Five Roads To Texas: A Phalanx Press Collaboration

by Lundy, W. J.

  “Aw, shit!” Jesse quickly dropped back into the vehicle and grabbed the back of the passenger seat.

  Before the vehicle could be caught in a brutal roll over, the sound of heavy machine gun fire erupted from outside the Humvee. Jesse was flung forward into the back of the passenger seat as Ram brought the vehicle to a sudden, dead stop.

  “What the hell, Ram?” Jesse grabbed at her bruised cheek.

  “Stay down!” he shouted, dropping behind the steering wheel.

  Jesse looked puzzled until she heard the familiar sounds of helicopter gunships firing overhead. The vehicle rocked from the nearby machine gun strikes. After a long, mad minute, the gunfire was replaced by the louder sound of helicopters descending. As if on cue, both Ram and Jesse slowly rose to glance out the front windshield.

  “Holee crap,” Ram whispered, more to himself than Jesse. Both of them watched as an Army Blackhawk and a big Chinook helicopter set down near the entrance of the bridge. A dozen heavily armed soldiers exited from the rear of the Chinook and quickly formed a perimeter around both aircraft.

  Jesse climbed over the passenger seat. “You okay, Ram?”

  The older officer just nodded as he stared out over the mass of dead bodies that were spread around the Humvee.

  “Looks like we might be saved,” Jesse said.

  “Hopefully,” Ram said, watching more soldiers hurry out of the helicopters.

  There was sporadic gunfire as the soldiers shot any of the infected that still moved. Once they were sure it was clear, one of the troops waved over to the Blackhawk. Seconds later, a tall blond-haired man dismounted, followed by four more heavily armed soldiers. The trooper that had signaled to the smaller helicopter now pointed at the Humvee. The tall man nodded and waved at the four men who had disembarked the helicopter with him.

  “Shit, that’s not good.” Ram glanced over at Jesse, who was slowly sliding her rifle up into her lap.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You in the Humvee!” the tall man shouted as the soldiers raised their weapons into firing positions. “I’m Major Barraza, US Army. Step out of the Humvee with your hands up, and my Rangers won’t shoot you!”

  “What do you think, Jesse?” Ram whispered.

  “I think we are screwed,” she said, scanning the superior force that was now before them. “Do as he says, Ram. We can’t outshoot a Blackhawk and a platoon of Rangers.”

  “No.” He chuckled uneasily, remembering all the times he’d had to requalify at the range. “I guess you’re right.” He nodded at his partner then shouted out the window. “Okay! We’re coming out!”

  “Here we go,” Jesse said, dropping the M4 to the floor slowly.

  “Here we go.”

  18

  Denver, Colorado

  March 27th

  The familiar ringtone worked its way into Jack’s subconscious, making him snap his eyes open. He looked around Gil Johnson’s office, aghast at what had become a scene from a horror movie.

  Blood soaked into the industrial carpet that lined the office floor, oozing from Gil’s smashed skull. Jack’s laptop had left pieces of plastic and metal sticking out of the back of Gil’s head. A shard of the plastic cut Jack’s arm, leaving a six-inch gash and a lot of blood all over his shirt and pants.

  The ringtone stopped as Jack found his phone in his shirt pocket. He flipped it over. The alert message read, “Missed FaceTime call.” He clicked through and saw a red number 4 next to the application’s icon on the screen. Sarah was trying to get in touch. He would get back to her in a minute, but first, he wanted to get some help to come to the building. Jack tried dialing 9-1-1, but the All circuits are busy message played. He thumbed through the contacts, looking for the building’s security. Instead, he found “Trade Center – Front Desk.” He decided that would have to do and tapped the number but got the same message as when he tried to call the police: All circuits are busy.

  “Fuck,” he said out loud.

  He shook his head, trying to clear some of the cobwebs, then stood up on uneasy legs. Everything had happened so fast, it was hard for him to piece it all together.

