The Great Wreck (43 page)

The
last room was set up like a dispatch station with rows of electronic
equipment.
 
A desk had been set up in the
middle of the room and on it, a small control box with a microphone. I sat down
in the chair in front of the desk and took the microphone in my hand while
switching the small set to the “on” position.

Immediately
a set of speakers mounted on the wall came to life and a deep, male voice said,
“This is Sandia Station broadcasting every thirty minutes on the hour and half
hour mark. This is a recorded message for anyone out there heading towards
Sandia. Directions to any of the five Albuquerque safe houses can be found on
channel eleven. Weather conditions in Albuquerque and the surrounding regions
can be heard on channel twelve. Traffic conditions can be heard on channel
thirteen with updates every fifteenth minutes,” it said.

Traffic
conditions? What the hell was that? I thought and continued to listen to the
announcer.

“Limited
emergency services for those parties that have entered the Albuquerque area are
available and can be found on channel fourteen. To speak with an operator
directly, please turn to channel fifteen.”

I
switched over to channel thirteen wondering what kind of traffic they might be
having. Had they kept the dead out of the city completely? Maybe this was a
place where the dead hadn’t over run everything.

I
listed to the “traffic update” and was sorely disappointed, “Approximately
three hundred dead moving east along Central Avenue. A group of over a thousand
dead are currently located at Carlisle boulevard and Cooper Avenue. Survivors
are cautioned not to approach this or surrounding neighborhoods. Recommend
making your way to Wyoming boulevard and locating safe house at Eubank and
Southern. Parties moving north on I-25 be advised that large numbers of dead
are moving …” I switched channels if disgust. The “traffic” was the dead moving
around the city. Well, I really didn’t expect anything else and turned to
channel fifteen and listed for a minute to see if anyone else was talking. All
I heard was silence so I pressed the send button and spoke, “Hello? Is anyone
there?”
  

Out
of the speakers, I heard the excited voice of a young girl as she transmitted
and yelled at someone else with her at the same time, “Oh my god! Stan! Tell
Georgie we have someone on the radio!” I waited for a minute more for the girl
to say something to me. Finally she seemed to realize she hadn’t spoken to me
yet, “Hello? This is Sandia Station. Over.”

Sandia
Station. Three months of traveling from Los Angeles, catching bits and pieces
of their broadcast outside of Phoenix, and now I could actually talk to them.
It was real. It was there. And I was going to make it.

“Hi,
uh, Sandia Station. My name is Thomas. Over.”

“Hi,
Thomas! This is Greer! I can’t tell you how exited we are to hear from you!
Over.”

“Thanks,”
I replied, “Do you get many survivors calling in?”

A
long silence followed, then Greer spoke again, “Not too many anymore. Hank says
that people are either dead or holed up somewhere like us and we won’t see but
a few stragglers. Over.”

“Yeah,
I didn’t meet too many survivors outside of Los Angeles. Over.”

“You
came all the way from LA? Oh my god,” She whispered, “Anyone left alive there?
Over.”

“There’s
nothing left there. We heard of a place called ‘Burbank’ but we were too far
east to turn back. Over.”

“Are
there more with you? Where are you? Over.”

“I’m
alone and I’d rather not say where I am in case others are listening. Over.”

“Crazies.
Roger that. Over.”

“There
is a group of people in Las Cruces. They say you know about them. Over.”

“Yeah.
They have a real doctor and the bosses are planning to get them in the winter
but these crazy migrations are fucking everything up,” she said, “Sorry about
the F-bomb. Over.”

I
laughed and replied, “Foul language does not offend me anymore. It’s the only
language appropriate for the Great Big Fuck-up,” I said, “Over.”

I
could hear Greer laugh as she replied, “Shit! Fuck! Ass crapper! Motherfucker!
Who give a mother fucking, dick dripping, ass wipe, gigantic horse shit if I
swear!?” she said then her laughter abruptly stopped, “Oh, hi Georgiana,” she
said.
 

