Torn Apart (Book 1): Terror In Texas (9 page)

Harry reached down to pull Dave to his feet and saw him clutching his left arm to his chest as a rivulet of blood trailed down his hand. Two of his fingers were gone. Dave gave Harry a crooked smile.

“Well, this kinda sucks.” Dave sighed. “I guess we know what this means.”

Liz reached for the bottom of her t-shirt to pull it off, but Harry stopped her. She looked from Dave to Harry. “What? We have to stop the bleeding!”

“I’m infected.” Dave answered quietly. “It doesn’t matter.” He wrapped a red bandana around the stump of missing fingers and hand then held it out to Harry.

Without a word, Harry tied a knot at the top of his hand. When he was done, he nodded toward the club door and hurried John and Liz across the patio.

“Come on, we have to keep moving.”

The infected continued to slam against the resale shop door. The door-frame groaned under the strain.

John looked toward the door. “It ain’t gonna last long.”

Harry grabbed the keys from Liz and hurried to the bar door without another word. Dave picked up his handgun with his right hand and jammed it into his belt. When the door was open and Liz, Harry and John were inside, Dave put his hands on the key.

Dave pushed the door closed and spoke through the door. “You know I couldn’t have gone anyway.”

Inside, Liz heard the key turn in the lock. She peeked through the small window at the top of the door. Through the glass she watched Dave walk to a patio table and sit down facing the resale shop. He pulled the spent magazine from his handgun and replaced it with one from his pocket. He pulled a cigarette from a pack in his pocket and lit it. He inhaled deeply then aimed the gun at the resale shop door.

Liz slammed her hand on the window and called out to Dave. Harry pulled her away from the window and pushed her toward John. When she tried to protest, he just moved his head from left to right and nudged her into following as John moved toward the rear of the bar.

They rounded the corner of the bar and walked into the back room. As they passed by the bar, the men each grabbed backpacks. Liz followed suit with a final look toward the patio door.

“If we’re going to catch that Humvee, we have to get out of here, now,” Harry commented.

John opened the door to the back room. When they hurried in, Liz saw a makeshift motorcycle repair shop. A huge tool box with sat to one side with a drawer still open while a work bench was built against the back wall.  An assortment of lifts, and apparatuses were mounted in front of the farthest wall.

At the front of the room was an overhead garage door. Three decked out motorcycles faced the garage door. Harry dropped his backpack into the saddlebag on one of the bikes and held out his hand for Liz. She handed over her backpack and dropped it into the opposite side.

“You’ll ride with me. John will ride point.” He grabbed a remote from a table and turned to John who stored his own supplies. “You about ready?”

“Good to go.” John answered.

Harry swung his leg over the massive Harley then held out his arm to guide Liz to the seat behind him on the bike. “Let’s ride.”

They were mounted and ready to go when they heard the first of the shots. They froze. Liz counted; the first five were quick and then six, seven, eight. Each one made her jump. After a brief pause a single shot sounded, then nothing. A hot tear slid down Liz’s face.

The bikes roared to life. Harry held up the remote and the garage door rolled open. John led out then Harry gunned the motor to follow. Liz wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist.

“Hang on Lizzy! This may be a little hairy.”

“Pablo! Maria! Oh my God....” Tate called out as she turned toward the couple, ready to run to them.

How could her friends from the truck stop still be walking when covered in such terrible wounds? Strips of flesh were torn from their arms and faces. Maria’s peasant blouse hung off one shoulder exposing the remnants of a tattered and blood-soaked bra and the raw open wound where her ample breast had been. Her throat had been torn out leaving another gaping injury. Pablo had a yawning hole in his belly big enough to spill loops of intestines from the opening. The others, following Maria and Pablo, each had their own terrible injuries and were covered in blood and gore.

The old man grabbed her arm nearly pulling her shoulder from the socket. She spun around stumbling to her knees, her arm still in his grasp and held over her head. He released her and stepped back. She jumped to her feet, turned on him with a clenched fist, ready to deck the old man. When she saw his face, her rage dissolved. His eyes glistened with tears.

He covered her fist with his hand and pushed it down. “You can’t do anything for them.” He whispered. “Get in the truck or you’re dead, too.” He gave her a gentle shove toward the truck door.

Tate looked over her shoulder one last time then opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Through the open door, she stared across the parking lot at Pablo and Maria as they stumbled toward the truck.

Tate stared at the assemblage until the old man slammed an open palm against the passenger door of the cab. She pushed the automatic lock release and he climbed inside, slamming his door.

“Close the damn door!” He ordered.

She pulled the door closed then turned to her passenger. “What happened to them?”

“Infected got them. They’re dead.” He answered.

“How in the hell can they be dead and still walking around?” She demanded.

