Rise and Walk (15 page)

“It is designed for my size but will help you if we go down. That won’t happen, this is just in case. You have to hold on tight to me and kind of lean to the same sides that I lean while we go around corners.”

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before,” she said quietly almost embarrassed.

“Piece of cake, I won’t let you down,” he reassured with a small smile.

Veronica finished placing seven small bottles of water in the backpack. Looking for more in the ice chest she found only four Cokes and a large number of beers. Mason having just attached his paint gun to his handlebars with duct tape, approached.

“Did you guys bring enough beer?” Veronica asked frustrated.

“Bring whatever can fit, it’s better to have more than less,” he answered shrugging. Veronica packed in the cokes and two beers. Zipping up the backpack, she jumped out of the truck.

“What about food?” Veronica asked Jack.

“Right here.”

On the table before Jack were two brown paper bags full of canned goods. Spaghetti and meatballs, chili beans, small cans of Salmon and a half full box of chocolate flavored protein bars.

“Fine dining,” she said.

Mason produced another larger backpack that still had a few items within. He began to pack some of the food inside.

“We have a few steaks and other stuff in a different ice chest but I don’t want to bring any meat with us,” he said watching her reaction.

“You saw that too?” she asked.

“Yeah, it was like she was trying to catch our scent. She was blind, but still knew where Tony was.”

Veronica looked at Mason with a serious expression. An explosion sounded at the camp gate. A gas tank in one of the cars had given away to the fire. The party flinched yet with everything they had been through so far, the reaction was almost subdued.

“Put my gear on,” said Mason.

Veronica nodded with a tired exhale and went to the motorcycle.

Tony looked at Nikki. In his plastic armor, black gloves and black helmet, everything far too big for her, she looked like a little Dwarven warrior. Mason handed Tony his paint gun and a roll of duct tape. Tony taped the rifle to the handlebars without a question. He knew what to do without thinking about it. Mason lifted a backpack to Nikki and helped her put it on over her chest protector. He bent down, adjusted the front straps and pulled it snug on her overburdened body. Jack could see the fear in her eyes through the open visor of the helmet. He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled at her hoping to bring some measure of assurance. She swayed underneath the weight of her equipment.

“I’ll give you a hand’ he said nodding. She nodded back, her helmet moving in an exaggerated bobble.

Tony mounted his yellow Yamaha allowing his weight to push the seat lower. Jack helped Nikki get on the back. He steadied her while Tony threw two hard kicks on the starter. The Yamaha roared to life with a loud sputtering rumble. Tony settled in as Nikki squeezed her arms around his midsection. He patted her locked hands in tender reassurance.

Veronica stood waiting in Jack’s protective gear. She pulled on the larger of the backpacks and looked out over the camp. An assembly of creatures noticed the clamor of Tony’s bike. They staggered in her direction. Mason started his bike on the first kick. Still looking out at the greater camping area, she watched more of what used to be people, head towards their camp. The specters shambled and shuffled forward gaining ground on their position. Seven or eight creatures reached the road very near as Veronica mounted the back of Mason’s cycle. As the bikes pulled out, she saw a dead body in the distance, sit up and look in her direction.

TWENTY-SIX

The silver Dodge climbed up the mountain road. All-terrain tires held fast to the earth while the truck’s suspension compressed and flexed to absorb the uneven surface. Lance knew that he was driving too fast. Fear and disbelief had settled in his heart where once sat a macabre amusement. People were dying. He wasn’t dying, and that is all that ever mattered to Lance. He was content to watch the situation unfold and witness psychotic people attack each other. Then, somewhere in the back of his self absorbed mind, his inner sociopath gave way to the voice of reason. As the situation worsened at the campground, he became very afraid. A fear, the likes of which, the spoiled young man had never known in his privileged life.

The trail road was wide and crossed with deep sun baked ruts. Lance and Zeke had their seatbelts strapped firm, but Josh, sitting in the middle had no such restraints. Josh was growing feverish. The rocking of the dirt road jostled him to and fro, making the man feel deathly ill.

“Roll down the window man,” Josh pleaded as he rag-dolled around in the cab. He was getting hotter, his fever boiling.

