Five Roads To Texas: A Phalanx Press Collaboration

by Lundy, W. J.

  Robin walked back to Jack and Charlie. “I’m letting you guys through. But, I’m taking two boxes of that ammunition. We’re low, and we don’t have any we can get to. Before you protest, you should know that martial law has been declared, and in theory, I can take it all. I’m not going to, but I could.”

  “Fair enough,” Charlie said. “I hope you guys stay safe out here.”

  “Me too,” she replied. “Me too.”

  Marcus grabbed two of the thirty-pound boxes and carried them over to the Blazer while Charlie grabbed Sarah’s gun off of the hood of the Isuzu and climbed in the passenger side. Jack reassembled his pistol and started the engine. The Blazer, with Sebastian behind the wheel, backed out of the way, opening a gap between the other two vehicles. Robin walked over to Jack.

  “Whatever you do, don’t go toward Aspen,” she said. “It’s gone. There’s only five thousand screechers in town now.”

  “Wasn’t there, like, seven thousand people in Aspen?”

  “Was. Past tense, like your Hobb’s Valley, I guess. Anyone not dead is a screecher now. Why do you think we’re low on ammo? You guys be safe.”

  She slapped the fender a couple times and stepped back, out of the way.

  Jack eased the Mercedes and the trailer through the gap, and Sarah followed in the Isuzu. The Blazer pulled forward, closing the gap once more, blocking them all from view.

  A few miles down the road, Jack passed a sign pointing to the right that read ASPEN: 59 MILES. He kept the SUV aimed south, winding through the mountain road, every mile getting them closer to the safety of Texas.

  37

  Nantahala National Forest, Tennessee

  March 30th

  For the first time in a long time, Ian wished that he had a dial-up phone to slam the receiver down. Instead, he turned the satellite phone off and tossed it on top of his pack with the rest of the crap he didn’t want to deal with.

  “You don’t look happy, chief,” Jose said as they continued down the highway.

  Ian looked at all the cars left abandoned, some even still running. It made him wonder how long it would take for a tank of fuel to run out at idle, a day…two or possibly three? He didn’t have a clue and doubted that it would be valuable intel at this stage of the game.

  “I just talked to our benefactor, and our contract is going downhill.”

  “Downhill? What do you mean? We did as instructed at the supply drop. All but one truck made it to us, and that certainly wasn’t our fault.”

  “Oh, he’s not disappointed,” Ian replied. “He simply has nothing for us to do other than run and hide like everyone else, so he sold our contract to a doctor named Sanjay. We are supposed to bring our resources and the courier satchel to him in Atlanta, where he will give us our new directive.”

  Jose glanced out the window and said, “I thought our contracts were nontransferable.”

  “They aren’t, or they weren’t, anyways. However, we have to turn in all of this equipment or buy it, and DC is a mess. Totally inaccessible, so I hear. I guess this doctor fellow has requisitioned us and the whole lot that we have with us.”

  “So we have to finish out the deal, then? Some of the group is going to be anxious about DC. Most of us have family there.”

  “I know, Jose. I wish we would have known a little more about what was happening so we could have safeguarded some of our assets,” Ian said to the person he considered his second-in-command, due strictly to the amount of time they had worked together.

  “Well, it’s not like you can plan on a zombie apocalypse,” Jose grunted sarcastically.

  “They’re not zombies, or at least that’s what I’m being told.” Ian paused to gather his thoughts. “Somebody knew, Jose. Why do you think we were stockpiling resources here? If you knew the amount of infrastructure that I had to install out there to accommodate running tankers for six months, regardless of weather, you would shit your pants. No, somebody knew, and our employer was very close to the source,” Ian said as he thought through the situation. Their employer was out of reach, but Sanjay…he had to know something, and they had a lot of questions.

  In twenty-four hours, the world has changed. Infected now rule and hunt relentlessly. There are no sanctuary cities or safe places; there is only run, hide, and kill. Yet we still have our jobs. Man, what a fucked-up planet we live on.

  “Oh, so do you think this Dr. Sanjay might know something about what’s going on?” Jose asked.

  “Couldn’t tell ya, but we’re gonna to find out. There’s a safe house about ten miles up the road; let’s pull in there and plan the next leg.”

  The safe house turned out to be a pole barn well off the road accessed by a barely visible goat path and equipped with a thumbprint security system. It responded to Ian’s print immediately. Once he got the doors open, they could fit both deuces and the Humvee inside comfortably. There were stocks of weapons, food, and fuel with a large table in the center where they could gather.

  The road on the way had been rough, even though they never had to leave the vehicles. To be honest, it would take a lot to get the crew separated from their vehicles. It’s bad business in their line of work.

  The countryside was swarming with infected who rushed the vehicles as soon as they heard them. No doubt there were still some on the trail. A lot of them had followed behind at a sprint, but there was nothing the crew could do about them. Even the old ones ran as if they were tireless kids in the schoolyard. They had to take them out when their mobs were small, but when the groups got big enough to overwhelm, the best they could do was out-distance them.

