"How's that?" said Charles.
"No depth perception. It's all two dimensional. Probably a good thing that we have to keep it under thirty miles per hour."
"I see what you mean," said Charles. "Like playing a video game."
"Except we have no reset button. We hit something and we're toast. No ambulance and no wrecker. Also, George tells me the screens may not show a pothole."
John was glad he couldn't see out the windows where, instead of seeing any signs of life, only destruction and desolation existed. The grey in the monitor made everything appear ghostly and unreal. He again thought of the ghostly images that he had seen almost every day since leaving China. He thought those images kept telling him his days were numbered. How had he made it this far?
But, the garden was doing well and they had found enough food to continue surviving. Was he over the hump? Had he successfully turned the corner? It was too soon for him to tell and Fred didn't think so. In another few months he would know for sure. Starvation was still a possibility. Being killed by someone who hadn't prepped was a high probability. Best not to take too many chances, but here they were.
Inside the car, everything was in color and appeared to be artificial compared to the grey on the screens. That brought John's thoughts back to the present. It was like Charles had said, almost like playing a video game rather than part of real life. He tried to concentrate on the road. "This your first time in the Dark Dagger, Charles?" He glanced over at his passenger.
"Right. I'd heard you guys talking about it, and it sounded strange. Now that I'm here, the car certainly is strange. Almost like something out of a sci fi novel. All black outside. Windows painted black. Infrared cameras. Infrared illuminators good for four hundred feet. View screens inside. But, with no new technology. Stuff that's been around for years. Hard to believe. George is normally brilliant, but this showed how smart he really is. He outdid himself."
John made the right turn onto Route 109 at the traffic light. Years ago, an accident would occasionally foul up traffic at this intersection as someone forgot to look for oncoming cars. That was no longer a problem and for the next three miles John followed the road toward town. A couple small white plastic bags blew in front of the car, reminding John of this new generation of tumbleweeds in a new generation ghost town.
Another right and a left took him to the shortcut across the northern part of the small town. At the next light, which of course was not red or yellow or green, but black, he turned right and then made a left into the ritzy section. As in much of the state, before the virus attacked, the town had suffered from foreign competition. All the clothing factories and furniture factories had closed down. Most of the wealthy in town became much less so. Maybe they lived on their savings or pensions. But they did hang on. Along the street, a number of Mercedes and BMW's were parked.
"How do we decide which to go to first, Fred? I never knew anyone who lived in this part of town. All our customers were from out of town and our friends lived nearby, in the country."
Leaning against the back of Charles' seat and pointing, Fred said, "Try the driveway on the left. Big house. Looks like a place where well-fed people lived."
"I'll park on the street, just in case we have to make a fast getaway." John slowed and stopped the car. "So, now what? We just walk around?"
"Yeah. I brought some tools. A hammer and some pry bars. I assume you guys brought your guns."
"Always. I go nowhere without it. I also carry an ammo belt Cho made for me with twenty bullets."
"Will she make me one?"
"No, not a chance, Charles, but she'll be happy to spend all day showing you how to make one."
"No offense, John, but that Cho is one strange bird. Even back in China."
"No offense taken, Charles. None at all. Fred, you should have seen Charles in Dubai. He reached out to shake hands with Cho and she put him in some kind of Chinese finger grip. Tears were streaming down his face."
"She is a bit strange, John."
"Absolutely," Charles said, massaging his right hand. "Still hurts when it's cold. I don't look forward to winter."
Charles kept watch with a shotgun in hand while Fred and John donned the homemade plastic bag and duct tape suits, rubber gloves, helmets made from old motorcycle helmets and finished off with respirators. John grabbed the sprayer and trash bag for stowing the suits while Fred took his bag of tools. They walked through the tall weeds, which had overtaken the lawn to the rear of the giant house. Fred tried the doorknob of the back door and it turned easily. Examining the area around door, Fred said, "Broken wood. Somebody's already beaten us to it. Let's go in anyway. I'm curious. Never know what we might find."
"I'll stay here and keep watch, guys," said Charles. "Yell out if you need help." He took up a stance at the corner of the house so he could see the front and the rear yards as well as keeping the Dark Deacon in sight. Although, watching a black car in the blackness of night was more idea than eyesight.
John and Fred entered and searched all the rooms on the main floor, finding no bodies and no food. Upstairs, the closets had only clothing. One with men's clothing and another with women's.
"Do we need any clothing, John?"
"If that's all we could find tonight, I'd take it. But for now, let's leave it. I'll make a note of the location and what is here when we go back to the car."
They came back downstairs and opened the door to the basement. Fred flashed his light down the steep stairs.
"Watch your step and don't catch one of your plastic bags on anything. Rip a hole in a bag and you could be toast."
"Definitely not dry toast. This suit is humid inside. I'm sweating like a pig. People always say that. Do pigs sweat a lot?"
"Don't know. Ask George."
They walked down the stairs, gun in one hand and bag and a flashlight in the other. They waved their flashlights in a sweeping motion around the perimeter. In a back corner was a small set of shelves with cans of vegetables.
