Rotter World (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

A pleasant mid-morning sun heated the cool air and shimmered off the placid surface of the Suncock River. A flock of ducks floated by, occasionally quacking at the intrusion of humans into their solitude. The peaceful silence was broken when the fifty-five gallon drum of gasoline Daytona and Whitehouse were lowering from the rear of the Mack landed on the grass with a muffled bang, sending the ducks scattering toward the opposite bank. The frenzied flapping of wings drowned out the metallic echo, and then silence descended across the area again. The serenity of the autumn day presented a sharp contrast to their encounter from the night before.

Robson sat on the trunk of an uprooted tree a few yards from the river, a granola bar and a tin cup of lukewarm coffee resting on the grass in front of him. The others sat nearby in their own groups having breakfast while Daytona, Whitehouse, and Mad Dog refueled the vehicles. The Angels gathered a few yards off to his right in a circle near the school bus. Compton and Thompson sat on the rear bumper of the armored car, which was parked in front of the school bus, being served coffee by Jennifer. To his left, Rashid rested up against the front bumper of the Mack with Caylee, munching away on his granola and talking up a storm while she stared absentmindedly into her cup. O’Bannon remained off by himself, standing on the road and staring in the direction they would soon be heading, a cup of coffee in his hand. The Ryder sat in the grass on the opposite side of Parade Road directly across from them. In their own way, everyone enjoyed a few moments of relaxation. Hell, after last night, they had earned it.

After getting the vampires aboard the Ryder, the convoy had headed out of the Dover area without incident, traveling northwest for just under an hour before coming to the town of Barnston. Thankfully they had encountered no rotters there. Just north of town, the convoy picked up this country road, which paralleled Route 28 and the Suncock River. Since the road seemed isolated, Robson had decided to pull over for a rest stop.

As the others went about their meal, Robson opened the duffel bag he had removed from the Camry on the Eliol Bridge and searched through the contents, hoping to find something useful. He found the type of stuff anyone would expect. Mostly clothes, a few paperbacks, and ironically horror novels from Stephen King and Brian Keene. Two plastic bottles of spring water, which he put aside for later. And a travel photo album.

Robson opened the album. Attached to the inside front cover was a pink Post-It note written in an elegant, feminine hand. It read:

Jude,

Now you can look at me every night before you go to bed. See you in a few weeks.

Love always,

Tess

He smiled as the memory of those days when he had been in love filtered back into his conscious, even though at this moment those days seemed like centuries ago. Turning to the first page, he thumbed through the album.

Each 3 x 5 photo stared back at him. Most were of a young woman in her mid- to late twenties, slightly pudgy but still quite attractive, and with a very well proportioned body. She smiled in all of the photos. A few contained a young man of about the same age, though in most of the pictures he looked way too serious, as if too macho to express his feelings for the camera. He assumed by the range of photos that each marked a special occasion – Tess in a long black evening gown and Jude in a tux, Tess in jeans and a sweater kneeling by open gifts under a Christmas tree, Tess in a red bikini on a beach, Tess in the bikini and Jude in a tacky Hawaiian shirt sitting in a bamboo bar drinking cocktails. Robson could not help but wonder what had happened to her. Was she still alive? Had Jude been trying to get to her when the accident occurred? Or had he already found her, either dead or among the living dead, and had been running away from his nightmare? Robson felt his eyes water as his mental rambling brought him to images of Susan’s last moments.

The last few pages were of Tess in a full-length see-through negligee that left nothing to the imagination. Robson quickly closed the album. The photos made him uncomfortable. Not because he was a prude. These were pictures intended for two people in love, and not for some voyeur. Stumbling across them made him feel like he was invading their personal lives. He placed the album beside the bottled water, deciding he would burn it later to ensure their privacy stayed that way.

Rummaging through the duffel bag some more, he found some underwear and socks which were too small for him. His eyes widened in excitement when he reached the bottom of the bag and found buried treasure, to him anyway. Sitting there underneath all the clothes was an unopened carton of Camel cigarettes. It would be a sin to let those go to waste.

As Robson repacked the duffel bag, placing the items he intended to keep on top, Natalie came over and sat beside him.

“Find anything useful?” she asked.

“Just a carton of smokes.”

“You know they’re bad for your health,” Natalie teased. Her smile faded and she looked down into her coffee cup. “I’m sorry I snapped at you back there in town.”

“When did you snap at me?”

“Back in Dover when I yelled at you to pull over so we could get Dravko and the others into the truck.”

“That? Forget about it.”

Natalie looked up and met his eyes. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you. To protect them, I mean.”

“That thought never even crossed my mind.”

“There’s a lot of people who would have been just as happy if you didn’t stop, and let Dravko and the others burn.”

“I’m not one of them.”

“I know that.” Natalie grinned. “I don’t want you to think I’m an ass.”

“I happen to like your ass.” Robson regretted the words the moment he spoke them. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Don’t be.” Natalie reached out and gently placed her hand on his. “I’m glad you’re looking.”

* * *

Thompson glared at the others as he wolfed down his granola, trying to wash away the stale taste with a tin cup of weak, lukewarm coffee. He could barely swallow the shit. Once the colonel got it down, he took another sip to clean out his mouth, and tossed the rest of the bar onto the grass. The meal left an acidic aftertaste in his throat.

It matched his mood.

Beside him on the fender, Compton popped the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. As the doctor chewed, he crumpled the empty wrapper into a ball and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“I know you too well, Colonel.” Compton swigged down the last of his coffee. “You’re pissed off about something, and I can only assume it’s because of this morning.”

