Infected Freaks (Book 2): The Echo of Decay (2 page)

Driving on the highway in broad daylight was irresponsible. However, if Abraham ever wanted to see his sweet wife and family again, he had to drift toward insanity. Bold wrinkles etched themselves into his guarded features in concentration as he reached a familiar section of intersecting highways. To the East, Highway 24 would take him to Colorado Springs. To the North West, Highway 9 would take him to Fairplay and there he would loop on to Highway 285 and make his way to Denver. But that was assuming Denver was still around. He listened to Emme’s tale, searching for any bit of answers or clues about his missing family. The poor girl was forced to endure a nightmare all alone.
You’re safe now
, he thought.

“Which way did they go?” Abraham appeared out of place on the abandoned road. He stretched and straightened his tense shoulders. “Can you tell?”

His grandson Hunter scanned the far reaches of the burnt gas station near the silent intersection. It brought back the quick memories of how this escapade started. “The tire tracks took a left,” Hunter explained, pulling at his ear.

There must have been at least a dozen vehicles in the convoy.
Strength in numbers
, Abraham thought.

“And how do you know that?” Emme demanded, leaning forward toward the torn maroon leather of the front seat.

Abraham knew the upbeat little girl wanted to sit next to him, but Hunter said she was too young to navigate. He couldn’t disagree. He needed Hunter to keep an eye out for trouble. Of course Emme accused him of playing favorites. She was a handful and he knew she would fight with her brother every chance she could.

“I think they went right.” Emme rocked on the edge of the seat, but she didn’t blink or back down. Abraham knew under the bubbly smile, his granddaughter was spikes of metal. Emme was tough for her age.

Hunter cranked the old window down and snickered. “You only think that to argue. The smears of gore are lined in tire tracks.” Hunter was fast to defend his observation. “The men in yellow chemical suits must have run through a horde of infected in this strip of town. Emme, this isn’t a game.”

Emme only frowned.

The remains of countless diseased freaks strewn along the road had been run over, spotted in bullet holes, and the remainder had been beheaded and burned, but the brainless bodies continued to thrive in the alien fungus. Small orbits of spores clouded the space around the moldy human tissue.

“Whoever took our family is harnessing some real fire power,” Abraham said.

He continued to survey the swollen corpses steaming in the morning’s glory. Hunter Heinz was growing up and using his brain. This had Abraham proud in a way he could never put into words. Emme, on the other hand, scrunched her button nose and stared out the window. Abraham could tell his granddaughter was sulking. Hunter made her look stupid. Hunter’s facts caused her to suck in a bitter breath of defeat and Abraham knew it was only a matter of time before a big fight broke out.
I need my grandchildren to get along.

Abraham took in a deep lungful of mountain air to clear his head. His worries were growing, thinking of the military-grade weapons needed to put down such a large horde. Despair stained his flesh, but his eyes couldn’t look away. After a few seconds, the vehicle rolled through the left turn, following the advice of his grandson. The large wheels bounced over the age-old pot holes and maneuvered through the steaming carnage.

After a few feet, Abraham pressed the brake and focused on the burned ruins of the dinosaur gas station. Flexing his forearm, he realized how lucky they were to have escaped. “This is as far as I’ve been in a while.” He looked at his companions, his teenage grandson Hunter, his granddaughter Emme, and the teenage girl he rescued from the gas station, Sam. None of them were soldiers. However, he would need them all to grow up if they were to survive. All cosmic signs pointed him toward Denver. Still, deep down he was afraid of what he might find.

The engine whined as the old Blazer rolled through the seared strip of town. He watched Samantha Downs stir in the rearview mirror. He knew she must have been looking for the remains of the man who had taken her captive. A string of intestines were stamped into the asphalt where he was attacked by the freaks.

“Where’s his body?” he heard Sam ask.

