Convergence: The Far Side of Hell (A Five Roads to Texas Novel Book 4)

by AJ Powers

Shrugging off the sarcasm, Tessa reached for his sleeve. “Let me have a look at it.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Malcom replied.

  Tessa shook her head. “Please, let me help.”

  “Seriously, I’m fine.”

  Tessa furrowed her brows and pointed over at the dining room table. “Go! Sit!” she said sternly.

  Malcom gave her a cynical glare before conceding and sitting down at the table. Tessa grabbed the medical bag and followed him to the dining room. She opened the bag and fished out a pair of medical shears, before sitting down next to Malcom and cutting away his sleeve. Examining the wound closely with a penlight, she spoke to herself. “Looks like a partial thickness laceration. I’d say between twenty and twenty-two millimeters deep.” Distracted by Malcom’s look of confusion, she added, “To put it simply, it’s a nasty gash that needs stitches.”

  “What are you, a doctor?” Malcom asked.

  “Yep,” she replied sharply, a suture kit in one hand and a pair of hemostats in the other.

  “Oh.”

  “Does that surprise you?” she asked, almost accusatorily.

  “Not really,” is all he said, not wanting to get into a debate with the woman about gender inequality or some nonsense like that. Arguing about something like that now would be like arguing over the drapes while the house burned. He didn’t really want anything to do with it before the apocalypse, and certainly wanted nothing to do with it now. Instead, he redirected the conversation. “So, Doctor, what were you guys doing running around such a nasty part of town?”

  “Getting the hell out of dodge,” she said as she reached back into the bag for some gauze pads and the bottle of water.

  Malcom winced as she cleaned the gash. “What made you decide to finally pull the trigger on that?”

  Tessa set the bottle and used pads down on the table and gave him a cynical look. “You’re joking, right?” she asked, almost dumbfounded.

  “Apparently not.”

  “They’re dropping bombs on the city tomorrow morning,” she said quietly so that TJ didn’t overhear. “They’ve been spamming it over weather radios and emergency broadcasts for the past few days. How haven’t you heard about it?”

  “I guess I forgot to pay my cable bill,” Malcom said dryly, shifting in his seat uncomfortably as he watched Tessa fill up a syringe with lidocaine.

  “Well, whether you realize it or not, it’s coming. Which means we need to be way the hell out of the area before 9:00 A.M.,” Tessa said as she numbed his flesh around the laceration.

  “Where were you guys coming from?”

  “Indian Hill.”

  “Lots of better ways out of the area besides downtown. Hell, you probably would have been just fine hunkering down at home. I doubt a bombing run on downtown would run that far northeast, anyway.”

  “Probably not. But if you had kids, would you be willing to bet their lives on an assumption?” Tessa immediately saw the pain in Malcom’s eyes at the mention of kids whom were clearly not hypothetical. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said. “How many did you have?”

  “Four. Three girls and a little boy not much older than yours.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s life. Now.”

  “I know the feeling,” she replied.

  Not up to having that discussion, Malcom, steered the conversation back to Tessa’s escape plans. “So, why cut through downtown? Being a doctor, I’ll go ahead and assume you’re smart enough to know that downtown means more people. More people mean more infected. Why risk it?”

  “Reward. We have a boat at the Riverfront Marina. I knew getting there would be pretty dicey—though I didn’t think things would get as bad as they did—but once we get out on the water, we could sail all the way down to the Tennessee-Arkansas border without worrying about gridlocked highways or infected blocking our path.”

  “What’s in Arkansas?”

  “Nothing. At least, I don’t think there is. But we’re heading to El Paso. You have heard about that, right?”

  Malcom thought about it for a second. “Yeah, I think I remember hearing some rumors about there being some sort of refugee settlement down there or something like that.”

  “Yep. I mean, it doesn’t exactly sound like paradise to me, but,” Tessa drew a deep breath as she hooked the needle through Malcom’s skin, pulling his flesh together before tying off the suture, “after all the shit that happened to us today, I have to imagine it’s better than being out in the wild.”

