Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (53 page)

Another three minutes passed with no contact from either of
the scouts and no movement observed. Finally Sam came over the radio.

“OK . . . I think we’re OK. I mean whatever happened here, I
think we missed the party. I’m on the backside, and I don’t see anybody. So
I’ll stay here and cover from this angle while you two drive one of the trucks
over. Thompson . . . can you cover the front side from where you are?”

“Already doing that.”

“Good man . . . keep it up. And hey, everybody watch your
fields of fire . . . don’t shoot unless you’ve got a clear target and know
where everybody else is, especially me.”

They drove Andy’s pickup to a position twenty-five feet in
front of the barrier. Michelle had traded her deer rifle for one of the AR
15’s, while Andy elected to stay with Thompson’s M4. Ditching the radio in
favor of a shout, Andy crouch-walked up to a position by a newer model,
champagne-colored hybrid in the left center. Michelle followed five seconds
later, veering off at the last moment to take a position by the burnt-out
remains of an upside down mini-pickup.

“CLEAR,” Andy shouted after a look around.

“I’M COMING OUT BEHIND YOU,” Thompson shouted before
emerging, mud-covered and wet from a low tangle of scrub.

“STILL CLEAR BACK HERE,” Sam voiced.

Michelle sprinted to the right and deftly leaped onto the
trunk of a white Cadillac, sidestepping across the back window and onto the
roof for a better view. After a few more seconds of scanning, she shouted,
“CLEAR.”

Their team reassembled at the rear of the barrier. Nineteen
total vehicles were involved, and it was definitely not an accidental pileup. About
half of the vehicles had been burned, including the largest of the RV’s. Almost
the size of a greyhound bus, it sat parked partially off the road on the back
right side of the barrier. The raised elegant script across the back, probably
bright silver at the factory but now smoky black, spelled out “Custom Deluxe
Cruiser.” The smashed up and moderately charred bulk of an older, full-sized
station wagon was jammed in the center of the barricade and had to be winched
out to make a path. After that was done, Andy noticed that Michelle was looking
around intently.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah . . .”

“But . . .” Andy led on.

Thompson and Sam had approached and were listening as
Michelle explained. “What’s wrong with this picture?” she asked.

Looking around, Thompson was the first reply. “Everything. I
mean these cars didn’t just park themselves like that.”

“I didn’t see any evidence of a firefight,” Sam added, “no
casings, no bullet holes. But I can tell you that the three vehicles I looked
at in the back all had their tanks punched.”

“You think that somebody set up this blockade to steal gas?”
Andy asked.

“People are desperate. And even if they weren’t, there’s a
lot of assholes in the world. Well, at least there were,” Sam replied.

Michelle was shaking her head. “No-no-no-no . . . that’s not
what I mean. I mean, yeah, all of that is important, but I’m talking about
something else.”

“What?  Andy asked.

“We’ve got nineteen vehicles here. Where are all the people?”

Stunned silence permeated the area as each of them looked
around. As if by unspoken agreement, all of their eyes settled on the burnt-out
RV.

With grim determination on her face, Michelle started walking
toward it, only to be brought up short by Andy’s grasp.

“Whoa there, young lady. Before you go charging off . . .”

She spun as quick as a cat, twisting inside her wool sweater
to face Andy. “Let go of me right now.” Michelle’s eyes were hard and her voice
was tinged with ferocity.

Andy softened his grip but did not let go. His voice took on
a gentle demeanor as he spoke again. “Michelle, please . . . just give me a
second. Back there, the guy who wrote on the car door . . . remember I said
there were two things I wanted to say. Well I never got around to the second
thing.”

The intensity of Michelle’s glare reduced as she took a deep
breath, forcing herself to calm down. “What?”

Andy acknowledged her attention and spoke as he let her go. “I
think we need to give some serious thought to how this sickness is spread. Or
rather, how it might be spread.”

Sam and Thompson both nodded their head in agreement but kept
silent. Andy continued.

“I’m not a bioweapons specialist, heck, I couldn’t even tell
you much about the flu other than common sense stuff. But I think it calls for
some intelligent speculation on why we’re not . . . at least to our knowledge,”
he trailed off for a moment . . . “infected.”

