Days Of Perdition: Voodoo Plague Book 6 (14 page)

Moving to the access door, Irina opened it and stepped out
of the way.  Igor and I each took a knee in the opening, shoulder to shoulder,
and raised our rifles.  My first target was the padlock securing the chain on
the gate.  It took four rounds from my rifle to damage the lock enough for it
to drop free of its shackle, then Igor and I started targeting the infected.

We were only 60 yards from the fence, easy shooting with a
rifle, and an infected fell dead every time one of us pulled the trigger.  We
took out the females first for obvious reasons, then began clearing the males. 
There was enough noise from jets landing and taking off and the impact of the
infected trying to claw through the chain link fence that none of them noticed
our sound suppressed rifle fire. 

Soon there was a twenty yard wide gap in the infected, the
gate in the center of the open ground.

“Let’s go,” I hissed and ran for the fence, Rachel, Dog and
Martinez on my heels. 

Igor and Scott ran with us, Igor continuing to shoot,
bringing down any infected that started moving towards the gate.  Scott had a
length of heavy wire in his good hand that he would use to re-secure the chain
on the gate once we through so the infected couldn’t come flooding into the
base.

Reaching the gate I ripped the chain out of the way and
pulled it open, stepping through with my rifle up and immediately engaging a
pair of females that were charging in from the right.  They dropped and I kept
moving forward, careful with my footing so I didn’t trip over any of the bodies
in the immediate area.  Dog was tight to my right side, a moment later Rachel
moving up to my left and Martinez patting me on the shoulder to let me know she
was behind me and ready.

We moved, each of us firing as we walked, targeting the few
females still in the immediate area that were homing in on us.  Behind, I heard
the gate clang shut and the sound of a chain being pulled through the frame. 
We were clear of the base and as on our own as Rachel and I had been in
Atlanta.  There wouldn’t be any answers to calls for help.  No Black Hawks
swooping in to pluck us out of danger.  No platoons of Rangers to provide fire
support.  It was three rifles and a dog against a city descending into chaos.

Infected from up and down the fence line started closing on
us as soon as we came through the gate.  All three of us were firing almost
continuously, but we were keeping them at bay.  For the moment. 

On the outside of the fence there had been a five-yard wide
strip of gravel at the edge of a multilane road that carried much of the
traffic in this part of the city.  The power was still on in the area, in
pockets, and after firing three more shots I had a moment to scan across the
businesses that lined the far side of the road.

The civilian areas immediately adjacent to military bases
seem to never be good areas.  I guess it makes sense that if you could live
elsewhere why would you want to be next to the noise and traffic of a base?  I
wasn’t surprised to see a couple of cheap apartment complexes, low rent hotels,
payday loan stores, liquor stores, fast food of every description and a small
used car dealer.

Changing directions I led us across eight empty lanes and into
the dealership’s parking lot.  We were still having to engage fast moving
females but for the moment there weren’t as many of them coming at us. 
Reaching the edge of the lot, Dog leapt and took down a female that had
apparently been waiting for us behind a rusting minivan.  He finished her off
quickly and came back to stay close to my side.

The car dealer was a small, local business.  The lot was
paved with crumbling asphalt and a couple of dozen cars, trucks, vans and SUVs
were scattered haphazardly across it.  The sales office was a singlewide mobile
home with a sliding glass door for an entrance.  I moved us to the base of the
metal stairs that led up to the door and turned to face out into the lot.  Only
a couple of females were approaching and I dropped both of them as Martinez and
Rachel engaged the slower males.

“Rachel, take Dog with you and go check inside.  There
should be keys in there.  Get us a truck.”  I said without letting up my rate
of fire.

A couple of moments later I heard glass break as Rachel
battered her way through the locked sliding door.  Eight shots and eight dead
infected later she was back at my side with a key in hand.

“Chevy truck is what it’s labeled.”  She said.  “It was the
only one that said truck, but I see five Chevy trucks in the lot.”

