by Hoaks, C. A.
Jake’s dark face was all grins as he guided the woman to the ground using the brush guard as a ladder. He was acting as if she were made of porcelain.
“Now don’t you worry, we’re gonna take real good care of you,” Jake announced.
Shaking his head and grinning, Matt called out, “Anything you want from the cab?”
The woman looked up. “That green bag and there’s a Mossberg. Grab anything else you think might be useful. Don’t forget my quilt.”
Matt reached inside and found both the bag and the rifle. He picked up a few more items, dropped them in the bag, then slung it over his shoulder and passed the Mossberg 930 to Jake before he climbed out the door and down the side of the rig.
A few minutes later, Matt handed the woman a bottle of water. “The big ugly guy is Jake Curtis, I’m Matt Monroe. How are you feeling?” He opened a bottle of water for himself.
The woman took a long drink, belched loudly, then took another drink. “Damn. I needed that.” She brought her fingers to the wound on her head. “Is it bad?”
Jake pulled a couple wet wipes from his cargo pants pocket. He passed both to her.
She wiped her face and hands then turned toward the bright chrome of the orange rig’s bumper. She dabbed at the gash at the side of her head with a second wipe. The wound stretched into the hairline.
“My name is Tate Hamilton,” the woman announced as she studied the line of holes across the front of the truck grill. “Look what those assholes did to my rig?” Tate’s face tightened in rage, then relaxed. “I guess I should thank you for getting me outta there. I don’t know if that bunch will be coming back, but I know for sure I don’t want to be around if they do.”
Still studying her reflection in the chrome, she pushed at the flesh on either side of the long gash. “I think I’ll need some stitches. You boys got a needle and thread or super glue?”
Matt watched in fascination as the muscles under the tropical colors flexed and rippled. He wondered how much of her body was covered in ink. He looked at her face and suddenly noticed the puzzled looked in her hazel eyes.
“What?” Matt stammered. “We don’t have needle and thread.”
Jake laughed, “At camp. We got a mess of medical supplies.” He passed her an oversized Band-Aid.
Matt swallowed a gulp of water. “Your truck is history.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Tate answered. She looked at the crane truck and flat beds and then back at the soldiers.
“You want to head back with us?
“I don’t think I have much choice. What’re you boys up to?”
Jake answered, “We got a pack of kids to feed at a camp about thirty miles from here. We figured to take full containers from the train down the road.”
Tate smiled. “Good idea. Too bad the Orange Bitch is fried. Hey, you need a driver?”
Matt laughed. “Orange Bitch?”
Tate patted the orange painted hood at her side. “She was mine. Still paying on her before the world went to shit.”
“Where were you headed?” Matt asked.
“Northwest part of the state. I got a cousin up there. I’m hoping family from Houston headed that way when the city was evacuated. At least, I hope they got evacuated. I was waiting for a load in San Antonio when the shit hit the fan. I got out of town, then got trapped on the back roads. I found a tanker this morning and filled the Bitch up and was headed to Randy’s place.”
Jake grinned. “You can come with us until we find you some new wheels.”
Matt nodded. “That is if you don’t mind our doing a little shopping first.”
Tate shrugged. “No problem.”
They busted the door of the trailer and dismissed the content since it was filled with construction insulation. The two cabs were locked together, and even with the crane, it was a big job. It took an hour to move the trailer and the two tractors off of the road. With her truck resting in the ditch, Tate stood in the middle of the asphalt staring at the pile of twisted metal and chrome lying on its side.
Finally, she turned away. “If I get a chance I’m going to flatten those fuckers.”
“Who?” Matt asked.
“Rednecks with automatic weapons,” Tate answered.
“Did you know the other driver?”
Tate sighed. “I picked up a few miles back. His name was Jimmy Walker. I met him a few times on the job. When he heard the gunfire, he put the pedal down and rolled right into the bullshit. By then, the bitch was on the side and sliding, and I was out for the count.”
“Sorry. Your friend didn’t make it.”
