She spent most of an hour siphoning what she could from the gas tanks into the can she’d taken from the old couple’s house to refuel the Caddy and to make a quick search of the vehicles, which yielded a small amount of snack food, three bottled waters and a couple more maps. Most of the cars still had keys in the ignitions and she was able to move a couple out of the way and shifted the badly wrecked ones into neutral, then moved most of the scattered pieces of wreckage off the road and used the big Caddy to nudge and bully her way through. The car didn’t look like showroom material anymore, but the engine still purred and she sped along the road until she came up on the group of infected. Slowing to around twenty, she bounced a few of them off her fenders and bumper and moved on past them.
Miles later, she found the charred wrecks of an automobile and a farm vehicle blocking a bridge over a wide stream and it took her over an hour to find an alternate route so that it was just beginning to get dark by the time she approached the next town. It was another small community that might have held three or four thousand people in better times, but like the others she’d passed, was now deserted of life and the air was heavy with the scent of death and decay. She was loathe to spend the night there, but the alternative was to keep driving on into the night while the effects of too little sleep took a toll on her body and the possibility of being stranded on the road in the dark was all too likely.
A sturdy looking, one story brick building, a small bank branch office, stood at one corner of an intersection, set back a few yards from the road with parking lots at the side and behind it. The door was ajar and Karen, after parking the car on the street in front of it, eased the door wider and peered inside. The remains of two or more bodies, it was hard to tell by this point, were strewn near a desk but a quick search of the few other rooms proved the building to be otherwise empty. After bringing in her pistol and shotgun along with part of the food and water, she closed and bolted the heavy door and checked the windows and, finding them secured with heavy wire mesh and firmly locked, resolved herself to spending the night. Once she’d eaten, she again checked the doors and windows before curling up on a small sofa and quickly drifting off to sleep.
Chapter 2: Ethan
Ethan Tyler was again cursing himself for being so stupidly impulsive. His foreman at the warehouse had been riding him all day, just as he’d been every day for the past week since finding out he’d served two tours in the Middle East. Today was the day he’d finally had enough and decked him after the man had called him a baby-killer, dropping him straight to the floor with a broken nose. He stormed out of the building as the man screamed about having him arrested for assault and now, nervously peering out the window of his apartment, he watched a police cruiser pull up in front of it.
This wouldn’t be the first time his temper got the best of him or his first brush with the law since his discharge. He was sure he’d broken a man’s jaw in a bar fight only two weeks earlier over a similar incident and, before that, he’d put another man in the hospital for several days, again after being confronted about his service. The prosecutor grudgingly had to drop criminal charges when witnesses testified the other man threw the first punch, but he’d been put on notice that there would be no second chances.
Two officers got out of the car and began walking toward his door when one of them stopped and leaned his head to the side, listening to a call on his radio. He talked briefly to the other officer and both hurried back to the car and it sped off, lights flashing and siren blaring. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, Ethan let it out and felt the tension drain from his muscles. He was late on his rent anyway and, if he were arrested, the landlord would toss his stuff to the street and couldn’t help but find the completely illegal M-4 automatic rifle in his closet. He’d inform the police, of course, and they’d confiscate it along with his three pistols, riot shotgun, ammunition and assortment of combat knives. Then he’d be in serious trouble.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and turned on the TV, settling into a chair and waiting for the inevitable return of the law. The image on the screen brought a brief flashback as he watched a line of policemen firing into a crowd of people charging at them. The people moved awkwardly and didn’t seem the least intimidated by the hail of lead directed at them. The commentator described similar scenes breaking out all over the city and announced that the National Guard had been activated and was sending troops in. Ethan sat well forward in his chair as he suddenly realized this was happening in an American city and not somewhere overseas. He watched with disbelief as one of the rioters reached the police line and attacked an officer, sinking his teeth into the man’s face and tearing away a huge chunk of flesh before being shot down by another officer. Then it became obvious that the line wouldn’t hold and the police began to retreat. The image became jerky and blurred as the reporter and cameraman hurriedly backed away and the last thing he saw was a close up of a blood smeared face with bared teeth before the camera dropped to the ground and the screen blanked out, to be replaced a moment later by the image of the shocked on-air newsroom staff.
Ethan surfed the channels and found they all carried like stories of mass rioting, shootings and acts of apparent cannibalism. A scream from outside drew his attention away from the broadcasts and he looked out the window to see one of his neighbors being devoured alive by three other men. More people, men and women both, rushed in and fought over the now dead man, tearing at him and greedily stuffing their faces with his flesh. A few other people appeared and tried to stop them only to themselves fall victim to the mindless violence.
“Good God…” Ethan mumbled as he watched the scene unfold. He went to his closet to retrieve the rifle, slapped a magazine in it and stepped outside, shouting a warning to the assailants. The sound of his voice only drew the attention of the infected and those who weren’t actively devouring the flesh of their victims turned to advance on him. Ethan hesitated for a few moments, reluctant to again fire on civilians after his horrifying experiences overseas but they kept coming, reaching for him, growling and snarling like feral beasts until he could no longer afford to have a conscience. He began firing coolly and methodically, dropping the assailants one by one until all was quiet once again. It stayed quiet for only a few moments until, attracted by the gunfire, more infected began to converge on the block. Ethan emptied two magazines and part of a third before it was clear again, then strapped on a pistol, quickly packed the rest of his weapons and ammunition into a duffel bag and headed for the parking lot. He emptied the rest of his rifle magazine, used most of his pistol mag to reach his car, and then headed south, out of the city as fast as he could.