“Did you get the other Chevy keys?”  I asked, shooting a
male that was completely nude.  Not a dignified state of dress to be in when
you turn, but I suppose you won’t care in the end.

“Yep.  Where do you want to start?”  Rachel asked.

“That one,” I gestured at a rusting four-wheel drive truck
sitting on mostly bald tires.  It was closest, and at the moment I just wanted
to get us out of there.

The volume of infected was increasing.  More females were
arriving at a sprint, drawn by the noise of the others.  Martinez and I were
keeping up with them, but we were burning through a lot of ammo in a hurry. 
Ammo that would most likely be desperately needed as we made our way through
the city.

Rachel ran to the truck, Dog at her heels, and started
trying keys in the door lock.  Dog took up position behind her, protecting her
while she was distracted.  At the last moment he noticed the male that was
crawling under the truck, spinning and attacking just as the infected’s fingers
brushed Rachel’s ankle.  She didn’t pause in her efforts, trusting Dog to
neutralize the threat at her feet.

“Got it!”  She shouted a moment later, yanking the door open
and letting all the unneeded keys drop to the ground.

Jumping behind the wheel, Rachel started the engine and
shouted for Dog to get in.  I told Martinez to head for the truck, moving
behind her as she lowered her rifle and ran.  The infected began collapsing in
on me from all directions as I ran backwards, slamming to a stop against the
side of the idling Chevy. 

Four more shots to take down charging females and I risked a
glance to make sure everyone was inside and ready to go.  Seeing they were safe,
I slid down the side of the vehicle and squeezed behind the wheel, yanking the
door shut behind me moments ahead of the arrival of several males. 

The truck was a single cab with one bench seat and we were
stuffed in like sardines.  Rachel had scooted all the way to the passenger
door, Dog sitting on the floor with his upper body in her lap.  Martinez was
crammed into the middle, leaning hard into Rachel to make room for my
shoulders.  I still had my pack on and it forced my upper body forward until my
chest was only inches from the steering wheel. 

Hoping the damn rust bucket didn’t have an air bag that
could deploy and crush me, I shifted into drive and hit the gas.  The engine
clattered in protest but we started moving forward, a thick cloud of blue
exhaust marking our wake.  I steered through the lot, avoiding the other aging
vehicles that were offered for sale.  Males were constantly stepping in front
of us and I had no option other than to run them down, but the females had
backed off as soon as the truck started moving.

Reaching the exit to the street I let off the gas in
surprise when three females stepped into our path.  Two of them looked to be
older than me, but the one in the middle was young and very pregnant.  My
reaction was instinctual, no conscious thought going into it.  I heard Martinez
mutter something in Spanish that I didn’t understand and I was just starting to
step on the brake when the pregnant girl twitched the way the infected do.

That twitch overrode any thoughts I had of trying to spare her
life and I pressed on the accelerator.  The truck didn’t exactly surge forward
but it did begin to pick up speed.  At the last moment the females nimbly moved
out of the way, the mother to be moving much faster and with more agility than
I’ve ever seen a pregnant woman move.

Clattering into the street I turned right and kept
accelerating, avoiding males when I could, smashing them down with the bumper
when I couldn’t.  The truck’s steering was about as vague as a politician’s
answer to a question, the vehicle taking nearly half a second to respond to any
directional change I made.

“GPS is in my right cargo pocket.  Can you reach it?”  I
said to Martinez.

She squirmed around to make room for her hand, a moment
later digging the unit out of my pants and holding it up to her face.

“We need to be going north.  To our right.”  She said a
moment later.

I nodded and started looking for a road that went in that
direction as I continued to do my best to avoid the infected males.  They were
spaced out, but it required an almost constant adjustment to our direction to
avoid them.  Reaching a relatively clear stretch of pavement I glanced down at
the dash and grimaced when I saw the fuel gauge. 