“I saw the windshield and figured as much.”
Matt pushed the passenger door of the Humvee open. “We gotta get going. I want to get the haul back to the camp before dark.”
Tate slid into the passenger seat and leaned her head against the headrest. She raised a hand to the side of her bandaged head.
“Hurting?” Matt asked as he eased the Humvee down the road toward the stalled train.
“Yeah. I was feeling a little sick, but the water is helping.”
“You probably got a slight concussion added to dehydration. Try to stay awake, and we’ll try to be quick,” answered Matt.
“No problem. I’m just grateful you found me,” Tate sniffed the air. “My friend, Jimmy. Did he turn?”
“No. It was quick, several head shots from what I could see,” Matt continued.
“I guess that’s something. I hate to think of anyone I know turning. They smell like shit.”
“We try not to get close enough to smell ‘em,” Matt answered. “But yeah, they smell.”
Tate grinned. “I think it’s because they’re all walking around with a load of shit in their pants. That and the heat. Shit and rotting meat make a gross combination.”
Matt chuckled as he steered the Humvee past a stand of trees and into view of the full length of a train. A white rig and trailer with the back door hanging open sat next to the train. Dozens of boxes had been stacked inside the container, while still more lay on the ground at the back.
A dozen infected stumbled around an open train car and the back of the truck trailer. Half of the infected had blackened skin with wounds oozing a pussy-looking sludge, while the others appeared less decayed. The others, new turns, appeared to be rough looking men in work clothes. They had grievous wounds that caused their deaths. Their skin had the telltale gray of death while their clothes were in reasonably good condition and they wore shoes.
Tate commented, “ The dead rednecks are the ones that attacked Jimmy and me. I’m pretty sure of it.”
“We got a problem!” Matt announced into the radio.
Chapter 10
Look of Pain
John and Harry passed a scavenged pair of binoculars back and forth, each examining the obstruction ahead. They had gotten to within a mile of the Bandera Highway interchange on 16 when they stopped to face a complete traffic stoppage. Vehicle after vehicle had lined up one behind the next, only to stop and never move again. Traffic had ground to a complete stop at the interchange after an accident involving a panel truck and SUV. From the bodies wandering between the vehicles, it looked as if the stalled motorists were then overwhelmed by a horde of the infected. Now, the monsters wondered between the cars and trucks looking for new prey.
John wiped at the moisture on his face. “Well, this sucks.”
Harry agreed, “We won’t be getting through that. Not even on the bikes.”
Harry pulled bottles of water and energy bars from his saddlebags and passed them around.
Liz swallowed down the hint of nausea when the aroma of the warmed oats and raspberry fragrance wafted up from the open wrapper. She set her helmet on the back of the bike. “I guess we have to come up with a Plan-B.”
She folded the wrapper around the granola bar closed and slipped it back in her pocket. She leaned over and fished a map from a side pocket on the saddlebag. Sipping at the water, she studied the map for sever
al minutes.
Frustrated at the breeze fluttering the paper, she stepped off the bike and spread the map on a nearby hood. She used the bottle of water to hold down the map. She turned back to the map, using her finger to trace fine lines back and forth. The smell of raspberry made her stomach roll.
Finally, she spoke up, “We’ll have to backtrack and try one of the rural roads to go around. The closest turn off is Ranchero Road. I can see a way to weave around until we get back to 98 North. There’ll probably be some business and residential areas, but this map doesn’t show many side roads.”
Harry let Liz trace the route for them, then stepped onto his bike and buckled his helmet to the side of the motorcycle in front of him. “Could get dicey, so ditch your helmet, John. We need to have a good field of vision.”
“Agreed.” John replaced his helmet and cranked his bike.
Liz buckled her helmet to the curve of chrome behind the seat. She pulled a bandana from her pocket and wrapped it around her head, tying it in the back. Settling on the seat, she patted Harry’s shoulder. “Ready.”