  After Gil slammed the door shut—right after Jack ran headfirst into it—he sprang at Jack, who’d held the laptop up to block the attack. Gil swatted at it, knocking one of Jack’s hands free. He must have swung the improvised weapon back at his boss because he remembered teeth flying, then Gil crashing into him, grabbing at him and trying to choke him. Holding Gil at arm’s length with his free hand on the man’s throat, Jack had brought the laptop down on his head again and again, until Gil’s skull gave way and the laptop was a shattered mess. Then he collapsed against the wall and must have passed out.

  The throbbing in his arm brought him back from his mental replay. He weaved his unsteady way to the bathroom, where he caught his first glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was a bloody mess. He grabbed the counter to steady himself as he tilted his head to examine his neck. Telltale finger-shaped bruises gave away the spot where Gil had gotten ahold of him.

  He turned on the water and grabbed a handful of soap from the automatic dispenser. When he washed his hands and face, the water turned pink from the blood. Then, he soaped up the cut on his arm and yelped in pain as the foam hit the wound. He rinsed it out a couple of times, but it kept seeping fresh blood.

  Jack returned to his office and sat in his chair with a heavy plop. He needed to call Sarah, but he didn’t want her to see him this way. It would send her into a full-fledged panic. He reached into the third drawer on the right side of the desk and retrieved the duffel bag with the spare clothes he kept at the office in case he spilled food on himself during the day.

  Jack stood and fumbled with the buttons of his bloodied shirt then removed it, along with his undershirt. He replaced his ruined shirt with the fresh one from the bag, then he stripped to his boxers and changed into clean pants as well. He cut the spare, clean undershirt into strips and wrapped the cut on his arm. Once he tucked the end of the last strip under the wrap, he topped it off with a few layers of scotch tape. He hoped it would hold.

  Feeling better, he grabbed the phone and went to hit the FaceTime icon but thought twice and opened the mail app instead. He scrolled until he found Sarah’s note from this morning and opened it, then clicked on the link she’d sent. It opened a video from GNN, featuring that pompous twat, Chet Davidson.

  He’s probably one of those pricks that bangs the interns, Jack thought. He pushed that aside and focused on the video. Once the footage from Fort Carson began to roll, he felt his hair stand on end, and he almost dropped the phone. The people in the video looked just like Gil did before Jack smashed his skull in with a laptop. He knew he should be alarmed that the Army was shooting American citizens—if the video was real—but, based on what just happened in Gil’s office, Jack didn’t doubt the video’s authenticity, and he wasn’t upset that the crazies were being shot.

  “The proper perspective will change opinions,” he said out loud. He closed the browser, opened the FaceTime application, and pressed his wife’s name, hoping that the Internet connection would work where the phone lines were tied up. A few seconds later, she answered.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded as soon as the connection completed. “I’ve been worried to death!”

  “I had some trouble down here with Gil.”

  “Jesus, I hope you got it worked out. You need to leave now.”

  “Yeah, um, we got everything sorted. I’m leaving in a couple of minutes.”

  “Jack, have you looked outside?”

  He walked over to the window and looked down. From the twenty-ninth floor of Denver’s World Trade Complex, he could see several blocks down the pedestrian mall on Sixteenth Street. Emergency vehicles lit up the whole area. From his vantage point, he could see police and paramedics fighting with civilians. He even saw policemen fighting each other.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  “Holy shit is right, Jack. Come home
, now. The country is going insane.”

  Jack’s brow furrowed while the wheels turned in his head. The worst place they could be during a civil unrest would be a place with a dense population.

  “Sarah, do you remember how to hook the trailer to the SUV?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You need to load it with all the food we have; everything, even perishable stuff. Just put it in a cooler and throw ice on it. Then head to my dad’s cabin. I’ll try to meet you at the fairgrounds on the west side of town, and we’ll go from there.”

  “Try? There’s no try, Jack. You get there,” she told him. “And hurry. I don’t think there’s any time to waste.”

