In Harm's Way (16 page)

“I think I sharted,” Ted said quietly, sounding embarrassed.

“I don’t care about your underwear. Someone help and get this thing off of me,” Wilson begged as he wrestled with the clammy arm.

“I can’t stop now... look behind us.”

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have an extra twenty pounds of dead meat hanging from your head,” Wilson shot back.

Ted stole a furtive look in the rearview mirror as the large group of walking dead were about to overtake them. He put the car in drive and drove away, being careful to keep his speed under twenty miles per hour. He didn’t want to risk a collision and have the Subaru suffer the same fate as the much bigger Suburban. Outside, the pale arm swung back and forth, occasionally banging against the door.

Wilson rolled his window all the way down and reeled the arm into the car--placing it between his knees while he worked to get the stiff fingers to relax. 

Sasha moved as far away from the rotten appendage as she could.

Wilson was getting more pissed off by the second because the dead hand wouldn’t let go. “Ted, I
need
you to pull over pretty soon, this thing is bleeding all over my shoes.”

“Eww,” Sasha exclaimed as she pulled her feet from the floorboard and closely inspected them for wayward bodily fluids.

Wilson noticed her bare feet first and then the welt on her ankle--which was turning a shade of purple Prince would probably admire. “Sasha... put your damn shoes on,” he said gruffly, sounding too much like their mom. And then he asked in a more calm, caring voice. “How is your ankle?”

“I’ll live...” Sasha’s face sprouted a big grin as she tried to suppress a laugh. “Forget about my ankle. You should see yourself with that arm growing out of your head. That would be a great picture to post on Face...”

Wilson watched his sister’s face go slack and then the tears started. He was already fully aware of how much the world had changed in the week since the outbreaks, at least in Colorado, the place that he called home, and he had a feeling Sasha had just come to the same realization.

Wilson wanted to console Sasha but he was in no position to give her a hug (dead man’s arm and all), so he renewed his efforts to free himself from its grasp. “Ted, do you have a Leatherman or some kind of multi-tool... maybe a pocket knife?

“You’re just going to have to wait a sec,” Ted stated.

Sasha wiped her tears and watched William’s head loll back and forth on the headrest. His seat was reclined nearly horizontally, so far back that Sasha was forced to stare at his sweaty face. She noted his eyeballs fluttering intermittently behind darkened eyelids. Her only option was to stay vigilant and hope that he didn’t turn into a zombie and bite her face off.

Ted put his palm on his partner’s forehead. “Hang on Will... I’m getting us out of here,” he said, choking up a little. Then he wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his arm and focused on slaloming the little car in between the random clusters of walkers.

***

The small tire shop was two blocks from Interstate 25. Ted pulled into the parking lot out of necessity--he was fed up with Wilson’s incessant whining and close to being sick from the decomposing flesh in the back seat.

Ted removed the first aid kit from the glove box and tossed the red and white nylon pouch in Wilson’s general direction. “There’s got to be something sharp in there,” he said as he started rummaging around in the large plastic sack sitting on his lap.

Wilson opened the kit hoping to find a pair of scissors or a pocket knife, anything with an edge. At this point he would resort to shaving his head to be rid of the severed arm. Tucked deep in the recesses of the tri-fold kit, Wilson found a pair of red-handled scissors.

“Be brave Sasha... you’ve got to do this. You won’t even have to touch it. I’ll hold the arm up to give you some slack and then hack off as much hair as you need to.”

With her hands trembling Sasha began cutting on her brother’s locks--being sure to keep one eye on William.

As Sasha worked away, Wilson heard the same rattling sound present in the drugstore earlier. “Whatcha got there Ted?” he asked. The question went unanswered. Ted was counting under his breath, zoned out, concentrating intently on the task at hand.

“William... can you hear me?” Ted lightly slapped the other man’s sunken cheek.

He got no response.

Ted looked back and said, “Can one of you hand me a bottled water from my pack?”

