The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here (29 page)

“Go!” shouted Chad and Amber, who had been waiting for it, hit the accelerator.  The tires of the big Dodge truck spun for a split second and then they were off in a cloud of black diesel smoke. A couple of the infected managed to grab the tailgate and one had actually got a foothold on the bumper but the last round fired from Chad’s sidearm imbedded itself in the young man’s chest and the infected tumbled to the ground.

“Damn that was close,” said Chris and they sped down the road to Chad’s house.

“Remind me never to go joyriding with you, ever!” said Chad with a faint smile on his face as he sank back against the loaded duffel bags.

May 30
th
, Saturday, 9:45 am PDT.

Clinton Taylor had not slept well the previous evening. After that last day at Bechtel, Clinton had gone home to his condo and waited. He didn’t know what for. He hadn’t been what one would call prudent for most of his adult life. His first marriage happened when they were both too young and his first unaccompanied tour in Korea with the Army in 1976 had been the final straw.

Their son, Jeremy, who was now almost forty, had been raised primarily by his mother’s family and in truth, Clinton hadn’t been a very attentive father. They spoke briefly on birthdays and when Clinton sent gifts for his grandchildren, but that was all.

His second marriage had happened when, at forty-eight, he had panicked after retiring from the Army and had started law school. He was worried he would grow old and die alone. A starry eyed twenty-eight year old law student had been taken with his war stories and his incisive wit and the two of them had eloped to Las Vegas the day after they graduated. The marriage didn’t survive the bar exam.

His time with the district attorney had not led to many opportunities for good relationships and after a while, he quit looking. Now at sixty-three, he was alone in the midst of the end of civilization as he knew it. While he hadn’t put aside a great deal of food, his wine cellar was very well stocked. So, he had spent the intervening week, eating very little and drinking rather more than he should. As the power was out, he would read when the light was good. Today he had begun rereading
The Silmarillion
by J. R. R. Tolkien and waiting. When the light was bad, he would drink and often pass out before 10:00 pm.

He hoped his son and grandkids were safe but he hadn’t been able to get word from them for some time. As he listened, he could hear his neighbors dealing with the infection. Several times there were shots fired, but more and more it was about grunts, thumps, and things that go bump in the night. He kept quiet and so far, no one had thought to loot his condo.

Clinton still kept his 9mm Beretta Model 92S in a shoulder holster and a Beretta Pico in .380 in a holster behind the waist band and belt of his trousers. But he had little ammo and not much inclination to try to save the world, though as a young Army Officer and later as an assistant district attorney, he had certainly tried. Now he was done, not brave enough to take his own life, but still curious about how the world would end.

His reverie was broken by the splintering of his front door. Several large men burst into his foyer. They were dressed in biker colors and one was familiar from his days as assistant district attorney as a thug for hire. All that he could see clearly appeared to be infected. Clinton drew his 9mm and began firing at the crowd in the entryway, which was down a curved exposed stairway from his study. One went down with a shot to the head but the others seemed to shrug off the hits. When his magazine went dry, the reminder rushed up the stairs.

The one whom he recognized pulled out a Taser and zapped him before he could reload. He had read about the feeling of being tased but those descriptions paled when compared to the real thing. He dropped both the pistol and the magazine and laid frozen on the floor for what seemed like an eternity but in actuality was less than five seconds. The thugs picked him up pinned him to the wall and held him until he realized that what little resistance he could offer was futile. He was inexpertly frisked and so it happened that they found his shoulder holster, his spare magazine and wallet but did not find his Pico. He also discovered in the process that these thugs were wearing body armor which was the reason why his 9mm lacked authority.

“
Perhaps there is yet hope
,” thought Clinton followed quickly by the thought, “
why the hell are these guys in body armor
?”

His hopes took a serious downturn when Macklin walked into his living room and looked up at Clinton on the second level.

“Well, it seems,” said Clinton with as much dignity as he could muster, “that I wasn’t wrong after all about you, Special Agent Macklin. The fact is that you sir, are a self-serving toad who disrespects both the badge and the oath you …. AAARRGGH!”

Again the white hot fingers of the taser worked its way through his body, locking up his muscles and effectively silencing him.

“Should I tase him again?” asked the thug after the taser cut off. “I owe him for time in the pen.”

“Hold off a bit,” said Macklin with a smirk, “as much fun as I am having watching him twitch, there is a point to our visit.”

