Five Roads To Texas: A Phalanx Press Collaboration

by Lundy, W. J.

  Clay gave a mock salute and turned to climb the stairs down to the dive deck. Before he was halfway there, he heard the throaty growl of the engines coming to life. At the dinghy he could see that the bags were piled in the center. There were his two olive seabags and two fancy red backpacks. Miguel was in the back with his hand on the controls of a small electric motor. Andrew was in the bow with Rufous on his lap.

  The yacht lit up. Bright running lights and a pair of spotlights shined into the night, directed up into the sky. Then, the external speakers kicked on. They blared a disco tune that Clay didn’t recognize. Regardless of all that, the most obnoxious sound was the blow horn that had been forced into the ON position. Soon afterward, the boat began to crawl forward in the water. Clay moved quickly, jumping into the dinghy and climbing over the gear to find a spot next to Miguel. A dragline tightened, and Andrew kept a hold of it to keep the boat close to the dive deck.

  Nikolai came running down the steps and found the back deck. He looked over a rail then back at the dinghy. “It’s working! They’re already changing direction.”

  “Get your sweet ass on the boat, Nikolai!” Miguel called out.

  Nikolai nodded his head feverishly, and then made an unnecessary and sloppy dive for the dinghy, which was only a foot behind the dive deck. As soon as the man was in the small boat, Andrew let the slack out of the line. Once it was tight, he pulled a quick-release to disconnect the tether from the mothership.

  Clay watched as the large cabin cruiser moved away from them at under five knots with the music blasting and lights flashing. As the boat created distance, they could pick up the screaming sounds from the shoreline. Miguel went to start the tiny motor, and Clay put a hand on the controls with a finger over his lips. “Let’s let this diversion work a minute or two longer.”

  Miguel smiled nervously and mouthed, “Okay.”

  It didn’t take long, and the boat became nothing more than a flashing beacon that got smaller in the darkness. The sounds of the infected on the beach had faded, becoming distant. Clay lifted his rifle and could see that Nikolai had the pistol in his hands. “Remember, we can’t shoot unless it’s life or death. One shot and this distraction was for nothing,” he said, pausing before dipping his chin toward Miguel. “Okay, son, bring us in.”

  Nodding, Miguel rolled the throttle in his hand. The engine emitted a tiny whirring sound, and the dinghy crept forward across the lake swells. Clay squinted, focusing on the shore, but was unable to see anything in the dark. Only the frothy white of the breaking waves was visible in the dim moonlight. He knew the others in the bow were doing the same, straining to see anything. Rufous leaned forward, his mouth open, catching the air with his ears. “Don’t let go of the dog, Andy. Hold tight on that leash.”

  “Won’t he bark?” Miguel asked.

  “Not with the leash on,” Clay replied. “He’s a bird dog. He knows when to bark and when not to. Now is a ‘not to’ time.”

  As they moved closer, the boat shook under the swells and breaking waves. Just before hitting the beach, Miguel cut the dinghy forty-five degrees and Nikolai dropped into the cold water, steadying the boat as the others got out and gathered their gear. Andrew strapped on one of the green bags and grabbed a handle, prepared to drag the boat in. Clay shook his head and whispered, “Let it go, we can’t afford to make any noise.” He then stepped forward and put a hand on Nikolai’s back. “You know where you’re going, right? Then lead us out.”

  Nikolai didn’t respond. Instead, he moved forward toward the beach. Andrew fell in behind him with the dog. Miguel looked back at Clay, who motioned for him to follow the others. The old man let them get a few paces ahead and then stepped off after them. They cleared the beach, and then moved parallel to it along a high bed of thick-bladed grass before Nikolai found the mouth of a trail.

  He turned the party onto the trail then stopped, waiting for everyone to bunch up behind him before he stepped off again. Clay held back a smile, entertained at how the two men tried to walk tactically while their bright-red backpacks practically glowed in the thin moonlight. It’d been a long time since the old man had been on any sort of patrol, but he still knew they were far from doing it right. The trail wound over a small rise then leveled out atop a high berm that overlooked the lake. In the distance, he could still see the bright glow of the boat’s spotlight.

