An Apocalypse Family (Book 1): Family Reunion (13 page)

Max nodded and said, “Thanks, put them in the backseat and stay in there once you’re in.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “What’s up?”

I reached over and took a carton of Marlboro Lights from her, and as I leaned in, I smiled and said, “Just do what he said, ’k?”

She shook her head and muttered something but did as she was told. Max and I still had our M4s because we hadn’t had a chance to check out the new 5.56s. I stood with my back toward the street, turned away from the building, hoping whoever was watching us would relax if they thought we were heading away from them.

“I’m going to go back to my truck and get in, which will probably get their attention. If you see a gun or anything, I would appreciate a heads up.”

Max opened his door and moved behind it as I turned away and walked over to my truck. I opened the door and heard Max yell: “Duck!” I dove into the cab, banging my head on the console. I heard a pop, and then the whack of the bullet hitting the metal of the truck. Max began shooting three-round bursts at the culprit across the street. Lying on my side, I started the truck, sat up, shifted into drive, and jammed on the accelerator. The tires screeched like one of the freaks as I flew out of the gas station.

I sped up and pulled into a parking lot with a fence and trees around it about three hundred yards down the road. I slid to a halt and bailed out of the truck, opened the back door, and grabbed the 7.62 Tracking-point rifle. I ran to the end of the fence and deployed the bipod on the front of the rifle. I lay down and began scanning for the shooter. I zeroed in on where I’d last seen movement in the windows of the building. I didn’t have a good angle on the building, but the magnification on the scope helped me spot the rifle barrel sticking out of a window. I moved the reticle about two feet back from the end of the barrel and hit the tag button. Once the tag was made, the reticle turned red for an instant; when I was on target it turned green. I gently applied pressure to the trigger as I exhaled, and the rifle bucked in my hands. The recoil was greater than the M4, but not bad.

My ears rang from the shot, but I could hear Max like he was standing on top of me. “You got whoever it was.”

I didn’t know how that made me feel right then, other than I was glad they could no longer harm my brother or niece.

“Get out of there now,” I shouted at him.

“We’re moving,” came the reply.

I heard the truck coming before I saw it, my eye still on the scope, looking for any signs of movement from the building.

“Just keep driving, I’ll be right on your ass,” I said as I got to my feet and stowed the bipod. I hustled back to my truck, threw the rifle in the backseat, and tore out of the parking lot, looking in my rearview to see if anyone was following.

“I don’t see anyone following. How far ahead are you?” I asked as I switched from looking behind to trying to see Max and Lisa ahead.

“We are just coming up on one hundred and ninety-sixth.”

“Okay, head for Interstate 5 and I will be right behind you. Wait for me on the freeway unless I tell you otherwise.” I still didn’t see any pursuit, but I wasn’t about to quit looking for it. A couple of minutes later, I turned right onto one-ninety-sixth and made for the freeway.

I pulled around Max and stopped. I got out of the truck and leaned against the side. I felt shaky and a little light-headed. I’d never experienced this much adrenaline in my entire life and I had to fight the urge to puke. I was tired of giving up my nutrition to the roadside every time I got my belly full.

Lisa ran up to me and gave me a hug. “You okay?” I nodded.

Max walked up. “I thought you ran off on us back there for a minute.”

“I had to get some separation from the area to try out our new toy.”

He lit a cigarette and said, “Yeah, I thought that was a little louder the M4. Hell of shot from that angle.”

I reached out and took his smoke. “To be honest, I wasn’t going for a kill shot. I just wanted to get them to quit shooting at you.”

Max stuck his finger in the bullet hole on my doorpost and whistled, then lit himself another cigarette.

“Well, it worked out that way just the same. You okay to drive or do you want Lisa to for a while?”

“You know, that’s a damn good idea, Max. Lisa, you okay with that?”

“Hell yeah!”

We got back on the road heading for I-90 east. We had discussed the trip to Meg’s house several times. The route we ended up agreeing on was the major interstate over the Cascade Mountains, the logic being that there would be more chance for us to find fuel. I pointed out that, with our twenty-five gallons of extra fuel per truck, we had enough to make it all the way there. I thought the truth was that Max didn’t trust the rural route. It really didn’t matter in the long run, as I felt that we would make it regardless of which road we took. So I sat in the passenger seat and drank beer to calm my nerves. We found the beer in the sales manager’s mini-fridge at the Ford dealership. The first two were cold, but by the time I grabbed the third it was warm, so I dumped it out the window.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lisa yelled at me.

“I’m pouring out this warm beer, why?”

“That’s alcohol abuse! This is the damn apocalypse; don’t be pouring out our beer!” I’d never seen her that animated and laughed, “Okay, I won’t ever do it again, promise.”

We took Interstate 5 north to the 405 to go south toward I-90. Lisa proved to be a good driver, as she was confident enough to go fast when she could but also responsible enough not to overdo it. We threaded our way through the wrecks and bodies scattered along the road. Anytime we talked, the voice-activated mics on our throats would transmit the conversation to Max, who was following closely behind.

“So, how many people do you think survived this, Uncle Ryan?” Lisa asked as she picked up speed on a relatively open section of road.

“Well, from the lack of folks we have run across, I would say less than I thought originally. I’d hoped there were more like us, you know, out on the freeways, trying to find family, or just leaving the city. But from the looks of it, that isn’t the case. We do have some info. The death rate from the flu was really high and there were very few who were immune to it or the vaccine that produced the freaks. I figure that with the combination of those factors, we are part of a very small group of survivors.”

Lisa persisted, “Like what, twenty-five percent?”

I shook my head. “I think that is a little high, more like ten to fifteen percent.”

She slowed the vehicle as we came to a large bunch of abandoned cars. I scanned the vehicles with the binoculars we salvaged from Adventure Sports.