We had an eighth of a tank of gas, at the most.  Not
surprising when I thought about it.  Car dealers don’t like to spend the money
to fill up vehicles that are sitting on the lot.  They also don’t want one of
them stolen with enough fuel in it to make it out of the area without having to
stop to fill up.

“We aren’t going to get far in this thing,” I said.  “Not
much gas.”

“We go as far as it’ll take us, then find something else.” 
Rachel said, her voice muffled by Dog’s furry body.

I nodded in agreement and kept driving.  A short distance
ahead I saw a large intersection where we crossed a four-lane road that headed
north.  Slowing, I steered us around a couple of abandoned vehicles and onto
the new street.  Within a mile we had moved into an area where the power had
gone out.  It was pitch black outside and I fumbled on the dash until I found
the switch that turned the headlights on.

Just like the rest of the truck, the lights weren’t up to
modern standards.  Hell, they were barely brighter than a couple of candles
shining off curved reflectors and I could only see maybe fifty feet of pavement
directly to our front.  I guess it was fortunate that the clattering engine
didn’t seem to be able to push our speed any higher than about 45 miles per
hour. 

“No infected,” Martinez said quietly.

She was right.  Since we’d passed into the dark area I hadn’t
had to make any maneuvers to avoid a shambling male.  It should have made me
feel better, but it didn’t.  Perhaps it was the darkness outside the windows of
the truck, but something was bothering me.  I couldn’t figure it out or come up
with a reason why, so I just kept my attention focused on the poorly lit road
to our front.

“101 miles remaining,” Martinez said, her face bathed in the
pale, blue light of the GPS unit’s display.

I nodded, but didn’t say anything.  Kept driving, attention
to our front, but also keeping an eye on the fuel gauge.  We hadn’t driven ten
miles yet but the small, red needle had dropped noticeably towards the large
red E.  I didn’t think we’d go more than maybe another twenty miles, if we were
lucky, before the asthmatic motor under the hood sucked the fuel tank dry.

“Either of you have anything we can use to siphon gas?  A
length of hose, or something like that?”  I asked.

Rachel and Martinez both shook their heads, Martinez leaning
to her left to look at the instrument panel.  She sighed and leaned back as
much as her pack would allow.

“We’d better be watching for any likely vehicles,” she
said.  “Can either of you hot wire a car?”

Rachel and I looked at each other and both of us grinned.

“What?”  Martinez asked.

Rachel spent a few minutes telling her about us being
trapped in a truck in Atlanta when we first met.  How we almost died in that
truck until I figured out how to bypass the ignition and get it started. 

“OK, we’ve got nothing else to do while we drive.”  Martinez
said.  “I want to hear the story from the start.”

After a minute Rachel started talking in a far off voice,
remembering where we were when this all started.

 It was quiet in the truck.  Rachel had finished our story,
editing out certain parts she didn’t want to talk about but still being quite
frank about others.  The fuel gauge was taking more and more of my attention,
the needle solidly pegged against the stop at the E.  I was expecting to feel
the engine start hiccupping at any moment as the last of our fuel was burned. 
Fortunately, we hadn’t seen any infected for at least twenty minutes.

“So I’m going to be a bitch and ask,” Martinez said to
Rachel after a few quiet minutes.  “You two seem like a couple.  I thought you
were until I heard about the Major’s wife.  What’s going to happen when we find
her?”

Rachel didn’t respond.  Neither did I, and I didn’t have
time to get distracted by whatever I felt for Rachel.  Right now the only thing
that mattered was saving Katie.  OK, I could acknowledge that maybe it wasn’t
the only thing.  Rachel mattered.  But I’d been in love with Katie since the
moment we’d met, and that hadn’t changed.  Hadn’t diminished, regardless of how
much I cared for Rachel.

The truck saved me from any more awkwardness.  It lurched
hard, ran for a few more seconds, then the engine died.  We weren’t going fast
and quickly rolled to a stop in the middle of the road.  I had killed the
lights while we were still rolling, wanting to have as much time as possible
for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

We didn’t have night vision.  That was the one thing
Martinez and Scott hadn’t been able to get their hands on.  Each of us had a
night vision scope on our rifle, but that was a far cry from a head mounted set
of goggles.

