Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (16 page)

11

October 23, 2015

Dallas County, AL

“John, we need to stop soon. The truck’s getting low on gas, and only one of the spare cans has any fuel left.” Behind the wheel, Reams Wilkins waited for his friend’s reply before turning his attention back to the road.

Sleepily, John nodded his acknowledgment from the passenger seat.

“Our supply cache is getting rather thin as well. Might be a good idea to try to scavenge some food and water while we’re refueling,” Kate added from the seat behind John.

Turning to offer his agreement, John saw the fourth member of their group, Ethan Long. The battle-scarred former soldier was staring out the window at the desolate landscape, as it slid by like the eidolon of a world long since past. From his position, all John could see was the damaged right side of the man’s face—a large crater like the site of a miniature explosion where his cheek and nose should have been. Lost in thought, Ethan did not seem to notice as John stared at the deformity for a moment longer than was polite. Shifting in his seat, John directed his attention back to Reams, and asked, “Are you familiar with this area? Where do you think we should stop? Any ideas?”

After a thoughtful pause, Reams said, “There’s an exit a mile or two ahead, and a small town a mile or so beyond that. We could check those out.”

Despite the total distance being less than three hundred miles, they had already managed to burn through the majority of their fuel reserves without covering much more than a quarter of the journey. Countless obstructions forced them to back track or stop entirely to clear a path through the detritus littering the bleak landscape. Wrecks, abandoned cars, and small congregations of infected were but a few of the impediments they encountered as they traveled to Atlanta. What would have been an easy trip to make in a day on a single, full tank even in a gas-guzzler like the H2 before the plague, proved to be far more costly in terms of time and fuel than any of them had imagined at the outset.

On more than one occasion, each of them had voiced concerns about whether their decision to head to Atlanta had been the right one. Each time they did so, they avoided looking at John directly, not wanting to assign blame or otherwise alienate the man that was their de facto leader. Unfortunately for John, he did not have the luxury of averting his eyes when the same feelings of doubt surfaced in his mind.

When the gas station’s exit came into view, they were relieved to find it largely free of obstructions. A lone car, abandoned midway up the ramp with two of its doors left wide open, was the only real obstacle, and it was far enough toward the shoulder to allow the H2 unhindered passage. With daylight fading rapidly, the truck’s headlights cast a narrow swath of yellow light across the darkened fronts of the untenanted buildings. The lifeless husks of the simple constructions stood as a testament to a life that used to be, like the discarded shells of cicadas.

To John, such things served as a painful reminder of where they had come from, and what they had lost. While he would have welcomed the luxury of electricity, he did not miss many of the technologies now as defunct as the buildings before him. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and text messages could all stay down in their rightful place in Hell as far as he was concerned. They, like the plague, had already stolen so much from humanity in their own right by his way of thinking.

Cresting the rise at the top of the ramp, Reams pulled the truck to a stop. As though drawing a battle line, the all-encompassing darkness that engulfed the buildings seemed to square off with them, daring them to make a move. John got an uneasy feeling as he scrutinized the gas station, the small mom and pop country store, and the cheap, hastily-constructed hotel for road-weary travelers looking to spend as little time in the area as possible. John certainly did not want to stay there any longer than absolutely necessary. While he saw no clear cause for alarm, something about the area made him uncomfortable.

As the hotel was farthest from the exit ramp, they could ascertain the least amount of detail about it. A wrought iron fence surrounded the property, and they saw no sign of habitation—infected or otherwise. Directly in front of them, the gas station and the small market just behind it were also devoid of movement. Even so, they knew all too well that did not mean the buildings were safe. Noticing the large truck parked alongside the gas station, John and Reams shared an excited glance.

In an animated tone, John asked, “What do you think? Surely we’ll be able to find fuel here.”

The tanker truck set motionless. Reams felt confident there would be fuel on the truck or in the underground tanks. Either way, he had a good feeling about their chances of finding the gas they so desperately needed. “Yeah, I think we’ll be in good shape. The only reason a truck like that would be here is for resupply. The question is:
which tank has the gas?
” Reams said with a sanguine smile on his face.

“Reams, you and I will get the fuel while Ethan and Kate keep watch and provide security. We can check for supplies after that. Sound good?” John asked.

“Why don’t Ethan and I scout the area and check for supplies while you two refuel? Once you get going, siphoning the fuel really only takes one person so the other could keep watch. That way we can get back on the road a little faster,” Kate said.

John shot Ethan a concerned look, but he merely shrugged his shoulders as if to say
that
suits me fine
. After a moment of consideration, John reluctantly said, “Okay. Just be careful. Even though this place looks dead, keep your guard up.” He felt a little foolhardy telling Ethan, the most combat seasoned of them all, to stay vigilant.

Weapons at the ready, John and Reams visually scouted the building’s perimeter. They saw no movement in or around the dilapidated gas station. A derelict four-door sedan that had seen better days even before the apocalypse set idly in the front parking lot. Aside from that, the tanker that held so much promise was the only other vehicle outside the station.

Missions like this had grown so commonplace for them over the previous month that they had the routine down to a science. Whether their goal was fuel, food, water, or anything else, they operated in a manner that kept their risk from any threat to a minimum. Ethan told them repeatedly about the importance of contingency plans and always maintaining a route of egress in order to avoid becoming trapped. While the danger posed by the infected remained fairly constant, that of the uninfected was far more variable, and thus more dangerous. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and desperate people did desperate things. They had witnessed that unfortunate truth time and time again over the last few weeks.