Michelle slumped, her anger quickly deflated by Andy’s logic.

Andy continued, “I honestly don’t want to spend any more time
than we have to on the subject, at least right now, but I think we need to come
up with some universal precautions that we follow until we learn of something
better.”

“Why?” Thompson asked.

“Why?” Andy asked with surprise.

“No man, what I mean is why ain’t we infected right now?  You
said that the doctor at the school told you it was airborne. So why haven’t we
been contaminated?”

They all traded cautious looks among themselves, nobody
wanting to be the first to fill in the final thought along Thompson’s line of
reasoning.
“Maybe we already are.”

Andy shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Thompson. Maybe
we haven’t been close enough to someone who’s infected. Maybe they were past a
contagious stage. Maybe the major was wrong and it’s not airborne. I don’t know.
That said, I still think we should take some basic precautions. Standard stuff,
don’t touch anything you don’t have to, and if you do, wear gloves. We’ve got a
box of latex gloves in the truck. Another thing is fluids. I think Sam was spot
on when he backed away from that biker before firing. If at all possible we
should try to engage at range instead of up close and personal. And . . .” he
looked at Michelle specifically, “we should minimize the possibility of
exposure whenever possible. Let’s not put ourselves in situations that won’t
benefit anything, especially if it wouldn’t make any difference anyhow.”

A quick agreement was reached, and by the time the winch
cable was disconnected from the station wagon and rewound, Michelle’s anger had
faded. She had even managed to apologize for her actions, which Andy had
promptly dismissed as entirely understandable.

Michelle peeled her sweater off and pitched it through an
open door into the back of Andy’s truck. Her thermal long Johns, jeans, and
flannel shirt were more than adequate for the heated cab.

She stood in front of the truck and stretched—left leg on the
hood, right foot on the ground—alternating between grabbing each ankle for a
count of fifteen before switching.

“Ouch. That hurts just watching it,” Sam observed. “What are
you, some kind of gymnast?”

Before she could answer, Andy jumped in. “Dancer. What you’re
looking at are the results of many a year’s worth of expensive dance classes. Although
I wouldn’t look too close . . . I’m pretty sure she bites.” Andy winked at her
before continuing. “And . . . you might get Eric pissed at you. Messing with
his woman and all that.”

“What?” Michelle fumbled the word out.

“Yeah,” Andy teased, “they’ve been perfect for each other
since they was both lil’uns . . . ‘cept each of them are too stubborn and dumb
to figure it out.”

Sam laughed at Michelle’s reddening face and said, “As soon
as Thompson gets done taking a leak, we’ll be ready to go.”

Andy’s reply was cut off by the explosion of gunshots.
BOOM!
. . . . BOOM-BOOM!

Drawing their weapons, they saw Thompson’s camouflage form
backing out of the brush, shotgun still pointed at something. Rapidly moving up
to flank him with support, their eyes searched the area for signs of whenever
he had fired at. Thompson was huffing and gasping, shaking with agitation.

“What is it?  Are you OK? . . . . . . .. THOMPSON . . . are
you OK?” Sam repeated the question again. A few moments later Thompson nodded. His
breathing began to slow and he swallowed a few mouthfuls of water from his
canteen.

“What was it?” Sam asked.

Through gaps in breathing Thompson said, “Was takin’ a leak .
. . heard something . . . look down and thought it was . . . a rock . . . or
clump of dirt. Damn thing started moving!  IT WAS A FREAKING RED-EYED KID WITH
NO FREAKIN’ HANDS OR FEET . . . Like they’ve been chopped off or something . .
. starts growling at me and dragging itself through the mud towards me. Man, I
shot as I was backing away. Don’t know if I got it though . . . oh man-oh
man-oh man . . .” Thompson settled to one knee and started hyperventilating
again.

“Andy, see if you can get him calmed down,” Michelle said,
“Sam, let’s go take a look.”

Carefully walking into the brush that Thompson had emerged
from, Michelle and Sam scanned every clump and every rock within view. After
another ten feet into the marshy soil, Sam called a halt, pointing with his
shotgun at an odd-shaped low mound. Michelle came up even with Sam and stared
at the figure, a hollow pit forming in her stomach as words spilled slowly from
her mouth.