“We walk from here, ladies.  And Martinez… mind your own
fucking business.”  I said, opening the door and stepping out into the night.

I raised my rifle and used the scope to scan a 360 degree
circle.  Abandoned vehicles and dark buildings was all I saw.  No infected.  No
survivors.  This was starting to not make much sense.  We were still relatively
close to Tinker, and the last numbers I’d heard was that there were close to a
quarter of a million people in the immediate area.  Where the hell were they?

Martinez climbed out after me, chuckling at my expense and
immediately raising her rifle and joining me in a scan of the area.  Dog jumped
down and came to stand with his flank pressed against my right leg, nose in the
air.  I was glad when he stayed silent, not alerting on the scent of any
infected in the area.

Rachel stepped out of the truck, came up on the opposite
side of me from Dog and slipped her arm around my waist.  I lowered my rifle as
she leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips.

“We get her back,” she whispered.  “Don’t worry about me.”

Now, I’m a hardhearted son of a bitch.  I don’t get
emotional at movies that would send Katie into crying jags.  Hell, I didn’t
even cry when Bambi’s mother died the first time I saw that movie when I was a
kid.  In fact, the last time I remember shedding a tear was when I had to have
a very old and sick dog put down several years ago.  But Rachel’s kiss and
comment put a lump in my throat and moisture in my eyes.  I started to turn
away, but she reached up and held my face with her hand.

“I’m OK.  Really.”  She said.

“Contact,” Martinez said softly at the same moment Dog let
out a low growl.  Thank God, infected!

I swallowed the lump and moved to stand next to Martinez,
raising my rifle and looking in the direction she was watching.  Half a dozen
males were stumbling out of the mouth of an alley a hundred yards behind us,
slowly turning and heading south towards the Air Force Base.  We watched them
for a few seconds then I made another full scan of the area, not wanting to be
surprised because we were watching some males that weren’t a threat at the
moment.

Traversing across a roofline I thought I saw movement and
quickly reversed direction, but couldn’t see anything when I focused back on
the spot where I might have seen something.  I stayed focused on the spot,
telling Martinez and Rachel to keep scanning.  Dog stopped growling as the
males continued to move away from our position and after a minute I passed off
what I thought I’d seen as a ghost in the optics.

“Clear,” I said softly.

Rachel and Martinez both confirmed they weren’t seeing any
threats and I relaxed half a notch and began looking around for an alternate
means of transportation.  There were several cars parked along the curb closest
to us and I walked over to them and began trying doors.  All but one were
locked up tightly.  The door on a small Honda sedan opened, but there were no
keys in the ignition.

I’d gotten lucky starting the Ford truck in Atlanta, but it was
at least twenty years old and hadn’t had any fancy anti-theft features built
in.  The Honda was fairly new and I was reasonably certain it took the kind of
key that had a microchip built in.  Without that key the on-board computer
wouldn’t allow the engine to start and run no matter what wires were connected.

Sure, there’s probably a way to steal one of the damn
things.  In fact it seemed like I’d seen an article a few months ago that said
the Honda was one of the most commonly stolen cars in America.  But that didn’t
mean I had a clue how to go about doing it.  Maybe I needed to start brining a
teenager along.

Covering all my bases I checked the back seat, then popped
the trunk in case there was something we could use to siphon fuel for the
truck.  Nothing.  Other than an empty chewing gum wrapper the car was as clean
as the day it rolled off the assembly line.

Making sure the girls were keeping an eye out for any
unwelcome guests, I went back to the vehicles that had been locked and used a
small flashlight to check their interiors.  Lots of trash in some of them,
others neat and clean like the Honda.  The cargo area of a Hyundai SUV was
stacked with boxes of cooking pots and pans, but I was striking out in finding
anything that resembled a hose.