Much to Wilson’s chagrin Sasha stopped “Operation Arm Removal” to fulfill Ted’s request.

Thinking the worst, Wilson inquired, “What kind of drugs were you looking for back there?”

Ted cracked the seal on the bottle and held it between his legs. With some difficulty he pried open his partner’s mouth with one hand and funneled a palm full of pills in with the other. Then he washed them down with a small amount of water and held William’s mouth shut. The unresponsive man heaved a couple of times, but the pills stayed down. “He hasn’t had his drug cocktail for more than a week,” Ted finally replied.

“What made him sick?” Sasha innocently asked as she finished her gruesome task. After a couple more snips the arm fell free complete with the clump of Wilson’s bright red hair still clutched firmly in its grasp.

“They’re to keep his immune system up. William is HIV positive, but when he takes his drugs you would never know it. All of these...” Ted shook the bag of pills. “They keep the symptoms at bay. No pills... and he crashes pretty quickly.”

“I feel foolish,” Sasha confessed. “I thought he was infected.” Immediately she regretted her choice of words.

***

The Traveler slowed the Ford as the front entrance to the Heights gated community came into view. Apparently the last person to leave didn’t have time to close up shop. The ten foot tall gate on wheels was in the fully open position. He drove through the stucco and iron entry, passed the vacant guard shack and negotiated the big Ford around a mound of putrefying flesh and bones, disturbing a number of feeding ravens in the process. The murder exploded into the air at once, cawing angrily at the interruption.

The Traveler ignored the pissed off birds and trained his binoculars on the blue car. The occupants were still sitting in the vehicle, which hadn’t moved since he left the house on the ridge five minutes ago. He had been watching and waiting for the right time to make contact. The trick would be in timing his move right. Trail them too close and they would make him. On the other hand if he let them get too far ahead he would be forced to take chances to catch up, possibly getting himself into trouble.

The sun slowly slipped behind the Rockies; the Traveler estimated it would be fully dark in less than two hours. He had a hunch that these people, now down to the one car, were trying to make up their minds: hole up somewhere for the night or continue on and risk getting stranded in the dark, vulnerable and out in the open.

Suddenly the blue car started to roll, moving in the direction of the tollway. The Traveler watched the driver take the onramp, weave the car between stalls and walkers and continue south on I-25 in the mostly unoccupied northbound lanes.

“Fools,” the Traveler muttered under his breath. “You’re gonna make this difficult for me aren’t you?” He tossed the binoculars on the seat next to him and made certain the .45 caliber Kimber was close at hand. To lessen the chance of being seen, he nosed the stolen truck into the clogged southbound lanes of Interstate 25 and began to shadow his quarry from a distance.

Outbreak - Day 8

Over the Gros Ventre Wilderness Area, Southern Wyoming

“Wake up Daymon,” Duncan drawled over the comms.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and once again it was tearing him from the peaceful realm buried under layers of horror deep in his subconscious. The fair maiden would have to wait. Daymon snapped to, surly and disoriented. “How long did you let me sleep old man?”

“Obviously not long enough Mister Cranky. Shit, if I woulda known this was all the thanks I was gonna get... I wouldn’t have even bothered.”

“Sorry,” Daymon said sheepishly. “I was having another
good
dream.”

“Well lucky you... I don’t have a
good
anything unless I’m awake and the Cialis has kicked in.”

It was way too much information and Daymon didn’t even want to go there so he changed the subject. “Have you made up your mind yet... are you taking me to Driggs... or have you already shanghaied me all the way to Eden?” he asked.

“That’s why I woke you. We’re edging south of Jackson Hole. Cade advised me to steer clear of the city. Something about surface-to-air missiles... I think I
will
take his advice to heart. That’s the reason I’m skimming the tree tops... trying my best to stay under the radar.”

Daymon peered down at the numerous mountain lakes encircled by lush green forest. They sparkled like so many diamonds, producing a hypnotic effect, flashing beneath the helicopter.