  “Maybe,” Malcom said indifferently. “So, how do you plan to get to El Paso once you get to Arkansas?”

  Tessa let out a chuckling grunt. “Steal a car?” The intonations of her voice rendered her response more a question than a statement. “I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

  “You… haven’t ‘thought that far ahead, yet?’” he said, his words dripping with condescension.

  “Yes, Malcom,” she said, lowering her voice again. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet because I’m just trying to deal with one problem at a time. And since we’re in a bit of a time crunch here, my focus is just getting us to the boat in one piece. I’ll cross that other bridge when it comes. If it comes.”

  “Fair enough,” Malcom replied.

  Softening her tone, Tessa gave Malcom a flirtatious smile as she ran another stitch. “What about you, hero? What are your plans now that you know impending doom is on its way?” she asked. The question was innocent enough, but Tessa found herself hoping that he had nowhere to be.

  Malcom shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll stick around and watch the fireworks.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes again, this time allowing Malcom to see. But when her gaze returned to his face, she could see that his comment was more truth than joke, drawing her mind back to the comments about his family.

  Though she had every reason to keep her guard up around the man, Tessa hoped he might want to join them for the journey. She was strong-willed and determined and ready to tackle the world to keep her children alive, but she wasn’t blind to the fact that she was not as well prepared to handle certain situations as the man sitting in front of her. Malcom was muscular—though slightly malnourished—and sported several scars that indicated he spent a fair bit of time around machinery. And, as he already proved, he knew his way around firearms and was unafraid to take on a horde of those beasts if necessary.

  Of course, Tessa also knew what stipulations might come with such a request. Asking a man to escort her and her family halfway across zombie-infested country was not exactly like borrowing a cup of sugar. She assumed in all probability he would want something in return for the favor, and she only had so much to offer him. She fully expected to be used, just as she’d planned on using him. But she was ready to do whatever it took to keep her children safe.

  “Well,” Tessa said as she tied off the last suture, “you’re more than welcome to join us on the boat. I mean, I know it probably won’t be nearly as exciting as being turned into a pile of ash… But hey, who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky,” she joked, almost purring the last sentence. Malcom didn’t bat an eye at her innuendo, and Tessa wasn’t sure whether it went over his head or if he simply ignored it. Either case was a real possibility. “Seriously, though. If you don’t have somewhere to be, I would love for you to join us. Strength in numbers and all.”

  Malcom didn’t respond to Tessa, opting instead to glare silently at the dead flowers in the middle of the table while he considered her request. Just a couple of hours ago, he was mere seconds away from punching out, ready and willing to face his Maker. He had hit his limit in this life and was ready to leave it all behind. Now? He was being asked to become a bodyguard for a woman he just met—and her kids. It was the last thing he’d expected—or wanted—when he woke up that morning.

  And yet, there he was.

  “So,” Tessa asked, a sparkle of hope in her eyes as she gently rubbed his hand, “are you in?”

  Chapter Fifteen<
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  15 – Cincinnati, Ohio – May 26th

  “Go,” Malcom whispered while holding the door open.

  Tessa, Naomi, and TJ slipped outside, their early-morning grog quickly washing away in the downpour. A thick fog wafted through the streets of downtown, enhancing the ambiance to the already terrifying setting. The swaying traffic lights haloed in the haze, and the howling wind mimicked the cries of the tormented, sending an icy chill down everyone’s backs.

  TJ clutched tightly to Tessa’s leg, shuddering uncontrollably as he took in the eerie world around him. Tessa planned on giving him another dose of midazolam, but after spending much of her sleep battling images of his tiny body kicking and resisting her as she injected him with the sedative, she couldn’t stomach it again. The haunting dreams were more terrifying than the infected themselves, causing her to abandon the plan unless absolutely necessary. In her dreams, she, Naomi, and Malcom were all brutally killed, leaving TJ to fend for himself against the demons that lurked the earth. Seeing through the eyes of one of them, Tessa watched in horror as her baby boy finally woke up and cried helplessly over her corpse, unable to understand what had happened to his mother, sister, and the friendly stranger they just met. He’d fallen asleep somewhere safe and woke up with a hungry, vicious mob creeping toward him.

