with my back facing the soldier, released the grin.

  “Just a sec,” I said to Luke and rolled in the direction of the kitchen.

  “It should be on the shelf where you left it,” I called out at Mr. Marsden. I stopped at the door that led from the hallway into the kitchen, just in time to see Mr. Marsden find his box with a big smile on his face.

  “Can’t wait to get these in,” he said. I didn’t bother to remember what he had said was inside the box. My knowledge of vehicles ended pretty much before it started. “You guys okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” I replied, “We’re on the brink of finishing Rowdy’s latest puzzle.”

  He walked to the backdoor and paused, turning back to me. A smile that reached his eyes sat on his face as he said, “I really appreciate you spending time with Rowdy, so that I can do a little … you know.” He pointed with his thumb at the garage behind him.

  “I could say the same to you for letting me stay here Mr. Marsden,” I replied and returned the smile.

  “It’s our pleasure,” he said as he opened the door. “Now if only you’d stopped calling me Mr. Marsden and would just call me Joseph, things would be perfect.”

  “Perfect is just an illusion,” I said before he closed the door behind him, muttering, “Yeah, yeah.”

  At the front door, Luke cleared his throat just as Rowdy called out to inquire after his cookies. I grinned as I watched the soldier inspect the doorframe as if it were the most interesting piece of craft he had ever seen.

  “Why don’t you come in and close the door?” I said as I made my way to the sink where I had last seen the bag of cookies.

  “Hello,” Luke called out, and I heard his footsteps approach.

  “Second door on the left,” I yelled. I pulled myself up on the counter, retrieved the bag from the sink, and plopped back in my chair just as Luke reached the door opening. I tossed him the bag, and he caught it with one hand. “See if you can open those.”

  I rolled to the cupboard to fetch a plate and cringed as I heard the packaging tear so easily in Luke’s hands. Internally cursing the packaging companies, I placed the plate on my lap and rolled to where Luke was standing.

  “I think they’ve had a rough time,” he said while he gazed into the bag. I shrugged as I took the bag from him and poured some of the cookies-turned-crumbs onto the plate.

  “It won’t affect the taste,” I said and made my way to the living room.

  Rowdy was still playing with his puzzle, but his eyes widened as he saw me coming with the plate. He all but attacked the crumbled cookies and seemed to have no problem with the fact that they weren’t the round variety anymore. He gave me an appreciative smile.

  “Thank you,” he said with a full mouth. I rubbed a hand over his frizzy hair before returning my attention to Luke who was standing at ease behind the couch with his hands on his back. He was grinning, but quickly stopped as he met my gaze.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked. He cleared his throat as he returned to his uncomfortable mode.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Reed,” he said. Before he could continue, I cut him off.

  “Call me Ash,” I said. He stepped closer and held out his hand.

  “Luke.”

  I shook his hand. As he released his grip, he nodded in the direction of the door. “Those agents out there, they, uh …” he started to say and hesitated, “they said you’d be less than, uh, pleasant.”

  “I’m sure they phrased it differently,” I said, “but they’re not wrong.” The words had left my mouth before I could think them through. Why was I bothering Luke with my shitty mood?

  He cocked his head and pursed his lips as if he had to think about it before he said, “I’m thinking you’re both wrong; I think I’ll go with the kid’s judgment.”

  He walked further into the room and kneeled next to Rowdy, who was leaning over the coffee table, holding part of a cookie in one hand and reaching for a puzzle piece with the other.

  “What do you think, sport?” Luke said. Rowdy looked up to face him questioningly with his big eyes. “Do you like Ash over there?” Rowdy grinned widely and shot me a look before his eyes veered down, seemingly embarrassed.

  “Ash and me are buddies,” he said and then lifted his gaze to me as if to check that he wasn’t wrong about that.

  “That’s right, bud,” I said and raised my hand. Rowdy beamed and raised his own hand to complete the high five.

  “Thought so,” Luke said, patting Rowdy on the shoulder, “and I trust your judgment.”

  With that, Luke stood and started for the hallway. “Hey,” I said as I rolled after him. I wasn’t sure if was ready for him to leave. Luke had to be several years older than me, but except for Rowdy, he’d been the youngest person that I’d met in quite a while, and he seemed nice. He turned at the front door and raised an eyebrow. Of course, I had no idea what to ask him and lingered by moving my chair into the hallway and turning purposefully.