Abraham stared at the spot with wide, hard eyes. Upon closer observation, he noticed the alien fungus growing, almost thriving in the shadows of a bloody puddle. “He’s either hiding in a dark place or dead amongst the stretch of brainless carcasses.”

“I hope he’s in hell,” Sam said, resting her elbows on her knees and face in hands.

Abraham saw the discomfort in her big eyes. She was probably thinking about what would have happened had Rictor not been infected. Sam was a fighter, so he didn’t think she would have been Rictor’s slave forever, but would she have found the courage to kill him? Abraham thought he might want to find out the answers because survival was dependent upon everyone in the group remaining strong in the face of adversity.

“He’s got a reservation in the bowls of hell.” Abraham scratched at the stubble on his stoned jaw. Sam smiled back at him. She didn’t seem convinced.

“We could get out and check,” Hunter suggested.

Abraham snickered at his grandson. “No, we keep moving.” He watched Hunter extend his young legs and slouch back into the oversized front seat. His grandson’s fingers kept a clean grip on the bolt action rifle. It was a wonder the giant infected at the barn hadn’t destroyed it when it fell near the thing’s maw. Closing his eyes for only a second, Abraham remembered the gas station fire that had ushered in the nightmare.

Outside, the light wind swirled the dry cinders like a cyclone of white and red as the smoke steamed off the charred boards. The horrors were behind him, at least he hoped. “We don’t have enough gas to make it to Denver. So keep your eyes open for abandoned vehicles. I got a siphon in the back.”

Nobody said a word.

The Blazer rolled down what remained of Highway 9 and then snaked around a towering cliff. The daylight gave the abandoned farms dotting the landscape a daunting edge. However, the yellow rays kept his courage high. On this morning, the sky was a dull blue and the faint appearance of Red Dead, the approaching red planet Abraham blamed for the appearance of the infected, dangled high near the horizon. The icy, bitter air draped the pines and firs in damp morning dew. They discovered a dozen abandoned vehicles at the sides of the road, but the gas tanks were bone dry.

“I think I should have a gun,” Emme said in a flat tone. She furrowed her brow and canted her head. “I’m serious,” she added when she saw her brother laughing.

The vehicle crept around the stones and boulders of the never-ending Rocky Mountains as Abraham gave her words some thought. “Listen, I don’t think a twelve-year-old should have a gun. A firearm is a dangerous weapon in the hands of an untrained person. How about a knife?”

“No! If I had a gun, I wouldn’t need you to rescue me,” she spat with an ounce of sass. “Besides, most twelve-year-olds haven’t smashed the skulls of their dead neighbors.” She pushed up her purple glasses and sucked in her cheeks. He could tell she was serious.

Abraham considered her arguments. The world was a scary place. But was it malevolent enough to hand a twelve-year-old a pistol? He didn’t like the fact Sam had to carry a crossbow like most girls did a purse. This was a harsh world. “Let me think on it,” he whispered, already coming up with reasons to say
no
. He considered what his wife would think when she saw her granddaughter carrying a gun. This brought a curve to his lips, he almost cackled.

“It’s not fair,” Emme said, crossing her arms in front of her dainty chest. “Hunter gets to shoot living people, and I can’t even get a gun against the infected.”

“I told you, let me think about it,” Abraham answered. “And enjoy the view. It might be the last time we drive through these majestic mountains.”

Emme flipped her hair back in annoyance.

Abraham gave a dismissive laugh as he commanded the 1976 Blazer, lost in the raw beauty of nature. The vehicle belonged to his father long ago. It was chance that brought Abraham back to the same exact one. It was a wonder the hunk of metal still worked. Abraham could drive anything and fixing up old cars was sort of a hobby. He loved cruising on the open roads. With lips pressing together, he couldn’t remember the last time he went for a long drive. Red Dead showed up and changed everything. It took away the old joys of life.

