Charges

by Stephen Knight

  He carried Daniel to the front of the truck and put the wipes and diaper on the hood. Gingerly, he removed the boy’s shorts.

  “Party,” Daniel said unhappily.

  “Does party mean potty?” Vincenzo asked.

  “Pawty,” Daniel said.

  Yep, he meant potty. Vincenzo removed the diaper and tried to fling the smelly contents into the grass at the shoulder of the road. Some of it was embedded into the fabric because Daniel had been sitting while shitting. Vincenzo tossed the disgusting cloth aside and concentrated on wiping down Daniel’s rear end. Daniel bent forward, placing his hands on the Blazer’s slightly dented bumper. He didn’t say anything while Vincenzo wiped him down and muttered curses. It was a mess, and he used more baby wipes than he would have liked. When the kid was clean enough, Vincenzo pulled on the fresh diaper and, with fingers that weren’t exactly nimble enough for the job, managed to button it up. He inspected Daniel’s shorts for any wet spots from leakage, found none, and slipped them back on. After that, he returned the boy to the backseat, strapped him in, and handed him his hanger.

  He tried to wipe out the diaper as well as he could, but it would need to be washed. He pulled the plastic bag out of the dead man’s backpack and opened it. Sure enough, the two other diapers in there were mighty ripe. Vincenzo pushed the new one inside, then sealed the bag and returned it to the backpack.

  After a liberal application of hand sanitizer, he climbed in behind the Blazer’s steering wheel. It was time to get going.

  It was midafternoon by the time they made it to US 40. Easing out onto the thoroughfare from Cunningham Road, he saw no vehicles or pedestrians, so he turned right, heading westward. The gas tank showed a quarter of a tank. Running out of gas would be a major problem, especially with two little kids in tow. He glanced into the rear view mirror and saw that both of them were sound asleep. After all the trauma they’d been through, he couldn’t blame them. He was feeling mighty fatigued himself.

  When US 40 drew close to Interstate 70, Vincenzo stopped the Blazer. A wide field separated the two thoroughfares, and while US 40 was devoid of any dead traffic, the same could not be said for the interstate. There were cars and trucks interspersed along the highway, many with their doors open. They’d been looted or used as shelter during the nights. He prepared for the switchover by putting the Blazer into four-wheel drive. He drove forward for a few feet, making sure the hubs were locked, then turned into the field. The ground was dry and relatively smooth, so the four-wheel drive was probably overkill, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “Where are we going?” Gabby asked.

  “We need gasoline, so I’m going to get some from the cars on the highway,” he told her. “I need you and Daniel to stay in the truck, and don’t touch anything. Okay?”

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” Gabby said. “And I’m hungry.”

  “Party, please,” Daniel added.

  “Okay, we’ll go for a quick pee, then I want you guys to wait for me in the truck. After I get enough gas, we’ll pull back onto the road and have something to eat. Okay?”

  “But I want to eat now,” Gabby whined.

  Vincenzo controlled the surge of irritation that coursed through him. Take it easy. She’s just a kid. And she just watched her father get killed a few hours ago. “I need you to wait just a little longer, sweetie,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Let’s go potty first, then we’ll do what we have to do, all right?”

  “All right,” she said, but she still wore a pouty expression.

  “Party, please,” Daniel repeated.

  “Hang in there, big guy.”

  Vincenzo stopped the truck about twenty feet from the overgrown brush that separated the interstate from the field. After grabbing a roll of toilet paper, he led the children to a nearby copse of trees. With no prompting, Daniel dropped his pants and urinated on a bush.

  Gabby walked over to a tree and looked back at Vincenzo with sad eyes. “Don’t watch me.”

  “I won’t, honey. Do what you have to do. I’ll stay with Daniel.” He handed over the toilet paper. “You can wipe yourself, right?”

  “Yes. I’m not a baby.” she said, taking the roll.

  Vincenzo smiled and turned back to Daniel. He helped pull up the boy’s diaper—it was still clean, thank God—then his shorts. Daniel took off at a run, hurtling through the field with a happy yip. A white butterfly took flight in front of him, and he chased it around the field, shrieking with joy.