“Oh no . . . Please God no . . . .”

Michelle turned and sprinted back; Sam followed. Andy watched
in surprise as she came out of the brush and cut right, going into the tangled
wreckage of the blockade. A few steps behind her was Sam. Thompson had settled
enough by then, and Andy took off after them. Catching up after a short
distance, he found Michelle looking at each of the vehicles, searching for
something. Sam looked from Michelle to Andy and shrugged his shoulders,
mouthing the words, “I don’t know.”

Michelle yelped and dashed behind a rusty blue farm truck. Andy
and Sam followed.

“What the hell happened out there?” Andy asked.

“I don’t know. We found the body . . . it was a kid like
Thompson said. It looked like somebody chopped his hands and feet off. Bastards,”
Sam spit out.

“A kid, huh,” Andy said sadly.

“Yeah. A little boy. Maybe nine or ten years old . . . wearing
this muddy green jacket covered with those little robot guys.”

Andy’s eyes went wide with comprehension as he heard Michelle
scream, “NO!”

Moving around the farm truck, they found Michelle on her
knees crying. Next to her was a burnt-out minivan with the stenciled words “Catering
by Melissa” still visible on the side panel.

They stopped the vehicles about three-quarters of a mile past
the barricade. Pulling off to the side, they gathered themselves between the
trucks where Andy led them in a few prayers. Grim faces with tight pressed lips
adorned each of them, and few words were said. Another moment of silence passed
before Andy said, "We need to get going."

Back in the trucks and moving again, the small convoy headed
east. Michelle readjusted the thermostat and set the blower selector toward her
feet. Fidgeting for a few moments with her key ring brought no relief so she
tried the radio. On the few signals strong enough to lock in, the same “stay
tuned for an important announcement . . .” loop was playing. Putting her keys
away, she looked down at her knees and said quietly, “I’m sorry Andy.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for Michelle,” he replied.

“I cried. I never cry . . . well, hardly ever. I’m better
than that. Tougher. It won’t happen again . . . I promise.”

“It will happen again. It better.
YOU’RE
better than
that,” Andy said, “and it would be a tragedy if you let that gentle part of you
fade into oblivion. There is a time for crying. And that’s OK.
AND
. . .
you do not need to apologize for it.”

Michelle said nothing, so Andy continued, “And besides I’m
counting on you to pass some of those tough but gentle genes onto my
grandkids.” The sparkle in his eyes blazed as her already tired brain did the
math and processed what he was implying.

“Like that will ever happen. I think you hit the nail on the head
when you said that I was going to die a fat old maid.”

Andy paused, looking down the road and apparently lost in
deep thought. Michelle watched the side of his face as he drove. It was stone. But
even stone cracks.

“’Chelle, I recken’ Eric would skin me if he found out that I
told you this, so it don’t go nowhere ‘cept between you and me . . . OK?”

Michelle sat up straight and spun her body ninety degrees in
the seat. “What?”

“Oh no, I ain’t saying jack until I get your promise.”

“I promise.”

“You promise what?” Andy grinned as he looked briefly towards
her.

Michelle huffed out the answer “I promise that whatever
you’re about to say stays between you and me.”

“Fair enough, ‘cause I know you’re a lady of her word.”

After a dozen odd seconds of total quiet, Michelle said,
“WELL . . .”

Andy barked out a quick laugh as he replied. “Sorry, just
testing you. Anyway, where was I . . . oh yeah, I remember. Michelle, would it
surprise you to learn that my nephew, a handsome young lad that goes by the
name of Eric, has been in love with you since the fourth grade.”

Michelle’s fluttering heart and instant blush immediately
gave away her loss of self control. “Yeah, right.”

“Uh-huh . . . well, I imagine that I could spend several days
trying to convince you, but we’re a little short on time for that. At least
right now. However, being that I’m an incurable romantic at heart, I’m going to
do you a favor and give you an example. Do you remember your junior year in
college?  Your dance team was performing at the regional championships in
Seattle.”

“I remember . . . why?”