  Just thinking about the nightmare weakened Tessa’s body as her stomach wrathfully churned at the thought of her son being consumed by the infection. But she forced herself to block out the horrific vision before its fangs sank even deeper into her psyche. There would be plenty of time for her to dwell on that, along with the millions of other worries plaguing her mind, once they got to the boat.

  The sheer darkness of downtown put everyone on edge, but Malcom learned over the last two months that early-morning travel was the safest. The infected were less active, if not completely idle, between 4:30 and dawn. From his observations, it didn’t appear that the creatures actually slept, as their heads never stopped moving and their raspy growls persisted. But if they weren’t given a reason to withdraw from their temporary vegetative state, they usually stayed put, which was why Malcom instructed everyone to maintain strict noise discipline during their walk to the marina. There was to be no talking whatsoever, including TJ. And Tessa was advised to keep a syringe at the ready just in case. No one wanted it to come to that, especially Tessa, but their lives banked on being ghosts while moving past the goblins.

  With the storm clouds overhead blocking out all traces of moonlight, they relied on traffic lights at each intersection to guide their path. Block by block, the four of them deftly inched their way down 4th Street, before heading south on Vine.

  Suddenly, Malcom held up his fist, bringing the group’s progress to a halt. Up ahead, nearly two dozen gangly bodies swayed back and forth in the middle of the road, silhouetted against the yellow flashing lights hanging above 3rd Street. TJ remained absolutely silent, relieving Malcom’s discomfort with Tessa’s decision not to sedate the boy. But their trek was far from over.

  Tightening his grip on the FAL, Malcom contemplated the next move. If the infected were all on one side of the street or the other, or if he didn’t need to worry about the three people following behind him, Malcom would have punched right through the lion’s den. Unfortunately, neither was the case, which meant they would need to try their luck with the next block over.

  They had more success on Race Street, only encountering a few infected along the way. They were spaced out enough that the group could zigzag across the road as they moved south. TJ still hadn’t made a sound; if Malcom didn’t see the boy walking under his own power, he would have bet that Tessa had slipped him the drug when no one was looking.

  As they crept by an infected woman across the street, Malcom’s confidence in the plan grew. With the exception of the unexpected roadblock on Vine Street, their execution, especially TJ’s, was flawless. This is going better than I could have hoped, Malcom thought. Seconds later, the blinking traffic lights up ahead stopped flashing, enveloping the four of them in total darkness. Damn it, Mal, why’d you have to go and say that? he chided himself, as if his comment tempted the Devil to up the difficulty level.

  The abrupt shift in illumination incited a series of grunts and growls from the infected around them, forcing the group to hold their collective breath as they prepared for the worst.

  Malcom felt a jolt of pain run up his arm as Tessa grabbed onto him, absent-mindedly jostling his stitches. Choking back the yelp his body so desperately wanted to release, Malcom kept his eyes locked on the patch of darkness where he’d last seen the infected woman across the street from them. He lifted his rifle ever so slightly, resting his finger on the receiver just above the trigger.

  Nothing.

  The irritated groans from the infected quickly waned as they fell back into their stupor, allowing the group to silently exhale.

  Once his eyes adjusted to the night, Malcom found it easier to spot infected from even further away than he could with the traffic lights. Visibility increased even more once the rain tapered off. Perhaps the Devil wasn’t the one behind the sudden power outage, after all.

  Sticking to what worked for them so far, the four of them moved slowly and methodically down to 2nd Street, where they cut back east until they met up with Rosa Parks Street and continued south. Rosa Parks took a sharp turn to the left, but they kept straight and descended large, concrete stairs down to Riverfront Park below.

