Down the Road: The Fall of Austin (7 page)

“No, we can’t,” he pleaded.

“Mike, something bad is going on and it’s
spreading. HQ isn’t answering. And this is the second time this has
happened to us today. I don’t want a third.”

“Me neither.”

Derek did not hesitate. He opened the door.
Charlie’s body tumbled backward, stretching his already open
stomach cavity wide, like the mouth of a giant beast, or the silly
stomachs with painted faces singing
Soul Man
that seemed to
always find their way onto America’s Funniest Home Videos. Entrails
hung from the cavity like a tongue, spilling all over the pavement.
The illusion of a face disappeared as the girl fell on the body as
well, head first into the gore of Charlie’s exposed chest cavity.
Still partially in the car, she looked like a cat stuck in a cereal
box, trying to wiggle out of his bloody torso.

Mike ran to the front of the cruiser and
threw up on the front tire as Derek opened fire on Charlie’s chest
where the girl’s head was stuck. He unloaded his pistol on the
bodies to ensure the girl was dead. Both corpses sat motionless,
the girl’s head still stuck deep in Charlie’s bullet-ridden chest.
Moments ago, they were just pot superstars sharing a joint. Now,
they were just a pile of gore entangled in entrails and flesh on
the side of IH-35 north.

Mike recovered as best he could as Derek
walked up to him. “You all right?”

“No. Pretty fucking far from all right.”

“Mike, don’t be a pussy. Things are fucked up
right now. You need to get your shit together.”

“Goddamn you, Derek,” Mike said with
resentment, angry that he could not save the two people from their
cruel fate of nestling in each other’s gore.

“What?”

The two stood silent for several seconds,
taking in the new world forming around them. Both heard the same
screams, the same sirens, the same gunshots. They never imagined
the end of the world would sound anything like this.

“Take me home,” Mike said.

“You’re going to need to help me get
that
out of the car first,” Derek said, pointing to the two
bodies merged in their final mortal moments on earth.

1:15 AM

Texas State Capitol

The two Army fireteam leaders led their men
to the gates of the Texas state capitol. Securing the capitol was
the first step in securing several surrounding blocks so the
military could set up its command center for the state of Texas.
National Guard troops would arrive to barricade the capitol, then
secure the buildings within the barricaded city blocks. Scurrying
from the APC amidst the chaos of downtown to a heavily sandbagged
staging area, the men received their orders.

“Morning, ladies,” said a stern man in the
digital themed fatigues of the urban warrior, his wrinkled face a
portrait of restrained aggression. “I’m Captain Barrigan. You and
your men will secure this building this morning. The state
legislature was in session today and many legislators stuck around
before we had a chance to secure it. We have confirmed several
viral enemies within the building.”

The men grimaced in surprised confusion at
the mention of
viral enemies
.

“You need to clear the building of the Virals
and rescue any of the state legislature who are still in the
building. Are these orders clear?”

All responded, “Yes, sir.”

“National Guard will be arriving at 0600
hours. Your work needs to be completed by then. Do you
understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Captain took a long swig from a large cup
of Starbucks coffee, smacked his lips, and said, “Questions?”

Sgt. Arnold was the first to raise his hand.
“What are viral enemies, sir?”

“Viral enemies are humans exhibiting what we
can only describe as
hyper-crazed
behavior, including severe
violence and tendencies to bite. The reason we refer to them as
Virals is that sources close to the US military believe the
sickness is possibly viral. Avoid bites at all costs, or contact
with blood or saliva from these combatants.”

“What happens if we do, sir?” asked Spc.
Goodson.

Cpt. Barrigan told a bold-faced lie. “We
don’t know for sure.” The subtext was clear, though.

“How do we take them down, sir?” asked Sgt.
Nickson.

“Intelligence gathered confirm a traditional
shot to the head terminates the combatants. Any other
questions?”

“Why is this happening?” asked Sgt.
Arnold.

“We don’t know.”

The men stood silent.

Cpt. Barrigan moved away from the iron gates
of the capitol. On the sidewalk just several feet away from the men
lay three dead bodies. As the men peered through the bars across
the lawn of the antique building, shadowy figures walked in the
distance. They seemed human, but now they weren’t so sure.

