Slow Burn Box Set: The Complete Post Apocalyptic Series (Books 1-9)

by Bobby Adair

  “C’mon.”

  Chapter 8

  Shoal Creek was a limestone crevice that snaked through Austin on a southwesterly course. During the frequent spring thunderstorms, it channeled flash-flood waters through its banks, six blocks west of the jail, before spilling into the Colorado River in downtown Austin, ten blocks south. It varied in depth from ten to twenty feet below street level and was lined with dense trees and shrubs. It could have provided an excellent avenue of escape. But with late afternoon temperatures over one hundred degrees, and the wind blowing over, rather than through the gulley, it was also a bone-dry oven.

  The sound of sirens floated through the streets above. Occasional but frightening gunshots pierced the traffic noise. Trudging through the oppressive heat, Murphy and I made it to the 15th Street Bridge. At four lanes wide, with enormous old trees on the banks of the creek around the bridge beckoned, providing a shady and cool place to rest.

  Stepping from sun to shade the temperature felt like it dropped twenty degrees. I motioned up the concrete embankment under the bridge. I said, “It’ll be cooler on the concrete that stays in the shade all day. Let’s go.”

  Murphy looked at the concrete slope like it was an insurmountable obstacle.

  I grabbed his arm and tugged him along.

  Fifteen steps up, he dropped flat onto the cool concrete and lay motionless.

  He should have climbed further up the slope. He would have been better hidden from searching eyes. But it was clear that he wasn’t moving.

  I continued up to where the fat bridge supports lay on the upper edge of the embankment. Three expressionless transients watched me.

  “I’m not staying,” I told them as the smell of urine and body odor hit me. I stopped. I was close enough.

  I copied Murphy’s pose and lay flat, trying to get as much of my burning skin in contact with the cool concrete as possible. It wasn’t a cold swimming pool, but it worked. My irritating dizziness left me. The nauseous feeling in my stomach dissipated. The air I breathed seemed once again to contain oxygen. But we needed water. We needed it badly. Neither of us would make it more than another mile or two up the dry creek bed without it.

  A thought occurred to me. I lolled my head around toward the transients, sitting above me in the shade. “Hey, is Pease Park close by?”

  All three looked at me like I was speaking another language.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  “Hey––” I started again.

  “It’s right up yonder a piece,” one of them said, pointing up the creek bed.

  “Like what? A half-mile? A mile?” I asked.

  The speaker shook his head. “Just ‘round that bend in the creek.”

  That perked me up. I knew there was an outdoor basketball court at the south end of the park. Right by the basketball court stood a public restroom and some water fountains. “Thank.”

  I decided to give us five or ten minutes more to cool off. Then I’d try to drag Murphy to the park.

  I dozed off.

  The sound of heavy trucks slamming across the expansion joints of the bridge above aroused me. A dozen screaming sirens racing over the bridge got my full attention.

  Wide-eyed and disoriented, I looked around. The transients were gone. I sat up quickly and paid for my haste with enough dizziness to give me pause. I looked down the embankment. Murphy hadn’t moved.

  The creek bed was covered in the long shadows of early evening. Surprised, I guessed it was seven or eight o’clock. I’d slept for at least two hours but luck was with us. The police hadn’t found us.

  I crab-walked down the concrete slope toward Murphy and shook him awake. It took more than a little shaking, but his eyes finally opened.

  “I’m thirsty,” his voice rasped.

  “There’s a park just up the creek a bit. We can get water there.”

  “A bit?” Murphy asked.

  “A hundred yards, two hundred at most. We can hide out in the restrooms and maybe get cleaned up a bit.”

  Murphy nodded and with great effort pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He shook his head to clear it. “It better be close. I’ve never felt this bad.”

  “It’s the heat and dehydration,” I lied.

  It was the bite.

  Chapter 9

  The deserted park was dark in shadow when we arrived, with the sun having edged below the horizon. The sky still glowed a dull blue. The hot, stagnant air, only marginally cooler without the sun’s heat, draped us in its sticky blanket.

  With an arm over my shoulder, Murphy leaned heavily on me as we made our way into a public restroom. We both drank greedily from the sink faucets. After guzzling what we could, I had the presence of mind to flip the deadbolt on the door and the restroom became our refuge.

  I stripped off my dirty, bloody clothes and washed them in the sink. Murphy struggled to stay on his feet, but did the same. Afterwards, we hung our clothes over the stalls to dry, and sat on the floor in our underwear, resting against the walls.

  After a while, Murphy said, “I need to go to the hospital.”

  I nodded. “I need to see a doctor, too, before this bite gets infected any more than it is.”

  Murphy nodded.

  I said, “I think Brackenridge Hospital is about a mile or two up 15th Street. It’s closer than Seton Hospital. It’s walking distance, if you think you can make it.”

  “Without that damned sun beating me down, I think I can.”

  “It’s dark out now,” I offered.

  In the distance we heard a series of angry human wails. We looked at one another.

  Murphy said, “That sounds like that crazy fucker from the jail this morning.”

  I nodded.

  More screams followed, drawing closer.

  “There must be a dozen of them,” said Murphy with worry in his eyes.

