Z Children (Book 2): The Surge (23 page)

I
didn’t like the way he was eyeballing our vehicle. Flexing my arm, I winced at
the soreness there, but it did what I needed it too—blood began to pump. If I
let myself get stiff with stillness, then my reflexes would suffer. “Yep.”
Flex.
Flex. Flex. Be discrete.
“Picked it up in Texas a while back.”

“Stole
it, ya mean,” the redneck driver said as he attempted to spit out another long
stream of tobacco juice—this one didn’t even fully leave his mouth. It hung
from his lips like a limp, dark brown cigar.

“Driver
didn’t need it anymore.” Rotating my head to crack my neck, I slowly inched
into that zone. The boys in the bed were still relaxed and not really concerned
with what was happening. Over-confident. My gaze flicked to the passenger whose
fingers were hovering around his hip holster. He’d have to go first. He was the
most alert, the most on edge.

“What’s
in the back?” the passenger spoke for the first time. His voice was a dark
whisper, blackening what was turning into a sunny morning—as sunny as it could
be faced with five rednecks with giant shoulder chips.

“Not
much. A couple of friends.”

This
made both men standing on the road hesitate. ‘Friends’ could mean anything, but
the implication was clear.

“Friends,
huh? Each carrying one of those pretty little rifles like yours I’m guessing?”
He eyed my gun greedily.
In your dreams, fuck head.

“Most
likely.” I shrugged, watching as the boys in the back perked up a little. One
lifted his shotgun to rest across the roof of the truck. He directed the barrel
towards the windshield of the truck, towards my girls. He’d be the second to
fall.

“Mind
if we take a look?” The passenger was already stepping forward. There was
something savage in his voice, in his words.

“Yeah,
I mind.” I advanced a step also and the passenger rocked back to his original
position. “I think we’d all be better off if we just shook hands and went about
our business. No need to get into my shit, and I’ve no need to get into yours.”

“That
so? Well, I think you’ve probably got a few things that we’d find damn useful
in that big ‘ole truck. Who are you protecting? Maybe a girl or two?” The
driver was wiping the trail of spit from his mouth…finally. It had been hanging
there, waving in the fucking wind like a messed up flag, ever since he’d tried
to spit that second time.

“No
girls, just my friends. And they’re protecting me, not the other way ‘round.
You’ll find out, if you get close enough.” I lifted the rifle in my hand a
fraction to get my point across.

“I
think you’re full of shit, boy,” the driver’s voice was garbled and angry.

“I’m
no boy.” My words were low, sinister. These poor idiots. They really didn’t
know who they were fucking with. “Now, let’s just all be on our way, real
friendly-like.”

It all
happened fast.

It
always happened fast.

The
passenger lifted the scattergun but never got to pull the trigger; neither did
the man in the truck bed. I was faster. I’d been trained to be faster. These
‘necks had been trained for nothing aside from hunting and boozing.

Before
I’d downed the passenger and the man in the bed of the truck, Ranger had
knocked the driver to the asphalt, his teeth locked around the man’s shoulder.
I spared a second to see him scream—the way the black of the chewing tobacco
stringed between his teeth like a tar-based villain in a comic book. His cries
filled the air and that only pushed Ranger and me harder to finish the job, finish
the ugliness.

I had
my rifle pointed at the two left standing. They stared at me through beer
googles that made their brains work slower than molasses…but not so slow that
they didn’t know to surrender. Ranger was by my side again, having recognized that
his work was done. The driver was squirming against the hard ground, blood
spurting from the numerous bites and rips he’d suffered. The passenger was
gone.

I
hadn’t aimed to injure him. I’d aimed to kill because I could tell that he
wasn’t one to back down. He wasn’t one to forgive. If I’d let that one live,
he’d have come after us. Maybe it was my overactive imagination or my gut
feelings in overdrive. But him—the look on his face, the malice in the few
words he’d uttered—I couldn’t leave alive.

“Get out
of the truck slowly and throw your guns into the ditch.”

“We
ain’t gonna do nothing, Mister. Promise,” the one still alive with
shoulder-length brown hair spoke up.

“I
know you won’t. Because if you do, I’ll shoot you.”

