The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here (28 page)

Then when they had loaded, each of them would sling a duffle on their backs and they would exit in the same manner. They would take several trips if needed.

The plan sounded good on the drive up, but when they got to the door, they found it had been forced opened and then at some later time, barricaded shut with God only knew what was on the other side holding it closed. Chris’s key would turn the lock, but it had no effect and so the portal was completely jammed shut.

The door had a wooden veneer but it only took a couple of blows with Chad’s sledge hammer to find out it was a steel security door and nothing short of explosives was going to move it. The ringing sound on the door also attracted some looks from the infected so they stopped quickly and reevaluated the situation.

“There are some ground floor windows that have to be easier to break than that door,” said Chad as he put the sledge back in the truck. They walked along the ground floor windows and presently, on the back side of the building, they found one that had been broken open, likely by previous looters.

The apartment had been trashed. The cupboards were torn off the walls and dishes and crockery were everywhere in pieces. As they moved through the kitchen area through the living room, they saw that most of the furniture had originally been piled up against the window but had been pushed aside. There were splashes of blood, bits of clothing, and flesh on the sharp edges suggesting that the infected had broken in. When they glanced into the bedroom, they found the bloody remains of the one of the residents. It looked like he had been partially eaten. Thankfully, it also looked like it had happened after he had committed suicide with a plastic bag.

“Jesus,” said Chad struggling to hold his breath and his lunch, “how bad would it have to be to decide to kill yourself with a plastic bag?”

“I’ve seen worse,” said Chris. “Let’s keep moving ok, I don’t want to leave Amber outside alone for very long.

The door into the hall was open so they went out and turned right, into the direction of Chris’s apartment. The hall was completely unlighted and the only reflected light came from the door they had just opened. Their headlamps did little to lift the gloom. They discovered when their eyes had become accustomed to the dark, that the hall was not empty. There was shattered furniture, what looked to be human remains and stains that only fired the imagination. The smell was indescribably foul, and the surgical masks did little to dilute it.

When they got to Chris door, they found it had been kicked in. Apparently, the individual apartment doors were not as solid as the main entry door. His apartment had been ransacked but it had been done by people who were looking for something rather than infected looking for food. The articles in the refrigerator were spoiled but untouched. However, all Chris’s papers and books were upturned on the floor. As they made their way into the bedroom, Chris bent down to pick up a crumpled picture from a bent frame. Chad looked over and saw a younger version of Chris in his trooper’s uniform and a very pretty blond girl in a white wedding dress. A tear was working its way down Chris’s face, and then he carefully placed the picture back on the ground.

“It was another life,” said Chris to himself. 

The bedroom had received the same treatment that the living room had with all of his clothes, books, and other belongings scattered around, clearly they had been searched rapidly but thoroughly. Chris looked quickly in the closet and pulled out a pair of hiking boots and flipped them into one of the duffle bags. He looked around for a second and then looked at Chad.

“I’d hoped to pick up some clothes and such, but this is worse than laundry day,” said Chris. “Let’s go see if there is anything left in the other room.”

May 29
th
, Friday, 1:46 pm PDT.

Amber had been very brave when she suggested she wait with the truck while they went to Chris’s place. She would have liked to have seen how he lived, what kind of books he read, what sort of pictures he had on the wall, but the risk of someone taking advantage of an unguarded truck made that option untenable.

Now, with Chris and Chad in the building, she was more than a little spooked by the infected moving around the common area and the liquid, the almost unnatural quiet of the place. This was an urban environment and normally there were car sounds, the buzz of power lines, music and TV coming from various dwellings, and people talking, or shouting or even singing. Today, you could hear the breeze rustling the leaves of the carefully planted trees in the courtyard and the hum of insects. All manner of human sound was gone.

The other thing that was bothering Amber was that she was cold. This was late May in Kennewick and today was a typical bright sunny day. The temperature this afternoon was already above eighty and she still felt cold. Part of it was the low body fat she had left after recovering from the Plague and part of it was something else, she didn’t quite know what.

She laid Chris’s AR-15 across the hood, and while continuing to scan for threats, rubbed her hands against each other to stimulate some warmth. Had it not been as quiet as it was, she might have missed it, but Amber heard a small scrabbling sound from under Chris’s burned out truck. She looked down and saw a gaunt, thin hand reaching out from beneath the truck. 

She took a couple of steps back and drew her pistol. Today she was carrying Dave’s Browning. The pistol delighted her with its balance and clean looks, but the stopping power of the 9mm cartridge was less than she would have hoped for. The hand was followed by an arm and then a head. Slowly emerging from beneath the truck, like some malformed butterfly, was the figure of a cadaverous and almost completely naked young woman. She must have been pretty before the plague, but was now grotesque in her skeletal emaciation. Then incredibly, the woman spoke. 