I
could hear a young woman reply to her in the background sounding less than
amused, “Is he still on?”

“Yes,”
Greer said meekly.

“Can
I talk to him or are you still trying to use every bit of profanity and
broadcast it over the entire southwest?”

“I’m
done,” Greer said and tried to whisper to me, “I’m in big trouble, Thomas and
the Boss wants to talk to you. Over.”

“Nice
meeting you, Greer. Over”

“You
too, Thomas. Hope to see you soon. Over,” she and then the adult woman,
Georgiana, came on.

“This
is Georgiana Clark. My friends call me Georgie. Who is this? Over.”

“My
name is Thomas Anthony Greenly. My friends called me Thomas. Over.”

“Nice
to meet you Thomas. How many are in your group? Over.”

“Just
me. Over.”

I
heard Georgie draw in a sharp breath and say, “And where are you coming from?
Over.”

“Los
Angeles. Over.”

“My
god. How did you get that far?” she said forgetting the “over” part.

“Walking.
Then biking after Phoenix. Los Angeles was bad. We didn’t really know where to
go but we couldn’t stay where we were at. The whole city was burning and
clogged with dead. We had to get out, Pix and me. We teamed up with and insane
fucker named James and headed east just to get out of the city,” I said briefly
living through those early days of the Event, “We lost Pix, James left me in
Phoenix but caught up with me outside of Las Cruces. After that I had to ditch
James so I am on my own now.”

“Where
are you now?”

“I’d
rather not say.”

“Understood.
You are planning on coming up to Sandia?”

“As
soon as I can make it.”

“OK,
that’s good Thomas. So I want you to listen carefully,” Georgie said, “The dead
are on the move again and are going to be clogging up the roads leading into
the city. When you get close enough to use a hand radio, check in with us and
we’ll direct you to a safe house. Then we’ll come and pick you up. Do you
understand?”

“I
do.”

“Good
luck Thomas, and I’m glad to have met you. Over.” Georgie said and handed the
mic over to Greer.

“Georgie
is giving me the stink eye for talking too long and swearing so I need to get
off the air. Call me if you need anything, Thomas and it was nice meeting you.
Over.”

“And
you, Greer. Hope to see you soon. Over,” I said and turned off the radio. I
went and showered, then had some of my canned soup. The small kitchen actually
had a microwave oven so I heated it up. It felt good just to sit at the table
and eat the hot chicken noodle soup like a normal person. It felt good to have
talked to Sandia and let them know I was coming. But most of all it felt good
to be free from James.

I
finished my soup and checked to make sure the front door was securely locked.
All the other doors and windows had been sealed up with sheets of metal so
nothing was coming in any other way. I still locked the door to the barracks
and pushed a set of bunk beds in front of it before I tuned out the lights and
crawled into bed.

The
emergency lights cast a dim green glow over the room but I was OK with that
since I could see into all the corners. I feel asleep thinking my journey would
be over soon and I could try to rebuild some type of life in Sandia.

The
next day I was up early and felt as though I had been hit by a truck. I had way
overdone it on yesterday’s ride. I showered again letting the hot water soak
into my abused muscles and decided I might stay a day or two to recover before
heading out on the road again.

I spent most of
the day listening to the “traffic” reports from Sandia while studying a map and
marking the flow of the dead as the operator talked and talking with Greer in
the evening.

I
tried to reach Marti, Birch, or Doc but they either were too far away to pick up
the signal or couldn’t respond back because…well I didn’t want to think of what
might have happened when James got back into Las Cruces.
 

I
found the various safe houses as well and it looked like the dead were light in
the area around a safe house located in the south east corner of the city. That
was where I would head to. Sandia would pick me up there in an adjacent open
field and my journey would be over.

I
stayed another two full days and decided my first ride would be a short one
just up to Carrizozo. I topped off my supplies, filled my water jugs and packs
and prepared to leave the next morning. That evening I told Greer my plans
leaving out the names and places and told her I’d contact them again when my
hand held radio could reach them.