  Needless to say, they burned through a lot of rounds. The only plus side was that they’d resupplied the 7.62s and provided zero 5.56 ammo for Toby, who should have left his personal rifle at home. Ian tossed him one of the replacement SCARs and grinned. Forever dedicated and stubborn, Toby instantly started switching out butt stocks and pistol grips. Ian knew that when he was done, it would look like he never even switched, except his new rifle would fit the suppressors they’d been supplied.

  “We got us a situation, folks,” Ian told the assembled group around the table. “We can’t go any further without a little bit of correspondence between us. First matter of business is that our contract has been sold.” He paused as they griped and moaned, much as he had predicted.

  “We all know that we don’t have transferable contracts, so if we want to blow this one off we can, but we still have to return the equipment to get paid. Of course, when the contract was sold, the equipment went with it, so if we are not sticking with the gig, we still have to bring our gear to some guy named Dr. Aarav Sanjay in Atlanta.”

  “Sanjay? I’ve heard that name before,” Trish said. “He’s some kind of genetic chemist or something.” She, of all the people saying this, made Ian nervous. Trish had served in Iraq and the ’Stan until she retired and took on a supervisory security position in the Pentagon. A sexual harassment situation had left a congressman with a broken knee and Trish out of a job. It’s not safe to try to take liberties with girls like Trish. Ian scooped her up, knowing her talents.

  “I don’t know what he is, and I don’t care,” Ian said, taking the conversation back. “What I do care about is him being our next assignment if we choose to go on. Now wait a minute, I’m not done yet.” Ian tried calming the group; they could sense that something more was up.

  “Boss, we have some stragglers coming up the drive,” Jose said from the window, referring to infected that had hung on their trail.

  “They’ll wait until I’m done here if everybody keeps their mouths shut.” The group quieted, and Ian continued. “DC is toast, so is most—if not all—of the Eastern Seaboard.” He paused to let that sink in.

  Ian’s people were independent contractors, modern day mercenaries. Though they were soldiers at heart, they were also husbands and wives, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers. They had homes and vehicles, and now it was probably all gone. Ian knew that he wasn’t going
to be able to keep the whole crew. Trish and Brahler would certainly want to head home, and he was prepared to cut them a check and see them on their way. Ian was not, however, expecting all of them to bug out and that’s what almost happened.

  In the end, only Toby, Jose, and Kinsey—along with a shit pile of ammo—remained with Ian in the Humvee. The rest of the crew took the two deuce and a half trucks, along with a fresh check for half wages in each of their pockets and enough ammo to see them home. Ian had a terrible feeling those checks would never get to the bank. Hell, it was worse than that. He had a feeling there were no more banks.

  Sweet! My business is paid for and I own my house free and clear. What could be better than that, right? Enter the apocalypse, fuck me running.

  “It looks like I-75 will take us right into the city,” Toby said.

  “I think we crossed the 75 yesterday about twenty miles back,” Kinsey added and her phone verified.

  “There are a lot of towns that way. I want to avoid populated areas if we can. We have to get down to 68 and take that to 60, and then find this Steve Tate Road. Keep to the lesser populated areas and stay away from main highways.”

  “That’ll take a lot longer,” Kinsey added.

  “Will it? I think hitting a horde of these things that’s too big will slow us down permanently.”

  “No argument there, boss. I’m paid by the hour, so lead on.” She smiled as she locked in a magazine and stood to grab her bug-out bag, which is all any of them were working with as far as changes of clothes. Ian fought to have uniforms supplied at the safe houses but was vetoed in the final signing of the contract.

  The two big trucks had left a couple hours earlier with hopes of clearing the way for the smaller Humvee. It worked. They traveled the first twenty miles without seeing one infected, which just reinforced in Ian’s mind that they had to kill any of them that they saw, otherwise they’d dog their trail incessantly.

  Twenty miles down, and just over two hundred to go. With a full tank plus two jerry cans of diesel, they should be able to make it there without any issues, providing they weren’t swallowed by a horde. Ian was grateful for the military version of the Hummer, but it did make the journey more ponderous, and the low rumble of the diesel engine carried for a long way.

  The deep woods and hills they needed to travel through reduced any transient noise and they traveled easy for thirty or forty minutes. To expect a full hour comfortably away from infected in this new world was ludicrous.

  Ian had Kinsey stop a half mile out from a massive vehicle pile-up that still showed wisps of smoke drifting in the windless sky. Nothing else moved on the road or in the trees that bordered the section ahead. The sides of the road next to the vehicle were fields, allowing a good range of sight. Ian wasn’t a farmer, but he thought it might be tobacco, based on the smell and the open-slat drying houses scattered here and there. Nothing moved, not even birds.

  “It looks like we can skirt around the mess on the left-hand side if we take it slow,” Ian said to Kinsey, who sat behind the wheel.

  “Ten-four.” She gently slid the vehicle into gear before easing onto the road with a smooth release of the brake. She was good and knew that the fast, jerky motion would have attracted more attention than smooth and easy.

  They approached the wreck slowly, keeping eyes glued to the woods and road beyond. Still nothing. Ian was tempted to roll down his window to listen but preferred having reinforced glass between him and whatever may pop up. Kinsey pulled off the road and well onto the shoulder to get around the burned husks of vehicles. At some point, they’d struck hard enough to embed themselves into the opposing bank. The bank joined a steep, thickly wooded slope that allowed only one path through.