They dodged around stalled cars until they got to the next exit where they left the road and made their way back to the intersection and the remains of a minor fender bender. Through the open doors, they could see blood smeared on the inside of a Subaru. The back seat held two children's car seats.
Liz’s hand fisted against Harry’s waist. He pressed his arm against her hand and remarked over his shoulder, “No blood on the car seats. The kids weren’t with the driver.”
Liz relaxed a bit and looked to either side of the intersection. “There’s a gas station. Should we fill up?”
John answered, “I got half a tank, but I think we can top off.” He rolled forward through the intersection and toward the two-pump island where a small truck was parked. “We could use those gas cans in the back of that truck.”
Harry shrugged. “Let’s clear the place before we get out the hand pump.” He added over his shoulder, “Lizzy, you stay close to the bikes and watch the highway while we’re busy.”
They parked with the bikes facing the road, and the trio stepped off the machines with guns drawn. Harry and John walked toward the two vehicles and the building.
Liz stood near the bikes and scanned the houses across the street. She noticed one across the street where a teenage girl stood behind a large picture window. The girl with a blank look slapped bloodied hands against the glass.
Liz looked closer and saw a ragged bandage hanging from the side of one arm. Liz could hear the muffled thud of flesh against the double paned glass from across the street. The infected teen was trapped in the house. No danger, there.
She relaxed a bit and again glanced down the street and saw nothing to cause alarm. It was unbelievably quiet. She watched the two men clear the area and head around the side of the station. Suddenly, she heard a yelp of surprise from Harry. Liz raced toward the shriek, sure the two men were under attack.
“Fuck!” John bellowed. “Who in the hell….”
Liz rounded the corner of the building and stopped. She teetered in surprise when she saw what had startled John. Harry stood on the opposite corner of the building staring at the site that had caused the outburst from John.
Liz looked at the monsters inside a concrete block enclosure. The trash dumpster had been pulled out creating a prison with a chain-linked gate at the front. Two infected adults and three young boys had their fingers laced through the fencing trying to reach John and Harry.
The duel gates were secured with two padlocked chains. They appeared to be members of a family. A woman, a man and three boys of varying ages from pre-teen to teenager, were trapped inside. All except the male had the same blonde hair as the young girl across the street. The man appeared the most ravaged of the group.
“Who the fuck would do this?”
Liz stepped closer and saw a handwritten note inside a plastic page protector attached to the concrete wall. It read, “Please end this for my family, I can’t.” A smear of blood trailed down the side of the plastic. The girly script was a dead giveaway.
Tears slipped from Liz’s eyes. She stepped to the gate and raised her gun. She fired. One by one, she shot the monsters inside the enclosure.
Harry looked at Liz with a quizzical look on her face. “Why did you do that? They were no danger.”
Liz pointed to the girl across the street standing at the picture window. “They were her family. I think the man put the wife and kids inside, then got bit himself. Rather than hurt the girl he made her help him go inside. That’s why he looks so bad. He was still alive when he went in there. Anyway, I imagine she got bit in the process, and now she’s trapped in the house.”
Liz walked toward the street, but Harry grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“See that she joins her family,” Liz answered.
“You don’t have to do this,” John announced. “I’ll do it.”
Liz moved her head from side to side. “I have to do this.”
“We’ll go with you,” Harry announced.
“No. I don’t need help,” Liz protested.
She walked away without looking back to see if the men were following. She crossed the blacktop all the while watching the girl still standing at the window. It might have been her imagination, but Liz imagined her face sad with longing for her family as she watched Liz’s approach from the gas station. Harry and John ignored Liz’s protest and followed.
Harry asked, “How are WE doing this?”
“I’m going to open the door, and lead her across the street, then shoot her in the head,” Liz added. “When we leave, we can burn the bodies.”
They followed a blood trail to the front door of the ranch-style house. The door was streaked with blood. When Harry tested the knob, it turned. Harry pushed the door open, and he called out, “Come on little girl.”