  “Hey, keep it down!” Vincenzo whispered harshly. He was worried that someone might hear the boy’s cries. He couldn’t see much through the screen of brush that separated the field from the interstate, but he didn’t sense any movement on the other side. But he had the M1A slung over his shoulder, and the Beretta was in its holster at his waist. If anyone came to investigate the noise, he was pretty much ready for them.

  When he started running back toward US 40, Vincenzo chased him down and tried to grab him, but the boy evaded him. He had tons of energy, so it took a lot of effort to finally catch him. When he did, Daniel’s response was violent.

  “No!” Daniel turned and scratched at Vincenzo’s face with both hands. His expression was one of pure anger.

  Vincenzo snapped his head back to avoid being slashed by the boy’s nails. “Hey, knock it off!” He wrapped his arms around the boy, pinning the kid’s arms against his sides.

  Daniel tried to bite him then, and for a moment, the two of them wrestled. The boy wailed and struggled, but Vincenzo was able to overpower him. He carried the boy back to the Blazer, shoved him into the backseat, and buckled him in. Daniel whined and thrashed, but the seatbelt held him in place.

  “Christ, kid! Calm down!” Vincenzo tried to hand him the hanger, but Daniel just knocked it away. Next, Vincenzo offered him some water, but he wasn’t having any of that either.

  “What do you want?” Vincenzo asked.

  The kid just kept freaking out. Vincenzo turned and saw Gabby wandering through the trees as if exploring. He called her name, exasperated.

  “I’m done!” Gabby said proudly, holding up the roll of toilet paper.

  “Come back!” Vincenzo ordered.

  She trotted over and climbed into the truck. Vincenzo helped her with the seatbelt.

  “Are we leaving now?” she asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “I know, I know. No, we’re not leaving yet. I still need to get gas. What’s wrong with Daniel?”

  “I dunno. He’s oddistic.”

  “Yeah. I got that.” He reached around the center console, pulled out the Springfield .45, and placed it in the small of his back. “Listen, I’m going to go for a little bit. The two of you sit here and don’t touch anything. I’ll be back to start the truck and run the air conditioning after I get some fuel, okay?”

  “Okay,” Gabby said, a little surly.

  “Chock it!” Daniel demanded.

  “He wants chocolate milk,” Gabby said.

  Vincenzo sighed. “I don’t think I have any. Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

  After grabbing the gas can and siphon from the back, he picked his way to the highway, pushing through the overgrowth. There was no guard rail, so he just walked out onto the highway after checking in both directions. No one was about, but there was litter everywhere. Plenty of people had passed through.

  The first car he stopped at, a silver Cadillac CTS, had been thoroughly picked over. The leather seats were trashed, the GPS display was shattered, the glove box was empty, and someone had taken a shit in the center console. Vincenzo knelt and tapped the fuel tank. There was still some juice in it. He cracked open the fuel door and found the Caddy had a cap-less refueling system, so he just pushed the hose in and began pumping gas out of the tank. While the gas can filled, he kept a lookout. Farther down the highway, he saw a white Toyota and a blue Nissan pickup truck. They would be his next targets, since they were closer than the cars to the west. He didn’t want to get too far awa
y from the Blazer.

  He returned to the truck with the full gas can. Sweating and wheezing, he transferred the fuel into the Blazer’s tank then hopped inside the cab. It was already quite hot, so he fired up the engine and switched on the air conditioning.

  “I’m hungry,” Gabby whined.

  “Chock it, I want chock it!” Daniel demanded.

  “Keep calm, guys,” Vincenzo said. “We’ll get you straightened out. Let’s get it a bit cooler in here, and then I’ll have to leave to get more gas.”

  A few minutes later, he shut down the Blazer and set off again. There was still more gas to be had from the Caddy, so he filled the gas can from its tank again. He lugged the can back to the Blazer, poured it in, then sat inside for a couple of minutes to cool off. He found a package of Santa Cruz oatmeal cookies in the back—Thanks, Mr. Scott!—and doled out two each to the kids. He paused long enough to eat one then chased it down with some warm water. He gave Gabby another bottle of water and told her to share it with her brother, then he set off again.