“Bio-terrorism...or so the news reports said.” The old man took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you all about it, but right now, we need to get outta here.”

He pointed toward the drug store where a gathering of the bloodied populace had noticed the commotion earlier and were making a bee-line toward them.

“Are they really coming after us?” Tate asked in disbelief.

The old man sighed. “What does it look like? If you want to live, crank this rig and get us outta here!”

Tate scowled and turned the key. “You don’t have to be such an asshole. I just woke up and I gotta pee like a racehorse.”

“Drive now. Pee later.” He groused back.

Tate maneuvered out of the parking lot onto the street heading away from the truck stop. She weaved through stalled vehicles, scraping the brush guard and trailer more often than not.

She used the bumper to push vehicles out of the way since gatherings of infected stopped them from even considering getting out of the truck and drive the vehicles out of the way. The shiny chrome bumper was taking a beating and Tate cringed at each scratch and scrape.

The old man introduced himself as Charlie Duffy. He directed her down side-street after side-street until Tate thought she would either pee right in the seat or her eyes would pop out of her head from the pressure. It was a toss-up as to which would come first.

“You know how much my payments are for this truck?” Tate complained. “We have to stop. I’m not pissing in my fucking seat. We’re gonna stop sooner rather than later.”

The old man shrugged. “Take a piss with the streets swarming with infected and one of those bastards will be on your ass before you can pull down your pants. As for truck payments, I doubt it matters now. In another week, you can use cash to wipe your ass when you take a shit.”

Trying to ignore her bladder screaming for relief, she asked. “What do you mean?”

“It won’t be long before there won’t be anyone left to stop the infection. When the bastards hit the military bases they took out the only hope of controlling it. Nowadays, without the military there aren’t enough people that know how to use the guns it’ll take to put down all the dead.” Charlie answered. “If the brain isn’t destroyed, the bastards just get back up and come after you again.

They drove through silent streets where the only people they saw were bloodied and now were monsters. Men, women and children alike had become fiends ready to tear the flesh from the living. As the truck passed, the infected reached out and turned their faces with gnashing teeth toward the sound.

Tate struggled to ignore the stench wafting up from the groups of infected. The smell was worse than an open sewer line. She closed the vents in the cab, but the disgusting odor invaded the confines of the vehicle.

“Smells like shit.” Tate groused.

“It is. Bowels and bladders release when they die. Most of the dead are stumbling around with a full load in their pants.”

“Great. Not bad enough they want to eat us, they smell like shit.”

Charlie shrugged. “Sums it up pretty much.”

The rig finally cleared the suburbs and escaped into the country. Tate had not seen an infected person in over a mile when she noticed an abandoned road side park a few hundred feet ahead. After checking the mirrors, she decided there was no one around. She downshifted, jolted to a stop, and slammed the truck into park. She pulled the key from the ignition, jerked open the door and slid from the leather seat to the bare dirt of the neglected driveway.

After pulling down the zipper on her jeans, she squatted where she’d landed. Her bladder released and she almost wept with relief. The puddle grew in the dry packed earth, spreading out to trail away from her booted feet. She sighed as the minutes trickled away. She heard the passenger door open and close then she could hear a similar sound on the opposite side of the truck.

When finished, she pulled up her pants and walked away from the cab. She turned at the sound of booted steps near the front of the truck and saw Charlie standing with his back to her looking toward the city.

“It’s gone. It’ll never be the same.” Charlie announced. “Those assholes think they’re destroying this country but in the end, it’ll come back to bite ‘em in the ass. This time, there won’t be an army of do-gooders from this country left to save them. Because this will get out, trust me. It’s too deadly not to go beyond our borders.”

“They can go to hell,” Tate answered. “After what I’ve seen today, I hope they all end up in hell.”

“They will,” Charlie answered. “Along with the rest of the world, they will reap what they’ve sown. It was at the base twenty-four hours ago, now it’s spilling out into the country. Half a dozen states were attacked; half of those are out of control already.”

“How did you end up at the truck stop?” Tate asked as she reached in the truck for a hair brush. She attacked the gelled spikes of hair.

“My son...well, we were making a delivery at the back door when the mob came through about seven last night. We heard bits of the reports on the radio before they swarmed the place but didn’t pay much attention. It was our last stop. We were worried about all the craziness but just tried to get done so we could head home.

I was in the truck sorting the stock and Jackson carried the first load inside. He saw the infected soldiers come through the front and attack people. He escaped out the back door closing it behind him. He pulled the truck’s overhead door closed with us inside.

I wanted to go help, but he convinced me to stay in the truck. We listened to the screams of people being attacked for hours then it got really quiet. I wanted to leave then, but Jackson talked me into waiting until around seven this morning.

