Transmission: Voodoo Plague Book 5 (9 page)

We had only been driving for about half an hour when I
spotted black smoke in the distance, directly to our front.  Rachel had fallen
asleep, my hand firmly grasped in hers.  Dog was stretched out on the plush
leather seat in the rear.  He was snoring like a sawmill going full bore, lying
on his back with legs extended straight out.  He looked comfortable and I
wished I could join him. 

My hands ached from the wounds of being nailed to a cross in
Tennessee, my chest still hurt where I’d been shot in Georgia and I was bone tired;
my only sleep in the past few days a couple of naps on the hard decks of
aircraft.  That was fine when I was 21.  Kind of sucked now that I’m not a kid
anymore.

When it became apparent the smoke was coming from something
burning either on or immediately adjacent to the Interstate, I woke Rachel. 
She sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking where I pointed ahead.  Something with
a lot of petroleum in it was burning.  I could tell that much from the density
and color of the smoke.  I lowered our speed, and now at the limit of my vision
I could see bright, orange flames on the shoulder of the road.  Slowing
further, I kept approaching; reaching down to make sure my rifle was ready to
go.

A quarter of a mile from the fire I brought us to a stop.  A
vehicle lay on its side on the right shoulder, completely engulfed in flames. 
I knew it hadn’t been burning just a few hours ago.  We had already passed the Black
Hawk I had abandoned, which meant I’d flown over this stretch of the freeway. 
There definitely hadn’t been a fire then, or we would have checked it out.

Nothing was moving, and I decided to transition to the
eastbound lanes to give the furiously burning vehicle a wide berth.  The Lexus
navigated the soft soil in the median without much difficulty, then back on
pavement I drove a sedate 20 miles an hour as we pulled abreast of the wreck. 

“That’s the Bronco I told you about.”  Rachel said, staring
out her window at the fire.  I thought so too.  The shape was right and there
were a couple of small areas not yet blackened where I could see what looked
like orange paint.  “There’s nothing else around.  What do you think happened?”

“Maybe a blowout at speed.”  I mused.  “Or some kind of
mechanical failure that caused them to lose control.  Or maybe one or both of
them turned while they were driving.”

Rachel looked at me, the horror of the thought clear on her
face.  I shrugged my shoulders to say it was all just speculation.  Maybe it
was something as simple as vehicle failure.  It didn’t really matter and once
we were clear of the heat from the fire I drove back across the median and sped
up to 80.  The Lexus did a good job of smoothing out the road, and was well
insulated and quiet.  Within a few minutes Dog started snoring again, Rachel’s
eyes closing shortly after that.

We had moved beyond the path of the previous day’s storms
and as Little Rock drew closer the terrain changed from flat to rolling and I
started seeing more trees.  There was also a pall of smoke hanging over the
area, held down by the heavy cloud cover.  I had seen what was being burned to
generate all that pollution, and knew I didn’t want to smell it.  Playing with
the SUV’s controls I got the air conditioning set to recirculate the interior
air rather than bring in outside air.  I’ve smelled burning human flesh before,
never mind where, and I wasn’t eager to experience it again.

Passing a couple of large truck stops that were dark and
abandoned, I slowed when I spied walking figures a few hundred yards ahead. 
They were on the roadway, and appeared to be moving towards the city.  Braking
to a stop, I raised my rifle and used the scope to look at them.  I made a
mental note to get my hands on a pair of binoculars.  Now that I was west of
the Mississippi, the country really opened up.  There was a lot of flat terrain
without trees, unlike east of the river, and I wanted to take full advantage of
being able to see threats at a much greater distance.

Through the scope I could tell these were infected, and
there were too many to count.  Certainly not a massive herd like we’d fought in
Murfreesboro, or seen during our escape from Tennessee, but still more than I
was willing to encounter in our luxury, soccer mom machine.  The Lexus was
comfortable as hell on pavement, had a decent four wheel drive system for tame
off-roading, but it was far from the tank-like protection I wanted before driving
into a herd of these damn things.

I messed with the navigation system as Rachel continued to
sleep.  Dog had wakened when I’d stopped and shoved his head against my arm
looking for attention.  Giving him a quick neck scratch I focused back on the
map display.  A couple of tweaks and I spotted us, discovering we were 18 miles
from Little Rock.  Hoping we were close enough, I fished an earpiece out of my
collar and inserted it in my left ear, powering up my radio.