  “Can you reach up and make sure that door is locked?” I asked, suddenly worried that I hadn’t latched it closed.

  Murphy reached a long arm up and checked. He jiggled the door, but the lock held it closed.

  That was a relief.

  The sounds of the screamers quickly drew close. In seconds, they were outside the restroom. Something heavy slammed into the door and startled us both.

  Not wanting to make a sound, I mouthed, “Holy crap.”

  Outside, someone was beating his fists on the metal door and screaming in wild frustration. Thankfully, the door held strong.

  Murphy’s face showed his concern. I’m sure he saw the same on mine.

  After a few minutes, the pounding stopped and the sound of the screaming moved away, then faded into the background noise of cars, sirens, and occasional gunshots.

  “This whole city is going to hell tonight,” Murphy observed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think that’s all about the riot at the jail today?” Murphy asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “What then?”

  “That crazy dude in the cell. Those crazy guys at the jail. The cops said something about PCP in the pot making everyone go nuts.” I shuddered to think about it. “But my stepdad…I don’t know. He was like that crazy guy in the cell. I don’t know what’s going on, Murphy.”

  Murphy fell silent.

  After a while, I said, “I’m sorry about Earl.”

  Murphy nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

  In the silence that followed, I thought about Earl getting so horrifically shot right in front of me. I thought about my dead mom and Dan. I thought about the dead guy in their living room. I thought about the mayhem at the jail.

  I’d never in my life seen a dead person before seeing my mom being mutilated by Dan on the living room floor. Now, just days later, I had to struggle to count the corpses I’d seen.

  Murphy said, “You know we’re screwed.”

  I looked at Murphy, with a question on my face.

  “They’re going to round us all up, even
tually. We’ll get a year or more just for busting out of jail. We’ll get time for rioting, and maybe even capital murder for that dead cop you saw.”

  My mouth hung open. I hadn’t thought of any of that. Finally, I said, “But we were running for our lives. We were in as much danger as the cops.”

  Murphy shook his head. “A jury in Travis County might believe that about you, if you hadn’t already stabbed your stepdad thirty-seven times, but look at me.”

  I nodded.

  “No, look at me, Zed.”

  I did. “What am I looking at?”

  “You’re looking at a big black man who’s gonna be sitting in front of a bunch of white jurors in Texas who are gonna be looking to blame somebody, a lot of somebodies, for rioting in a jail and killing some cops.” Murphy shook his head and his gaze drifted down to the floor. “Damn, I get hauled off to jail for fighting and instead of a couple of nights, I’m gonna end up on death row.”

  I thought the big man might start to cry. It was hard to watch, really hard. I wondered what would become of us.

  More silence.

  “There’s got to be something else going on here,” I finally said. “Too many people just going crazy.”

  Murphy shrugged.

  “What do you want to do, then?” I asked.

  “I can’t do anything.” Murphy shook his head. “I can’t begin to tell you how bad I feel. I’ve never felt this sick. I have to get to a hospital, or I think I’m going to die.” Murphy’s eyes fixed me in place and I knew he was dead serious.

  “You don’t think you’ll make the hike to Brackenridge?”

  Murphy shook his head.

  I pondered that for a minute. “Murphy, I have an idea. If you can make it out to the road, just across the basketball court, maybe I can flag down a car to take us over to the hospital.”

  Murphy shook his head again, “Ain’t nobody in his right mind gonna stop for us with everything going on outside. I’m sure the jailbreak is all over the news.”

  “It’s okay,” I disagreed. “This is Pease Park. Gay guys come down here all the time for…well, you know. They’re always getting busted down here for getting busy in the bushes.”

  Murphy asked, “So?”

  “So, I’ll get a car to stop. They’ll think I’m gay, and I’ll tell them that my good friend and I got mugged while we were walking in the park. Nobody is afraid of gay guys. Can you make it out to the road?”

  Chapter 10

  “This traffic is nuts,” I said.

  Phil, the Good Samaritan who picked us up, agreed.

  “Is there a concert tonight?” I asked. The Erwin Center, where all the big bands played when they came to Austin, sat across 15th street from the hospital.

  “Not that I know of,” said Phil.

  “Sorry you have to wait in all of this,” I said.

  “No big deal,” Phil told me. “With the jailbreak today, I didn’t want to stay home by myself anymore, especially with all the sirens and gunfire. It’s not safe. Crazies are running around all over Central Austin.”

  “I hear you,” I agreed.

  “It’s just a few more blocks, anyway.”

  A stoplight changed to green and we inched across the intersection.

  “Those look like military trucks up there,” Phil observed.

  I glimpsed between the cars ahead. I didn’t know what to think of that.

  Phil checked his rearview mirror.

  I glanced back at Murphy. “Are you doing okay, Murphy? We’re almost there.”

  Murphy grunted and nodded.

  “We’ll make it pretty quick now,” Phil reassured. “I wonder if this all has to do with that flu coming out of Europe.”

  I shrugged.

  “You don’t think so?” Phil asked.

  “I was talking with a police detective about it and he assured me that the flu business in Europe was all hype,” I answered.