“All right. Get your gear ready,” Cpt.
Barrigan stated.

The fireteams gathered while their leaders
conferred over a map of the capitol with Cpt. Barrigan.

“Men, here’s the building’s floorplan. How do
you think you want to do it?”

“Drop us on the roof and work our way down,”
Sgt. Nickson said.

“We need to secure the lawn first,” Sgt.
Arnold added. “Then, perhaps, we can be dropped on the roof. Are
the other gates around the capitol secured, sir?”

“Affirmative. This is currently the only
approved entrance and exit to the capitol.”

“Then our choice is easy,” Sgt. Nickson said,
butting in to subtly take credit for the decision. “We secure the
yard around the capitol, then get an airlift to the roof.”

“Sounds like a good plan, Sgt. Nickson,” Cpt.
Barrigan said, patting him on the shoulder.

Sgt. Arnold shot Nickson a severe look of
disdain. Nickson just smiled back.

The fireteams were just in earshot. Both
sized each other up, brandishing their weapons with
testosterone-fueled pride.

“We’re sending you to get it done in five
minutes, men. Set up your teams. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sgt. Arnold returned to his team. Spc. Noble
approached him first and made an observation. “Woman’s intuition,
but why do I get the distinct feeling Nickson and his goons wish we
were dead?”

Sgt. Arnold shouldered his grenade launcher
and checked the submachine gun he was going to have to use in and
around the building.

“Because they do.”

Spc. Knight moved close. “They’ve been
eyeballing us all night, like they’re looking for an excuse to
fight us.”

“Look, it doesn’t make a shit right now,”
Sgt. Arnold said. “Nickson and his shithead crew might be assholes,
but we’ve got to work together with them.”

“I heard that, Arnold,” Sgt. Nickson said as
he turned to the rival team, his men looming behind him, armed and
ready. Each had an evil sparkle about them, as if they were picking
the rival member they wanted to kill.

“If any of you cocksuckers get viral, I
promise to put you out of your misery,” promised the cowardly Spc.
Garrison, who was unconsciously standing behind the monstrous Spc.
Rodriguez.

“No, thanks,” Spc. Goodson said. “I’d be too
scared Rodriguez would try to fuck me in the ass when I’m dead like
he does you, you nasty faggots.”

Fireteam Arnold chuckled at the open
insult.

“Don’t talk shit to Rodriguez,” Garrison
said, slapping the stout stack of bricks across the back. “He’ll
part you like the Red Sea.” The two smiled, petting Rodriguez’s
M249 SAW.

“You mean part our ass like he does
your
ass, you homos?” Spc. Noble chimed. She knew nobody on
Nickson’s team had any respect for her, so she had no problem
expressing her distaste for them.

Sgt. Nickson had been brewing like a teapot,
and the final crack, made by Noble, a woman—more like a
girl
not that far separated from boot camp—pushed him to the boiling
point. He shoved Sgt. Arnold with both hands, and Sgt. Arnold
immediately responded with a right cross that dropped Nickson to
one knee. He clinched, and Sgt. Arnold began to work the body with
angry uppercuts. Had Cpt. Barrigan not broke them up, their men
might have joined in, the stoic Spc. Talltree being an
exception.

“Goddammit, you two!” Cpt. Barrigan yelled.
“Do you morons understand we’re in the middle of a goddamn global
epidemic?! Huh?!”

The men stood ashamed, like school children
being reprimanded by their teacher.

“If a group of our nation’s finest soldiers
can’t get their shit together, then its all over, boys. All over.
Now you’d better get your egos squared away,
pronto
.
Understand?”

A brief silence ensued, broken only by
distant wails of terror and angry car horns down near 6th
Street.

“Arnold, Nickson, get the fucking job done
and don’t disgrace the U.S. of A.”

The pride the men held for their country put
things back into perspective for them, at least momentarily.
Begrudgingly, they took a deep breath. Then, slowly, they moved to
the gate and formulated the details of their plan.

“If we spread out along the gate and walk to
the back gate, we can secure the yard quick,” Sgt. Nickson
said.

“Make it the plan,” Sgt. Arnold agreed.

The teams gathered, but before Cpt.
Barrigan’s men were to open the gate, Sgt. Arnold had one more
question. “Sir, if this plan doesn’t work, securing the capitol, is
there a plan B?”