There was something about sitting up in the SUV that made him feel like a king. For the first time in months, he gave a genuine smirk. Abraham understood the sturdy iron shell wouldn’t stop bombs or the infected. Still, the open road gave him hope in ways he would never understand. As he gave the vehicle a little more gas, he glanced down at a family picture taped to the cracked dashboard. It had all five of his grown children and seven grandkids. It was his favorite family photo. He was determined to bring every one of them back.

“Look at that,” Sam said, jamming her finger ahead.

One of the mountain homes right off the road was painted in the same white letters that stained his home.
INFETCED STAY AWAY!
The windows were clouded in an orange- and avocado-colored growth. He was certain it was used by the creatures to block out the light. He had seen similar growths at the mill.

“Should we burn it to the ground?” Hunter asked.

“No, we need to hurry before the daylight is gone.” Abraham pressed his boot against the pedal. He wanted to get away from the infested house. He planned on stopping in Fairplay and visiting an old friend. Bob had a timeworn mechanics garage in the middle of the flourishing town. If anyone would have survived, it would have been Bob and his band of greasers. Abraham knew Bob back from his days in the army. A time he tried to forget.

“I can’t wait to get to Denver,” Hunter whispered as he ran a hand through his dark, chaotic hair.

Abraham was glad he got to clean up at the farm house. He didn’t give his group much time, but it was enough. Sam kept telling his grandchildren to take advantage of the amenities at the farm. She explained that she was traveling for a long time before she got to freshen up. For a second, he speculated if leaving the luxuries of the farm house with its wind and solar power was a mistake.

“Do you think Denver is safe?” questioned Emme, biting at her nails.

“It has to be,” Sam replied, exchanging glances with the curious little girl.

Abraham tried to focus on the present, on the task before him. Yet, with his family missing, it was impossible to think ahead. He had no idea what the day had in store for him and his companions. Given the seriousness of his worries, he almost didn’t see the fast-approaching wreck in front of him.

He veered to the side and ignored the bark of the brakes. His eyes narrowed under his bushy eyebrows. Thoughts of his dead family sprung on him like a wartime ambush. The Blazer slid off the road, avoiding the wreckage by several feet. Abraham switched off the engine and tried not to imagine the worst possible outcome. “Is that one of the buses?”

Emme shot up in the back of the vehicle and narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, it looks the same,” she slurred, unable to control her shaking.

Abraham targeted the smoking bus on its side. The entire highway was blocked.
What could have knocked over a bus?
He pictured the septic and its towering size and overwhelming strength. He was out the door and jogging toward the wreckage in an instant. In the swirl of smoke, an image of his wife’s delicate face passed over his eyes.

“Beth,” he howled as the heavy smoke dissipated.

He jumped up on the bus and tore open the door facing the sky. When he dropped into the guts of the sideways wreckage, he pulled his collar over his mouth. A small mist of spores orbited the tight, dark space.

His hands slapped forward, ready for anything. He barreled on, trying his best not to touch the icy bodies of the dead. Abraham noticed most of the corpses had a gaping hole somewhere in the head. He wondered if the passengers were dead before the bus turned over. Confused, he staggered between the uneven rows, tossing loose limbs aside. A glaze of mold had already caked the insides. It resembled green mucus and effectively blocked out the sun.

The tingling in his gut was a product of what could have lied ahead. He was careful to check the rotten faces for his loved ones using his flashlight. Abraham struggled against the need to pass out from the stress.

“Thank God,” he gasped, realizing he didn’t recognize any of the passengers. As he neared the back, something stirred. His deep-rooted eyes couldn’t make out the form. Desperate, he drew his pistol and shouted, “Freeze!”

A second noise got him spinning on his heels in the tight space. All he could think about was shooting his infected family members.
Please, it can’t be,
he pleaded. He didn’t have the heart to kill anyone he loved. He had never been this afraid in his life. It was one thing to kill an infected stranger, but to kill a family member was the ultimate sacrifice.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
After a tense moment, he settled back down. This bus had been wrecked for at least a week. This wasn’t his family.