Lance thought the camp must be miles behind them by now. He slowed the vehicle and cranked down his window. Zeke rolled his window down quickly and spit out a huge wad of tobacco and spit. He was so overcome with fear. Fear of the people at the camp, but more so a fear of Lance yelling at him, if he rolled the window down without permission. He had been suffering with the wad of tobacco in his mouth for the better part of twenty minutes. The bumpy ride had forced some of the grim fluid down his throat which he swallowed without complaint. There was a greenish tinge on his face as he poked his head out of the moving vehicle to clear the remnants from his gums. Zeke thought he was going to vomit.

Going slower now, the truck had ceased its violent rocking. Josh was tired. He leaned back and decided to get some shut eye. His arm throbbed gently in time with each breath. He thought to himself that he would rest for a little bit;
just a little bit
. Lance’s fear returned.
What if what made the people crazy was in the air?
His paranoia wondered.

“That’s enough air, roll ‘em back up,” he ordered.

It seemed like they had been walking for hours. Andy Walters still held on to the girl’s hand. Her bare feet were dirty from walking on the asphalt. He wished that he could offer her his shoes but they wouldn’t have come close to fitting her. She was small, maybe sixteen and only dressed in a pink one piece bathing suit. He worried about her exposure to the elements and would have liked to give her his shirt. His modesty prevented him from offering. They didn’t see anyone else make it out of the campground. The girl ran for a solid ten minutes once they cleared the gate. Andy had to reassure her that they were far enough away to convince her to slow down. He needed to rest after their escape. Now they walked.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She looked up at him speechless. He could see her ear was crusted over with dried blood. He leaned down pulling her to a stop. She tried to keep walking but didn’t want to let go of his hand.

“Let me see your ear.”

She pulled her head away with a flinch. He put his hand on her shoulder to hold her in place.

“I won’t touch it, I just want to see.”

Turning her body Andy saw that the top of her ear was missing. A crescent shaped curve of tattered skin gave hint to teeth marks. The surface of the wound had dried and the ear underneath towards her cheek looked bruised. The girl had a dazed look in her eyes. He took his hand from her shoulder and felt her forehead; she flinched again but submitted. She was running a fever.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Down the shady mountain road came an ambulance. Andy turned to look and saw the red lights flash a greeting. The girl saw the vehicle approach and grew faint with relief.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he smiled. Andy stood and waved the ambulance down.

“I wonder if anyone made it out of there okay,” Zeke said. Lance didn’t care. He was glad that Wanda left before the problems began but only in as much that his car was safely out of the camp. He loved that car more than he cared for Wanda. Then he remembered the blood on her towel at camp.
No
, he thought,
that was just a coincidence
.
She started her period and split because she was dripping all over her favorite big bottomed bathing suit
. He was sure that must be what happened. Whatever was the case, he was out of harm’s way now. When he got back to town he would tell everyone how he had only been able to save Josh and Zeke. He would frame the facts to show how heroic he was; saving Josh from the little demon and waiting for Zeke to jump in the truck. His men would go along with his version of events; they always did.

“How long we been on the road?” asked Zeke.

“Hour or so, I don’t know,” Lance answered annoyed.

Josh slumped lifelessly against Zeke.

The road ahead narrowed around a curve. Lance accelerated around the corner as Josh stirred. He lifted his head, opening his eyes with a slight flutter.

“How ya feeling partner?” asked Zeke to the waking Josh.

Josh turned his head mechanically towards Zeke, his jaw slack and open. Roaring with hunger, Josh grasped at Zeke who withdrew screaming. Startled and panicked, Lance turned his body towards his passengers. His flight response forced Lance to step down hard on the gas, plunging the truck over the edge of the dirt road.

Falling and bouncing down the overgrown dried grass hill, Lance absent mindedly tried to hit his brakes. The vehicle only made intermittent contact with the ground as it fell. The anti-lock brakes wouldn’t allow the wheels to come to a complete stop. Lance was lucky, for if the wheels did lock up, the inertia of the large truck would have caused it to tumble end over end. The shotgun bounced about the cab, its butt end knocking Lance on the right cheekbone. Zeke’s screams were constant and pitiful.