Macklin took out a Pharmajet and jabbed Clinton in the arm. There was little pain and Clinton decided that he wouldn’t give Macklin the pleasure of seeing him flinch.

“I would gloat over this but I have too much to do and too little time to do it in,” said Macklin putting away the injector. “That is insurance.”

“For what?” asked Clinton.

“Think of it as a backup plan,” said Macklin smiling. “In a couple of hours, my associates here and I will go have a chat with your friend Strickland. If they give up the young lady who is currently with them, then I will release you to them, if not well, these are violent, nasty men, I suspect they will think of something.”

“That a rather drastic measure, even for you, to get a date,” quipped Clinton. “I rather think that ... ARRRGGH!”

“You will have to learn to curb your renowned wit,” said Macklin after the charge from the Taser expired. “But no, this isn’t about my relationship status. My employers want the young lady.”

“I thought you worked for the government,” said Clinton eyeing the thug with his thumb on the activation switch of the Taser.

“That relationship is at an end,” said Macklin. “Indeed, it was hard to appease two employers.”

“So if you are telling me this, I gather you don’t expect me to live,” said Clinton.

“My, you are quick aren’t you,” said Macklin sarcastically. “You see that injection was the ‘Zombie Plague’ as the news people so erroneously called it, and it was injected straight into your blood stream. In a matter of hours you will be fully involved with the disease which is why we must move quickly. Even if our plan should fail and you are rescued by the Stricklands, eventually, you will infect the Stricklands and then I will be able to complete my task after they are all dead.”

“You bastaaard AAARRGGHH!” screamed Clinton, and then abruptly passed out.

“YOU IMBECILE!” shouted Macklin as he snatched the wires away from Clinton’s chest and then checked for a pulse. “If you send him into cardiac arrest before we even get a chance to use him, I will personally cut your balls off!”

May 30
th
, Saturday, 11:19 am PDT.

Heather was sitting in Dave’s living room while it was her turn to be on watch. Amber had the duty over at the Stricklands. Most of her job was trying to keep Dave from getting up. He had graduated to sitting in his easy chair and he was likely the world’s worst patient. He wasn’t intentionally being demanding, but he would think of something that needed doing and start to get up and do it. If someone wasn’t right there to keep an eye on him, he’d be up and on his feet. 

“Damn it!” said Dave for the third time. He had just tried to get up again and his hip twinged bad enough that he had to sit back down.

“Dave, you are the most stubborn man I have ever known,” said Heather in frustration. “If you would just sit quietly for a day or two, you could probably get up and move around.”

“I know Heather, and I am sorry,” said Dave being contrite. “There is just so much to do and I can’t help.”

“Listen you knucklehead, you have helped plenty,” said Heather with some heat. “If you hadn’t picked up on what Chad was working on and run with it, we might all be dead. As it is my kids are relatively safe, we have food and power, and we have survived two serious gun fights. Something I never thought I would be in, because you had the foresight to gather ammunition, and firearms and set up sniper positions, and then all that audio stuff. We owe you. I owe you. Please take of yourself, we need you.”

“When a pretty lady says I should be quiet and shut up, sometimes I even listen,” said Dave with an impish smile as he settled back into his chair. Even here he was helping. He had his Mini-14 across his lap and was able to watch the street from where he was. Even though he was technically off duty, he was keeping watch and so it was that he was the first to sound the alarm.

“Heather!” shouted Dave as he got up with some difficulty and hobbled over to the door. We got company. Tell the Stricklands!”

Heather, who was in the kitchen preparing a modest lunch looked out the window and saw an armored SWAT van pull up flanked by several bikers on motorcycles. Ginger, her eight year old daughter was with her helping stepped back and gasped.

“Ginger,” said Heather quietly. “Run over to the Stricklands and give the alarm like we practiced. Stay low behind the fence and don’t show yourself, now go!”

“OK mom!” said Ginger, who was off like a rabbit. It had seemed a good idea at the time to use her and Jason as runners, but now she was not so sure. Heather had little time to ruminate as several more men piled out of the back of the van. One of them was older and had trouble getting out of the van. He was grabbed and unceremoniously tossed on the Stricklands’ lawn.

May 30
th
, Saturday, 11:20 am PDT.

“Hey, Strickland!” shouted the apparent leader of the gang. “We have someone you know out here. Come out so we can talk to you!”