  “Okay. I’ll figure out a way. Oh, and Sarah? Get my gun case and a bunch of the ammo.”

  She nodded her head. “Okay, Jack. I love you, you know.”

  “I love you too. I’ll see you soon.” He pressed the red END button and sat back in his chair, wondering how the hell he was going to get away from downtown.

  19

  Longmont, Colorado

  March 27th

  Sarah sat in the chair in the family room for a few minutes after she hung up the FaceTime call with her husband. She needed to collect her thoughts. She tried to push dark images from her mind, but it seemed like a siren wailed past on the main road every thirty seconds. None of them had turned into their neighborhood, which was good, but every time, it was a reminder that things were going downhill quickly. Every time, it made her think that she may never see Jack again.

  Stop being preposterous, she chided herself. Focus on getting ready to leave.

  She knew what Jack was getting after when he asked her to pack the trailer. They were going to get the hell out of Dodge before the crazies got them, and they weren’t coming back until it was over. Or at least, she hoped that’s what he meant.

  After filling a box with a variety of canned food, she went into the garage and flicked on the light. She’d been pestering Jack to have a company replace the top panel of the garage door with one that had windows in it, and she was glad, now, that he’d dragged his feet on it. For once his procrastination was a fortunate bit of circumstance. The fewer outward signs of activity, the better.

  She let the door shut behind her and went over to the tandem side of the garage, with Jack’s old Isuzu Axiom in the front section and the small teardrop-shaped trailer in the rear. In another example of fortunate circumstance, they’d bought the house with the three-car tandem garage with nothing to put in the third stall. The trailer came later. She didn’t think about the unfortunate circumstance—that Jack had taken the bus downtown instead of driving, which would make his exodus that much harder. She had to focus.

  She set the box next to the rear tire of the Axiom and approached the trailer. After kicking the tire chocks out of the way, she lifted the tongue of the trailer and wheeled it over to the SUV. It only took a few minutes for her to drop the socket over the ball, lock it down, connect the power cables and safety chains, and retract the jack. She hoped she did everything right.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” she said aloud, hands on her hips as she admired her handiwork. She stashed the box of food in the trailer, then filled several more boxes, putting some in it and others in the rear of the SUV. She didn’t want all their supplies in one vehicle in case something went wrong.

  Perishable foods she put in the trailer, leaving room in the Axiom for their backpacks, which had enough gear in them that they could last a few days on foot if they had to. She stuck a few bottles of water in each of them and put them behind the seats.

  Finally, she went to the safe in their closet and opened it. Inside, she found the waterproof plastic box with the guns in it. She flipped the latches and opened the lid, seeing the two pistols inside. One was a 9mm semi-automatic, the other was a .40-caliber. She unzipped a large duffel bag, and inside she found what Murphy’s Sporting Goods had labeled a “duty belt,” and she put it through her belt loops, adding the plastic holster for the 9mm. She checked the magazine for the pistol, found it was full, and inserted it into the gun, then racked the slide to load it. With a heavy sigh, she slid it into the holster.

  She wasn’t a huge fan of guns, but Jack wanted to ensure they had protection when they went camping. Aside from random people in the wilderness, Colorado had mountain lions and bears with which to contend.

  “Better to have it and not need it than the other way around,” he’d said. She made him attend classes with her at a range just outside of town. After several weeks, and several hundred rounds downrange—as the instructor called it—she was pronounced capable of handling the gun. She even went so far as getting a concealed carry permit, though she’d never carried it other than camping.

  She also hadn’t fired it since the classes.

  And hopefully, tonight is no different.

  She closed and latched the case then double-checked the contents of the heavy duffel bag. Inside, she saw several boxes of ammunition for both pistols, the duty belt for Jack’s holster, and the holster itself. Satisfied that she had what she needed, she took the case and the bag and put them on the passenger side floorboard of the Axiom.