  It was the perfect scenario for an ambush.

  Then he remembered, gratefully, that the infected did not have the mental fortitude to comprehend what an ambush was. He kept his eyes open anyway and trusted the nasty feeling that was coming over him.

  Ian heard it before he saw the gouge appear in the hood.

  “Getting shot at, boss.” Kinsley remained calm, knowing that the ballistic glass in the Humvee should hold for a while against anything smaller than a fifty-caliber.

  “As if a world full of fricking infected isn’t enough,” Ian grumbled as he considered their options. “Back up behind the burned cars,” he said, noticing they hadn’t been taking fire until they’d reached the point where the hood was exposed. Ian did some quick assessments and decided there had to be more than one person, and they probably didn’t all have guns. If there had been a mess of them out there, they would be getting peppered from both sides. Instead, it was just one shot, aimed near Kinsey.

  As they got behind the bulk of wrecked cars, Toby opened his door and rolled out of the truck, keeping low ready. Anybody else, and Ian would worry. But Toby wasn’t just anybody else.

  “Window, Jose,” Ian ordered. “Getting up in the turret will expose you to that sniper.”

  Jose spread out on the back seat, making a small firing platform using the now opened window to direct his trajectory toward the suspected shooter’s location. Typically, Ian would roll out like Toby had, but his door was blocked by the wrecked cars, so he readied the 1911 that he’d acquired from the kid’s backpack.

  “I have a visual: a hundred and fifty yards out, twenty meters from the crest at two o’clock,” Jose said into his coms from the back seat.

  “Mark,” Toby replied. “He has two with him, one with a semi-auto pistol; the other appears unarmed.”

  This blew Ian’s mind. Why would they attack a military vehicle while so undermanned and under armed? It just didn’t make sense. Even the most illiterate idiot would know better than that.

  Suddenly they were firing steadily with what sounded like a deer rifle, pacing in a way that made Ian think they were using a bolt-action and a semi-auto handgun. But why? It wasn’t until he heard Toby and Jose returning fire that it came to him, and Ian instantly felt like bait in a trap.

  “Ex-fil!” Ian shouted. Much to Toby’s credit, he responded immediately by crawling back into the truck.

  “Infected on our six,” Kinsey said, her eyes locked on the rear view mirror.

  “Infected in the east woods at nine o’clock and at twelve o’clock,” Ian replied. This wasn’t a robbery by two-bit bandits; they were creating a diversion. They played us like a fifty-dollar fiddle and are using us to escape.

  Ian watched as five people climbed quietly over the crest of the hill. They wore no smiles as they glanced back at the Humvee. The ironic thing was that if they’d asked for help, Ian’s group might have helped. Based on the bullet marks on the hood, they had made no attempt to kill anyone.

  “You had better floor it, Kinsey. We’re not going to be able to finesse our way out of this one,” Ian said and was surprised to see her smile.

  “Back in my neighborhood, my brothers and I called this the Red Owl, which means cover your noggin and run,” she said as she shifted into low lock and floored it. She was never going to get high speeds in low lock, but her traction would turn the infected to mush. She swerved around the ones that were coming out of the woods on her right, clipping two with her front end. This Humvee came complete with cattle guards and wings, so it could go through several of these things without even slowing.

  The infected were headed straight for them like an arrow, with the thickest portion being in the center, which was right where Kinsey aimed. Ian had to trust her judgement because while he was looking for threats, she’d been scoping the road.

  Both shoulders narrowed and dropped off steeply, one of which seemed to be the beginnings of a ridge. A massive press of bodies could potentially push them over. They braced for the impact and smiled as the vehicle hardly slowed as it hit, crushing and battering away any of the infected that stood in their path. They were through the mass in a five-count. No doubt the vehicle would not have held up if the situation had been prolonged, but for the little bit it did have
to go through, it had performed nicely. Kinsey shifted into high range and turned sharply around the base of the hill, where the shooters had been, and followed the road that had become somewhat U-shaped as it traversed the terrain.

  “Well, lookie there,” Toby said as he pointed out the group of seven, two more than they had originally seen. They were headed toward a ravine with two young children struggling to keep up with the longer legs of the adults.

  “Catch them, Kinsey. I need to have words with them,” Ian said and reached into his bug-out for the Glock and extra magazines. They were sitting ducks, and Ian was acting out of character, but this situation was different. He caught confused looks from Toby and Kinsey, but he didn’t care. These people had shot at them for a reason, and Ian needed them to know that he knew it. Ian looked out the back window and saw the infected rounding the hill.

  The tall man with the rifle slowed and held his gun in the low ready position but didn’t point it at anyone. Ian would bet money that he was out of ammo, and his shots were out of desperation to keep the horde off his people. Kinsey stopped in a cloud of dust from the gravel road, and Ian rolled down his window.

  “I know why you did it, bro. But that is still not an excuse for sacrificing the living. Take this and get into that ravine before they see you,” Ian said and held out the Glock and magazines.