  “I … uh …” I started to say and spotted the black sedan through the narrow window that lined the length of the door. “Do you have any idea what to look for out there?” Warren, obviously, but I couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

  “Well,” he said as he opened the door and held onto it, “not specifically, although we have pictures of what Dr. Warren looks like, but it’s more like things that are out of place.”

  That had me kind of curious, so I asked, “Like what?” Luke’s gaze went over the hallway and then ventured outside.

  “Like, I don’t know, a car hanging around that doesn’t belong in the neighborhood or someone leaving something behind at your doorstep.”

  Luke’s words had me thinking. If Warren had gone rogue, that didn’t have to mean that he was working alone. He always seemed to have someone to do his dirty work.

  At that moment a strange-sounding car drove up to the house. Luke stepped outside onto the porch to give me a better view as the engine sputtered and groaned. Mrs. Marsden exited the passenger side of an old Dodge and waved at me as she waited for Mrs. Johansson to climb out from behind the wheel and Mrs. Freedman from the backseat. The three friends had left early that morning to head to the arts and crafts shop downtown. Apparently, the shop had a great sale on oil paints, and they had wanted to beat the crowd, although I couldn’t imagine a crowd at an arts and crafts shop. Considering the heavy-loaded shopping bags they carried, it seemed they had gathered enough paint to knock out a canvas or two at their next arts club meeting.

  “Sweetie,” she called out to me, and as Luke gazed down at me with a goofy grin, I felt my cheeks go red. “Mrs. Johansson’s car is making funny noises. Could you call Joseph for me?”

  “He’s in the garage,” I replied.

  “Aw, that’s perfect,” she said. “Don’t bother. We’ll find him.” The three women waddled across the pebbled drive along the side of the house. As they disappeared from view, I looked up to see Luke’s gaze and shook my head. The expression on his face told me he wouldn’t let me off easy.

  “See?” he said drawing out the word. “She thinks you’re a sweetie.”

  “Watch it, soldier,” I said, narrowing my gaze at him, “or I’ll have to report you.”

  “I’m actually an airman,” he said, “not a sol—”

  As a loud scream pierced the afternoon sky, Luke’s words seemed to get stuck in his throat. An endless wailing sent shivers down my spine, and I swallowed hard.

  “What was that?” I asked. It seemed the words had left my mouth before the sound had registered, because it wasn’t as if I hadn’t heard it before. Luke placed a hand on the handgun holstered at his side and waved at the men already exiting their vehicles. Miller and Baker were quick to step onto the drive with their weapons raised. Luke’s colleague, whose name I didn’t know, followed. As they had disappeared from view, I rolled backward into the house, sho
oting a glance at the living room where I found Rowdy standing frozen. His teary eyes sat fixed on me. He flinched at the sound of gunfire, and the tears started to stream down his face.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” I said, trying to sound normal. “Just cover your ears.” I showed him by covering my own ears. “And stay where you are. I’ll be right there.”

  As I rolled into the door opening, sounds that I had hoped never to hear again reached my ears, but that didn’t make the deep-throated growls less real.

  | 7

  Mags

  We hadn’t gone off the deep end the night before. In fact, Angie and I had barely made a dent in the bottle of whiskey, but even so, after lunch my eyelids felt heavy and I could imagine myself crawling back into bed. Instead, we plowed our way through the snow to Dr. Theodore Chen’s lab for our scheduled blood donation.

  Originally, his research lab had been located inside the Alaska Cancer Treatment Center in Anchorage just outside the base, but for security reasons, it had been moved to a temporary facility on the base. We crossed the parking lot, passing a couple of buildings, and ventured upon a low, rectangle structure without windows. Guards stood posted at the metal door that would lead us inside.

  The two men nodded in recognition, but still demanded to see our identification cards. It had been the same drill for us every two days, and though the guards rotated in shift, we often came across the same faces.

  “Hey, Jackson,” I said to one of the guards, “how’s the knee?” I had noticed one of the guards had gone AWOL for a while, and after inquiring about him, his colleague divulged that his moron buddy had twisted his knee after he’d tried to ski over a tree trunk.

  “A bit stiff,” Jackson replied as he reached to open the door for us, “but healed.”

  “C’mon, already,” Angie muttered under her breath as she entered the building. I grinned, relieved to know I wasn’t the only one having a difficult day.