* * *

Moving silently, Ethan and Kate approached the sturdy wrought iron fence surrounding the hotel. Having been in the dark for nearly ten minutes, their eyes were well adjusted to the low light environment. When they reached the fence, Ethan held up his hand to signal Kate to stop. In a voice so soft it could hardly be called a whisper, Kate asked, “See anything?”

Without a word, Ethan shook his head as he retrieved several brightly colored latex balloons from a pouch on his vest. Decked out in his commando garb, Kate thought he looked like a deranged, militant clown getting ready for some jihadist kid’s birthday party as he inflated the balloons and secured them to the fence with a strip of tape. Knowing what he was doing, she waited patiently for him to finish, her eyes constantly searching for any sign of danger.

Such IDDs, or improvised distractive devices as they had taken to calling them, had been used to great effect on several occasions over the last few weeks. Having discovered that noise was one of the most significant means by which the infected located the uninfected, they quickly learned to exploit that fact. Anything capable of making noise and being triggered to do so from a remote location, could serve as an IDD.

Ethan’s preferred method was popping strategically placed latex balloons with a pellet gun. The balloons were
abundant, easy to store, and nice to look at once inflated
, he joked. The pellet gun was virtually silent, and he could split hairs with it out to nearly thirty yards. He had used this tactic to successfully distract and deter the infected on multiple occasions previously. With the balloons in place, he could pop them one by one from inside the hotel if they were in need of a little extra room during their escape.

Ethan interlocked his fingers, forming a stirrup to help Kate over the fence. Although it was only six feet tall, she accepted and was on the ground inside the fence in a few seconds. With her pistol at the ready, she crouched and surveyed the parking lot for any movement as Ethan scaled the fence. The two moved in a bounding overwatch configuration that made it seem like they had been doing this sort of thing together for years. Ethan recognized Kate’s natural skill the moment they rescued her back in Hermitage Estates, and had since been pleased with how quickly she picked up everything he showed her.

Cover. Move. Cover. Move. Cover. Move—all the way to the front door of the unlit hotel. In discussing the best place to check for supplies, namely food and water, they assumed the hotel would, at the very least, have some provisions for the ubiquitous continental breakfast offered by such establishments before the plague. They did not know if there was a full kitchen or restaurant associated with the hotel but that would be a potential source as well.

Peering through the sliding glass doors, Ethan saw no sign of life in the lobby. As the doors required electricity to function, they remained motionless when the two crossed in front of the defunct motion sensors. With a silent gesture, Ethan indicated that he was going to pry the door open. Drawing a long, slender pry bar from his pack, he worked the tool into the narrow space between the two framed glass panes. Jimmying it from side to side, he wrenched the two doors apart enough to slide his fingers through. Despite pulling as hard as he could, the doors barely separated three inches. Frustrated, he hunched forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Kate whispered, “Try pulling them again, and I’ll pry with the bar at the same time.”

Ethan straightened and nodded in acknowledgement. Getting into position, he pulled the door with all his might as Kate put the entirety of her weight behind the pry bar. Muscles vibrating from the strain of their efforts, neither felt the nearly imperceptible shudder that rippled through the glass, nor did they hear the faint rending noise that grew in intensity until it sounded like the hull of a boat running aground on a rocky shore. The sound rose so rapidly that its zenith came before either of them realized what was happening. For the briefest moment, the air around Kate shimmered and sparkled magnificently as though a thousand diamond fireflies were performing a spectacular ballet under the pale moonlight.

The tumultuous sound of the glass panel shattering into a million pieces was deafening against the absolute quiet of the night. Without all the noises of modern life, Kate thought she could hear each tiny fragment crash against the ground before caroming off, tinkling and pinging off one another as they went. Although beautiful in its own way, it made her cringe as though the glass shards were cutting deep gouges straight through her. She gaped at Ethan whose panic-stricken expression mirrored her own.

* * *

“Let’s check out the tanker first,” Reams said. “If it’s still loaded it will be easier to get fuel from it than from the underground tanks. The truck itself is a diesel, so any fuel in its tank is useless to us. If both the tanker and the underground tanks are dry, we can always pop the tanks or siphon fuel from the cars parked at the hotel.”

John agreed, and the two edged quietly toward the abandoned tanker truck.

Reams hopped onto the cab’s sidestep, making surprisingly little noise given his weight. In the faint moonlight, he peered through the window and saw no one inside. After tapping gently on the glass, he waited silently for a response. When he heard no reply, he let out the breath he had been holding.

Reams joined John along side the tanker and began inspecting it to determine what it hauled. The trailer carried a large tank labeled ‘MidSouth Fuel Transport.’ It was marked with various symbols that described the properties of various hazardous chemicals. John assumed that if one knew how to decipher the cryptic code, the symbols would indicate what was contained within the tanks.

“This is a two-compartment tank. Looks like it was hauling kerosene and either diesel fuel or unleaded gasoline, I’m not sure,” Reams said as he pointed toward the two large nozzles used for attaching hoses. A quick scan of the station revealed it had pumps for all three fuels. In one of the truck’s side compartments, Reams found a wrench that would open the tank’s valve as well as a high-volume, hand-operated pump. He set to work uncapping the pipe leading to the tank he suspected of carrying automobile fuel. Unused and exposed to the elements for many weeks, the cap initially resisted Reams’ substantial effort before ultimately relenting. When the valve opened, a heavy, oily scent was forced out ahead of the dark liquid. Hoping for the thinner, more pungent odor of volatile gasoline fumes, Reams hung his head in disappointment.

Even in the darkness of night, John quickly picked up on the change, and asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s diesel fuel,” Reams replied. “Looks like we’re going to have to check the underground tanks. At least we’ve got this this hand pump.”