  By the time they reached the marina, Malcom noticed the subtle effects of dawn stretching up into the sky. Despite several delays and slow movement, the timing of their arrival couldn’t have been better. Malcom wanted them to be off the streets before daylight hit but needed the sun to get the boat up and running and out of the slip. According to Tessa, they hadn’t taken it out since last July, and she wasn’t sure if Trent had done any maintenance since. Trying to troubleshoot boat problems was a pain in any condition, but it would be slightly less aggravating if he could see what the hell he was doing. So now that they were away from the streets and walking along the docks, Malcom welcomed dawn’s imminent arrival.

  “It’s over there,” Tessa whispered, pointing at a cabin cruiser with her namesake.

  Malcom nodded his acknowledgement before moving ahead. He kept the muzzle of his rifle panning from side to side as he readied himself for any infected that might be waiting for them on the dock. They would need to be a good ways out onto the water before he would allow himself to believe they were truly secure from an ambush.

  And maybe not even then.

  A huge weight lifted from Malcom’s shoulders as he reached the small yacht knotted to the horn cleats on the dock. Defying astronomical odds, the four of them managed to travel through several, heavily infected downtown blocks in the middle of the night, during a rain storm before cutting across a large park to reach the river—all without being detected. And with a terrified toddler in tow. Malcom was impressed by the miracle that was their morning.

  “Sit tight for a minute,” Malcom said, his voice hushed but no longer whispering. He climbed aboard the Tessa Marie and raised his FAL, quickly sweeping the deck for threats. He climbed up to the steering deck, finding no threats there, either. With the outside good, he moved over to the cabin. A jiggle on the handle revealed the door was still securely locked, and since the windows were all still intact, there was little reason to worry that the cabin was compromised. Satisfied that the cruiser was safe, he went back over to Tessa and the kids to help them aboard.

  Though they were still a far cry from being out of danger, Malcom felt the safest he had been since abandoning his truck, giving him a welcomed sense of peace. A false sense of peace, but peace nonetheless. He quickly shrugged off the thoughts and focused on getting the boat running. He wanted to be at least five miles downriver before the first bomb dropped, and his gut was telling him the boat wasn’t going to cooperate for him. That would just be too easy.

  Leaning his rifle on the port-side benc
h, Malcom grabbed the keys from Tessa before climbing back up to the steering deck. He let out a sigh as he sat down in the swiveling, leather chair and powered on his flashlight. It had been years since he last sat in the captain’s chair of a boat, and it had never been one as nice as the Tessa Marie, but he suspected the fundamentals were the same, regardless. Though, if the boat was much bigger, he might have been a bit too far out of his league to pilot it.

  Sliding the key into the ignition, Malcom gave it a turn, but the motor remained silent.

  “Crap,” he grumbled while staring blankly down at the wheel. He expected something to go wrong, so he wasn’t surprised by the dead battery. But it didn’t make the situation any easier to swallow, especially given their ever-narrowing window of opportunity to leave the city.

  With the sun now visibly cresting the horizon, Malcom dropped back down to the deck and moved to the stern of the boat.

  “Everything okay?” Tessa asked.

  “Battery’s dead,” Malcom replied, skimming his flashlight along the ground.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I don’t know,” Malcom replied as he continued to pan his light across the floor.

  Tessa noticed the edge in Malcom’s words and stopped bombarding him with questions while he was clearly trying to solve the problem. Having the children sit on the starboard bench, Tessa waited quietly to offer assistance should he need it.

  Malcom found a panel near the back and assumed it was the battery compartment, given its proximity to the motors. He knelt next to it and examined the door more closely. “Did your husband keep a toolbox or something onboard?”

  “Uhm… Yeah, I think Trent kept some tools in the cabinets at the front of the cabin.”

  Without saying a word, Malcom stepped across the deck and over to the cabin door, where he cycled through several keys before finding a winner. He was punched in the face by the awful stench of decomposition that had him reaching for his Glock. With the flashlight in his left hand and the pistol in his right, Malcom rested his left wrist on top of his right to stabilize his shot if he needed to pull the trigger.