“I can hear you just fine, stay right where you are!” said Chad from the roof top. He had bounded up the ladder to his rooftop sniper’s position after Ginger’s warning. Chad had heard the ladder in the back rattle as Connor had vaulted up to the top of Dave’s house with Chris’s M-1. It was his first shift on the roof, as Dave was now officially off the watch roster.

“So you know this piece of shit?” said the gang leader as he kicked the older man who had been unceremoniously dumped on his front lawn as one of his minions kept a shotgun pointed at the unfortunate man’s torso. Chad saw with a start that it was a much bedraggled and beaten Clinton Taylor. He suddenly felt guilty about the fact that since his last day at Bechtel, he hadn’t given Clinton a moment’s thought, yet Clinton had saved his bacon several times.

It was true Clinton didn’t encourage friendships and he had a courtroom lawyer’s prickly way of interacting with just about everyone but he was at heart a good man.

“We know him,” said Chad. “I suppose you have a reason for beating him up and bringing him here?”

“It’s simple,” said the final individual who exited the van. Chad recognized Special Agent Macklin in a tactical vest with a sidearm looking a bit thinner perhaps but otherwise healthy.

“So why don’t you folks put down your guns and come out nice and easy so we can talk reasonably?” asked Macklin amiably.

“So we should just make it easy for you to shoot us then?” shouted Dave from behind his door.

“It was worth a try,” continued Macklin. “Anyway, you have someone we want. I propose a straight up trade; the young lady, Amber Hoskins, for Counsellor Taylor here. I can promise we will treat her very well, much better than the life she will lead if she stays here, as we will eventually bring enough force to roll over you.”

“You have tried what, three or four times,” said Chad stalling for time. He had Macklin in the sites of his AR-15, but unfortunately he wasn’t a good enough shot to make sure he could kill him outright even at this short distance. “What makes you think you will do any better next time? You looked quite comical tumbling into that Black Impala, I am sure Director Erickson was impressed with that antic.”

“I am no longer part of his organization,” said Macklin through clenched teeth. It was apparent that Chad had gotten under his armor a bit.

“But I will shoot this man right on your lawn,” said Macklin after he collected his wits, “and I don’t think you have the stomach for that. So let’s do this nice and easy. Send her out and I will go away and you will never see me again.”

“You shoot him and you will be dead right next to him,” said Chad levelly. “Besides, what’s to keep you from attacking us anyway, once Amber walks out? It’s not like you are the most trustworthy sort.”

“Nothing. Ah, well, I expected it would get to this,” said Macklin as he pulled out his taser and shot the contacts into Clinton’s rib cage. Clinton arched his back. His face was locked in a rictus. It was apparent that he had been hit by this several times before and was just barely conscious. He gasped but made almost no other sound.

“I will keep tasing him again and again until she comes out or he dies,” said Macklin as he sent the current through the wires again. This time, Clinton curled up into a fetal ball and tried to swat away the wires. There was blood now at the corners of his mouth and he had clearly bitten his own tongue.

“No more!” said Amber who had been watching through the curtain. “I’ll come out.”

“She is being reasonable,” said Macklin as he released the power button on the taser and Clinton sagged to the ground apparently unconscious. “Don’t bother to collect any belongings, we will provide everything you need.”

Amber put her shotgun down and started for the door but Chris rushed in from the other room and grabbed her.

“Don’t,” said Chris. “God only knows what they want.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” said Amber somberly. “Those dreams remember? But they will fry that poor man if I don’t do something.”

“Yeah, then when they have you, they will just shoot him,” said Chris. “Stay in please!”

“Come on, I haven’t got all day,” said Macklin, “or should I juice him again?”

“Like hell you will,” said Clinton as he pulled the Berretta Pico from his concealed waistband holster. He fired three times at Macklin, but he was still shaky and not seeing too well from being tased so many times, so the first one went wide. The second round actually hit the taser and rendered it useless. In the taser’s last instant of life, the capacitor shorted out and fired a shock into Clinton’s rib cage and also into Macklin’s hand. Macklin howled like a stuck pig, dropped the remains of the taser, and ran for the back of the van. Clinton managed to get off another shot that hit Macklin in the rear end, accelerating his departure.

There was a split second of silence followed by the blast from Mary’s shotgun. She caught the biker holding the gun on Clinton across the hands and midsection, which tore the shotgun out of his hands and knocked him to the ground. Both Chad and Connor opened up, followed by everyone else a split second later.