"See that, John." Fred smiled to himself, thinking he had made a wise decision. "Almost like finding gold, you know, John. It's a sad situation when two dozen cans of vegetables makes you happier than a bar of gold," he said putting the cans into the bag with his tools. "Although, if I found a bar of gold, I wouldn't leave it behind."
"I believe the worst is over. The future will be better. If that's it, let's go back to the car and unload. We'll try the house next door."
"Yeah, I'd like a breather from this suit. Humidity in here is horrible."
After a short break, they donned the suits again and went to the house next door. The back door was broken but, unlike the previous house, this one was badly vandalized. They spent ten minutes searching the upper floors before heading for the basement. As Fred opened the basement door, a foul stench hit them hard and Fred closed it quickly.
"What do we do?"
"This is your party. We can investigate further or go next door. Either way is fine with me."
"I'm pretty sure what we'll find, but after finding those cans in the last basement, I don't want to pass up any chance. Anybody else would have stayed out of this house. Maybe I'm crazy."
John took a deep breath as Fred opened the basement door again. They walked down the stairs slowly, listened for any odd sounds, but only heard the creak of the stairs.
John swept his flashlight to the right and saw nothing. "What do you see?"
Fred inched forward until his light landed on a horrific sight. He reared back on his heels. "Two people, tied to chairs. I'm not going to go any closer to them. They haven't been dead that long. From the smell, only a week or two. This has to be the worst odor ever. Somebody must have known they had something valuable. They were probably after money or guns. Not food."
"You're right," John said, from the back of the basement. "I've found two cases of MRE's. Nothing else over here. If you don't see anything else, let's go. The stench is getting to me. The humidity in this suit is almost as bad."
"Fred, let's go. That's enough. Move your butt." John swung his light onto Fred and saw the horror on his face. He gripped Fred's forearm like a vise and dragged him up the stairs.
"Sorry John. Don't know what came over me. That was horrific. They were tortured. I couldn't take my eyes off them."
"It happens to us all, sometimes, Fred. Here, I'll spray you, then you can spray me."
John used the sprayer to wash off anything from Fred's plastic suit and vice versa. Then John sprayed the boxes containing the MRE's.
"This has been more profitable than I expected," said John, putting the boxes into the back seat of the Dark Defender.
"You see anything else?" Charles said, checking the MRE's.
"Lots of boxes," said Fred. Clothing and Christmas ornaments. We should write that down too. It might help improve our outlook around the end of the year. We could have a Christmas party. Elspeth could climb back up on that table," Fred put his suit into the plastic bag. He tried to smile, but the images of the mutilated people were too vivid in his mind.
"What was that?" Charles whispered. "You hear something?"
"Kill the lights and hop in the car. We'll watch the screens," said John.
John turned on the viewscreens and the car's illuminators, then watched for movement.
"Way down the street," Fred said. "Four people. Men."
"Could be the ones who killed these people," John said. "They aren't using a flashlight. That's a bad sign. They could have night vision."
"If they did," said Charles, "these illuminators would look like search lights. They would know we're here."
"What should we do? If we jumped out, we could hit three of them, but the fourth would take a shot at us. Or, I could slowly back up the street away from them. We could park the car and come back and pick them off. I wish I had brought a rifle."
"A rifle wouldn't work unless you had some kind of night vision scope. We don't. I should have ordered one back before the panic. Thinking back on it, I don't know how I overlooked it. It would have been a great prepper item. It's one of those things that we should have thought about two months ago and didn't. Without it, one of us would have to turn on a light, becoming a target. The others would have to shoot quickly and not miss. Go ahead and back up," Fred said, turning his rear view screen so that John could see behind.
"In a normal urban setting, nobody would hear the car, but now, with no traffic and no ACs in the houses nearby, they will hear us. If they see us, they'll take a shot. We're not bullet proof. Just a few steel plates in the doors."
"They may take a shot, even if they don't see us. Look. They turned their heads toward us. They heard the car. Hit the gas and zip around that next corner."
"They didn't shoot. Either they're conserving bullets or they don't have guns."
"Stop the car," Fred said. "I'm going back. Maybe just to listen. It really pisses me off that they tortured those old folks."
"OK, Fred. I'm in. We need to be a few blocks away or they'll hear the doors."
"I'm in, too," said Charles. "Cho would kill me if I let anything happen to John. Literally. And probably slowly and painfully," he said with a shiver.
John parked the car in a driveway between two houses and carefully opened and closed the door to avoid any noise. They walked back the way they had come, slowly, trying to avoid making any sound. They just began to make out shapes of the men as they started to hear voices.
"I tell you, it was a ghost. They make that whir sound as they whoosh through the air. I've heard it before."
"You idiot. If they make a whoosh sound, then they make a whoosh sound. They don't make a whir sound. It was something else I'm tellin' you."
"It was an alien," said a third voice. "This whole thing was caused by aliens. I saw a show like this on television. They brought this plague. They could be down here checking to see if they killed everybody. They may be behind the next house with ray guns ready to zap us."