“And you did a solo performance on stage that was broadcast
on national TV.”

“Yeah, and I fell and sprained my ankle on national TV. Thanks
for reminding me.”

“But when you got back to your hotel room, what did you
find?”

She stopped, staring intently at Andy as she answered. “There
was a huge bouquet of flowers. Really huge. But . . . I thought they were from
my mom.”

“Nope. They were from Eric.”

“So what are you trying to say, that Eric’s been in love with
me since fourth grade because he sent me flowers on the night I crashed and
burned on national TV?”

“Not quite. What I’m saying is that Eric delivered the
flowers. In person.”

“Huh?  But he was all the way across the country at college
in Tennessee.”

Andy shook his head. “Nope. When he found out you were going
to do a solo, he managed to catch a flight all the way out there, and then
somehow managed to get tickets for an event that had been sold out for weeks. He
was in the audience, Michelle. As a matter of fact there’s a picture of you
doing one of your leaps . . . somewhere before you tanked it anyhow,” he
teased, “and that picture was taken by Eric that night. He keeps it in a field
guide about western birds in his bookcase. I’ve seen it. And then, even though
you didn’t perform until after 11:00 PM, he somehow managed to track down a
flower shop that was open that late. I happen to know that he waited inside
your hotel room with flowers until 3:00 AM. That was his last cut off to make
his return flight.”

Michelle’s heart and mind were both racing, trying to recall
with clarity that night in Seattle. “But . . . I didn’t get back to the hotel
until about 5:00 AM. The ER where they took me was packed and I sat in the
waiting room for hours.”

Andy raised his eyebrows and half smiled. “Well, now you
know.”

Michelle opened her mouth to press for more when Sam’s voice
came over the radio.
“Is anybody else a little perplexed by the lack of
scenery?”

“It’s spring in North Dakota. There is no scenery,” Michelle
replied.

“I hear that, but what I’m actually talking about is cars. We
haven’t seen a single moving vehicle besides ours since Fort Hammer.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“I don’t know,”
Sam said,
“maybe there are layers of roadblocks
everywhere. Thompson seems to think that we’re the last people left in the
world. I think he’s been watching too much television.”

Andy held out his hand and Michelle gave him the radio.
“I
think you’re both wrong. As a matter of fact, I’ll bet we see another car right
about . . . now.”
Andy nodded forward and indicated a distant car
approaching. Michelle took back the radio and let Sam know about its approach.

“It’s, um, silver or white . . . I can’t really tell yet. OK,
it’s a white car, midsized, looks like it’s approaching at normal highway speed
in the correct lane. No swerving. Any suggestions?  Should we let them go past
or try to flag them down?”
she said.

After a short delay Sam came back with,
“If you can figure
out a way to talk to them without breaking any of Andy’s contamination rules, I’d
say we go for it. If they don’t want stop, then we should just let them go
past.”

Michelle and Andy both agreed with Sam’s evaluation, and as the
car approached closer Andy flashed his lights and slowed down. They watched as
the other vehicle wobbled a bit, as if the other driver was trying to decide if
evasive action was going to be required. Andy slowed down even further, pulling
slightly off the road before coming to a complete stop. A glance in the
rearview mirror showed Sam and Thompson pulled off about one hundred yards back.
The white car likewise had pulled to the side about 150 yards in front of them.

After a solid minute with no obvious reaction, Andy turned
toward Michelle and said, “Do we still have that wire coat hanger in the
backseat?”

“Yep.”

“See if you can rig up some kind of white flag. Maybe use a
napkin or paper towel.”

Michelle twisted around, half climbing over the center
console to reach the coat hanger. After untwisting the wire, she rolled out a three
section length of paper towels, folding the first one over several times for
strength before poking the improvised flagpole through.

“My window or yours?” she asked.

“Let’s do mine,” Andy replied.

Bending the bottom of the wire into a shape more easily grasped,
Andy lowered his window all the way down and slowly moved the truck forward,
stopping again when the distance was cut in half. He raised the makeshift flag
up and gave it a gentle wave. Michelle picked up the binoculars and peered
through the windshield, giving a brief chuckle a few seconds later.