We thought they were all gone so we raised the door real slow and got out. I got down on the driver’s side and Jackson headed around to get in the passenger door and walked right into a teen in a football jersey with half his face missing. The bastard had Jackson down on the ground before I even realized something was happening.

When I heard him yelling, I grabbed the bat from the cab and ran around the front of the truck. I beat the bastard’s head in, but it was too late.”

“I’m sorry, Charlie.” Tate responded.

“I pulled Jackson into the cab of the truck. There was so much blood and I just didn’t know what to do other than try to bandage the wounds then get him to the hospital. I tried cranking the truck, but the battery was dead. We’d left the damned lights on. So we just sat there.

I must have dozed off because I woke up when I heard growling. It sounded like a rabid dog or something. I opened my eyes to see Jackson crawling toward me. I grabbed the bat and used it to keep him back, but I...just couldn’t….” His voice cracked with emotion.

Tate put her hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry this happened to you and your son.”

Charlie shrugged. “Nothing to be done, now.”

“You mentioned your wife.”

“I need to get home.”

“Can I take you there?” Tate asked.

Charlie turned to look at Tate. “It’s about thirty miles west of here. If we can find a vehicle, I can make it.”

“No. I want to take you.” Tate answered. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Sure wish I had a few of the honey buns from the back of my delivery truck,” Charlie commented. “I could eat a fucking horse.”

“Have you noticed a theme here?” Tate responded, but Charlie only looked confused. “Let’s find some food then get you home.”

“Unhitch the trailer before we pull out,” Charlie answered. “It’s just costing you gas and I think that’ll be a problem sooner rather than later.”

After jacking up the trailer, Tate pulled away with one last look in the side mirror. She felt as if she were leaving her life behind. She wondered if the habits of the road were lost forever.

When she looked at the road ahead she noticed vehicles in the distance and wandered about the people who just stopped in the road and left them at the side of the road. As the rig drew closer she could see open doors, shattered windows and bodies alongside some of the vehicles. With each mile and cluster of abandoned vehicles, what she saw grew more horrifying.

When she glanced into the blood splattered cars, she saw the remains of adults and children alike still held in place by seat belts. Their bodies bore horrible wounds and showed evidence of the carnage they had suffered. When the truck neared, heads of the monsters inside the vehicles turned and their teeth gnashed.

“We are so fucked,” Tate whispered. “Some of those men wore military uniforms.”

“The National Guard was called out to stop the spread of the infection, but they ended up in the middle of it and overwhelmed. Now they’re part of the problem.” Charlie remarked. “I hope some of the smaller rural towns organize and figure out how to protect the community. It’s the only hope.”

Tate turned on the radio and they listened to news reports. General emergency instructions filled the airways no matter the channel. Evacuation information and refugee camp locations were broadcasted at regular intervals. Those unable to get to designated secure sites were being advised to board up windows and shelter in place.

According to the reports, all transportation was at a standstill in the affected cities. Outside the cities, train schedules were limited or stopped altogether. Air traffic was restricted and expected to be grounded altogether within hours.

The president, already well-known for his executive orders, threatened even more to deal with the crisis if the affected states didn’t get it under control. Of course, it was being threatened from the security of his secure bunker.

Most of Europe, Asia, and South America had shut down US flights altogether. Outbreaks had already been reported in Canada, Mexico and of all places, Iran. The Iranian outbreak had started in a small remote area out in the middle of nowhere and been sweeping through village after village until it was now moving into all the major cities. Estimated death toll to date in Iran was thirty percent and the infected were wandering into Afghanistan, Pakistan, Turkmenistan and Iraq.

The talking heads speculated as to the reason for such an isolated outbreak in Iran. Some speculated about an accident at a secret lab that the government was trying to hide with a massive explosion at the site. The Iranian government claimed the explosion was the result of an unprovoked US attack on a small farming community.

Despite all the posturing, tweets verified more and more cases in the Middle Eastern countries. Twitter accounts were burning up with cries for help. The only country that seemed to have locked down quickly enough was Israel. A national edit stated no one in or out, no exceptions. Most of the adult populace was protecting the borders to ensure its isolation.

Tate switched off the radio. “I can’t listen to it anymore. Nothing, but bad news.”

Charlie turned down the radio. “Ain’t gonna get any better. Utilities will shut down pretty soon. Fuel and food will get scarce as the infected spread out. When that happens, not everyone will be out there helping. People will take advantage of the situation or kill to get what they want. Without law enforcement to stop some, murder and anarchy will become a way of life. Being a woman is not gonna be easy, Tate.”

“I figured as much when they started talking about law enforcement being overwhelmed. Prison has been the only deterrent and that hasn’t worked very well for years.” Tate commented. “I know after this there won’t be anyone to stop them.”