He hit the I-75 Bridge over the Ohio River before the mad rush to escape the city was in full motion and made his way across slowly but without major incident. It wouldn’t be long before the main highways began to clog with vehicles wrecked or abandoned in the desperate flight to leave the city and he turned off the freeway at his first opportunity, skimming the outskirts of Covington and hitting 27 South. At one point, he took fire from a small group of angry young men armed with pistols who tried to block the road, but a few well-aimed bursts from his M-4 convinced them that they were out-matched and he was able to proceed.
The radio carried further reports of the spread of the infection and it was obvious that it wasn’t a localized outbreak but a worldwide pandemic. Some stations tried to describe the progression of The Somali Infection, as they initially termed it, but there were so many contradictory opinions that it was plain that no one really knew exactly what was happening. All he could glean from the broadcasts was that a person bitten by one of the infected, if he survived, would become lethargic, feverish and eventually lapse into a coma. In most cases, the victim would awake in something less than an hour, homicidally violent, lusting for flesh, either human or animal, the fresher the better. It wasn’t even necessary to be bitten to become infected; most cases, in fact, seemed to develop spontaneously. Once turned, there was no reasoni
ng with the infected; they recognized no one, not even members of their own families, showed virtually no sign of pain at being wounded or otherwise injured and exhibited not a trace of fear or caution. Upon sighting a potential victim, they bore ahead relentlessly, remorselessly, ignoring the presence of armed defenders or the infliction of non-crippling wounds. Nothing mattered to them except reaching their goal, and their only goal was to feed.
Every community he passed for the rest of the afternoon seemed to be in a similar state. Cars and trucks by the score lay overturned in roadside ditches, smashed up against trees or utility poles, jammed together in wrecks or simply abandoned on the road. In most places, he was able to maneuver between the vehicles and the detritus of headlong flight but, in a few instances, he had to push cars out of the way or get out and clear debris before continuing. Always, it seemed, the infected appeared whenever he left his vehicle and he had to decide whether it was better to fight them off in order to clear his path or simply to try to find another way around. It was beyond his understanding how yesterday was a relatively normal day and today the entire world seemed to unravel.
Hours of slow, tedious travel later, the sun was nearing the horizon and Ethan began to look for a likely spot to spend the night. Not far north of Cynthiana, he pulled off onto a side road and parked, setting off on foot into an empty field with his weapons and sleeping bag after disabling the engine. He picked a low spot deep in the middle of the field, giving him an unobstructed view all around but keeping him concealed from casual observation. There he rolled out the bag and settled in on top of it and, keeping his rifle at his side and holding a pistol in his hand, eventually drifted off into a restive sleep.
The sun in his face woke him not long after daybreak, though, in truth, he’d slept only fitfully during the night, and he rose up slightly to scan the area thoroughly before rolling up his sleeping bag and heading back to the car. It seemed undisturbed but he stopped some hundred feet away and crouched there, rifle at the ready, and watched until he was satisfied he was alone. When he got back to Route 27, he stopped the car and sat for a while, realizing, for the first time, that he had absolutely no idea where he was going. The only thought in his mind up to this point had been to get away from the city and the madness. Now that he was well on his way, he hadn’t a clue about a final destination. Cincinnati lay miles to the north, too far away now to turn back and, even if he did and things had somehow returned to normal, there was nothing left for him there. Lexington was the only city of any size nearby and he decided to try his luck there.
While heading in that direction, he began to notice a dark haze, but only to the southwest, the rest of the sky all around being mostly clear with only scattered cloud cover. By the time he reached the outskirts of Paris, it was plain that the haze was the result of the towering columns of smoke issuing from the stricken city of Lexington. Obviously, there was no point in continuing in that direction, so he turned toward Paris, hoping to find some kind of order still in place. He made it as far as Houston Creek where the road was blocked by two semi-trucks astride the lanes several hundred feet past a sign warning strangers to stay away. A gunshot rang out when he exited his car to try to get a better look and he decided to turn around and try his luck elsewhere. A roundabout route brought him well around the town and he continued heading generally south.
By noon, the radio was picking up only static and he took that as meaning civilization had not rebounded from the disaster and he would probably be on his own from now on. He had a buddy he’d served with in Afghanistan who now lived in Richmond the last he’d heard. There was an Army base of sorts nearby, he wasn’t sure exactly what kind of installation it was, but thought it was as likely a place as any to try to start over. At the rate he was able to travel, it was still likely several hours away so he took a chance on stopping near an isolated house with a couple of cars and a pickup in the driveway.