Brown
Hair dropped down from the bed and I realized he wasn’t a man. Sixteen at most.
“Johnny, get your ass down here,” he squeaked at the other person still
standing in the truck bed. When ‘Johnny’ hopped down, I realized that he too
was not a man. Just another kid.

“You
two are hanging with the wrong crowd.” Still, I didn’t lower my guard. “Pick
him up and get out of here.” Despite their lamentations, their hands thrown up
in surrender, I didn’t let my guard down.

The
boys didn’t say anything as they lifted the crying, full-grown driver into the
bed of the truck.

“Thanks
for not killing our uncle,” the shorter of the two boys—the brown-haired one
that I didn’t have a name for—said in a raspy voice. “He’s all we got left.”

Nodding,
I looked down at the body of the tall man. “You taking him with you?”

In
unison the boys shook their heads. They almost looked relieved, Johnny
especially, and I wondered who this man was and why his companions seemed to
not mind his death.

When
Brown Hair and Johnny were in the cab, Johnny at the wheel, I gave them my
sternest, reaper-come-calling look. “If I hear a vehicle come back this way,
I’ll be waiting. I won’t leave anyone alive next time. Understand?”

“Yes,
sir,” Brown Hair spoke and then soft-punched Johnny in the shoulder.

On
cue, Johnny shifted the truck into gear and backed away from me. The
three-point turn he attempted trying to turn around was more of a ten-point
turn. Once the truck was faced in the direction they’d come from, Johnny hit
the gas and drove like a bat out of hell.

And he
should…because death was watching.

Still,
I didn’t fully relax until their vehicle had faded against the horizon.

Then I
heard the truck door open behind me and I quietly waited for the question.

“Did
you have to shoot at them?” A pause. A soft, nearly inaudible gasp. “God, JW,
you killed one…didn’t you?” Virginia’s voice; I knew it would be her. She was
the softest heart in our group. Even Bonnie was made of harder stuff.

“Yes.”
One word answered both questions.

That
was the end of the conversation and the end of my could-have-been beautiful
morning.  It wasn’t bad enough I was fighting all the children in the world,
but now it looked like I would be fighting against the living also.

That’s
fucking humanity for you. There’s nothing humane in any of us, just the brutal
desire to live at the cost of anyone else. They called it survival mode,
survival of the fittest, basic instinct.

I
called it complete horseshit. People could be better if they wanted to. They
could choose to provide aide. Sure, some did. But not enough.

God.
This just plain sucked.
And shit
.
My shoulder hurts like a beast.

I took
another look at the man lying prone on the road. Something told me to check his
pulse, but I didn’t. I was hurting too bad. After standing watch so the women
and Bonnie—who’d been yanked out of deep sleep by my shouting exchange with
Virginia and seemed to be still half-caught in a nightmare—could relieve
themselves, I got back behind the wheel and we hit the road. I needed to get
them to the endgame before I was no good anymore.

I was
glad that Virginia hadn’t asked me anymore questions. I didn’t have the time or
the inclination to defend my fucking actions. I was keeping them alive and
those ‘necks had asked for the treatment they’d gotten. Bonnie hadn’t looked at
me with judgement. Oh, she’d looked at me, her eyes still glazed-over with
dreaming, but it had been one of calm, a look that told me that I made her feel
safe, not more scared.

I
didn’t know if I could take it if that kid decided I was the monster instead of
the demons I was striking down. It took some effort to heave my body into the
driver’s seat, and I grunted sharply when a pain shot through my side and
seemed to ping around inside my body, finally settling within my brain to grow
into a poignant ache that beat steady as a well-wound clock. I fucking hurt.

“Pain
is just weakness leaving the body, grunt
.
”

How
many damn times have I heard that in my life?