Duncan’s voice interrupted Daymon’s National Geographic moment. “We’re seventy-miles from Driggs... if that’s your destination I’m taking us through a slot in the Tetons. If Eden’s your choice then we have to go south around the end of the Tetons. My brother’s compound is well planned out and secure. You’ve seen the countryside from the air... the best aspect is how remote Eden is. And most importantly Oops will welcome you...  no doubt about it. Keep in mind that the Eden compound is a collective of sorts and we are going to have to pull our own weight... Driggs or Eden--which is it?”

Daymon sat with his thoughts for a couple of minutes. “I’m more comfortable alone and I
need
to go home... to see my house with my own eyes... get some closure at least.”

“Are you serious son?” Duncan drawled. “I actually kind of like you... matter of fact you remind me of myself when I was young. I’m still a loner, but these days being a loner ain’t conducive to being alive.” After a few moments of silence, Duncan finally gave up. The kid’s mind was set and Duncan wasn’t going to argue the point. Daymon was a big boy.

Duncan gently nudged the Black Hawk on a course that would take them through a slot in the mountain range, keeping them away from the armed stronghold of Jackson Hole. Duncan kept the helo close to the earth to minimize the chance of them being detected. Flying the big helicopter semi nap-of-the-earth required constant attention to the ground, the tree tops and the flight controls. It was a very dangerous stress inducing stretch of flying. Duncan couldn’t wait to get to Eden so he could relax and stop running for a spell.

Forty minutes later the southeastern section of the small town of Driggs came into view. There were a number of walkers ambling about the deserted trash-strewn streets. A small group of zombies, on hands and knees, were intently feeding on some unlucky soul. Blood-streaked faces looked skyward as the DHS Black Hawk thundered over.

“Not an encouraging sign my man...”

“Let’s see how bad it is over there,” Daymon said pointing to the north. “My house is in a little subdivision about a mile and a half from here.”

Duncan slowed to twenty knots to allow Daymon the time to get his bearings and guide him in.

“See that green water tower... look due north... there is a school with the baseball diamond and backstop. Drop me off there,” Daymon said.

“Out in the open... are you crazy?”

“I’ll know once we get closer. If you drop me at my house it’ll attract too much attention. I work best out in the open... schoolyard please.”

Duncan shook his head. “Let’s recon your house with a flyby first... OK?”

Before Daymon had a chance to answer, Duncan banked the Black Hawk and overflew the faded yellow single-story school. Daymon used the opportunity to scrutinize the grounds from two hundred feet. The tall fencing was keeping the zombies out of the baseball diamond and outfield, but a few of the creatures were stumbling around the playground structures and there were three more in front of the middle school.
It should be doable
, Daymon thought,
as long as they don’t follow me home everything will be OK
.

Daymon pointed out the port side glass. “There it is... the tan single-story ranch... there is a white house on the north side and a blue house to the south.”

“Copy that... I see it,” Duncan said.

“Whatever you do...please
do not
fly too close. I’m afraid the noise will attract too many of those fuckers to my block.”

 Duncan orbited the Black Hawk around the cluster of small ranch style homes, but stayed clear of the airspace directly over the tan house. “I only count three walkers... and it looks like there’s no damage to your casa, mi amigo.”

“The front door and garage appear to be intact,” Daymon said, craning his neck to get a better look.

Duncan relayed his observations out loud. “Coming around back... fence looks good... and there’s the door... it’s closed. Good to go.” He looked long and hard at Daymon. “Back to the school or onward to Eden?” Duncan asked. “
Last chance
.”

Without hesitation Daymon said, “It’s been good knowing you Duncan. You had better take me down right now... before I puss out.” Then he unbuckled the seatbelt and removed the bulky flight helmet. Lastly, while trying to keep his balance, he retrieved the Kelty pack and his weapons from the passenger area. Daymon felt his stomach churn. He didn’t know whether it was caused by the helicopter’s rapid descent or a healthy dose of fear. Whatever the cause it was too late to turn back now.