  Nikolai followed his gaze. “It looks like it might have run aground on a sandbar.”

  Shaking his head in agreement, Clay said, “Just as well. That keeps everything that was close by moving that way. How much further to your airfield?”

  “Just the other side of those trees. We should be able to see the hangars soon.”

  Clay waved him forward with a hand. “Beauty before age.”

  Nikolai turned and took a step when Clay heard a low growl, and the hair along the dog’s back bristled. He nearly leapt at the sound, scrambling forward and whispering for them to stop. He moved close to Rufous and knelt with an arm around the dog’s neck. The other men spread out and lay prone in the sand. “Shhh… It’s okay, boy.”

  The dog went silent, his tail and back still rigid. Clay picked up on the sounds of grinding footfalls. He was stumped until he realized he was hearing the sound of bare feet swishing through the sand. He crouched lower, still holding the dog, as a pair of infected moved past them and faded toward the beach, headed directly toward the stranded boat.

  The dog relaxed, and Clay let out a sigh of relief. “Good boy,” he whispered and handed the leash back to Andrew. He turned to Nikolai and pointed at the western horizon. “It’ll be getting daylight soon. Let’s find that plane.”

  35

  Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, Michigan City, Indiana

  March 30th

  Nikolai led them through the thick underbrush climbing up a sand-covered slope. Miguel and Andrew followed close behind, while Clay lagged back to watch the rear for movement. Shadows were everywhere, and each dark spot made him think it was an enemy—or the infected in this case. Ahead, he could see the silhouette of Nikolai as he trekked across the top of the hill.

  The sun was beginning to shine, lighting the way as it turned the sky from black to gray and then a contrast of purple. The ground ahead began gently sloping downhill. Nikolai took a knee and called the others in close. He pointed out the long, high grass and a spot where it was mowed short. The steel-sided hangar was at the end of the clearing. “That’s the spot,” said Nikolai.

  Miguel nodded in agreement. “The plane will be in the hangar bay. We can go now.”

  Clay put up his own hand, halting them. “You go ahead. I’ll cover you from here. If anything comes out of those trees, I’ll have a better vantage point from up here.”

  Nikolai looked concerned but agreed. He stepped off, with Miguel and Andrew close behind. The dog stayed back, not wanting to leave Clay, but eventually moved on, sniffing at the tall grass. Clay held his carbine at the ready and swept the tree line, seeing nothing. The sun rose higher, and bright rays of light broke through the trees.

  Clay was concerned as he watched Nikolai stop near the hangar. The man had his arms outstretched with the 1911 in his grip. He cut in left and right, clearing the space. For only a moment, Miguel stepped aside, looking back. He waved a hand at the old man.

  Clay took one more look at his surroundings then walked down the hill, following the trampled path through the grass to where the others waited inside the hangar. They’d found the plane.

  He didn’t know much about aircraft, but he could tell that it was small. “Are you sure we’re all going to fit in here?” Clay asked.

  Miguel nodded. “It’s plenty. Even with the four of us, the dog, and the gear, we are way under max weight. We’ll be fine.” The man hustled, walking around the plane with a checklist, his eyes moving swiftly over the skin of the aircraft. “There’s plenty of fuel here. I already checked and can see that it’s topped off.”

  “Is that normal?” Clay asked.
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  Miguel stopped and pointed to a second bay, where tie-down lines and a toolbox lay on the ground. “Nikolai’s father came through for us. Someone prepped this plane so it’s all ready to go. All we have to do is drag it onto the runway. Normally there’s a tow vehicle…but I don’t see any. Yeah, we’ll have to push.”

  Clay looked out onto the airstrip; the sun had it well-lit now. “Can’t you start in here then drive it out? I think once that engine is going, we’ll have company.”

  Miguel shook his head yes. “I can do that. To hell with the rules.”

  Clay moved tight against the door and looked onto the field. “Then light the fires and kick the tires. I’ll stand watch. You guys get the plane ready and call me when it’s time to roll.”