  The Nissan was almost empty, and he pulled maybe a quart of fuel from that. The Toyota was virtually full, but he had to pry open the fuel door with his knife. When he returned to the Blazer. He found Gabby and Daniel were both crying hysterically.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Vincenzo asked, looking around frantically.

  “We miss Daddy!” cried Gabby, tears pouring down her face.

  “Daddy please,” Daniel said, through a hitching sob.

  “Aw, I’m sorry, guys. Don’t cry. We’ll be going soon, okay?” Vincenzo started the Blazer and gave the kids more cookies before getting back out and transferring the fuel.

  After a couple of minutes, he went back to the highway. He got another can of gas from the Toyota, and by that time, he saw people walking around the bend several hundred yards to the east. It would take a good eight to ten minutes for them to reach his position, so he wasn’t unduly concerned, but he still didn’t want to be seen. When the gas can was full, Vincenzo wrapped the siphon in the towel, capped the gas can, and hurried back to the Blazer. The kids were still whiny, so he filled up the tank, put the gas can and siphon in the back, and hopped behind the wheel.

  “Okay, let’s head out,” he said, turning the key. The Blazer rumbled to life, and cool air blasted out of the vents.

  He looked back and saw that Daniel and Gabby were each holding pages from the atlas. Daniel tore another one out of the book and waved it in the air.

  “Shit! Give me that!” Vincenzo snatched the atlas away from Daniel.

  “You said a bad word,” Gabby told him solemnly.

  “Give me the pages!” Vincenzo snapped, ripping them out of her hands.

  She whimpered, her eyes filling with tears. Daniel fought him for the pages, shrieking and crying. Vincenzo pulled them free, but not before Daniel had managed to tear one. Vincenzo threw the pages on the seat then put the Blazer in gear.

  “I need this thing!” he shouted. “Don’t touch it, ever again!”

  “We’re sorry,” Gabby wailed. “Please don’t be mad at me, Tony! Daniel did it! He always does that to books!”

  “Chock it!” Daniel screamed, kicking the back of Vincenzo’s seat. “I want chock it!”

  Vincenzo slapped the steering wheel as he rolled back onto US 40. With a curse, he stopped the truck and got out to unlock the wheel hubs. He climbed back inside the cab and reversed up the road a few yards to ensure they had disengaged. Once he was satisfied they were clear, he accelerated forward.

  “Please don’t be mad,” Gabby whimpered. “I just want my daddy.”

  “I want chock it,” Daniel added.

  “Relax, guys. Just... relax,” Vincenzo told them.

  “You, too,” Gabby suggested.

  Vincenzo looked at her in the rear view mirror and smiled. “Okay. Me, too.”

  29

  With such a small force, it had taken the better part of an hour to overcome the meager defenses surrounding Taylorville. Of particular vexation to Roth was the uniformed sheriff on horseback. Roth had tried to kill him, but the man was an exceptional marksman. The lawman killed two of Roth’s people before they had even realized he was hidden in the trees off to the right of the bridge. Roth realized that if there had been someone behind them, they would have driven right into a trap, sandwiched between two elements of fighters, with the lawman off in the woods, picking them off one by one.

  But that hadn’t happened, and Roth’s people were able to retreat a hundred yards and attack again from a distance. They killed most of the people holding the bridge quickly, but the sheriff managed to slip away. Roth searched for any sign the man had been hurt, but there was no blood trail.

  Taking the remainder of the town was relatively easy. Most of the residents were elderly, so Roth simply dispatched them after some quick interrogation. The new world was no place for the weak or infirm, so he did them a favor by killing them quickly and painlessly before they spent a harsh winter starving to death.

  One old man wearing a greasy John Deere baseball cap and a mechanic uniform had given him some information. Stenciled on a dirty white oval patch on his left breast was the name SYLVESTER.

  “You looking for the guy with the kids?” Sylvester asked.

  “Yes,” Roth said.

  “Saw him. He came through here before.”

  “What was he driving?”

  “Old Blazer. Vintage, early 1970s. Black. Good shape. Had two kids, a boy and a girl.” Sylvester cleared his throat. “I sold him five gallons of gas for a hundred dollars. He wanted more, but I told him it would be another hundred. He said he’d find more out on the highway, so he passed up a bird in the hand for two in the bush.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “California. Crazy bastard. Who the hell would want to go out there? I mean, it’s all fruits and—”

  Roth waved the man to silence. “Did he say how he was going to get there?”