  She breathed another heavy sigh and looked at her watch. She’d been packing their stuff for almost forty minutes. It would take another fifteen for her to get to the fairgrounds. By the time she got there, it will have been fifty-five minutes since she’d spoken to Jack. Under normal circumstances, that would be more than enough time for him to get back from Denver, but things were decidedly not normal. Still, she needed to go now, just in case he was waiting for her.

  20

  Denver, Colorado

  March 27th

  Jack saw that things were getting bad in the streets below the building. Several fires were burning, and he’d heard gunshots just a couple of minutes ago. Today was a horrible day to take the bus, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. He had to find a way to beg, borrow, or steal a ride north.

  “Of course!” he said out loud. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

  He grabbed his jacket off the rack behind his office door and crept down the hall. He stopped at Gil’s office and took a deep breath before entering.

  The coppery smell of blood was thick in the air, and as he approached Gil’s body, the odor of other bodily fluids joined the mix. He fought back the urge to vomit, instead focusing on his need to get back to his wife. Stepping over the body, he knelt down and carefully slipped a hand inside the right pants’ pocket. His fingers found the fob, and he pulled it out. Glancing at the silver Mercedes symbol, he stood and looked outside. From his view out the penthouse window, he could see over the hotel to the southwest to the parking garage beyond. He didn’t have Gil’s binoculars, but he knew the silver, boxy SUV visible on the rooftop level was the man’s one-hundred-forty-five-thousand-dollar Mercedes M63 AMG. Gil had sent everyone about a thousand video links to “the most badass vehicle on the planet,” so Jack was pretty sure he knew the vehicle as well as anyone who hadn’t driven one could.

  Another thought popped into Jack’s head, so he knelt down and removed Gil’s wallet from his back pocket. Inside he found more than six hundred dollars, which Jack pocketed. Who knew when it might come in handy?

  He flipped through the credit cards. Gil had the company-issued American Express card and an executives-only Diamond Visa. Jack was going to take them out but thought better of it and put the whole wallet in his jacket pocket. Again, one never knew when one might need a little something extra.

  Next, he went to Gil’s desk and opened the drawers then closed them, one after another. At last, in the bottom right-hand drawer, he found the box he was looking for. He pulled it out and set it on the desk. The plaque on the lid read Official Military Issue on one line and then Authorized Personnel Only underneath.

  Jack held his breath and opened it.

  “Yes!” he said, smiling at Gil’s worst purchase amon
g many bad ones. The inside of the lid had a picture of John Wayne from the Sands of Iwo Jima on one side, and on the other a quote, in gold leaf:

  “I define manhood simply; men should be tough, fair, and courageous, never petty, never looking for a fight, but never backing down from one.” – John Wayne

  In the body of the box, on a bed of blue velvet, rested a Colt 1911, black, embossed with a gold eagle with wings spread on the slide, gold sights, and pearl grips with the words Semper Fidelis inscribed on them, separated by the Marine Corps insignia. Beneath the pistol, a thin slot in the velvet bed held a magazine, and seven rounds stuck out of seven holes next to it. At the bottom was another gold plaque, this one inscribed with John Wayne’s Marine Corps Sidearm.

  Despite it being common knowledge that John Wayne did not serve in the military, Gil was convinced that he did, saying more than once he had it “on good authority” that he was a Marine Corps officer working with the OSS, producing propaganda films for the war effort. Everyone laughed behind his back, as if Gil could have known someone who had details about secret military operations in World War II.

  “Why else would I have spent thirteen thousand dollars on this?” he demanded one day and showed the box to Jack. “If he didn’t serve, that would make me a pretty big dumbass, wouldn’t it?”

  “It sure would,” Jack answered.

  “Well, I’m glad you agree,” Gil said and declared himself the winner of the debate. Jack just let it ride.

  Now, with a hostile city outside the building and a short but precarious journey to get to that Mercedes, and then to his wife, Jack was grateful for Gil’s gullibility.