I made four calls on four different military frequencies,
but didn’t get anything in response.  I hadn’t really expected to reach anyone,
but it had been worth a try.  Leaving the radio on, I worked with the
navigation screen, looking for a bypass route that would get me to Little Rock
Air Force Base.  There were two options.  Continue ahead into the city and turn
north on a smaller highway, or backtrack a few miles and take a series of small
farm roads.  Another look ahead at the small herd and it was an easy decision.

Getting us turned around, I headed east again for a few
miles, watching the nav screen and getting off the Interstate onto an unmarked
road that ran due north.  Following it for a couple of miles, I made a turn to
the west and hit the brakes.  Some type of giant farm equipment completely
blocked the road.  It sat on massive tires and was so long each end extended
well off the pavement into the muddy fields on either side.  There was a large,
glass enclosed cab that sat a good 12 feet above ground level. 

I had no idea what it was, but had a good idea why it had
been parked there.  It was a quick and easy, yet highly effective, roadblock. 
I didn’t think even heavy military vehicles would be able to move it.  Rachel
had woken when I stopped this time, sitting up looking around.

“Where are we?  Why did we leave the Interstate?”  She
asked, grimacing and reaching down to rub her hip where the vaccine had gone
in.

I spent a few minutes bringing her current as I looked
around the area.  To either side of the road were muddy fields.  They looked
like they had been harvested and prepared for planting, but the planting had
never happened.  They also looked like they were nothing more than deep, soft
mud.  Finished filling Rachel in on our situation I decided to step out and
check the ground.  From the driver’s seat it looked like the type of mud that
would suck the Lexus in all the way to its axles and not let go.

Telling Rachel to stay in the vehicle, I carefully scanned
in every direction.  Seeing nothing to concern me I opened my door and stepped
down onto the road, rifle up and ready the moment my feet touched.  Dog
scrambled across the center console, onto the driver’s seat and jumped down to
go with me.  His nose immediately went up and tested the air, a low growl
emanating from his chest a moment later.  I hadn’t seen anything when I’d
scanned the area, but wasn’t about to ignore a warning from Dog.  If he smelled
something, it was there. 

The wind was out of the southeast, behind me.  Whatever Dog smelled
had to be in that direction, so I turned and put my eye to the scope as I
scanned.  I missed them on the first pass, black hair blending well with the
color of the mud, but caught the movement when they ran onto the road.  Two
razorbacks.  They looked younger, probably no more than 150 pounds each, but
still big enough to ruin my afternoon.

They were still several hundred yards away and I had enough
time to check the fields.  One step off the shoulder and I knew there was no
way the Lexus could make it.  My boot sank six inches deep into the thick mud,
making a wet, sucking sound when I pulled my foot out to step back on the
gravel at the edge of the pavement.  The big SUV would sink to its frame in
this quagmire.  I had no doubt of that.

Another check of the razorbacks found them about 300 yards
out and still closing fast.  I gave Dog three seconds to finish peeing on a
small bush, then whistled him into the vehicle.  He left muddy footprints on my
seat, but I didn’t care.  Back inside, I got us moving, careful not to drive
off the shoulder as I turned the SUV around.  Rachel had seen me peering
through the scope at the hogs and knew what was coming.

By the time we were heading back towards the Interstate, the
razorbacks were inside 75 yards and showing no sign of slowing.  I started to accelerate
towards them, then remembered the behavior of the infected humans that would
run directly into a vehicle without a thought for their own safety.  If the
hogs did that, and I had any amount of speed, it could seriously damage the
Lexus. 

This was a cushy, suburban vehicle designed for trips to the
country club, the mall or anywhere you wanted to take along six other people in
comfort.  It wasn’t armored and didn’t have a heavy push bar like the truck I’d
used to get us out of Atlanta.  The razorbacks were probably no more than 150
pounds, but couple that with their speed and they could do a lot of damage just
by running into us.

I hit the brakes and brought us to a stop when they were 40
yards away.  Sitting, I watched them charge, and they weren’t slowing or
deviating.

“Put it in park!”  Rachel suddenly shouted, making me jump. 
I started to turn my head to look at her, but she shouted again and I moved the
lever that controlled the transmission.

Moments later the lead hog impacted the front bumper hard
enough to rock the heavy vehicle.  The hood was too tall for me to see what the
impact did to him or the Lexus.  A moment later the second one arrived, grazing
the front fender with his shoulder and causing a horrible scarping sound as his
tusk was dragged along the side of the SUV.

I shifted into drive, accelerating, and we bounced over the razorback
that had run directly into our front bumper.  Maybe he had been dead, or
perhaps only stunned, but one of the tires crushed his head into pulp as we drove.

“What was with shifting into park?”  I asked, gaining speed
and watching in the mirror as the second hog began pursuing. 