Walking to where Rachel and Martinez were standing watch
with their backs to each other, I came to a stop and turned back to look at the
SUV.  Would it work?  No reason it wouldn’t.  Reversing course I came up to the
rear of the vehicle and fired a couple of rounds from my suppressed rifle
through the rear glass. 

Vehicle safety glass doesn’t shatter when you shoot it.  The
bullet punches a hole through and weakens the laminated layers of glass and
plastic in the immediate area.  Reversing my rifle I used the stock to batter a
hole through the glass large enough to reach in and release the catch.  The
door rose with a hiss of hydraulics and I grabbed three large stockpots and set
them down on the pavement.

I shrugged out of my pack, dropped it on the ground and clicked
the flashlight back on.  Lying down on my back I slithered under the SUV,
dragging one of the pots with me.  I didn’t have to look hard to find the
bottom of the gas tank.  Moving one of the pots into position I drew my Ka-Bar
and placed its tip against the thin metal wall of the tank.  Holding the knife
in my left hand I used the heel of my right to hammer on the pommel. 

When you’ve been injured and your injuries are finally healing
and no longer causing constant pain, you tend to forget about them.  The first
blow on the pommel of my knife reminded me that it wasn’t that long ago I had
been nailed to a cross and not nearly enough time had gone by for my hands to
completely heal.  Fuck, that hurt!

 Shaking my head I settled for crawling back out from under
the Hyundai, aiming my rifle carefully and putting a round into the tank.  A
small, neat hole appeared in the bottom and gasoline began to slowly trickle
into the pot.  Yes, you can fire a weapon into a container of gasoline without
causing it to ignite, regardless of what Hollywood has conditioned everyone to
believe over the years.

Gasoline requires a spark, open flame or extreme heat to
cause it to combust.  A bullet will generally not provide any of those.  Notable
exceptions are tracer rounds that have a small chemical charge in the base that
is ignited when the bullet is fired.  There are also steel jacketed rounds that
can spark upon striking steel, iron or stone.  I was using US Military issue
Full Metal Jacket bullets, but just because they’re metal doesn’t mean they
will cause a spark.  Anyway, I pulled it off without blowing myself up.

Watching the slow trickle of fuel I stood and moved to the
side of the SUV where I pried the locked fueling door open with my knife. 
Twisting the fuel cap I removed it and went back to the rear and squatted down
to see underneath.  Removing the cap and creating a large vent hole worked. 
The fuel was now pouring out in a steady stream, quickly filling the pot. 

I stood to check on Rachel and Martinez then had to squat
back down and slide a new pot in place as the first one was mostly full. 
Careful not to spill any of the gasoline I carried it to the side of the truck
and set it on the ground to open the fuel door.  Snorting when I saw a locking
gas cap, I started to raise the knife to break it off before thinking to check
the keys in the ignition.  Finding a key for the cap, I unlocked it and stood
back looking at the filler neck.

There was no way I was going to be able to pour fuel out of
a cooking pot into the tank without spilling nearly all of it.  While I tried
to come up with a better idea, I had to go change pots again before the second
one overflowed.  As the new pot filled, I dug through the kitchen supplies in
the vehicle and smiled when I found a stack of kitchen funnels.  Grabbing the
largest, I went back to the truck and after shoving the narrow end into the
fuel neck lifted the pot and poured its contents into the tank without spilling
a drop.

I was walking back to the SUV to change pots when I heard
the sound of an approaching engine.  Not trusting in the kindness or
benevolence of strangers, I shouted for Rachel and Martinez and they came
running, Dog trotting between them.  The vehicle sounded loud in the silent
city streets and it was hard to estimate how far away it was, but I didn’t want
to waste time standing there guessing.  Grabbing my pack off the ground I led
the way into a narrow alley, looking through my rifle’s night vision scope long
enough to make sure we weren’t walking into a nest of infected.