Chad made several hits on the motorcyclists but other than a flinch got no results. Seeing this, he changed target and began firing at the front wind screen of the van but there was no serious damage here either. The windshield instantly transformed into a spider web of cracks but remained intact. The driver did not appear at all surprised and was shouting at everyone to get into the van.

Dave fired first at the bikers with his Mini-14 and managed a shoulder hit on one of them but otherwise cause no damage. In a fit of rage he fired three quick rounds into the body of the van and was only able to mar the paint. Clearly this van was proofed against small arms fire.

The bikers returned some desultory fire but the modification to the front of both houses absorbed the pistol and shotgun fire easily. Rather than engage in a pitched battle, the bikers and the van took off. As they headed out the M-1 in Connor’s hands managed to bring down two of the motorcyclists as they sped around the corner. All four tires on the van were flat, as Chris had tried to disable the vehicle with his AR-15, but that didn’t seem to slow it down much as they were run-flat tires.

“Clinton!” shouted Chad, “are you OK?”

“Stay back!” replied Clinton as Mary opened the door preparatory to coming out to help. “That bastard Macklin infected me with the Plague, I’ve got it and worse, he injected it in quantity directly into my bloodstream so I will be active in hours instead of days. I am already probably contagious so stay away!”

“Sometimes there is a remission,” said Chad from the roof. “We can take care of you.”

“Thank you for that,” said Clinton as he sat upright in the front lawn, “but I read the same feeds you did. There is one in a thousand chance that sometimes someone survives and even if I was lucky enough to be that person, I am an old wreck. The contortions the infected go through fighting off the infection would probably break most of the bones in my body.

“I would like to say though,” said Clinton while looking Chad directly in the eye, “that is has been my pleasure and privilege to work with you and to count you as my friend, Lord knows I don’t have many. It made me feel almost useful again to able to be a thorn in Macklin’s side. You have a lovely family Chad, take care of them please.”

Then before anyone could reach him, Clinton took the Pico, put it in his mouth and fired a round into his brain which killed him instantly.

Heather, who had been watching from the window turned and fell into Dave’s arms. When she looked up, she saw that there were tears in Dave’s eyes as well.

“He died with his boots on,” said Dave quietly. “I wished I had gotten to know him better.”

May 30
th
, Saturday, 7:34 pm PDT.

There hadn’t been as much clean-up as the last time the bikers came, reflected Chad as they stood over Clinton’s body. There had only been two bikers killed and they went onto the heap at the end of the street, which was already quite foul. The original plan had been for them to wait until the Health Department could haul them away but with the Health Department going away along with the police and the garbage service, they had to rethink that. There was some talk of soaking the bodies in gasoline and burning them but by the time they had resolved to do that, gasoline and most other flammables were already off the market and no one was willing to admit they had stashed any. So the pile just sat there and got worse and worse. Now they added to it.

The weapons the bikers had left, a KelTec 9mm handgun and a rusty Winchester Model 12, along with Clinton’s two pistols, were left on the side walk with the little ammunition the bikers had with them. Chad and Dave knew that some of their neighbors were poorly armed and hoped this might help them. But they were unsure what to about Clinton’s body. Tossing him on the heap with the bikers seemed wrong and somehow disrespectful, so in the end, they dug him a grave by hand in the lawn of one of the abandoned houses at the end of the block.

It had taken longer than they thought to dig a grave and they made the discovery that most people do, after the first few shovels full, a grave for one must be dug by one, so Connor, Chad, and Chris began to spell each other digging the grave.

Chad had spent only thirty minutes digging and was surprised how tired he was. Even though he was in pretty good shape with his karate and running, his muscles were not accustomed to this heavy, physical work. Chris and Connor fared little better and so it came to pass that when Chad’s stint in the hole was done, Mary grabbed the shovel.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” asked Chad as he flopped down in the grass next to the grave panting.

“Clinton was my friend too,” said Mary as she attacked the ground with vigor. “He helped you and Connor with the law and became our friend. Those … bastards … tried to use that against us.”

Her digging took on an almost frantic air as she attacked the ground. Dirt and sod were flying in all directions.

“Only his guts and his sense of honor kept them from hurting Amber and probably doing something worse,” continued Mary vehemently. “I am angry we couldn’t save him. I am angry that we had to have yet another gunfight in our front yard in what used to be a good neighborhood. I am angry that our lovely house looks like a set out of a post-apocalyptic movie. I am angry that my children have to walk around armed and live in fear. But I am mostly angry at those people who started all this. It wasn’t an accident and if ever I have a chance to find them, I
will
get even!”