  “Planned on taking Route 40, mostly. He had a big atlas, but I didn’t really get a look at it. But that’s what he said.” Sylvester looked around nervously. “Anyone want a Dr. Pepper? Got some in my station in a cooler, nice and cold.”

  Roth ignored the offer. “What else do you know about this man? Describe him to me.”

  “Kind of short. Maybe five-foot-eight. A little skinny. Dark hair, some whiskers. Looks like a wop. You know, kinda Mediterranean or something like that.”

  “Mediterranean?”

  “Well, yeah, like I said. A wop. You know, an Italian. Around here, it’s mostly Dutch and German folks, some Amish, people like that. None too many wops.”

  “I guess pizza isn’t a usual presence on your menu.”

  Sylvester looked puzzled. “Well, sure it is. I mean, I love pizza.”

  “Tell me more about the man. Do you know his name?”

  “Tony. That’s all I know.”

  “And the children?”

  “I don’t know their names.”

  Roth sighed. “Describe them, please.”

  “Light hair. White. Little girl was really whiny. Boy was older. He played with a hanger or something the entire time. I think he’s a retard.” Sylvester shrugged, making a little circle gesture near his temple. “They just looked like kids to me. I didn’t pay them no mind.”

  “You said you have a station. A gas station, I presume?”

  Sylvester turned and pointed at the gas station down the street. “Right there.” A weathered Texaco sign stood at the end of the parking lot. The station looked like a postcard from the 1960s.

  “You still have gasoline?”

  “Sure, a couple hundred gallons left. Tough to get to without power, but I have a manual siphon system set up. I can hook you up, if you want some. Just let me know.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.” Roth shot the old man between the eyes and watched him fall to the street at Clarissa’s feet. If she was surprised by the sudden violence, it didn’t sh
ow.

  “Let’s help ourselves to some fuel,” Roth said. “I want two of you to go back and contact Chester. Tell him to roll a few dozen troops our way. We’ll need to push ahead and start scouring Route 40 for our man, Tony, and his two young charges.”

  “You want me to go, boss?” Toombs asked.

  Roth shook his head. “Go to the gas station and see to the gas. My truck needs to be filled.” He nodded toward the pristine Ford pickup sitting behind him.

  “Sure thing. You want me to fill it for you?”

  “Please,” Roth said. “But don’t get any gas on the paint.”

  “No problem! You want a Dr. Pepper, too?”

  Roth tried hard not to roll his eyes. If the man in the Blazer thought he had problems with a retarded kid on his hands, he had nothing on Roth. Toombs was virtually a living cartoon character, but he was loyal, and Roth preferred loyalty to intelligence at the moment. Toombs would run right into machine gun fire if Roth asked him to, and the time might come when he might actually do just that.

  “No thank you, Toombs. But knock yourself out if you want one.”

  “Thanks!” Toombs seemed genuinely grateful. “So we’re going to follow this Tony dude and hunt him down?”

  “For as long as it interests me, yes. But he happens to be following a very rich path, as well.”

  “What about Pittsburgh? We still gonna try and take that?”

  Roth had been considering that. There was a heavy National Guard presence surrounding Pittsburgh. A former Guardsman who had joined Roth’s ranks had said that the governor of the state was a native of the city, and he had enlisted the Guard to protect it at all costs. Roth would have thought Philadelphia would have been a more prestigious city to preserve, but apparently, politicians did what suited them, not the people or state they represented. So blue-collar Pittsburgh was getting all the brotherly love.

  The Guardsman had also informed Roth that his two-thousand-man force wouldn’t last a day against the military arrayed there. The Guard had invested a lot of time and effort into devising defenses in depth, and they had armored vehicles. They were also working to restore more of the damaged equipment they had around the state, trying to make them operational again. One key component they were looking at was helicopters. While more advanced systems like Black Hawks and Apaches were not likely to be flying for months, older Hueys could be returned to active service as soon as their electrical harnesses were replaced. Roth had no doubt that when that happened the Guard would begin asserting itself throughout the state, which meant he and his troops had to leave.