Deathly Contagious (53 page)

With an armload of food, Hayden got out of the truck bed and joined me. “You’re right. And look at the layers of blood on his shirt. Victim after victim.”

I stood. “He’s been crazy for a long time.”

Hayden and I exchanged uneasy glances. “Why?” Hayden asked. “Why aren’t they progressing?”

“I have no clue,” I shook my head. “Maybe Padraic will be able to answer that for us when we get back.”

Hayden nodded. “Maybe.”

We went back to the dock, mindfully quiet as not to wake up the guys, and ate breakfast. Not long after that, Brock woke up and joined us to impatiently wait for the others to get up so we could raid what was left of the camping store.

The hot sun did the job for us; Ivan, Wade, and Rider woke up sweating. They grumbled about the heat and Hayden laughed, reminding them that not all that long ago we were complaining about the cold. Once their stuff was put away and they ate breakfast, we armed ourselves and went into the store.

The big fish tank was even more skuzzy than before; the smell burned my nose and made my eyes water. Maggots burrowed in the liquefying flesh of the dead gummies and zombies that rotted on the floor; some were just puddles of rancid human juices.

We filled bags with clothing, the left over weapons and ammo Hayden and I didn’t have room for the first time, more camping supplies—we figured having extra sleeping bags could never hurt—water bottles with built in filters, lanterns, batteries, mosquito spray, packs, bags, night vision binoculars, boots, and fishing gear.

“There’s a river near the compound,” Brock pointed out while looking at the fishing rods. “If we get the crap we need, we should go fishing. I don’t know about you, but fresh meat, even from a fish, sounds good.”

We all agreed and loaded up what we could fit. Not wanting to completely overload the cars just yet, we carefully combed the store for anything else that would be helpful. I gulped in a breath of fresh air as soon as I left the store. The stench of molding, rotting bodies seemed to have latched onto me. I wanted to jump in the lake and wash the scent from my hair.

We split up into our usual three; Hayden drove, Rider sat shotgun, and I sat in the back. We took our chances driving south down the highway; we made it only a few minutes before getting stuck.

“Why do you think they just left their cars?” Rider asked, rolling down his window for a better look.

“Traffic jam,” Hayden answered as if it was obvious.  

“I get that,” Rider went on. “But why? What’s out there? I’d rather stay in my car.”

“Maybe the jam wasn’t unjamming,” I supplied. “If I was stuck for hours, I’d rather get out and walk.”

Rider nodded. “Maybe. I want to know where the jam starts. We never look. Do you think there are roadblocks?”

“It would make the most sense,” Hayden agreed as he reversed the truck. “Though I don’t know why. Mass chaos, probably. And I bet they wanted to contain the virus and keep it from spreading.”

“They did a wonderful job,” I stated sarcastically. Though none of us said it, the proverbial ‘they’ we spoke of was the authorities.

“Should we find out?” Rider asked.

“No,” Hayden replied. He radioed Ivan over the walkie talkie to get his opinion on driving parallel to the highway on a back road for a mile or two, then trying our hand on getting back on from of an exit. Ivan agreed but voiced he wasn’t hopeful about being able to take the highway at all.

We sped down a road, seeing nothing but nature along the way. Rider carefully followed our path on the map and, after two miles, we exited onto the highway.

“The cars are never ending,” Rider said under his breath. “Seriously, did all of Texas come this way?”

“Something must have lured them,” I speculated. “Like a promise of safety.”

“This highway will take us to Dallas,” Hayden informed us. “There could have been a shelter set up there. I’ll ask Brock if he knows of anything when we stop, which we will in just a few. I don’t like being at a standstill by a pile up; there are too many things that can go wrong.”

We drove another few miles southwest. Zombies started sprouting out from the scenery like unwelcomed weeds. We turned down a street lined with ornately decorated houses and discovered a herd.

Before the attack on the farm I would have called this herd large. Twenty to thirty zombies milled about; their autonomous death groans blended together creating a chilling, load moan that could be heard yards away. The sun beat down, cooking the decaying bits of human remains that littered the street.

No matter how well armed we were, it still sparked the tiniest bit of fear in me when a herd took notice of us.

“Game time,” Hayden said, a wicked smile on his face. The SUV rolled to a stop next to us. Brock stuck his head out the window, also grinning.

“You’re going down, Underwood!” he teased.

“You wish!” Hayden turned up his music. “Riss, will you drive? I want to kill some undead sons of bitches.”

I did too, but I got into the driver’s seat regardless. Hayden gave me a quick peck on the lips and jumped into the bed of the truck. He uncovered the machine gun and clicked a belt into place. He shouted at the zombies and pulled the trigger.

Making sure to stay behind the SUV so the rapid fire of the machine gun wouldn’t hit our friends, I drove as fast as I could navigate through the zombies. A dozen went down within minutes. Rider leaned so far out the window I was a little afraid he might fall. Ivan and Wade did the same. As the herd thinned, I slowed down to let the guys shoot with more accuracy.

We went around the block, dropping zombies like flies. When one fell, another appeared, tripping over the limp body. It took another pass to clear the streets. Thinking we had currently rid this town of the infected undead, we pulled over in a parking lot.

“You can thank me for taking care of at least seventy-five percent of them,” Hayden told Brock.

“Seventy-five?” Brock questioned. “More like thirty-five. We got the rest. Our team wins.”

“Bull shit,” Hayden swore, acting as if he was actually mad. He gestured to the machine gun. “Do you know how many rounds per minute this thing fires?”

