Voodoo Plague - 01 (6 page)

The big Ford’s
air conditioning worked well and within a few minutes we were both shivering
from the cold air blasting out of the dash vents, but neither of us wanted to
turn it off or down.  We were dehydrated, hungry and exhausted.  Adrenaline was
keeping us going, but I knew we’d crash and burn as soon as it bled off.

As I piloted the
truck down the road, slowing frequently to avoid wrecked and abandoned
vehicles, infected continually appeared and shuffled towards us.  It quickly
became apparent that the rattle of the heavy duty diesel engine announced our
presence and provoked a Pavlovian response from them.  More often than I liked an
infected appeared from behind an empty vehicle and stepped into our path, only
to be smashed down by the massive grill guard mounted to the front of the Ford
then pulped under the oversized off-road tires.

Finding the Ford
was a blessing.  Short of an armored car or a military vehicle it was about the
best vehicle for our situation, and with the added benefit of a beefy four wheel
drive system we weren’t restricted to pavement.  I glanced at the dash and
noted the fuel tank was over three quarters full.  I also noticed a switch on
the dash marked ‘fuel’ and realized the truck had dual tanks.  I flipped the
switch to change tanks and the gauge quickly swung all the way past the full
indicator.  God Bless rednecks!

“Where are we
going?” Rachel leaned forward and adjusted the AC vent that was blowing
directly on her.

Her question hit
me like a slap across the face.  Katie!  My wife was in Arizona and I’d been so
focused on the crisis at hand I’d forgotten about what she must be going
through.  Guilt washed over me, sapping most of my adrenaline, my shoulders
slumping.

“What?” She
asked, looking around in a panic, thinking my reaction was due to some new
threat.

“My wife. 
Katie.  She’s in Arizona.  Alone.”  I squared my shoulders and started
thinking.

Katie was a farm
girl, raised in Michigan by a Marine who survived Pearl Harbor and the fighting
in the Pacific.  She’d been the only girl, and the baby, in a family with three
boys.  She could fight and shoot with the best of them, but had she had the
chance to arm herself and fight? 

“I’m going to
Arizona.”  I announced without giving it a second’s thought.  “I’m going to
find some food, water and weapons, and then I’m going to get my wife.”

Rachel was
quiet, staring ahead through the windshield for a time before she spoke, “I’ll
help you.  I’ve got no one, and from the looks of Atlanta I don’t even have a
home anymore.”

If I’d been thinking even half way
clearly I would have been amazed at how quickly we had adjusted to a world that
had just fallen apart around us.

We drove a
couple of miles south before finding a major road that turned to the west and
looked like it would provide us access to the expressway that ran through the
area.  The road I was looking for was GA 400, an eight lane toll road that
serviced the suburbs of Atlanta.  I really needed a map.  I knew the geography
of the US pretty well, but I didn’t know the routes to get out of the Atlanta
area without getting lost in suburban and rural areas.

We drove and
pushed through more wrecks, regularly bouncing infected off the front of the truck
as we made our way towards the expressway.  The road we were on swept up a rise
and as we gained elevation I could see the signs for the toll road entrances to
go north and south.  I slowed as we approached the northbound onramp, not
knowing which way to go, but hesitant to go any closer to the inferno that
Atlanta had become.  Idling past the entrance we crested the overpass and I
brought us to a gentle stop.  The northbound lanes were partially clogged with
crashed and abandoned cars, but were passable if one drove slowly enough.  Southbound
was completely empty for as far as I could see.  Infected shambled on the
pavement, turning to face us as they heard the sound of the idling diesel
engine.  More of them crawled on the pavement and in the grassy median,
apparently too damaged to walk, but not damaged enough to be down for the
count.

I looked south,
to my left, and the scene was repeated.  Raising my eyes I could see the thick,
oily, black smoke boiling up from Atlanta, and even in the daylight it glowed
within from the fires burning in the city.  Rachel gasped and grabbed my arm,
pointing ahead across the overpass.

Not a mile ahead
of us was a gas station with attached convenience mart, but I didn’t see
anything more unusual than abandoned cars and shambling infected.

“What do you
see?”  I asked, eyes searching.