“I’m seeing several bodies but no movement. Just keep to the left.”

We were coming up on exit 15, State Route 900. Based on the number of vehicles, I figured we must be close to a hospital. A road sign soon confirmed that indeed there was a hospital ahead. Lisa skirted the massive parking lot of vehicles.

“So, that’s still, like, thirty million unaffected people left, right?” She was still trying to make sense of a senseless situation.

“Yeah, I guess; and that’s all it is—a guess. Another thing to consider, Lisa, is that since it began, how many of those thirty million have been killed by the freaks, and how many have been killed by each other? How many have done what the gun store owner and his family did?”

She shuddered, visibly shaken by the thought. “How many people do you think turned into freaks?”

Max cut into the conversation over the radio. “Lisa, there is no way to know, and all this talk is just freaking you out, so just let it go for now.”

“No, Dad, I think we need to be realistic here, try and figure out what we are facing. How many freaks are out there? I’d say that is pretty relevant to our survival.”

Max was silent on his end for an entire minute. Then he clicked back on. “Without any specific numbers, or an actual count of how many got the vaccination, we are just blowing smoke. My guess would be in the neighborhood of two hundred million.”

That effectively ended the conversation.

We had been driving for about a half an hour; after that, I must have dozed off. I woke with a start as Lisa slammed on the brakes. We were in the mountains and had come around a corner; there was a red Acura parked facing west in the eastbound lane. It was jacked up and a guy was changing the tire. I hit the release on my seatbelt and was out of the door with my rifle up and pointed at him before I even thought about it. He looked scared, not threatening, and slowly raised his hands.

By the time Max made it to the party, I’d already found out the guy’s name was Andrew. He was a student from Seattle trying to get to Spokane.

“Why are you headed toward Seattle if you’re trying to get to Spokane?” I asked.

“The pass is blocked by several accidents, and I was backtracking to find another way.”

This sounded semi-logical, and since he wasn’t armed, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out. Max poked his head around the end of my truck with his M4 leading the way.

“Easy, Max, he isn’t armed, and says he’s just trying to find a way over the Cascades, says the pass is blocked ahead; sounds like he just saved us a wasted trip.” Max grunted, but didn’t lower his weapon.

“You hungry, Andrew?” I asked.

He nodded as if I’d read his mind. “Yeah, some food would be great!”

Max had finally lowered his M4 around the time Andrew had broken into his second MRE.

“How bad was the pile up? Could we use the trucks to clear it?”

Andrew shook his head. “If it was only one, maybe, but there was one on this side going east that had ten cars and a semi involved. I found a place to cross over to the westbound lanes but ran into another one further east. That one was just as bad and there were lots of bodies at both. I don’t think it would be worth it. I turned around to go back to Route 2, which crosses over further north. There is a road down about ten miles in North Bend that connects to it.”

I looked at my group, then at Andrew. “Would you be opposed to us tagging along?”

“Hell no! I mean, that would be great. I don’t even have a gun, so any friend with one would be greatly appreciated. You are friendly, aren’t you?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“About as friendly as you’ll likely find these days,” I chuckled.

“Good. My dog, Sam, would really miss me.”

We helped Andrew finish changing his tire, which was a full-size spare, thank God. Then we turned the trucks around and headed back toward North Bend. I led the caravan, Andrew took up the middle, and Max and Lisa brought up the rear. In just a few miles, we came up on North Bend. I would have missed it, but Andrew flashed his lights at me and motioned for me to get off on the ramp. Driving backward on a highway, the signs aren’t easy to read.

“Hey, Chicken Two, I’m going to stop and talk to Andrew for a minute.”

“That’s fine, and stop calling me that!”

“Communication security, brother, communication security.” It wouldn’t really matter but I liked that it rankled him.

“Roger, Chicken One; I suggest we come up with better handles, then.” I pulled my truck to the side of the road while laughing to myself.

“What’s so funny?” Andrew asked when I got back to his car. I must have still been grinning at Max’s comment.

“Oh nothing, just something Max said. So, you know this road?”

“Well, not this particular one. I have been across Route 203 several times and this is 202, which should hit 203 just up the road a piece.”

“Isn’t Treehouse Point around here somewhere?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s about ten miles from here.”

There was a program on TV that I loved, back before all this happened, about these guys who built custom tree houses—and when I say tree houses, I don’t mean the little backyard affairs you’re used to.

“Be a good place to stop for the night, but we have a lot of daylight left.”

Andrew nodded. “Yeah, there are plenty of places we can stop across Route 2, if we need too.”

“Okay, why don’t you lead then?” I banged on his roof twice and returned to my truck.

Andrew pulled around me and started down the road. I hopped back in the truck and followed.

“What was all that about?” Max asked.

“He knows the route better than we do, so I figured he should lead.”

Max came back immediately, “You think we can trust him?”

“Max, quit being so paranoid. Yes, I think we can trust him.”

We drove along Highway 202 north to the junction of 2 and headed east. The coastal valley narrowed as we drove into the foothills, through Monroeville and Sultan. The lush marshes with red cedars and bigtooth aspen thinned out; lodgepole pines and Douglas firs took their place as we climbed higher. The Cascades reared their magnificent peaks ahead, mostly covered in snow, even this late in the year. The foothills gave way to mountains. The shift was dramatic to say the least. The trees thickened and crowded the road until they blocked any view beyond. Then, just as suddenly, the trees opened up and mountains surrounded us, huge rock walls carved into the mountainside by men to create the winding road. Sheer rock jutted up on our right, while the other side dropped away to the valley far below. Waterfalls shot off the mountainside, pouring the frigid snow melt into the streams and eventually the ocean.