“Air bags.”  Rachel answered.  “I was in a McDonald’s drive
through a couple of years ago and the car ahead backed in to me hard enough to
cause my air bags to deploy.  When I took my car in for repairs, the guy in the
body shop told me that air bags are disabled if the transmission is in park,
even if the motor’s running.  Said he always shifts into park in drive through
lines.  I didn’t know if that hog was big or heavy enough to cause them to pop,
but figured why take the chance.”

I nodded, glad she had yelled a warning.  Suddenly the Lexus
didn’t feel so comfortable.  It felt vulnerable.  As soon as I could find one,
I’d move us to a truck, or preferably a military vehicle.  Even though we were
only about 30 miles from Little Rock Air Force Base, I had learned the hard way
just how difficult it can be to cross 30 miles.  Modern life has spoiled us. 
150 years ago, 30 miles was a two day journey at best.  Now, millions of people
commuted farther than that just to go to work each morning.  Well, did. 
Morning commutes were a thing of the past.  And 30 miles was once again an
adventure in survival.

I stopped when we reached the Interstate, taking my time to
review the navigation screen before proceeding.  The idea of trying to bull our
way through herds of infected really concerned me.  I was also worried about
where they were coming from.  Were more people starting to turn, or had these
been stumbling around the countryside and just now were starting to converge on
the city?  If these were freshly turned, we might be too late in trying to get
the vaccine manufactured and distributed.

“What are we doing?”  Rachel asked.

“I’m trying to figure that out.  I’m concerned about trying
to push on in to Little Rock to get to the highway that will take us to the air
base.  If there’s more people turning, it could be as bad as some of what we
went through in Nashville and Memphis.”  I answered, checking the mirrors to
make sure there wasn’t something sneaking up on us.  Couldn’t just worry about
people any more.

“Besides swine and birds, are there other animals that
humans share viral infections with?”  I asked.

“Swine, birds and primates are the big three we commonly
hear about, heard about, but almost any mammal has the potential.  Think about
anthrax – cattle.  And that’s just one example I can think of right off.  There
are whole fields of study dealing with Zoonosis, the transmission of diseases
between humans and animals, and I got maybe a tenth of one percent of it in
medical school.  I do know that we also have to worry about insects,
potentially.  Think of all the diseases that mosquitos and fleas transmit. 
Diseases that won’t jump from an animal to a human through casual contact, but
the bite of an insect transmits it quite effectively.”

“What about dogs?”  I asked, getting a wet nose shoved
against my arm when he thought I was talking to him.

“Anything’s possible,” Rachel answered slowly, turning in
her seat and reaching out to rub Dog’s furry head.  “There are several viral
infections that can be passed between humans and dogs.  You just don’t hear
about them because most people in America keep their pets and themselves clean
and vaccinated.  But yes, it’s possible.”

“Sorry I asked.”  I said, looking at Dog and starting to
worry.  He’d killed countless infected by tearing out their throats.  That
meant lots of infected blood in his mouth.  There was no way he wasn’t
exposed.  “I’ve got another syringe of vaccine I brought for Jackson.  Should
we give it to Dog?”

Rachel looked out the window, thinking, then shook her
head.  “I don’t think so.  The little bit I know about viruses and vaccines –
well, I think it would be as dangerous to use a vaccine on him that was
developed for humans as not vaccinating him at all.  In fact, many human
vaccines are human immune system specific and would kill a dog.”

“So what the hell do we do about the infection going the
other way, to animals?  Anyway to stop it?”  I asked.

“Maybe, with a concerted effort by a top tier research team,
unlimited funds and manpower.  In the world we’re in?  It’s going to spread
throughout whatever animal can host it until equilibrium is reached.”

“What do you mean?  Equilibrium?”  I asked.

“Until the infection rate is 100%, or so close as to not
matter, and the population of infected stabilizes.  Some of the population will
die.  Some will survive.  Some will be naturally immune.  All of that will have
to work itself out, and man no longer can do much of anything to affect the
outcome.”  She said, turning in her seat and looking out the rear window. 
“Whatever we’re doing, we’d better do it soon.  We need to get to some
shelter.  Looks like another round of storms is coming.”

Turning and looking, I did a double take when I saw a green
sky.  How the hell does that happen?  But, Rachel was right.  We needed to get
somewhere safe.  I had been delaying making a decision because I was tired. 
Tired of running and fighting.  I needed about 12 hours of sleep and a hot
meal.  But I didn’t see that happening anytime in the near future.  Oh well,
time to move forward. 