“Yes, there is. And its on its way.”

The cryptic remark was the last comment made
before the men opened the gate and the soldiers entered the
viral-infested waters of the Texas capitol grounds. The fireteams
swiftly moved in and aligned themselves along the gate. They were a
distance apart, but still close enough to communicate to each other
with hand signals. Arnold and Nickson stood side by side on the
central sidewalk that worked its way to the front doors of the
capitol building.

“Spread out, guys,” Sgt. Arnold said.

The men ended up about fifteen to twenty
yards between each other before Arnold and Nickson gave them the
order to advance. They moved in single-line formation, patrolling
so no Viral could pass without being seen and subdued. All the
soldiers had placed flashlights on their weapons, illuminating the
dimly lit capitol yard.

“This is kind of creepy,” Spc. Garrison
murmured.

“Don’t be a pussy,” Spc. Rodriguez said.

The two teams, united as a temporary squad
despite their moral division, advanced on the yard. They came upon
two very different monuments near the front of the capitol
lawn.

“What is it?” Garrison asked, looking at the
statue to the left of the sidewalk. Rodriguez and Nickson were
closest to the monument.

“It’s a monument to firemen,” Rodriguez
answered over his helmet mic. “Fallen firemen in Texas.”

“This one’s dedicated to veterans of the
Civil War,” Sgt. Nickson stated.

Both Spc. Goodson and Spc. Rodriguez stopped
in their tracks and looked toward the monument.

“What side was Texas on, anyway?” Rodriguez
asked, gently unhitching a grenade from his utility belt.

“Pretty sure they were with the
Confederates,” Garrison said, egging on his friend, sensing his
next move.

Spc. Rodriguez pointed the light on his rifle
at the monument. Etched in stone on the top part of the monument
was a Confederate flag.

But creeping out from around the bottom of
the statue was a man in a suit, who took the two leaders, Arnold
and Nickson, by surprise. They raised their weapons at the man.

“Easy now, sir,” Sgt. Nickson stated. “We’re
here to help.”

The man covered his eyes from the blinding
light, revealing bloodstained hands. Arnold thought he heard the
man snarl, which sent a bolt of fear through him.
What the hell
is this? Wild kingdom?
As the man stepped more and more into
the light, blood was becoming evident across his entire suit.

“Wait a minute,” Sgt. Arnold said. “He might
be a Viral.”

As the man was still covering his face from
the blinding light, Sgt. Arnold took the opportunity to circle him
and check to see where he rose from. On the ground by the statue
was a human body. The shirt had been ripped off. Flesh from its
face, arms, and chest had been removed. A massive gaping hole in
his stomach revealed missing vital organs.

“Yep, he’s a Viral,” Sgt. Arnold said.

“I got him,” Spc. Rodriguez said, taking
advantage of the situation and tossing a grenade. “Fire in the
hole!”

“Shit!” Sgt. Arnold yelled, dashing from the
creature. Sgt. Nickson fled the other way as the grenade clicked
across the sidewalk and landed in the grass by the monument.

With the bright lights of the weapons out of
its eyes, the Viral took a short moment and recovered its sight. It
focused on the grenade that had clicked its way across the sidewalk
like a tap-dancing baby turtle. The Viral reached down toward the
device, but only got halfway when the grenade exploded.

The blast took a large chunk of marble off
the statue and immediately stained the lower portion in black. Long
black spikes jutted across the statue from the blast point. Two
large cracks cut the Confederate flag in three sections.

The Viral was in worse shape than the statue,
as it had been torn to pieces. The flesh from its face was torn off
as its eyes burst into hot jelly. Its brain compressed against the
back of its skull before exiting out of what was left of its ears.
Shrapnel stabbed its body, violently tearing through the soft
tissue. The force jettisoned the hands, fingers, and arms from the
body, sending globs of flesh and bone flying onto the sidewalk.
Though the head miraculously remained attached to the body as it
landed across the sidewalk near the fireman’s statue, it was
nothing but a creamy, chunky mass of flesh, blood, and brain. The
suit was torn from the front of the remains and criss-crossed the
corpse over a sanguine and tenderized body missing both arms and a
segment of leg.