“Good
luck, Thomas and stay alive. There aren’t that many of us left,” she said,
“Over.”

“See
you soon and I will be. Over.”

I
woke up, showered again (three times in as many days!), and ate a full
breakfast of sausage and reconstituted eggs. They were horrible but if felt
good to have a full belly. I turned off the lights and locked up the office
carefully bolting each of the front door’s locks. I said a silent prayer of
thanks to whomever had set this safe house up and rolled out onto the empty
road. It was cool and clear in the still morning but the sun would soon crest
the mountains in the east and the Great Thomas Bake would begin again.

But
it would be a short day. I had located a small commuter airport just west of
Carrizozo and would be there in three hours or so. I’d spend the night there
then the following day make a huge push to Socorro. I’d rest in Socorro,
contact Sandia, and make my final push to Albuquerque! I could be there in four
days at most.

After
Three Rivers Solar Station, I would focus on getting as far as I could each
day. The little distance tracker that the bike had on it told me I was easily
making 60 miles per day so I should reach Socorro in about two days. After that
Albuquerque was only 80 miles and a good, hard day’s ride. But I didn’t take
into account the dead.

I
found the Carrizozo airport with no problem and set up camp on the top of a
flat hanger. The heat was nearly unbearable and sleeping on the hard roof after
a few nights of a soft bed was a painful adjustment but I kept telling myself
that this long nightmare journey was almost over. The next day I was up and
heading west in the early morning light. And finally I began to close in on
Socorro.

At
the speed I was going, I figured I reach town before sunset and find a suitable
place to hole up. I stopped on the side of the road and drank deeply from my
water pack. I glanced back at my trailer and saw that I had only two full
gallons of water left plus whatever was in my water pack. It would be tight,
but I’d be able to refill in town.

I
pulled out my binoculars and scanned the nearly empty road all the way to the
horizon and spotted a small building on the left hand side of the highway and
in front of it, a figure standing by the side of the road. It was probably one
of the dead since the living tended to be moving in one direction or the other
or hiding inside buildings. I checked that my pistols were loaded and ready,
then pushed off and head towards the figure. If it was just one, I could handle
it and move on. If there were more, I’d just move on.

As
I approached, the figure remained stock still. It had to be one of the dead.
Any living person would have spotted me coming and either ducked back in the
building or waved at me. This one, though, just stood there facing north, not moving
an inch.

I
stopped peddling about a hundred yards from the person and the building. The
building was a small roadside shop that sold rocks and minerals. The person
standing in front of it, maybe the owner, was clearly dead. He looked like he
was an older man when he had been bite as he stood there legs slightly apart,
hands shoved in his front pocket. He was wearing a tatter cowboy hat and shirt,
filthy blood splattered jeans, and boots that were just about to fall apart. I
could see that his right forearm had been eaten down to the bone but he had
somehow managed to stick the remains his boney hand in his front pocket. He
looked like he was just waiting for the bus or admiring the view.

I
un-holstered my pistol as he turned his head towards me. He looked at me for a
moment, then turned his head back north. I thought of the dead guy who had told
me to get a move on outside of Demining and decided to peddle a bit closer to
him. I got to about ten feet and stopped again. The dead guy pulled out his uneaten
hand and tipped his hat to me. Definitely one of the strange dead.

I
closed in to within five feet and stopped. If he didn’t try to attack me now,
I’d move to the other side of the road and get on my way. He looked at me for a
full minute as though trying to figure out who I was. And then he spoke.

“Strange
days, mister,” he said.

He
didn’t move towards me and I didn’t see any other dead around so I replied,
“Yep. You going to give me trouble?”

“No
trouble. World of trouble out there already,” he said indicating with his boney
forearm and hand waving it all around us and then shoving it back into his
front pocket.

“Sure
is.”

He
fell quiet for a minute or so and I thought he might have forgotten I was
there. Then he spoke again, “Am I dead?”

“Yes,”
I said simply.

“Fuckers
got me,” he said looking at his eaten arm, “Thought I might be immune. Guess
not.”