“Youuuu … ,” croaked the young woman in a faint, husk of a voice. “You are one of them aren’t you?”

“What, me?” said a confused Amber as she backed up drawing her pistol.

“The visions said you would come,” said the woman hoarsely as she slowly got up from beneath the truck. “You know, don’t you?”

Amber’s mind flashed through the visions that still came at night sometimes. She blocked them out or made passionate, vigorous love to Chris to push them out of her mind but she did know, and the thought repulsed her.

“I am ready now,” said the woman, now standing before her. “Eat me!”

Amber emptied all thirteen rounds from the Browning magazine into the woman to silence her. She knew, and part of her wanted it and that scared her.

Amber quickly reloaded the pistol, holstered it and then moved as far away from the woman as possible and the pointed her rifle out, watching the surrounding area for other threats, listening and jumping at the slightest sound or motion.

“Please Chris, please be done soon,” said Amber to herself as she watched and waited and for the first time in her adult life prayed.

May 29
th
, Friday, 1:52 pm PDT.

Chris and Chad went around the corner into the second bedroom and opened the door.

“There’s my beauty,” said Chris looking at his Cabella’s Signature 50 gun safe made by Liberty. It was setting on a sheet of plywood to help distribute the weight. The door was badly beat up, as though someone had pounded on it rather indiscriminately with a sledge hammer. One of the corners had been pried on aggressively and one of the extensions of the three prong wheel that opened the door and been broken off. There was only a hole where the combination keypad used to go and it had been shot numerous times, as if whoever was trying to break into it got frustrated and fired it up.

Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out what had to be the keypad for the lock and began fitting it back into the hole it had originally been made for.

“I have two questions for you, Chris,” said Chad as he watched the door with his shotgun at high port. “First, how in the hell did you get this in your apartment? It must weigh eight hundred pounds or more.”

“Actually it’s a little over a thousand. It is amazing what six guys, a hand truck, a case of beer, and a loading dolly can do,” said Chris as he fished around inside the door for the leads with a pair of needle nose pliers. Apparently someone had tried to hot wire the door and had yanked the wires out when things didn’t go his way.

“There it is!” said Chris holding the wire between the jaws of his pliers. “What’s the second question?”

“This doesn’t look like a vandal came in here to screw stuff up,” said Chad. “They were looking for something. Who do you think did it?”

“If I had to guess,” said Chris training his light on the key pad, “given the fact that this doesn’t appear to be a random trashing but a search, I’d say Derek and his friends had a go at it this. It wasn’t a secret that Amber and I were interested in each other. Hell, it was probably the last bit of juicy office gossip at both the Highway Patrol substation and the Sherriff’s Office before things got really bad. When they started looking for her, this seemed like a good bet. I didn’t have pictures or anything lying around, but I wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper. I suspect they got receipts for flower deliveries or some such that might have triggered a deeper search.”

There was a metallic click that answered the code Chris entered into the keypad and as Chris swung the damage handle the door unlatched.

“If ever there is a need,” said Chris as the door opened, “for a commercial for Liberty Gun Safes, I will give one hell of a testimonial!”

Chris began passing stuff to Chad who started loading it into the duffle bags. There was an RCBS Partner reloading press, scales, powder measures, a plastic sacks full of dies, cleaning tools, primers, bullets, two cans of powder, gun oil, Hoppe’s Number 9 gun solvent, and a double handful of rags.

“Geez Chris, why was all this in the safe?” said Chad as he loaded the first duffle.

“I do patrol,” said Chris. “And I am gone a lot. I was afraid if this place ever burned, there would be an earth shattering kaboom that I’d get blamed for. This safe is guaranteed fire safe for seventy-five minutes at up to twelve hundred degrees so it was simpler just to shove it all in here.”

Chris handed Chad two 7.62 NATO ammo cans full of various empty shells and two more that weighed a ton and were obviously filled with loaded ammo. Then came the guns. Chris handed him half a dozen pistols in cases. Once they were stowed, Chris started handing our long guns in cases, after four Chad held up his hand.

“The duffels are full Chris,” said Chad, “and I am not sure I can lift them.”

“I just have two left,” said Chris as he stripped a Ruger Mini-30 ranch rifle out of its case. He reached into one of the ammo cans and came up with a loaded magazine and put it in the well. “Here, strap this across your back.”

Next Chris pulled out an M1 of World War Two vintage, complete with sling and cartridge belt. He grabbed a clip from the belt and inserted it. After the action cycled, he flicked the safety on and then slung it across his back.

Each of them grabbed a bag and while it was possible to carry them, Chad’s eyes were bugging out a bit. Because they had to use two hands on each of the bags, they had slung their shotguns giving them a comical almost video game like appearance with multiple weapons. The things they didn’t show you in the video games was that carrying all that artillery is heavy work and you moved slowly.