  Miguel frowned and turned away. Clay could tell he wasn’t used to having orders barked at him. The dog moved back and forth near the plane, pacing nervously. They opened the doors and threw cargo into the back. Nikolai moved around to the other side and opened another door. He was discussing something with Miguel, but Clay couldn’t make out distinct words.

  Watching the rise that they descended earlier, Clay saw two silhouettes at the top of the ridge. He stared at them, wondering if his mind was playing tricks. Then, one of the shadows moved and his fears were confirmed. “Hey, fellas. We got company.”

  Nikolai turned and walked back to the door, kneeling beside him. Clay pointed up at the infected, “Still three hundred yards out,” Clay whispered.

  Shaking his head, Nikolai said, “The plane can’t run over those things.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Clay responded. A third shadow came into view at the top of the hill. “Get the plane ready. I’ll stay back and punch their meal tickets. I’m no sharpshooter, but this won’t be a problem.” Clay smiled.

  Nikolai didn’t want to argue with the man, so he nodded and slapped Clay on the shoulder. He ran back to the plane. Miguel pulled a cart with a battery box mounted to it over to the side of the plane and uncoiled some wires as he called out that they were ready to go. Clay ignored him, more concerned that the infected on the hill had now turned toward their direction. They were heading straight for the hangar. Still not running, the three moved slowly toward them.

  “Doesn’t make sense,” Clay whispered, observing them. “How do they know?” He saw the bright light reflecting off one of the creature’s eyes. “They don’t know… They’re moving toward the sun.” He raised his rifle.

  Miguel called out that he was starting the plane. Clay stood and leaned against the building, resting his rifle’s barrel against the side. Even with iron sights, he knew he could make the easy shot.

  The things stopped and began to run as the engine popped and came to life. Clay took aim at the lead infected and fired. Rufous ran closer to him and started barking. He looked at the dog then yelled for Andrew get him on the plane. Miguel eased the plane forward.

  Clay fired again; his shot went low and left. The creature started to sprint, so Clay adjusted his aim and fired again. The infected bucked as the round struck it in the knee. A second shot cut through its hip. Clay adjusted off that and fired another round. This time the creature dropped, spilling forward. The fall caused the next infected to trip. It got up and screamed before sprinting forward. Clay raised his rifle, aiming center mass, and bled off the rest of the magazine before watching the infected man topple into the ground.

  He pulled away from the door and put the rifle against his chest. Miguel steered the plane to the center of the narrow runway, and he turned it for takeoff. Clay ran for the open door and climbed inside as Miguel pushed forward on the throttle.

  Racing down the runway, they were only ten feet off the ground when Clay looked to the right. He could see a battalion of infected moving back toward them from the beach. The distraction of the boat must’ve stopped once the first gunshots rang out. Or was it the bright ball in the sky that called to them?

  Miguel pulled up on the aircraft to circle back around, cutting across the beach. Nikolai looked at him. “Don’t waste time here. We need to get to St. Louis.” His partner nodded and cut back left, flying over the lake this time, and then angling south.

  “We’ll just miss Chicago,” Miguel said. “I’ll bring us close for a look. Then we’ll fly southwest to St. Louis.”

  Clay looked at him and said, “Just get us there.”

  “This isn’t rocket science,” the pilot laughed.

  Falling back into the seat, Clay looked around the small plane. The dog ran up and down the center aisle while Andrew sat slumped in a seat. He turned and could see that their gear was stacked in the back. The boy’s shotgun sat behind the seats, so Clay laid his rifle alongside it.

  Then he rested, looking out of the window to his left. He could see the smoke-filled sky up ahead and glanced up to the cockpit’s open door. The two men up front exchanged words and pointed out the windows. Clay leaned forward to see that it was Chicago. The city was engulfed in flame, and black clouds of smoke drifted along the horizon.

  Miguel looked back. “Chicago is gone,” he said.

  Clay nodded somberly. How would St. Louis fare any better? he thought as the plane dipped in elevation and cut left, Miguel moving the plane to avoid the big plumes of blowing smoke.

