The Rabid: Fall (18 page)

27

We bed down in the back of the van on a small farm road just off the main highway, concealed by darkness and shrubbery.

The next morning, we open up the back doors and sit on the bumper, where we have breakfast with the sun on our faces. Me and Katia sit close, we take turns raising the food to our lips to avoid bumping elbows, laughing and kissing each time we collide.

Once we’re back on the road, Katia slumps down and kicks her feet up on the dash. Her katanas rest between the seats and she holds one of the two remaining handguns in her lap.

“How’re you feeling about D.C.?”

“I’m not, really.” Her eyes are closed and her head is arched back like she’s trying to catch a tan.

“Not nervous about what we’ll find?”

“Tim, back there, in that cellar, I thought I was dead. I accepted it. After seeing everything…what that bitch did to Sonny…let’s just say there’s not a whole lot left that puts me on edge.” She looks at me. “Are you nervous?”

“I think I’m curious, more than anything. I guess that lends itself to a little nervousness. But not nervous scared. More like Christmas morning nervous, like,
did I get a bike or a sweater
?”

“I always got the sweater.”

“You don’t really strike me as a sweater kinda girl.”

“Not literally, but I always got the shit end of the stick.”

I hope there’s a bike waiting for us in D.C. I suppose we’ll know in a little less than twenty-four hours.

We spend the rest of the day driving without incident.

We siphon gas twice. Katia manages to put down three Rabid while I run the tanks dry.

As darkness falls, we decide to hold up in a rundown, highway motel. It’s very similar to the one I stayed in with Momma and Bethany. Katia and I lounge on the ratty mattress, staring up at the yellowish, popcorn ceiling. It’s an unseasonably humid evening. I’m stripped down to my boxers and Katia has opted to go naked. 

“Do you believe in fate?” She’s lying on her back, my arm beneath her neck.

“Never given it much thought.”

“I never used to give much thought to it either. But when I was curled up in that cellar, I had a lot of time to think and I began to wonder…I don’t know…was it meant to be?”

“Was what meant to be? You getting kidnapped? Sonny getting killed? Me getting raped and tortured by some psychotic bitch and her father? Are you serious right now?”

“Don’t get so defensive, you’re not hearing what I’m saying.”

“Oh, I’m hearing you.”

She sighs and rolls onto her side, tossing an arm across my chest. “What if this was going to happen anyway? What if the universe knew that you were going to lose your family and I was going to lose mine?”

“That shit back there probably wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t met me. If anything, I’ve made your life worse.”

“Maybe that exact scenario wouldn’t have gone down. But these days, everyone suffers. It’s inevitable. I think the universe saw that and brought us together. It knew that we wouldn’t be able to make it alone. It gives me hope. Maybe everything we’ve gone through has been preparing us for what we’ll find in D.C.”

It sounds like nonsense to me. Like the kind of new age nonsense Momma used to preach when she started going to therapy after Dad passed. But, like I did with Momma, I listen. I let Katia have her say. It makes her feel better to add some sort of purpose to all this.

“It’s a nice thought,” is the only response I can manage.

Lightning flashes between the checkered curtains and is soon followed by thunder and rain. Katia grows still and her breathing steadies. Soon she’s snoring, leaving me awake to contemplate my
fate
as I listen to the growing storm.

28

We spend the next day driving, snacking, and talking about whatever comes to mind.

Sunset is approaching fast.

We’re twenty miles inside of D.C. when the world around us disappears.

Everything turns black; ashes and smoke. The trees are absent branches and leaves; they’re just flaky, narrow spears of wood. Bodies pave the way, charcoal statues that grind down beneath the weight of our tires, no way to tell which was human and which was Rabid; I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.

“This is recent,” Katia says.

There’s still smoke rising around us. It’s not thick and billowing; it’s more like a campfire that’s burned itself out overnight.

“Looks that way.”

Katia clings to her katanas.

“Tell me if you see something.”

With the light fading beyond the horizon, the headlights become our main point of reference. I slow it down. I drive an S-pattern, cutting thick, white lines through the encroaching night. We follow the trail of dead, rocking in our seats as we trample their brittle bones.

“There, look!” Katia sits forward, folding her arms across the dash. Off to our right, beyond a couple acres of scorched tree line, is a large four-story complex, shaped like a rectangle, made of shiny metal and black glass.

“That’s it, the place we heard about on the radio!” The sign on the building reads,
Hothfield Village Complex
.

“Where are all the people?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t look good.”

I immediately steer us towards it, dipping the nose of the van down into a shallow ravine and losing the front bumper in the process; I miss the hardiness of the Humvee.

“Don’t drown us right before we make landfall.”

“I’ve got it,” I manage through clenched teeth, ramping us over a fallen tree.