The dead girl stumbled toward the beckoning voice. When she got to the door, her eyes locked on Liz.
Liz backed down the steps, all the while speaking to the girl. “A few more steps and you’ll be with your family,” she whispered, as tears spilled from her eyes.
Without the gray pallor of death, the girl could have been a county fair queen, cheerleader, or prom date for a football star. Even with the greasy hair and look of death, she was still beautiful. She wore jeans and a tank top with an oversized plaid. On her feet, she wore pink jogging shoes that were splattered with blood. Everything about her was heartbreakingly sad. Liz wept at the lives lost since the attack in San Antonio.
Harry and John followed Liz as she led the girl to the parking lot to the back of the station. Despite the gnashing teeth and outstretched arms, Liz spoke to the girl in a voice filled with sorrow and compassion. By the time they stumbled around the corner of the station, Liz was sobbing the words of encouragement.
Silently, Harry stepped up behind the girl and pointed the barrel of his handgun at the base of her skull. He pulled the trigger, shattering the afternoon quiet.
The child fell to the asphalt at Liz’s feet. Liz collapsed to her knees and slowly brushed the blonde hair from the girl’s face as she sobbed for the lost life.
Chapter 11
Utopia
Della, Steve, and Sandy settled at the picnic table waiting for the promised meal to arrive. They studied their surroundings and quietly admired the small park in front of the building they would call home for the time being. The motel itself was a two-story, “keep-the-lights-on” model that someone had turned into temporary housing for new arrivals to Utopia. The inside of the units, once probably generic and predictable, now included an eclectic array of antique and box store furniture with an assortment of bedding including homemade quilts. Zack suddenly appeared, looking clean and still a little flushed from his shower.
A man with a broad middle covered in a white apron, a round face, and infectious smile approached them pushing a cart with four containers, an assortment of bottled and canned drinks and s
tack of place settings. “Hey, folks. I heard you could use a good home cooked meal. My name’s Tony Baker.”
“Nice to meet you, Tony. We sure could use something to eat,” Zack answered.
“I see you folks got all cleaned up. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” He passed napkins and eating utensils around the table while he continued talking. “I hear you have an interesting tale to tell.” He set plates and flatware in front of each, then serving bowls and a platter of fried chicken in the middle of the table, then collapsed at the end of the bench.
“Go on folks…eat up.” He opened a bottle of water and took a long drink.
Zack’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the fried chicken. He retrieved a chicken leg then quickly held the leg to his mouth and took a bite. His eyes slid closed as he let the spicy crusted chicken fill his mouth. He sighed and began chewing as a smile creased his face. When he realized everyone else had grown quiet, he opened his eyes and saw everyone looking at him.
“What?” Zack asked a little confused.
Everyone laughed. Steve answered with a grin on his face, “We didn’t want to interrupt when you were having a moment.”
Speaking around the meat, Zack replied, “I really like fried chicken.” He laughed in a way only Zack could when teasing. “You know, it’s a black thing. Now I’d be in heaven if you had watermelon.”
Everyone burst out laughing then passed around plates and began eating chicken, potatoes, home-made bread and corn on the cob.
Steve forked a big bite of mashed potatoes and looked across the table at Tony. “So, what’s the story here? It looks like the town is in pretty good shape. Fried chicken?”
Tony laughed. “Now, we are. We’re trying to make sure we stay safe, so we check people out, then let folks come in. There’re only two ways in or out of town. You saw the bridge. The other end of town bottlenecks at the canyon entrance.”
“Sounds pretty secure,” Steve commented.
“We didn’t pay much attention when it first started happening. Since we’re so off the beaten path, we’ve really only had a couple dozen people even show up, and it was families of locals. Of course, it got to be a problem, but we’ll discuss that later. Anyway, the mayor and city council are running things. You met our sheriff, Ollie. We have local cops and volunteers manning the road blocks.” Tony shrugged and grinned. “Oh, by the way. I’m the mayor, so if you need anything just let me know. Now, what’s your story?”