No one challenged him as he drove up or when he exited the car and started toward the house. He knocked loudly on the front door and was greeted by the sound of fists beating against the door and snarling and moaning from inside the house. Deciding to leave well enough alone there, Ethan cut a length of garden hose from a coil by an outside faucet and used it to siphon gas from the parked vehicles. Once he’d refilled his tank and had a full can besides, he opened one of the cars to rummage through it for anything useful. For his troubles, he gained a flashlight from the glove box and a butane lighter from the floor. The truck contained nothing of interest and the other car was locked, so he smashed the driver side window to gain entry. There was a .38 revolver in the glove box and a scoped, .308 hunting rifle in a leather case with a box containing twenty-one rounds in the trunk, all of which he put into his own car.
His stomach grumbled and he was suddenly aware of how long he’d gone without eating and that he’d left his apartment in such a rush he’d neglected to take any food with him. There’d been times he’d gone longer without eating, particularly a four day stretch when his transport copter had gone down in Afghanistan and he had to wait for rescue, but he had no desire to repeat that experience. There was probably food in the house, but he had no idea how many infected might be in there with it.
Back up on the porch, he could look in through a window and saw two figures, both men, hovering around the door. He tapped on the window and both turned toward the sound and spotted him, raking hands against the glass and becoming very agitated. He knocked loudly at the window, pounding the frame with the butt of his pistol, trying to draw out any others that might be in a different part of the house, but saw only those two. Ethan went to a window at the side of the house and rapped against it until the two infected were drawn to the sound, then hurried back to the front door and, finding it unlocked, threw it open.
The smell made him take a step back, his stomach churning at the stench. The reek of death and eviscerated bowels brought back memories he’d hoped to forget but knew he never could. One of the infected heard him and stumbled into the room, reaching out and charging as soon as it saw him. Ethan’s combat knife drove upward, under the ribcage and pierced the man’s heart, dropping him to the floor in seconds. The second infected was coming fast and Ethan swung the butt of his rifle, connecting with the side of its head, then finished it off with his knife as it lay on the floor. He found that the smell came from the remains of three other bodies in the house; a woman, an old man and a young boy of about fifteen. The aroma of death was all too familiar to him and he almost ceased to notice it after a few minutes of ransacking the kitchen and pantry.
Outside again, he opened a can of beef stew and ate it cold out of the can, washing it down with a warm beer while sitting cross-legged on the roof of his car. He stared at the house while he ate, recalling the most lurid details of his past, knowing that his nightmares would begin again with a vengeance. He thought of the five dead in the house, a family, grandfather, husband and wife, child, a brother or maybe a visiting friend. All were gone now, the end of a bloodline, the last of a family name. How many family lines had he seen end overseas and how many of them was he personally responsible for?
He tossed aside the rest of his meal and carried the gas can into the house, dousing the furniture, the carpet and drapes and each of the bodies before leaving a trail out the front door and down the steps. He flicked the lighter and watched as the flame hurried along the trail and entered the house. A tear running down his cheek, he watched as the flames spread and grew until the house was completely engulfed, then got back in his car and drove away without a backward glance.
Chapter 3: No Longer Alone
Karen woke, stiff and sore, and stood up to stretch. She found the bathroom and then made a quick snack out of a stale biscuit and a couple of jelly packets and moved to the front window. A scattered few infected wandered about aimlessly, though one of them seemed to be interested in her car, pressing his face against the windshield and pawing ineffectually at it. She waited a few minutes until his curiosi
ty waned and he wandered off. When there were no infected to be seen within thirty or so feet, she eased open the door and slipped outside. One infected was sitting on the sidewalk less than a yard to her left, back against the bank wall and he saw her immediately, snarling and rising to his feet even as his outstretched arms reached for her. The sound attracted the attention of several others and their snarls and moans alerted all the rest to her presence. Karen shot the first one as his hand began to close around her ankle, then spun, wrenching free after a brief struggle to find that the path to her car was no longer open.
She slammed and locked the door as she ran back into the bank, leaning against it, panting and sweating as the infected battered and clawed from the outside. Unless there was another door, which she didn’t think to look for the night before, she’d be trapped in there indefinitely. Once the pounding in her chest quieted a bit, she crossed the room and did discover a back door, though it was made of heavy steel and securely locked. After a moment of panic, she began to search desk drawers, teller stations and cabinets. She found thousands of dollars in cash, hundreds of checks and reams of official looking papers but it wasn’t until she noticed a small wooden box mounted to the wall in one of the offices that she found a row of keys on metal hooks. Relief flooded through her as one of the keys fit the lock and she was able to open the door enough to see there were no infected around the back of the building. She yanked a phone cord free from the wall and used it as a makeshift sling for the shotgun and, packing what food and water she had into a briefcase, the contents of which she’d dumped unceremoniously on the floor, she opened the door again and moved away from the building as quickly and quietly as she could. A dozen or so cars were in the parking lot and she tried the door on the first one she came to only to be rewarded with the blare of a car alarm. After trying three other cars and setting off another alarm, she saw the infected snaking around the bank building toward the noise and took off down an alley, trying to get out of sight and put some distance between her and the approaching, ravenous mob.
The Complete Lethal Infection Trilogy Page 47