“What?” Andy said.

“They’re doing the same thing . . . looking at us with
binoculars that is.”

“How many do you see?”

“I can see two people in the front,” Michelle answered, “and
at least another person in the back, probably more than one.”

“Can you see any guns?”

“No, but I doubt I’d see anything smaller than a bazooka at
this range.”

Michelle put down the binoculars and updated Sam. While she
was doing so, Andy asked her to have Sam stay put. Waving the flag again, Andy
drove another fifty feet. This time the white car responded, creeping forward
slowly. One more wave of the flag accompanied by another shift in position
brought them opposite of the car. Almost the full width of the highway spanned
between them as they pondered their next move.

“Should we get out?” Andy asked.

“I don’t think so. Try yelling something,” Michelle answered.

Andy kept the big truck idling in drive with his foot on the
brake as he withdrew the white flag. Taking his other hand off of the steering
wheel, he moved them both out the window to show that he was unarmed.

“HELLO,” he yelled.

The driver of the white car, a middle-aged man with curly
blond hair rolled his window down about half way. Andy repeated his greeting.

“Hello. We don’t want any trouble,” came the response.

“Well you’re not going to get any from us,” Andy said. “My
name is Andy. This here’s Michelle. The truck behind us has a couple more of
our friends in.”

“I’m Daniel.” He paused for a moment, turning his head toward
somebody in the back seat before continuing. “The other people with me are some
friends.” His voice seemed very guarded to both Andy and Michelle.

“Daniel, yours is the first car we’ve seen in quite a while.”

The curly, blond headed man gave a short sarcastic laugh as
he answered. “Well, we had just the opposite problem. We’ve been surrounded by
a sea of cars for several days. The whole interstate system is a parking lot.”

“That would explain why we haven’t seen any cars,” Michelle
whispered.

“So I guess it’s moving again, now that you’re up here?” Andy
asked.

A small commotion of hand signals and shifting bodies were
visible as some sort of discussion was taking place between the occupants of
the white car. Finally, Daniel shook his head slightly and said, “No. It’s not
going anywhere. We were fortunate enough to get caught near the upper end of it.
Our car was out of gas and there were a lot of crazy things happening. Sick
things. We left the car and took off cross country. Since then we’ve been
camping at night and moving north in the day. And trying to avoid those things.
About two hours ago we came across another little road and found this car. It
was abandoned, I swear. So we drove until we found another road, and that road
led us up to this one we’re on now. Do you know where this road goes to?”

Andy nodded his head and said, “If you keep heading west,
this road will dead end at highway 403. From there, north goes to Canada and
south goes . . . well, not to Canada. From what I hear though, heading north you’ll
run into the same gridlock that you were stuck in earlier. South I don’t know
anything about, although I’d imagine it would be very similar. If you head
north, there’s a little town called Fort Hammer not too far up the road. The
town itself is not safe, but there’s a school that might have some type of
emergency aid station at it. Just be careful if you go there, you might not be
welcome.”

Michelle and Andy watched as another exchange took place
between the occupants. Daniel rolled down his window the rest of the way and
said, “Do you have any food?  We’ve got some money, we’d be happy to pay you
for it. And Mr. Andy, we could really use some water. We ran out of bottled
water last night.”

“It’s just ‘Andy‘ . . . hold on a minute.”

Rolling up his window, Andy and Michelle discussed their
options with Sam and Thompson. In the end it was decided to give them all of
their remaining water, almost two gallons worth, as well as three drinking
straw type disposable water filters that Andy had behind the seat. Each of the
filters were good for about fifty gallons. They had refused payment, and after
setting the items in the middle of the road, they pulled forward and continued
on. A glimpse in the rearview mirror showed Daniel gathering the items up.

Seven minutes later Michelle radioed Sam.
“Our turn off is
coming up. Do you remember where Walter’s marina is?”

“Yeah, it’s the only thing for miles around up here, I don’t
think we could miss it even if Thompson was driving, which he is.”

“We’re going to head up to Andy’s cabin and pick up Samantha
and Garrett. We should be back in about ninety minutes or so. See you then.”

“10-4, we’ll wait for you at Walter’s.”