Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (26 page)

"Mack!" he howled, and made one last desperate grab into the blackness. This time, fingers skittered across the back of his hand. Then at last, a small, warm hand found his, and tiny fingers interlaced his own.

"Mace!" The girl cried, and reeled herself in to throw her arms around his waist.

"It's okay, Mack, I've got you," he said, hurriedly backing them both away from the creatures of the dark.

He'd lost contact with the stage in all of the excitement, and now he fought to reorient himself. He could only guess how far they were from that touchstone, but the direction was clear enough. The tinkling earrings were directly ahead, so he turned his back to the swarm and hurried them away from the sound. A dozen quick steps later, something filmy and foul-smelling fell across his face, and he instinctively flailed at it, thinking he'd stumbled into some massive spiderweb. Only when his struggles tore it to pieces did he realize his obtuseness. It wasn't a web, it was a curtain; the kind an old theatre might use to obscure something as prosaic and incongruous as a door.

"This had to be it, Mack," he said cautiously, then he swept the curtain aside and gave a hushed cheer when he felt a horizontal bar at waist-height.

He gave a push, and when a widening wedge of daylight appeared along one side of the door, he put his full weight against it and shoved his way through.

Fresh air. Sunlight. They were out!

Mason pushed the door closed behind them, and as his eyes readjusted to the glaring sunlight, he looked down to Mackenzie and had the vague image of her standing stock-still, head back, and gazing up at the sky. He saw the pinched grimace on her pretty face and the scowl in her rapidly blinking eyes, and his relief turned to heartache.

"I know, Mack," he said, holding her hand tight and giving it a gentle squeeze, "That wasn't fun, but every step we take gets us closer. It shouldn't be long now."

"Mace…..?" the girl started, then she gasped and snapped her head excitedly from side to side.

She didn't have to say it. As Mason's vision finally cleared and he saw movement all around, he figured God must be looking down from on high, busting a holy gut.

CHAPTER XXIX

It wasn't an alley, but the road behind the theatre was so narrow that it might as well have been. Directly across the way was the white granite facade of the Court of Appeals building, taking up the whole side of the road from there to 7th Street like a massive stone bulwark. In the other direction, two- and three-story buildings on both sides enclosed the narrow road all the way to 6th Street. And from both ends, swarms of creepers poured in like water through a funnel.

Wordlessly, Mason took Mackenzie by the hand and sprinted toward the only possible exit; a narrow parking strip running perpendicular to the alley along the east side of the courthouse. Two police cars and a sheriff's van had been abandoned at the far end, but they did nothing to constrict the handful of creepers coming up from Mission Street. Then, even as Mason considered whether or not he'd be able to barrel his way through, a big muscle-bound wilder broke through the slow-moving creepers and charged headlong up the parking strip, snarling like a rabid dog. The sight of the massive creature was such that Mason nearly turned to flee, but with two separate swarms already converging at their backs, retreat was a spurious option at best. He felt as if they were suddenly caught between a great white shark and a school of hungry piranha.

The courthouse blocked off one side of the parking strip, but on the other side was a wide-open parking lot. There would be lots of room to maneuver there, but a high fence stood in the way, and there was no way he'd be able to get them both over safely in the few seconds they had before the wilder was on them. Hemmed in on all sides then, Mason held his ground, watched the wilder charge, and took a precious fraction of a second to do the math.

The wilder was big. Thick arms, strong back. The big dog on the block. A feint with the pike-staff wouldn't do it this time. This fight was going to be a tough one, and worse, it was going to take time. Time they didn't have. Seeing no other way out, he reluctantly pulled the gun from his waistband, took careful aim, and fired once. The top of the wilder's head erupted in a fountain of red, and the horrible creature tumbled to the ground in an ugly sprawl, but as he'd expected, that single gunshot out in the open resounded like the blast of a cannon. It echoed off of the surrounding buildings and rippled away in all directions like rolling thunder, and before he even had the pistol tucked back in his waistband, Mackenzie stiffened and drew in a sharp breath.

"Mace…."

"I know."

He could already hear it. A rush of footsteps from behind, and two distinct feral growls. Then another wilder appeared at the far end of the parking strip. It tilted its head from side to side until it finally triangulated the echoes, then it launched itself directly toward the pair like a runaway freight train.

Mason tossed his pike-staff over the fence and gathered Mackenzie in his arms.

"We're gonna climb a fence, Mack."

"Okay," she said without hesitation.

Mason hoisted her halfway up the fence and guided her hand to the right spot, "Grab hold, Mack. Now lift your foot a bit. Two more inches and you'll feel it. There. Got it?"

