Dead Stop (40 page)

“Humans are
notorious for coming through cataclysms,” the other woman muttered while she
worked on his legs. “Hell, I think we create our own from time to time just to
stay in practice. Don’t ever rule us out.”

“What
she
said,” the girl affirmed. “We ain’t licked yet. Just hang in with us, Benny.
We’ll make it through this. You’ll see.”

Benny didn’t
respond, still trying to absorb the enormity of it all.

“Benny?” She
took him by the hand. “I know you’re hurting…we all are…but we’re going to get
through this. You just rest up and get better, okay? We made it through last
night, and now the storm is over. We’ll find our way from here.”

He stared at the
ceiling, not knowing what to say.

“We need you,
Bennie,” Stacey continued, her face solemn once more. “I need you, and so does
Marisa. Of course she’ll never admit it, but she does. Hang in there for us,
okay? Please?”

Whether she knew
it or not, she hit every button that mattered. Even if it was the end of the
world, Bennie wouldn’t dream of not being there for them. They were the
daughters he had never had…even if both of them were huge pains in the ass.
Somebody had to keep them out of trouble.

And he doubted
the two young rednecks he barely remembered were even close to being up to the
task. They were going to need his help.

Starting now.

“It’s okay,
Chiquita
,”
he sighed and gave her a weak smile. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Whatever
happens, I’ll be there.”

###

Epilogue-
Rachel

Rachel stepped
out the front door of the country clinic and arched her weary back.

Benny Trujillo,
Deke, and Stacey were now stitched up, and everybody had been given a shot of
the antifungal medication. She had warned it might make them sick a day or two,
but it was the most effective available. Now they all slept in the front office
of the clinic. All in all, she allowed herself a small bit of self
congratulation on a job well done.

Well, almost…

The sight of a
small makeshift cross in the pasture across the barb wire fence caused her to
wince in memory at her one “failure.”

Grandpa Tom had
made it. He had escaped with the rest of them. And when they had all staggered
into the clinic after Harley jimmied the door, he had sank exhausted into the
closest chair he could find. So had the others…except for Rachel who had
dragged herself back into the doctor’s office to use the internet to post
warnings about the nature of the threat and grab all the medical information
she could while the power still lasted. She had been at it about an hour when
Marisa had come back and quietly told her that Grandpa Tom was dead.

He had simply
drifted away in his sleep, right there in the chair.

Rachel could
only console herself with the knowledge she couldn’t have done anything for him
anyway, and that he got to pass peacefully. That had to count as some kind of
victory, didn’t it? Compared to what might be in store for them, he may have
gotten off lucky.

Because in
truth, Stacey was wrong…the storm wasn’t over.

It was just
beginning.

Now that she had
the time to focus and think without the distraction of possibly dying any given
minute, she started to realize the enormity of what they faced.

It has to be
a soil based fungus, because it got in the coffins first. But now it’s out, and
spreading like wildfire. A five hour window between its host killing somebody,
and then that somebody getting up to kill as well, is a ridiculously fast
incubation period. And I don’t even know if that’s the only vector for
transmission. Not to mention, the ground itself has been infected.

Marisa had told
her earlier how Harley predicted the spread to have already killed Masonfield,
and how fast he thought this stuff could expand. After listening to his
reasoning, then applying her own knowledge of disease transmission, she
realized he had actually underestimated it. The proliferation would be
geometric, and if the rumored quarantine failed then Benny’s concern might be
more realistic than they realized.

This could be
apocalyptic.

Rachel hoped
not. Not just for herself, but for the new young friends she had made over the
course of this ordeal. She really wanted to see Deke and Stacey get an honest
chance to see if they had a future together. And Marisa and Harley…she wasn’t
quite sure what to make of that pair. They were something, but she couldn’t
quite figure out what it was.

A glance over at
the feed store side of the building revealed the two of them had made impromptu
recliner couches out of feed bags at the front corner of the building. Now they
stretched out side by side, snoring in the afternoon sun. Rachel figured after
all they did last night, and having to dig a grave this morning, they had
earned it.

Rachel decided
she could let them sleep and attend to their injuries later. She had already
given them the antifungal shot and that was what really counted.

Until then, her
job was done.

Now she just
stood in the parking lot, soaking up the sunshine. The air fairly steamed with
humidity after the storm from last night, but she didn’t care. Just standing in
daylight again felt glorious. The warmth helped drive the memory of last
night’s chill further from her mind, and gave her a sense of hope.

Rachel had
instructed Deke to fill the four galvanized water troughs in the feed store full
of water before the power cut out. So they had a supply that would last a good
while. She also knew the hundreds of bags of animal feed were edible by humans,
even if they tasted like crap. So they were covered on that score as well. Top
that off with the fact they were surrounded by pastures and had an unobstructed
view for at least half a mile in any direction, and they had what amounted to a
secure and hopefully surprise free situation.

For the moment,
they were safe.

Now it all
depended on the rest of the world.

Hopefully the
quarantine did its job. At least a line of heavily armed soldiers stood a much
better chance against these things than the people of the Textro last night.
She just hoped nobody did something stupid and tried to end this with some
really big bombs.

But there was
nothing she could do about that but wait and see.

Until then, the
best she could do was plan and try to see they had everything they needed to
get by until either help arrived, or they tried to reach the quarantine line
themselves. Harley said they might try after things had settled down and he was
sure the soldiers weren’t just shooting at anything that approached.

Movement on the
horizon caught her eye and Rachel turned her head. A flock of crows flew along
the distant tree line on the other side of the pasture. She frowned at the
aerial procession, and folded her arms as she tracked their progress.

She noted their
current trajectory would take them to the east and away from the store, so that
was a small relief. Besides, they were flying straight as opposed to wheeling
like Stacey had described last night. So they weren’t following a pack of
zombies either. The grim side of her figured they had probably gorged enough
lately anyway.

And then it hit
her.

“Oh my god!” Rachel
gasped. “The crows!”

“Doc?” Harley’s
soft voice came from the corner of the building. He must not have been as
asleep as she thought. “Is everything okay?”

Rachel didn’t
answer, her throat locked tight as her mind desperately recalculated the spread
with this new vector in the equation. It was the roughest of guesswork. Pure
estimation. But even allowing for that, the answer she came up with dismayed
her.

No. Everything
wasn’t okay.

The world was
going to change. Whether civilization survived or not…whether man survived or
not… nothing would ever be the same again.

The crows would
see to that.

They had been
walking and feeding in the bloody remains of all the zombie’s victims. Now they
were moving on in search of future feasts. And they were carrying the means of
making those meals happen along with them.

Rachel watched
in despair as they flapped their way over the horizon…

…their feathers
dusted with a deadly cargo of spores.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

D.
Nathan Hilliard
lives in Spring, Texas with his veterinarian wife, two children, and two cats.
He draws his inspiration from a childhood living in different small Texas
towns, accented by teen years spent in western New Mexico. He has experienced
life through a diverse collection of jobs ranging from meter reading and being
an assistant manager at a convenience store, to working at cotton gins, window
factories, and uranium mills. After coming down with Charcot Marie Tooth (CMT)
at the turn of the century, Mr. Hilliard now happily settles for tending house,
raising his kids, and exploring the field of writing.