  The aircraft leveled out and the pilot found a highway along the ground that he followed. Clay could see the roadway was congested with people and cars in a massive traffic jam, but there were no police lights, no military convoys. Burning houses lined the sides of the road with fire. He knew the people he saw weren’t human, not anymore. They were infected. People didn’t walk through cornfields or wheat fields, they didn’t slog through mud, or stare up at you from a highway, reaching up at the sight of low-flying planes.

  The aircraft cut right, heading west. He could hear Miguel on the radio, attempting calls. Nobody responded. He flipped frequencies and looked at the dash before staring pointedly at Nikolai. Clay could that see Andrew was asleep and dog was now relaxed, lying at the boy’s feet. He thought it was a good idea and turned his own head to the left, watching the clouds in an effort to keep his eyes off the ground below…

  He woke up with the shudder of the plane. The flaps on the wings were up and they were in some sort of high bank, circling the earth. He looked up and Nikolai glanced back at him, frowning. They were orbiting something. Nikolai looked at him and shouted, “There’s a FEMA camp below. St. Louis is gone. It’s burning the same as Chicago.” The man’s eyes were wide. “I can see where the rails came in, and we can see the FEMA tents. There are people on the ground, but nobody is answering the radios.”

  Clay looked to where Nikolai pointed. “Those are infected,” he said. “They’re massing and they got it surrounded.”

  Nikolai looked back at him. His face was flushed. Clay remembered the man’s family was there—his parents. That’s why he was so scared. Miguel looked stone-faced as he said, “We don’t have unlimited fuel.”

  Clay dipped his chin. “We’re in Missouri. Keep going west, go until you find a large cornfield, something wide enough we can land on and close to a highway. Something flat,” he added.

  Miguel looked over his shoulder and scowled. “No shit. You want me to land on something flat. Really, you don’t want me to land in the trees, or maybe a lake?”

  Clay didn’t answer. He could tell that the two men were at their wits’ end. They’d been expecting refuge, expecting to land in a safe area and see familiar faces, and now they were all in an aircraft with the infected all over the ground below.

  Clay clenched his fist. He had to stay calm for them. “Boys, we’re going to be fine. The further west we get from cities, these things will thin out. There’s a lot of dead trees in Missouri, lots of open space; we’ll find something that works. Now tell me, what do we know is running outside of St. Louis?”

  Nikolai looked up from the floor. “My dad said something about Texas.”

  “What about Texas?” Clay asked.

  �
�He said there was a research center. And something about they were working on a cure there. How far they’ve gotten, I don’t know. He just said Texas.”

  Clay smiled. “Well, there you go. Miguel, can you get us to Texas?”

  Miguel shook his head. “We don’t have the fuel. If we find a field, I can try to set down and top off. But it would be risky.”

  Andrew stirred, slowly at first, but then jerked awake when Miguel mentioned landing in a field. The boy’s face was white with fear.

  “Well, take us toward Texas then,” Clay said. “If we see something on the way, we’ll land. Just point the compass in that direction, and we’ll go as far as we can get. How’s that sound?”

  Miguel looked over his shoulder again. “I don’t think we have much choice, Clay. Straight toward Texas until we run out of fuel and then crash. Is that the plan?”

  Clay shrugged. “Well, I guess we don’t have to crash. If you find a good spot, set us down. Okay?”

  The old man lay back in the seat and checked his seatbelt. Nikolai turned back around and pulled a map book from his pants pocket. He punched coordinates into the GPS as he read the map.

  Clay looked away and at the terrain below. “Oh boy,” he whispered, looking down at the highway. A horde of people moved along its length. It was a literal highway of death. “This is a going to be a fun trip,” he muttered to himself.

  36

  Near Aspen, Colorado

  March 30th

  Once the man and woman finished inspecting the old Ford truck, the woman walked over to the driver, who was on his knees with his hands on his head, and said something to him. He stood up, shook her hand, and headed toward the truck. The third man in their group, the one who’d been holding a rifle on the driver, climbed into a full-sized Blazer. The big Chevy backed up, opening a gap in the roadblock that the Ford drove through. The driver stuck his hand out the window and waved at the people as he drove away. The woman waved back while the Blazer pulled forward, blocking the road once more.