On the way out, Chad, who was in the lead, stepped on the hand of a body that was partially blocking the door. The body looked partially decomposed but both Chad and Chris jumped as the body let out a high pitched scream and grabbed for Chad’s foot with its other hand. He was able to side step the grab but one look down the hall sent chills down his spine. All the seemingly dead bodies they had walked past were alive and were crawling their way. Then doors to the various apartments started opening, and infected who were in better condition began coming at them.

“Back it up Chris!” shouted Chad. “We aren’t getting out this way!”

Chad heaved the bag back into the room with strength he didn’t know he had and drew his shotgun from around his back. The first round put down what had once been a young man who had grabbed his ankle.

Follow-on shots cleared the hall and had people ducking back into their apartments left and right but also emptied his shotgun. Rather than taking time to reload, he flipped the shotgun sling over his head and with the weapon dangling in front of him, grabbed the Mini-30 from his back as he back-peddled into the apartment.

“Chris, you got any better ideas about getting out?”

“Yeah, cover the door. We are going out over the balcony!”

Chris ran back into the room and rooted around in the junk that had once been his life and found what he was looking for, his First Alert escape ladder and a hundred foot coil of parachute chord in a false panel by the entrance to the balcony. He unlocked and opened the slider to the deck. Chris then slipped the hooks for the ladder over the railing on the balcony and then dropped the ladder. Happily, it unrolled just as advertised. In the background, he could hear Chad firing as infected people tried to come around the ruined door of the apartment and get at them.

Then he grabbed the first of the duffel bags and tied the ends of the parachute cord through the handles and lowered it down to the ground, using the railing to provide friction to slow the bag. When the first bag hit the bottom, Chris made a bight in the chord and tied the next bag to it, lowering it to the ground in the same way.

“Shit, the rifle is clocked out! I am going to my .45!” shouted Chad as he looped the rifle’s sling around his neck and drew his pistol.

“Hit the ladder, buddy!” shouted Chris as he drew his shotgun and shouldered past Chad who was attempting to holster his .45. The slide was locked back.

Chris could hear the weapons around Chad’s neck clang as he went up and over the railing and began working his way down the ladder. Chris had a full tube plus one in the chamber but he went through that faster than he thought possible. As soon as the shotgun was empty, there was a rush at the door.

“Coming through!” shouted Chris as he ran through the slider and locked it. The first of the infected hit it hard and the window cracked but held. Chris vaulted the railing and grabbed the second rung on the way down. Chad, who had struggled getting down the ladder because of the weapons around his neck, was still three rungs from the bottom.  The sudden jerk from Chris’s abrupt departure and Chad’s weight caused the bolts holding the top of the railing in place to part. The wrought iron uprights bent suddenly and then halted for a second as the railing hit the balcony. Then it halted again as railing bent past horizontal. Finally the bolts parted completely.

Chad had hit the ground when the railing first parted and so was out of the way when Chris and the railing landed in the grass beside him. 

“Get to the truck!” shouted Chris as he disentangle himself from the railing.  Chad gathered up the chords and then with a shoulder strap from each hand started dragging them towards the truck in a stumbling run that would lose a race with the average three year old.

There was a crash from above as the sliding window gave way and there was what looked like a waterfall of infected from off of the balcony. The three story fall injured some of them to the point that they couldn’t continue the chase, but many were able to get up and run or crawl after them. Chris, who had managed to get clear of the railing and retreat a few yards, unslung the M1 and began firing at the pile of infected at the base of the building, aiming at those who seemed most mobile. The high velocity 30.06 would sometimes carry through one of their tormentors and hit someone or something behind them causing much pain and confusion. Almost before he knew it, the characteristic ‘Kpung!’ of the M1 ejecting its eight round clip rang out loud and clear.

Chris was able to catch the clip in mid-flight, pocket it, and turned to run after Chad. As he got even with Chad, he grabbed one of the duffel bags with one hand and the M1 in the other. As they rounded the corner of the building, they could see Amber crouched at the corner of the vehicle, ready and alert.

“Get the truck started!” shouted Chad. “They are coming behind us!”

Amber rushed to the door of the truck and without entering, leaned in and turned the key and was visibly relieved when the big diesel engine kicked over and began to idle smoothly. Her relief turned to alarm as the first of the infected turned the corner. She opened fire and began taking down the charging infected who were behind Chris and Chad. Chris tossed his rifle and then his bag into the back of the truck and then helped Chad do the same.

“Get in,” said Chris to Amber and as Amber got into the driver’s seat and Chris clambered onto the bed, Chris drew his service piece and proceeded to empty it into the charging crowd. 

Chad tumbled into the bed of the truck and reloaded his .45.

“Now you get in,” shouted Chad and he began firing at the crowd which had been thinned appreciably but was still coming on strong. Chris grabbed the tailgate and stepped on the trailer hitch. Chad grabbed the collar of his jump suit and heaved helping Chris into the bed.