“The power’s on
at the gas station.  Look at the sign.” 

She was right. 
A vintage Union 76, giant orange ball sign was rotating away as if everything
was normal.  I made a decision without consciously thinking about it and
stepped on the accelerator.  As we approached I noted the empty and abandoned
vehicles at the pumps, several of them with gas nozzles still inserted in the
vehicles’ fuel tanks.  I also noted the half dozen or so infected that turned
at our approach and started shambling towards us.  They were all male, and
moving slower than the females I’d seen, but that didn’t make them one bit less
dangerous.

They met me in
the road, fifty yards shy of the gas station and I used the truck to dispatch
the largest concentration in one crushing, grinding and bloody impact.  Two
remained on their feet and turned to follow us as I whipped into the station’s
parking lot.  A green handled fuel nozzle, green for diesel, was visible
sticking out of the tank of an abandoned VW Jetta.  No opportunity like the
present.

“I’m getting out
to get that nozzle out of the car,” I said to Rachel, pointing at the VW. 
“When I have it clear, push the car out of the way so I can top off our fuel
tanks.  I don’t know when we’ll be able to find fuel again.”

We screeched to
a halt behind the VW and I eased us forward until our front bumper crunched
into the car.  Throwing the transmission in park, I took a quick look around
and jumped out of the truck, pistol in hand.  Rachel slid behind the wheel and
dropped the big truck’s transmission into drive, ready to push.  Grabbing the
nozzle from the VW I stepped back and she hit the gas.  The Ford’s tires
grabbed the concrete of the gas station driveway and with a protesting squeal
of rubber and crumpling metal the VW moved forward. 

The pump was
still activated from the VW owner’s presumably interrupted fueling, so as soon
as I inserted the nozzle into the Ford’s fuel tank and squeezed the lever fuel
started flowing.  Rachel rolled her window down.

“Two coming up
behind you,” she warned, sounding as calm as if she was talking to me about the
weather.

These two were
the survivors from the group I’d bashed in the street and were now only about
ten yards away, both of them making that wet, snarling, gurgling sound that set
my hair on end.  I stepped away from the pumps, raised the pistol and dropped
both of them with two quick head shots.  Glancing around I counted at least
twenty more infected converging on the noise of the truck and gun shots, the
closest more than two hundred yards out.  Fortunately, I still didn’t see any
fast moving females.

“Stay with the
truck,” I shouted to Rachel, and ran across the concrete apron to the
convenience mart doors. 

I stopped at the
closed glass door and peered in.  Everything looked so normal.  The lights were
on, the shelves were stocked and there wasn’t any sign of disturbance.  Running
out of time I yanked the door open and stepped in, pistol at the ready, whistling
loudly to draw out any infected.  I gave it five seconds and when there was no
answering snarl I lunged for the counter and grabbed a fistful of plastic
shopping bags.

Shoving the
pistol in my waistband I ran to the glass door fronted coolers and filled
several bags with bottles of cold water.  Next I filled bags with candy bars,
protein bars, canned food and anything else that looked like it was edible and
would travel well.  Arms loaded I dashed for the door, praying I wouldn’t meet an
infected in such a defenseless position.  Just before I pushed out the door I
glanced at the counter and stopped short when I saw the road atlas display. 
Reversing course, I was juggling heavy shopping bags to reach for an atlas when
Rachel started honking the truck’s horn.

I looked out the
front door and saw a female infected staring back at me.  She pushed on the
door which fortunately only opened out.  When it didn’t move she started
banging on it with her fists, face pushed to the glass and lips peeled back in
a snarl. 

I looked over
her and saw the converging crowd was now less than forty yards from the truck
and closing ground fast.  Grabbing the atlas I juggled the bags back into a
stable position and ran directly at the door.  I’m a big guy and the female infected
looked like she had been a high school or college aged girl and soaking wet
couldn’t have weighed more than 100 pounds.  I hit the door in full stride,
blasting through it and sending her tumbling back and away from the point of
impact, my new road atlas flying out of my hand and skidding across the parking
lot. 