“Thanks,
JW. For protecting us.” Chris was looking at me; I could see that she faced me
out of my peripheral vision. “Again.” Her last word was a begrudged addition,
but in her first two sentences, I heard something else there…something damn
close to appreciation and gratitude.
That won’t last as soon as she finds
out what I’ve got in
mind
…

I only
made it so far before I pulled over and turned the wheel over to Chris.
Virginia had offered to drive, but Chris wouldn’t let her. And she had the gall
to call me a male chauvinist. She was just as bad. Before relenting, Virginia
had looked at me with concern and I knew it was genuine. Chris had also, but
I’d ignored her look. She didn’t really care about me as a human being; she was
concerned because I was supposed to get them to Atlanta. Bonnie was quiet. When
I’d looked at her briefly, she was holding the journal she was filling against
her chest, as if she had emotions that she wanted to contain.

I’d
begun to understand that her silence spoke volumes. I loved that damn kid
already—which was a fact that didn’t sit well with me. I refused to die on her.

As I
settled myself in the passenger seat, I realized that my arms were shaking. My
vision was going spotty and then clearing as quickly as it had blurred also. I
had to give my body the rest it wanted. And eventually, the medicine it needed.
All I could do was hope we’d find it in time.

God,
my head felt like a gathering of thick clouds readying for a storm. The
pounding drum, the haze. The rain was coming.

***

CHRIS

JW was
in trouble. And I was worried the meds would come too late. Shifting into
drive, I depressed the gas pedal and the truck lurched forward just as the
first fat droplets of rain hit the windshield. It had been such a clear, lovely
morning.

Then
the killing.

Then
the clouds had begun to gather.

And
now the rain has come.

He was
constantly stretching his neck, rubbing his arm. Tetanus. Definitely. If we
waited much longer, he’d have nerve damage that would take months to heal, and
it wasn’t like we could hook him up with a rehab facility for physical therapy.

I
looked over at JW slumped in the passenger seat, his right forearm stretched
across the window sill of the door, his head lolled back against the rest.
Virginia
sees him as invincible, unsinkable. Like the damn Titanic
,
I mentally
scoffed.
He’s going to break in two and plummet to the bottom if we don’t
get help. Soon.

His
eyes were beginning to close now. I wanted to see how lucid he was. “Hey, JW,
how long till we get to Atlanta you think?”

“Not
sure.” His voice was too quiet, more of an exhaled force of air trying to be
molded into words, and only being moderately successful. “We’re bypassing Baton
Rouge and going through New Iberia, so that will add some time. Safer though, I
think. I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes roughly, shook his head twice as if
trying to break through the fog of illness. “Couple hours I guess. Why?
Wait…did you say Atlanta?”

JW
struggled to open his eyes fully, focus, think. He seemed so confused; like the
symptoms were hitting him all at once and he couldn’t handle the pressure.

“Atlanta.
The CDC? The destination we’ve been working towards since Dallas?” 

“Just
keep heading down this road until you see signs,” he took a deep, shaky breath,
“for 190. That’ll get you fairly close to Baton Rouge. I can take over from
there.”

“And
that’s the best way to Atlanta? The safest, I mean?” I started to get this
sinking feeling in my stomach, like JW had made a decision and hadn’t told
anyone; that he’d taken the proverbial bull by the horns like every other
chauvinistic male and settled on what was best for the group. Without our input,
of course.

“Atlanta.
We’ll get there.” He sounded weak again. But I couldn’t let this go. I couldn’t
just keep driving like a blind follower.

“That’s
where we’re going now, right, JW?” I poked at him, willed him to think clearly
and give me a damn answer.

“We’re
not going to Atlanta yet. We may not need to. Maybe. Shit. I can’t think.” I
watched the sweat break out on his brow as he spoke. “Executive order…13…603.
New Orleans. They’d be moving things there.” His chest rose and fell, labored
and jerky. “Not Atlanta, not yet.”

JW was
running a fever now, I’d bet money on it. He may even have a touch of MRSA from
the wound.

Fuck.
I was the bitch that told Virginia to let him go, that he said he was fine and
she didn’t need to clean his wounds. If she’d done it right off the bat,
instead of waiting, maybe he’d be in better condition. I was just so fucking
caught up in being jealous, reacting to how she was deferring to him—like some
demure housewife beholden to the cock-endowed.

“What
the hell do you mean we aren’t going to Atlanta
yet
? We never talked
about New Orleans.” I couldn’t stay the anger that was rising in my body, an
unstoppable lava surge.