"All good, Mace," she said nervously.

"Hold on tight. I'll have to climb over first."

The girl was only half-joking when she told him, "Just don't forget me, Mace," then she clung to the fence like a baby chimp to its mother, and breathed in shallow little gasps.

The fence was all vertical spikes and horizontal supports. It wasn't difficult for an active person to climb, but some city planner had decided to leave the top ends of the metal spikes exposed to discourage such antics. As such, Mason couldn't simply perch on top and lift Mackenzie the rest of the way; he had to find a barely sufficient foothold on a horizontal slat and lean precariously down over the sharp spikes to reach her.

"Give me your hand, Mack," he hushed, one eye on a wilder raging up the parking strip and his ear tuned to the pair of growls closing in from the other side, "Let go with your left hand and reach up. That's it, babygirl, just a bit higher… .…."

He stretched his body as far as he could and finally felt her hand in his. "Gotcha!" he whooped, then he hauled her high into the air, craned her up and over the top of the spikes, and lowered her gently to the ground. Once she was safely alit, Mason jumped down beside her, took hold of her hand, collected his pike-staff from the ground, and sprinted across the big, wide parking lot. At the same instant, another wilder burst into the far end of the lot, but Mason navigated the space expertly enough that the creature was soon trapped in a corner behind a row of parked cars. The thing growled and thrashed and clawed at the metal barrier, but Mason swiftly put it behind them as he hurried Mackenzie to the exit.

They had just passed the attendant's booth and stepped onto the Mission Street sidewalk when Mason's attention was drawn to the intersection a dozen yards away to the west. Apparently, sometime during the panic of the city tearing itself apart, a big 18-wheeler had tried to circumvent one nightmare or another on 7th Street by attempting the tight turn onto this side road. But the turn had been two tight, the trailer too long, and the other drivers too intransigent. Now, the huge vehicle rested across the entire four-lane road, its grill buried in the flanks of a minivan parked against the curb in front of the courthouse, and the back end of the trailer pinned against the Isabel Hotel on the corner. Two tiny vehicles were wedged tightly under the trailer, and Mason's eyes widened when he saw a single arm wave from a little half-crushed Prius, but then the hand curled into a gnarled claw and a harsh growl filled the street.

A loose swarm of creepers was approaching from the east, so Mason ran Mackenzie toward the landlocked truck. As they tore past the courthouse, he saw that the creepers from the alley and those creatures in the parking strip had merged into one truly massive swarm, and now it poured out onto Mission Street in a flood. He caught sight of more than a few wilders in the midst of the swarm, fighting their way through the ranks of slow-moving creepers, and he knew that they only had one chance. He headed straight for the abandoned truck, thinking that they could scamper under the trailer and leave at least some of the swarm behind, but then he saw the driver's door of the big cab hanging open and he did the math on the fly.

The door was emblazoned with a company logo. A fleet vehicle, then. Mason had known many a trucker in his day, so he understood the difference. An owner/operator was heavily invested in his ride and would protect it like a child. A fleet driver was paid by the load and had no financial commitment to the truck itself. So, once this fleet driver managed to get his rig permanently wedged, he'd abandoned the thing entirely and run for his life. Fair enough, what with the world pulling itself apart and all, but a bigger issue remained. What about the keys? It was such a natural thing for a person to remove the keys from an ignition and slip them into a pocket without thinking, but what about a fleet driver? And more to the point, what about a fleet driver in fear for his very life?

"This way, Mack," he hushed, and raced the girl right up to the open door.

He peered in and saw a keyfob dangling from the ignition.

Halle-
fuckin'-
llujah!

He let go of Mackenzie, propped his pike-staff in her hand, pulled his pistol, and jumped into the cab. He took a quick peek in the sleeper compartment, then plunked himself down in the driver's seat and gave the ignition key a half-turn. When the dashboard lit up, he pumped his fist and had to fight against shouting with glee. He quickly climbed back down, hoisted Mackenzie into the cab, and tucked his pike-staff in the corner as the girl scampered across the seats.

The swarm was close. A dozen yards. Mason knew it would be tight, but the math was inarguable. The potential benefits far exceeded the risk.

"Back in a second, Mack," he called up to her, then he ran around behind the cab and scurried under the trailer.

The wilder stuck in the Prius howled and raged, but Mason ignored it and quickly located an L-shaped handle connected to the fifth wheel. He gave it a sharp pull and there was a heavy
ke-chunk!
as a pair of metal jaws retracted, then a quartet of creeper legs appeared at the side of the truck and Mason cursed to himself.