Katia braces herself against the dash to prevent smashing her face. “Bad idea, Tim. Really bad idea. Should have just followed the road in.”

The van is bouncing like it’s on hydraulics. The food, clothes, guns, and ammo are ricocheting against the walls and roof like they’re caught in the spin cycle of the world’s most violent washing machine. With every drop and rise, I’m convinced we’re going to snap an axle. This was a bad idea, Katia is right. But it’s too damn late to turn back now. We’re over halfway there.

We hit the final incline and come down hard in the parking lot. The complex looms above us. We’re still in the middle of the battlefield. The burned and twisted bodies of tanks, jeeps, and troop transports surround us. Huge sections of the parking lot are missing, replaced by deep craters; probably from bombs or missiles. The field of destruction extends right up to the front door.

“What the hell happened here?” Katia pulls the bag of guns from the back.

“War.” It looks like some apocalyptic Alamo; humanity’s last stand.

“Looks like our side lost.” She’s getting us locked and loaded; she hands me a pistol and tucks one away for herself.

“If anyone from our side is left, I’m willing to bet they’re in that building.”

Katia pushes back in the seat, puts a boot up on the dash, and shoulders a rifle, balancing it across the top of her knee. “Take it slow.”

I’m barely pedaling the gas. We lurch forward at a snail’s pace, dragging our asses around the craters and obliterated armor.

“See anything?” I ask.

“Have I pulled the trigger yet? Then I haven’t seen anything.”

“Just chill, we’re both on edge here.”

“I’m on edge. You sound scared.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Just…don’t steer us into a crater.”

The field of bodies grows thicker around the front of the complex; they’re stacked two and three high and they aren’t burned. I recognize most of them as being Rabid; the gray flesh and head wounds are the main giveaways. The complex seems relatively unscathed. I’m guessing the place is bulletproof. It’s probably blast proof too, hence why it’s still standing amid a field of tank carcasses and impact craters.

I don’t hear the gunshots, but three bullets blow through the top of the hood and subsequently kill the engine. I hit the brakes, throw it in park, and raise my pistol. Two floodlights burst into existence, bathing us in their blinding luminescence. The men appear like ghosts—one minute they’re not there and the next they are—wearing green face paint and fatigues, with big guns and bushy beards. They paint us through the windows with flashlights and red lasers.

“Drop the gun!”

“Hands in the air!”

“Drop the gun, bitch!”

Katia turns half circles in her seat like a cornered dog, snarling at anyone and everyone.

“Katia, don’t! They’ve got us outgunned and outnumbered!” I try to hold her still, but she breaks away.

“They’re not locking me away again! Fuck them! Fuck that!”

“Don’t do it, Katia!” I’ve got my pistol down by my side. Whichever one of these bastards shoots her, I shoot him.

“You’ve got to the count of three!” the man at Katia’s window barks.

“And you’ve got till two, fat man!” Katia barks back, undeterred.

Two more red lasers wink at us from the rooftop; it’s a full-blown ambush.

“Stand down, everyone!”

The men back away from the van as if they’re all being pulled by the same string. The lasers on our chests blink out of existence, one-by-one.

“Tim. Katia. You’re safe.” The voice is familiar.

“Oh my God!” Katia is the first one out. She leaves everything behind; her gun, her katanas, and any sense of trepidation. She stumbles across the pulverized body of a Rabid, screeches, raises her arms, and greets our savior with a bounding hug.

General Norton reciprocates her excitement, swinging her around in big dramatic circles as he tucks his chin against the side of her neck.

I approach the scene slowly, giving their enthusiasm a chance to cool down.

Norton sees me, lets Katia slide from his arms, and extends a hand. “Tim, glad to see you made it.”

“And you, Norton. After we saw that place…well, surprised anyone made it out of there.”

“My brother, where is he?” Katia’s voice swells with hope. She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet. I’m afraid she’s going to split her bottom lip with the way she’s chewing it.

Norton releases a heart-wrenching sigh.

“No…” Katia’s voice trails off. She turns, shuffles into my arms, and begins crying softly. 

The final nail has been driven into the coffin and the mourning can begin.

Norton meets my eyes, the curse of the messenger weighing heavy on his expression. “Tim, let’s get inside. We need to talk. My guys will grab your stuff.”

***

I follow Norton through the lobby, with Katia under one arm. She’s red-faced and sniffling. Two of Norton’s men follow close behind.

The interior space appears to have seen as much action as the exterior; pockmarked walls, bullet casings, and dried blood make up the décor.

“Was this y’all?” I ask.

Norton shakes his head. “This little ballet of death made its stage debut long before me and my boys showed up.” 

“Where are the beds? The shelter? The food?”

“You heard the radio broadcasts?”

I nod.