Seeing me
coming, Rachel leaned across the seat and popped open the passenger door.  I
ran, skidding to the side of the truck and dumped my looted goods into the
cab.  I heard the snarl and slap of feet behind me and reached for my pistol,
but my hand was tangled in the plastic shopping bags.  Leaping back, a bag full
of canned goods came with me swinging from my right wrist, the tough plastic
refusing to break free.

The infected was
right there, running at me, leaping, eyes wide, lips skinned back from bloody
teeth, a snarling scream coming up from her throat.  Not even thinking, just
reacting, I stepped to the side and swung the heavy bag of cans.  I swung
hard.  The bag hit her squarely in the face and exploded open, cans of chili
and soup flying in every direction. 

The impact
stopped the infected in mid leap and she crashed to the ground, immediately
jumping back to her feet and turning to attack.  Hand free of the weight of the
bag I pulled my pistol and shot her in the forehead, stepping over her body as
it was falling.  I had to get the nozzle out of the truck’s tank and the cap
back on so we didn’t lose precious fuel as we drove away.

A male infected
met me by the pump and I dispatched him with another well placed shot, yanked
the nozzle out of the tank and let it drop to the ground as I fumbled the
truck’s fuel cap back on.  I had glanced at the pump’s readout and was
surprised that the truck had held almost 15 gallons in the partially empty
tank.  Quick and dirty math told me I probably had two 50 gallon tanks.  I was
betting the truck would get around fifteen miles per gallon so we should be
good for close to 1,500 miles before we ran out of fuel.  That wouldn’t get us
to Arizona, but it was sure as hell a good start.

Rachel had
scooted over and closed and locked the passenger door and I was starting to
step up into the cab when my left leg was yanked out from under me.  I hit the
ground hard, breath whistling out of my lungs and lay there, momentarily
paralyzed as my body refused to respond.  A crawling infected, he must have
been under the VW and worked his way back, gripped my right foot and started
pulling himself up my legs, teeth snapping the whole time.

His head had
just reached my feet and he bit down on my right foot, the shoe saving me for
the moment, when my body started responding again.  I took a deep breath,
yanked the pistol out of my pants, took careful aim at my attacker’s head and
pulled the trigger.  Nothing.  Either a misfire or the weapon had failed to
lock open when it ran out of ammunition.

I started
kicking the infected in the forehead with the heel of my left foot and manually
cycled the automatic pistol’s slide, but it locked open, empty.  A snarl above
me heralded the arrival of another infected, ready to fall on me and have a feast. 
I kept kicking, trying to scoot away from them both, but the damn thing had a
hold on my foot like a Terrier on a rat.  It wasn’t letting go. 

Looking up I
prepared to fend off the latest dinner guest, hoping I would be able to crack
his skull using the empty weapon like a club, when a shadow leapt over me from
the cab of the truck.  Rachel landed on both feet, astride my upper body and
swung the tire iron with both hands.  If Hollywood was still in business I had
the perfect Wonder Woman for them.  The tire iron connected with a sickening
crunch and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings, bloody head bouncing on
the concrete a few inches from mine, dead red eyes staring at me.  Rachel spun,
dispatched the infected chomping on my shoe in the same fashion and grabbed my
shirt, screaming at me to get in the truck.

Scrambling to my
feet I followed her bare ass into the truck, slamming the door behind me. 
Before I could even hit the lock button, fists started pounding on the window
trying to get to the prey that was escaping.  I dropped the tranny into
reverse, hit the gas and roared backwards a few yards, then into drive and
swung around the VW, crushed a few infected in the process and turned back east
onto the road with a skittering of tires.

I headed to the
toll road ramps, bounced over the median, and turned onto the southbound off
ramp heading north against the direction of travel for those lanes.  I hadn’t
seen another vehicle moving since the evening before and driving against
traffic seemed a better idea than driving closer to Atlanta.  My breathing
finally slowed down as we settled into a steady 40 mph on the toll road. 
Rachel took a couple of deep breaths also.  I could feel her body shaking as
the adrenaline drained off.  After a mile or so she picked through the bags on
the floor, pulling out a bottle of water for each of us.

“I don’t suppose it would be too
much to ask for you to get me a shirt the next time we stop, would it?”  She
asked with a perfectly straight face, handing me a bottle of water.