"Well they didn't zap us and they didn't stop to kidnap us. They just left. Whoever or whatever they were."
Fred whispered, "John, can you hit one at this range with that little popgun of yours."
"No, but I brought the big one with the six-inch barrel. I have a better than fifty percent chance."
"What about you Charles?"
"I'll take number three."
"I'll take the one in front and, John, you take number two. Then, you and I go for number four and Charles, do what you need to. Play it by ear after that. On three. One. Two. Three."
The three shots were thunderous and the second volley was the same. Four bodies fell to the ground.
John pointed a finger toward his ear and said, "One thing that television never properly portrayed was how much noise a forty-five really makes. Especially with the sound bouncing off all these brick houses. A television speaker just doesn't have that much power. My ears hurt. When we trained in summer camp, I could never believe how loud the guns were. Even using ear muffs. If anybody is alive around here, they're running to their windows now. We could use some kind of silencer."
"Great on a twenty-two automatic, like the one Cho carries. But not much good on a forty-five revolver. Television never portrayed that correctly either."
"You look around and see. I'm not taking my eyes off those guys. This is the dangerous part," said Fred. "Let's go check them out. I'll watch the first two, you watch the third, Charles number four. In case one of us missed."
"One of us? You mean me, Fred."
"I mean one of us, John."
Fred turned on his flashlight and immediately fired. "The first one twitched. Be careful."
When they moved closer, John said, "Damn. Check out that face. His arms and hands are similar. Grotesque. Looks like he's been beaten with a chain. He's swollen with welts and bumps all over. Damn, that's horrible."
"I saw something a little like that in Iraq once. Not as bad. Somebody said it was the Arab virus."
"Stay back. I'll check another," Fred said, putting his light on number three. He gingerly stepped around the body. "He's the same. Nobody looks like this naturally. I'll bet Charles is right. This was caused by the plague. It didn't kill everybody. But it did do something to these guys. Something really bad. You still carry that little camera, John?"
"Yeah, I'll take a few pictures. We'll show them to Pierre. I really don't like killing people, but if they're the ones who were killing others, I suppose it's justified."
"They may be contagious," said Charles.
"I'm not going to stay to find out. We need to be gone from here, fast. When we go back, I'll leave the car outside. We'll take off our clothes and shower in the barn."
John's mind turned to the conversation he had with Sarah. Sarah had referred to other scavenging survivors as mutants. What if she had actually killed one of these men and come in contact with them? Had she contaminated the whole group? He only hoped Pierre would give them good news.
* * *
Pierre was hunched in front of his computer in his second bedroom looking over John's pictures from the previous night. He examined each one, zooming in and trying to figure out what sort of accident or mutation had occurred. He was so involved he didn't hear John come into the room.
"Pierre. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. The door was open What's the story?" John said, drying his hair with a towel. "I took three showers in the barn and two in my bathroom. Used lots of soap. We put our clothes in a plastic bag in the garage. I'll burn them tomorrow."
Pierre lifted his head. "Make sure the wind is blowing away from the housing when you do it. Were they breathing when you were close to them?"
"One was breathing when we were twenty feet away. Just barely. Fred shot him, again. We waited a few minutes before approaching." John eased into one of the wooden chairs beside Pierre's desk.
"You s
hould be safe. You're probably immune anyway. With all that washing, the rest of us should be safe, also. If you want to be absolutely certain you did not bring anything back, wait two days, then wash all the hard surfaces of the car with bleach and soap while you're wearing your plastic bags."
Pierre appeared to be filled with curiosity and turned to continue examining the pictures.
"I have never seen a virus have such an effect. It would be interesting to go back and take a sample. However, we don't have a laboratory to analyze a sample. But, you are right. The virus killed most and it maimed many of the remaining." He leaned forward, chin on his clasped hands still hypnotized by the picture on the monitor.
Finally, he turned away from the screen and looked at John. "It is impossible to be sure, but I think it was trying to change their DNA. The Chinese were quite talented in genetic engineering. I read a number of papers they published. It was obvious they were not telling everything. Now we know how good they really were. They killed most and maimed the rest. Mon Dieu, this could have happened to me, if I stayed in France. You said these men were walking and talking normally?"
John closed his eyes, trying to recall the incident. "Now that I think of it, they were slow. Both walking and talking. Maybe also thinking. Two were talking about ghosts and aliens."
"That may mean something and may not. Many people talk about ghosts or aliens."
Fred slipped into the room and took a seat next to John. "I suppose we learned two things, John."
"Yeah, Fred."
"People are still alive, if you want to call them people. Those guys were hideous."
"And the second."
"Some food is still available. If not, they would be dead. Those guys must have raided all the houses in that neighborhood."
"Sounds like you want to do it again."
"No worse than Iraq. Next time, we all wear plastic suits."
Chapter 41 - Finding
Two days later, Sarah, John and Fred left early on another hunting expedition. Hunting in the day and foraging at night made for a busy day. Around eight o'clock, they arrived at the location where they had originally found Sarah. Looking around the area, they found no sign of turkeys.
The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set) Page 42