  “What then?”

  “He said something about the marijuana being laced with PCP or something.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, Zed, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Why would the Army be at the hospital?” Phil asked.

  “I don’t know.” I looked ahead at the military vehicles.

  Phil said, “Maybe they’re preparing, just in case. I heard the mortality rate for the flu is pretty high. There’s lots of footage on TV about rioting in Europe.”

  “I saw some of that,” I said.

  “I think I’m safe though,” Phil told me. “I get a flu shot every year. Do you get a flu shot, Zed?”

  I shook my head.

  “You’re young and healthy. You’re probably safe anyway. As for me, I’m playing it safe and heading to Waco tonight. I think with all the craziness here, I’m going to stay with my parents for a few weeks.”

  “Probably a good idea,” I agreed.

  We passed another block and it became clear that the military had cordoned off the hospital complex and the surrounding blocks. They were diverting traffic off to side streets.

  We got to the corner and a policeman waved us off to take a right turn.

  “Can you drop us at the curb there, Phil?” I asked, pointing. “We’ll have to walk the last block.”

  “There’s got to be a place for me to drop you guys at the emergency room.”

  “We’ll be stuck in traffic for another hour trying to find it,” I said. “It’ll be faster to walk, I think.”

  “Okay.” Phil pulled the car over.

  The cop at the corner pointed and waved vigorously. He was none too pleased with our choice to stop.

  “Can you walk a block, Murphy? We’re almost there.”

  “I’ll try,” he grunted.

  Moments later, we were on the curb. I thanked Phil as profusely as I could before he made his escape from the chaos.

  With Murphy leaning heavily on me, we waded through the crawling traffic and up to a break in the barriers manned by four soldiers and three police officers.

  “We were mugged,” I told them loudly, as we neared. “My friend got hurt. He needs to see a doctor.”

  A soldier waved us forward. “To your left, sir, into the triage area.”

  I looked left, past the entrance. Indeed, a large green tent stood back in a grassy area. We had no real choice on direction, the cordons guided us, and with all the uniformed men standing around with tense faces and ready weapons, I gave not a single thought to crossing a barricade and making straight for the hospital building.

  The soldiers stood back with watchful eyes and made no move to assist me with Murphy, so I continued helping him myself.

  As we entered the tent, I saw a soldier to the left and one to the right, weapons pointed down but with hands near the triggers. Two nurses wearing surgical masks met us, but were also in no hurry to provide assistance or even come close. They stood back five or six feet.

  “What happened?” Asked a nurse with some of her red hair falling out from under her cap.

  “He’s bleeding,” I told them, pointing up at Murphy’s shoulder with my free hand.

  The nurse nodded and asked again, “Yes, but what happened?”

  “Can he sit down?” I asked. “His name is Murphy. He needs medical attention.”

  “Yes, but what happened?”

  Damn, persistent bitch. “I was…we were…jumped by some guys, and during the scuffle, one of them bit my friend.”

  Everyone tensed.

  The words I’d planned to say next stopped in the back of my throat.

  The nurse on the right turned and called over a few orderlies, also in protective gear.

  Behind and to my left, I noticed one of the soldiers nervously level his weapon at Murphy’s back.

  “He’s sick,” I pleaded. “He needs to see a doctor.”

  The nurse on the left said, “It’s okay. Calm down. We have a ward set up, offsite.”

  “A ward?” I asked, fee
ling lost in my inability to understand any of what was going on around me.

  “Has he been violent?” the nurse asked me.

  I shook my head. “He can barely walk. He’s got a fever.”

  “When did this a happen?” she asked me.

  “Um…earlier. A while ago. It took us a long time to get here,” I told them.

  The orderlies took Murphy’s weight off of me and helped him toward a doorway on the left side of the tent.

  I started to move after them and the nurse put a hand out to stop me.

  “You need to stay here.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t go into the quarantine ward.”

  “What?”

  I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and a voice said, “Sir.”

  I turned to see a soldier there. I started to say something to him, but the nurse asked, “Sir, what happened to your arm?”

  I looked down at my scabbed, oozing wound. “Um, I got bitten. I need to see a doctor about that too.”

  “This looks days old,” the nurse said.

  “It happened on Sunday.”

  “On Sunday?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Was it an animal or a human?”

  That seemed like a very odd question to me. “My stepdad.”

  “And where is he now?” she asked.

  “Um, I don’t know.”

  The nurse didn’t believe me. I couldn’t see her face behind her surgical mask, but her lengthy pause gave her skepticism away.

  “And this happened on Sunday?” she asked me again.

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Come over here for a moment.”

  I followed her and one of the soldiers came along behind. She sat me on a cot and shoved a thermometer into my mouth. She pulled an otoscope from her pocket and pushed my forehead back with her hand.

  “I think it might be infected. I need to get some antibiotics,” I said.

  “Keep your mouth shut while you have the thermometer in.” She shined the light into each of my eyes, first in, then away, then in again.

  I squinted at the harsh little light.

  “Have you taken any drugs today?” she asked.

  “No,” I told her indignantly.

  “Mouth shut,” she told me. “Any sensitivity to light?”