“Do you blame me?” Thompson glared over at Robson seated on the log rifling through the corpse’s duffel bag. The colonel did not bother hiding his look of disgust. “We could’ve gotten rid of the last of the bloodsuckers last night if Golden Boy over there hadn’t decided those things were worth saving. Even worse, he endangered all of us in the process.”

“Don’t be too hard on him.”

Thompson turned to the doctor. “You agree with his saving the bloodsuckers?”

“Paul and I both agreed that this mission’s best chance of success was to include them because they gave us added strength. Mr. Robson only did what we asked, like a good soldier. Which you should appreciate.” Compton flipped the remaining drops from his tin cup onto the grass, and then used a paper napkin to wipe the inside dry. “As much as I hate to admit it, we need the bloodsuckers. At least until we get to Site R. Once we’ve secured the vaccine, we won’t have any use for them.”

“But do you think Robson will see it that way? If you ask me, he’s drinking the same Kool Aid that Paul does.”

Compton thought for a few moments. “You do have a point. He’s seemed to have developed a level of trust with them, especially that one called Dravko. It makes it difficult to predict how he’ll respond.”

“There’s at least one person who hates the bloodsuckers as much as we do.” Thompson focused on O’Bannon, who stood in the center of the road looking west. The colonel handed his tin cup to Compton. “I think it’s time him and I had a talk.”

Thompson strolled over to O’Bannon and stood alongside of him. “Morning.”

O’Bannon cocked his head slightly toward Thompson and nodded.

Thompson ignored the sullenness. “You and I haven’t had a chance to talk since I arrived at camp.”

“I didn’t think we needed to.”

“We probably should.”

“Why?”

“Because we have something in common.”

“What’s that?” The distrust was evident in O’Bannon’s tone.

“It seems like you, me, and Doctor Compton are the only ones who find it appalling how much trust the others have placed in the bloodsuckers.”

For a moment, O’Bannon did not respond. He eventually glanced over at the colonel, a scant hint of friendliness in his face. “You’re right. We do have something in common.”

“I thought so. You hate the bloodsuckers as much as I do.”

“I do. But for different reasons.”

“How so?”

All hints of friendliness rapidly faded, replaced by an intensity that scared Thompson. “You and the doctor hate them because the bloodsuckers stole the Zombie Virus and released it on mankind. It was one evil using another evil. And you’re as responsible for that as they are.”

Thompson started to defend himself, but paused, partly because he did not want to alienate O’Bannon, and partly because he feared the reaction. All he managed to say was, “So why do you hate them?”

“Because those fuckers ruined my life before they ruined everyone else’s.” O’Bannon turned his gaze to meet Thompson. A fury burned in his eyes that bordered on insanity. “They killed my Maria three years ago.”

Thompson considered dropping the topic, but he had to know. “Who’s Maria?”

“Maria is my wife.
Was
my wife. She had spent the night with some of her friends. A vampire attacked her in the parking garage and drained her of blood. A security guard found her lying beside her car and called an ambulance, but it was too late. She was already dead. The police labeled it a homicide. A nurse at the hospital told me that Maria had died from loss of blood, but no blood was found at the crime scene. When I asked the police about it, they told me the case was closed and threatened to make me the prime suspect if I didn’t drop it.

“The worst part was she was eight months pregnant at the time. The police said the baby didn’t survive the attack. The same nurse told me that the baby had survived, but had been infected with something and had to be put down. When I demanded their remains so I could have a private autopsy conducted, the authorities told me that the bodies had been cremated. A clerical error. The hospital wrote me a check for a hundred grand to compensate me for their mistake. I never cashed the fucking thing.”

A lot of things about O’Bannon suddenly fell into place. All Thompson could think to say was, “Sorry.”

“Save it. I have more of a reason to hate the bloodsuckers than anyone here, including you and Compton.”

“So why do you cover for Robson when he protects them?”

“Because he’s in charge when we’re out here. I do as he says, or we die. Besides, Paul has a hard-on for the bloodsuckers, and if I did anything to them it would probably mean I’d be banned from camp. I know I wouldn’t last a week out here on my own.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m glad you approve.” O’Bannon’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “At some point the opportunity is going to arise for me to get rid of the bloodsuckers without getting myself killed or exiled in the process. When that happens, those fuckers are dead.”

Thompson saw his opening. “You just may get that opportunity once we reach the facility.”

O’Bannon turned back to the colonel, the hint of friendliness having returned. “You know, we may just become friends after all.”

* * *

The Angels sat around the fire used to warm the coffee, talking animatedly amongst themselves. While none of them would openly admit it, last night’s dash through Dover had been an adrenaline rush. It had been a long time since any of them had experienced that much excitement, and the thrill of it all felt good.

“So how many rotters did you get?” Emily asked. The word “rotters” sounded like “rottahs” due to her southern drawl. “I only got one.”

“Two,” said Josephine. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

“I couldn’t tell because we were going so fast. It’s not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

“Nothing ever is,” said Ari, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“So how many did you get?” asked Emily.

“None. I shot up a lot of the street, but no rotters.”

“The bus was swaying too much to aim properly,” added Sandy. “I may have hit one, but I’m not sure.”

Leila glanced over at Amy. “I’m afraid to ask how many you bagged.”

“You don’t want to know.” Amy raised the cup of coffee to her lips.