Stepping on the gas, I once again headed west on I-40.  Soon
we caught up with the small herd that was moving in the same direction.  They
were spread out across the roadway, but looked thinner on the eastbound side. 
Slowing, I drove across the grassy median and up onto the pavement, driving
against oncoming traffic.  But there wasn’t any traffic, only infected bodies
turning at our approach. 

I slowed to less than 20 miles an hour, hoping the impact of
multiple bodies wouldn’t disable the Lexus or cause the air bags to deploy. 
Steering, I tried to contact as many of them as I could with the corners of the
bumper.  The bumper was tall enough to strike most of the infected just below
their hips, and the ones that were hit by the corners were sent spinning away
into the crowd, knocking others off their feet.

There were a few infected in the herd that looked like they
had been wandering around for some time, but many of them were clean and
wearing clothing and shoes that were in good repair.  Freshly turned.  A couple
of the males even still had rifles strapped to their bodies.  Thank God they
were no longer intelligent enough to know how to use them.

“You seeing the ones that look new?”  Rachel asked, holding
her rifle tightly as she stared out the windows at the herd.

“Yep.  Not good news.”  I said, turning the wheel to avoid a
particularly large concentration of bodies.

The herd had looked small when we approached from the rear,
but as we kept pushing forward it became obvious that there were more infected
than I had anticipated.  They were spread out more than I had become accustomed
to, and as a result I had misjudged their numbers.  I was starting to get more
than a little concerned.  I had expected to be through the herd and on clear
pavement by now, not encountering a denser concentration as we progressed.

Their numbers seemed to quickly increase as they responded
to the sound of the straining engine.  The herd started collapsing in on us
from all sides, females leaping onto the running boards and pounding on the
side windows.  I couldn’t see the far edge of the herd and decided this had
been a bad idea.  It was time to get us out of there before we got swamped and
immobilized.  If that happened it would only be a matter of time before they
were able to smash their way inside the vehicle and spoil our evening.

Spinning the wheel I gunned the engine, less concerned about
the air bags than I was with getting us clear of the herd as quickly as
possible.  Rachel was staying quiet, but Dog was whining and growling, moving
from side to side to snarl at females that were hanging on to the Lexus with
their faces pressed to the glass.  I pushed harder on the accelerator, shoving
bodies aside and under us.

The engine was straining to keep moving us through the crush
of infected, and we were slowly losing speed and momentum.  Fists pounded on
the body and glass of the SUV, the sound nearly deafening.  I kept my foot on
the gas, worrying about being brought to a stop the way the herd in Los Alamos
had stopped the MRAP.  Fortunately, before that could happen the crush began to
thin, the constant thump of the bumper striking bodies easing as we gained speed.

We quickly reached the rear edge of the herd, which was now
becoming the leading edge as they turned to pursue.  In the mirrors I could see
the solid mass of males stumbling along in our wake, dozens of females racing
ahead of the main body to chase after us.  Five females still clung to the
exterior of the Lexus and as our speed passed 50 I started swerving as hard as
I felt I could without risking a roll over of the top heavy vehicle.  This
succeeded in dislodging two of them, but the remaining three clung to us as
tightly as barnacles.

Pushing our speed to 80, I warned Rachel to brace herself,
checked to make sure Dog was seated, then stood on the brakes.  The vehicle’s
nose dipped dramatically and the brake pedal vibrated under my foot as the ABS
system kicked in.  First one, then the other two females went flying, all of
them tumbling down the asphalt to our front.  As soon as the third one lost her
grip I took my foot off the brake and floored the accelerator.  I ran over one,
smashed one aside and completely missed the third as we roared towards the
approaching storm.

“You’re getting good at that.”  Rachel commented.

“Too damn much practice.”  I answered with a smile.

We quickly left the infected behind, but were heading the
wrong direction.  The Lexus’ headlights came on automatically as we lost more
light to the setting sun and heavy clouds.  The entire horizon was dark, the
overcast swollen with rain.  Lightning continually flashed, lighting the clouds
from within.  With a couple of miles between the herd and us, I pulled to a
stop to take another look at the navigation system.

There weren’t a lot of roads in the area.  A few small
tracks that cut through the agriculture that dominated the landscape, primarily
for the use of farmers.  That was it.  West of Little Rock it appeared to
change dramatically, but between the city and the river, farmers had taken full
advantage of the rich soil of the floodplain. 

The only route that might help us move on west was to
backtrack 20 miles and take state highway 70 that ran south for a few miles
before turning and running into downtown Little Rock.  With a sigh I selected
this route on the screen and accelerated to the east.