The ground began to level underneath the truck. It came to a rapid stop, slamming the front left wheel into a small gully, shattering one of the shock-absorbers. The airbags deployed saving Lance from crushing his chest against the steering wheel. Lance was in a panic. As the airbags deflated he could still hear growls and pleas for mercy. He felt around and popped open his seatbelt. Jumping from the leaning truck, he saw the stock of his shotgun on the seat. He reached in fast, snatching up the weapon to the sounds of guttural roars. Lance switched off the safety and fired the shotgun directly into the cab, pumped it and fired again, and again. Three rounds of triple aught buckshot devastated any matter within the vehicle. Windows, leather seats, clothing and human tissue were shredded and blended together in a frenzy of careless fear. The blasts echoed against the limestone walls of the mountain, diminished, then silenced.

Lance turned, closed his door and slid down with his back against his truck to sit on the ground. He held his shotgun close and checked to see if it had a live round chambered.

Lance wondered if he had just committed murder. He almost felt sorry for Zeke, but Josh had started it. If he hadn’t gotten sick and started acting crazy, everything would have been fine. No, Lance was sure he had acted in self-defense. He nodded his head and breathed deeply with his resolve.

“What now?” he said aloud. Looking to his right he saw the broken shock absorber hanging from its truss. Knowing that he would have to walk from now on, he stood. Lance’s father had taught him to be a survivor; to go through anything and anyone to succeed. Lance was going to do just that, no matter the cost.

He walked around the other side of the truck and opened the door. A tangled mass that was once Zeke fell halfway out. The top of his seatbelt was sheared off by the shotgun blasts with the bottom portion remaining in place. Gravity took hold and the belt slowly unraveled allowing Zeke’s nettled corpse to slip to the ground. Lance stepped back, tracking the body’s fall with the end of his weapon. He needed to retrieve the rest of his shotgun shells despite his fear. Once he was sure that Zeke wasn’t going to get up, he looked in the cab. Half of Josh’s face was missing. There was still some cheekbone, the edge of the right ear and part of the right eye, but everything else was shredded. Lance relaxed and spent a moment studying what he was seeing. He looked down to Josh’s arm. The bandanna had torn free revealing congealed dark green foam surrounding the wound. Lance looked back at the slumped, bloody mess that was Zeke. There was no greenish tint to any of his bright red blood. A connection formed in Lance’s inarticulate mind. Josh was sick but Zeke was okay. You had to be bitten to become sick.

“Hmm, that’s weird,” he mumbled. Reaching down to the passenger’s floorboard he retrieved the box of twelve-gauge shells. He opened the lid and saw that it contained six more shells. Closing the door, he walked away from the grim scene to the back of his truck. Opening the tailgate he looked in to see if there was anything he might be able to use. His ice chest and other equipment had been left back at the camp. Sitting on the tailgate he proceeded to load three more rounds into his shotgun. He ejected the top round to make sure once again that a live shell was in the chamber ready to go. Loading the ejected round back in the bottom of the weapon, the thought finally occurred to Lance that he had just killed Zeke. He turned his head to see Zeke’s torn body piled upon the earth in an impossible contortion. Lance’s expression wasn’t one of sorrow or remorse but rather a look of concern for himself. He worried for a moment what might happen if the police took a close look at his truck. If he had fired only once he could pretend it was an accident. Any flatfoot could tell that there was more than one round fired. Looking out over the dried grass of the hill he resolved that he would deal with that possibility later. He would claim self defense and that he was in mortal fear for his life. That part was true at least.

A high whine from the dirt road broke the silence. It was an approaching motorcycle.
No
, he thought as the sound increased,
more than one
. The sound jerked and rumbled on the road above his location. He was too low to see the surface of the road or who was on the bikes. Lance dropped to his feet off the uneven tailgate and ran towards the road. The grade was steep and the road further away than he thought. Halfway up the rise he noticed the pitch of the motors shift down. They had passed him. As the sound diminished he finally made his way onto the road. He grunted in anger at his timing. A minute faster and he could have talked some poor sap into giving him a ride. He decided that if anyone else came along on the road, he would be there to greet them. They would give him a ride back, one way or another. He did have a shotgun after all.