Christ! …..Move, Mace, move!

He scampered out from under the trailer, kicked the legs out from one of the creepers, shouldered another one aside, then he hustled to the cab, threw himself in, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Mackenzie was sitting cross-legged on the passenger's seat, a seat belt already fastened across her waist and shoulder. "All good, Mace?" she asked almost casually.

Mason slid the knapsack off of his back and dropped it to the floor between the seats, then he took a moment to catch his breath.

"I'll let you know in a second," he panted, then he took hold of the ignition key once again, turned it halfway, waited until the 'glow plug' light went out, and turned it all the way. There was the briefest of hesitations that seemed to last an eternity, then the engine roared to life and black smoke belched from the stacks. Mackenzie immediately let loose with a raucous cheer, but Mason waited until the powerful diesel motor settled into a throaty rumble before finally releasing a heavy sigh.

"Okay. All good, Mack."

He put the big truck into gear and stepped on the accelerator. The rumble rose back to a roar and smoke poured from the stacks, but the big truck only shuddered in place. He pressed harder on the gas and the roar became a howl, and as if in slow motion, the vehicle lurched forward, inch by laborious inch as it buried its nose deeper in the side of the minivan. At last, a certain point was reached, and there was a horrible screech of metal on metal, then the umbilical cord pulled free, the front of the trailer dropped to the ground with a thunderous
crash!
and the cab lurched forward, piling into the minivan with such force that the thing was flipped onto its side and shoved onto the sidewalk amid a spray of sparks. Now that the cab was free from the trailer, its front wheels popped up and over the sidewalk, the van was shoved against the solid granite side of the courthouse, and Mason had to crank the wheel hard over to avoid another pileup. He ploughed over more creepers than he could count, then he saw a little VW abandoned just where the truck regained the road, and he didn't even bother to steer around it. He barreled directly into the Volkswagen and sent it skittering off to the side where it swept away several more creepers before launching itself through a pair of glass doors and directly into the lobby of the Isabel Hotel.

Mackenzie cheered again, and this time Mason joined in, loudly, raucously, and jubilantly. They cheered and they whooped and they punched the air, and Mason watched with utter dispassion as one creature after another disappeared under his wheels. Then there came a thud against the passenger side of the vehicle, and the excitement was quickly doused as a bloody hand reached up and slapped against the glass. Mackenzie jumped in her seat and uttered a little shriek, but she quickly collected herself and groped along the inside of the door, swiftly locating the door lock and flipping it closed.

She settled low in her seat and admitted sheepishly, "I didn't hear it coming."

Mason ignored the smear on the window and told the girl honestly, "That's alright, Mack. I knew it would be a trade-off. A vehicle gives protection, but it also makes noise." He spared a moment's thought to the yahoos in the oversized, little-dick monster truck and the good ol' boy with the hole in his pants, and he gave the girl a pat on the knee. "This big rig makes a
lot
of noise, but it also gives us a
lot
of protection. We're way up high, we're wrapped in two tons of solid
Dee
-troit steel, and we can go over or through all kinds of things that would stop a smaller vehicle. Believe me, babygirl, we're doing good!"

He managed to avoid the main body of the swarm as he drove on, but he couldn't avoid them all. One after another, the horrid creatures crumpled like old newspapers and disappeared from view, but aside from the slightest of bumps and the occasional skid as if they'd somehow hit a patch of black ice, the truck took it all in stride.

Mackenzie nervously rechecked the door lock and cinched her seat belt tight. "I guess so."

A wilder suddenly charged out from an open doorway, and Mason had a quick glimpse of swirling gray hair, a frumpy dress hanging in tatters, and a single pendulous breast painted red with blood. He goosed the accelerator just enough to avoid contact, then watched his mirror as the thing that had once been someone's grandmother howled and flailed and turned to pursue them in a limping run.

"I
know
so," Mason insisted, "We have a full tank of fuel, a sleeper cab with a bed, and I think I even saw a little fridge back there. We won the
lottery
, babygirl! Lookie here, we even have tunes!"

He fiddled with the stereo and finally got it turned on, but all that came through was a hiss. He switched to the CD setting, heard some wailing and a badly-strummed guitar issue from the speakers, and he quickly thumbed it off.

"What is it with truckers and country music?" he lamented in an overly dramatic sigh.

Mackenzie giggled at his antics, and Mason allowed a self-satisfied grin as he switched back to the radio. On a whim, he swept up and down the AM dial, but it only hissed. He stabbed the FM button and tried again, then he switched the thing off completely.