“It’s out there.” He points back towards the parking lot. “They had a good thing going till the place got attacked by Rabid.”

“Everyone’s dead?”

He shakes his head. “Not everyone. There are other bunkers and camps still standing. The main one is out by the National Mall; a lot of folks were moved there.”

There’s a single door at the back of the lobby, flanked by two more men in green face paint. We pass through it and begin winding down a narrow flight of stairs.

“What is this place?” I’m asking all the questions. Katia is still too distraught to speak.

“Officially? It was a place where overworked government drones pushed papers. Unofficially? It was a fallout bunker for our Commander in Chief.”

“The President is here?”

“No. He didn’t make it. Not many of them did.”

I’m assuming by
them,
he means our esteemed government officials. Before I can work up any sympathy, I remind myself that they’re most likely the sonsofbitches behind all this.

“How’d you find this place?”

“Those assholes that attacked us back in Dallas. We got it out of one of them.”

“We saw the aftermath of the attack, didn’t think anyone could have made it out of there in one piece.”

“Many of us didn’t make it out.” He looks back at Katia with a heavy sigh. “It’s really good to see you two. You look like you’ve been through it.” I assume he’s referring to our faces; me with the cuts and Katia with the swollen lip and black eyes.

“It hasn’t been an easy ride.”

At the bottom of the stairs, we’re met by a solid steel door, guarded by two more of Norton’s warriors. It looks like a giant bank vault. Instead of a wheel, there’s a keypad and card scanner. Norton nods to his men and approaches the keypad. He taps in a quick sequence of numbers with his index finger and removes a white, plastic card from the left pocket of his jacket.

It suddenly strikes me that Norton isn’t the least bit surprised to see us. As far as he’s concerned, we should be in Mexico on some beach with our toes buried in the sand. “You haven’t asked what happened…why we’re here.”

He scans the card. A green light flashes on the right side of the keypad. “I know what happened. You were attacked on the way to Mexico. About two days outside of Dallas, right?”

“How do you…everyone died…how do you know that?”

“Not everyone.”

The door gives off the hiss of an airlock as it crawls backwards. Katia removes her head from my chest and is now standing upright beside me, curiosity momentarily besting grief. Blinding, white lights greet us on the other side. I feel like we’re crossing over into eternity. I pull Katia along with me. The cement floor gives way to metal grating. Handrails box us in. A shiver attacks my spine; could be the temperature drop, could be the nerves. We clear the entrance and my vision returns in spots and flashes. The room reminds me of some comic book command center. There are beds on one side and an extensive rack of weapons on the other. There are people hustling around in white coats and suit jackets, manning computer consoles with scrolling green text.

At the center of it all, standing in front of me, at the bottom of a small set of steps, is Momma.

She’s hunched over, crying so hard she can barely stand.

Katia gasps.

There’s no way.

My knees buckle and Katia catches me. “Steady. I’ve got you.”

I slide towards Momma, gripping a handrail to stay upright. “Momma! Momma!” I’m blubbering. My voice is unflatteringly squeaky; filling up the room like the world’s largest balloon has sprung a pinhole sized leak.

We catch each other at the top of the stairs and fall to the ground together.

“My baby!” Her tears drench the top of my head as we rock back and forth, a human seesaw.

She’s warm.

Familiar.

Her smell.

Her touch.

That soft area beneath her chin, just above her collarbone, where I buried my face on so many dark days.

I feel impossibly small in her arms, despite being twice her size.

Joy suddenly gives way to rage.

I turn on Katia from where I sit. “You said you saw her go down!”

“I—”

“You said you saw her go down! You said she was dead!” I lunge at Katia.

Momma’s arms act as a leash. “Timmy! It’s not her fault!”

“You lying bitch! You coward!”

Norton appears between us, hands on his hips. He backs me down.

Katia retreats towards the door, shaking her head. “I saw her fall. I saw the Rabid,” she mutters before turning and running for the stairs.

“You really think that was necessary, kid?” Norton is looking down at me, brow furrowed.

“My mom could have died out there because of Katia’s bullshit! If she didn’t see her fall, then she shouldn’t have said it! She knew I wouldn’t leave if I still thought my mom was alive! She played me!” 

My mom turns me around by my shoulders. She removes my hat and sets it aside. “You have such pretty hair. You should show it more often.”

“I…like my hat.” There’s still a low boil rolling inside of me.

“Honey,” she holds my face in her hands, “listen to me for a second. Katia wasn’t putting you on. I went down. I was as good as dead. A kind gentleman saved me. He distracted the ones that were attacking me and gave me enough time to crawl under one of the trucks. When I got a break, I jumped in the driver’s seat and drove back the way we came. That girl had no reason to think I was alive. You blowing up on her just now…that was uncalled for.”