“It doesn’t matter how many when they’re not hitting anything,” Wade heckled.

“Believe what you want to believe,” Hayden said with a wave of his hand. He put the cover back on the machine gun and looked around. Assuming that no one would still be living in a town filled with zombies—and knowing that if there were people here, they would have heard the gunfire and sought us out—we left to search elsewhere for signs of life.

We reached another stalemate after an hour or so of driving. Having killed every zombie that had crossed our path, we were ready to see someone alive. We drove even farther south. The neighborhoods grew fewer and fewer and the houses decreased in size and quality as we drove. About an hour later we stopped to eat. Hayden and I sat close together while we bit into pieces of beef jerky. Once I finished eating I unbraided my hair and let it blow in the breeze. When a loose strand fell into my face, Hayden gently pushed it behind my ear.

Ivan and Hayden got up to look at the map and decide on a definite location to check out. Brock, not satisfied with the way the new supplies were in the bed, worked on rearranging it. Wade, Rider, and I meandered up and down the dry, dusty street, keeping an eye out for zombies.

“You’re lucky,” Wade said, facing me.

“I am?” I asked, not sure why he would be telling me that. If Rider wasn’t in front of me, I would have assumed Wade was talking to him.

“Yea.” He looked over at Hayden and then back to me. “You’re lucky you got someone.”

“Oh.” I diverted my eyes to the ground. “Yea, I guess.”

“What do you mean ‘you guess’?” Rider questioned, smirking.

“I mean, I am,” I explained. “Can we not talk about this?”

Rider laughed. “Are you uncomfortable talking about it? I didn’t think it was possible to make you uncomfortable.”

I rolled loose gravel under my feet. “I’m not uncomfortable; it’s just pointless to talk about.”

“How so?” Wade asked. He put the strap of his gun around his shoulder and adjusted it so that his weapon hung on his back.

“Well,” I started. “What does it matter?”

“I would hope it matters to you,” Rider chuckled.

“Oh it does. It does a lot. But it doesn’t change anything. The world is still a fucking disaster.”

“So you think it’s pointless to have a relationship?” Wade guessed.

I shook my head. “Not entirely. It’s not pointless for Hayden or me. We enjoy each other’s company immensely—” I cut off, grinning. “Take that as you want. And don’t get me wrong, I love him—so much—and I only said it was pointless to
talk
about. Does having him make it easier to deal with this shithole of a world we live in? Yes, it does, it does help a lot. And as wonderful and sappy and whatever love is, it’s not the cure-all. Life isn’t a fairytale; loving each other isn’t going to make the bad guys go away.”

“That’s an interesting take on it,” Wade said.

“You’re the most down to earth person I’ve ever met,” Rider admitted.

I laughed. “I am?”

He nodded. “You see things for how they are and nothing more.”

I shook my head. “Thanks…I think.”

“It’s a compliment,” Rider said and nudged me.

“I’m not sure everyone would agree with you. In fact, I’m sure plenty of people would say the opposite.”

“Well,” Rider told me with a smile. “Then they don’t know you like we do.”

“I wasn’t sure about you at first,” Wade confessed. “Yea you were great when it came to killing the zombies but you didn’t have any experience working with others in battle or anything of the like.”

“And I don’t always play well with others,” I agreed.

“No,” Wade laughed. “But you do with us. I feel kind of bad for doubting you.”

“Don’t,” I told him. “You had every right to.”

“You’re part of the team,” Rider assured me.

“Thanks, guys,” I said genuinely. I smiled at them, and thought about how close I had become with the guys in the last few months. As I told Raeya, they really did seem like family. Wade took the strap off his shoulder and looked through the scope of his rifle. A refreshing breeze blew his dark blonde hair into his face. We were all in desperate need of haircuts.

“Still nothing…for now,” he told us. I ran my hands through my messy hair and walked over to where Hayden and Ivan were standing.

“Come up with anything?” I asked.

“Sort of,” Hayden told me. “We’re gonna head in the general direction of Austin and see what we can find along the way and then explore the city.”

“I’m telling you, man,” Ivan said, shaking his head. “Big cities are bound to be overrun. Even with the artillery we have, we won’t be able to come close to a fair fight.”

“He’s right,” I agreed. “I told you about Indy. And when we were going from town to town, we avoided big cities. We could tell we were getting close to one just by the increase in zombies.”

“Fuller wants us to kill whatever we can,” Hayden reminded us.

“Not at the expense of our lives,” Ivan exasperated.

Looking irritated, Hayden folded up the map. “Let’s not worry about it until we get there. If it looks like it’ll be too much, we won’t continue on, alright?”

“You’re the boss,” Ivan said almost bitterly. I didn’t want to argue with Hayden. But I one-hundred percent agreed with Ivan. Big cities housed more people, more to become infected and turn into carnivorous two-legged beasts.

I folded my arms and leaned against the tailgate of the SUV. A large black shape in the sky caught my attention. I looked up to see a huge bird soaring above us. I watched it fly, wings open, just effortlessly gliding through the air. It began its telltale circling and I knew all too well that something was about to get eaten.

Another joined, circling almost in tandem. And then another. It wasn’t a hawk like I thought. They were turkey vultures and turkey vultures were scavengers.

“There’s something dead over there,” I told the guys and pointed.

“Where?” Hayden asked, his hand flying to the M9 that was tucked into the back of his pants.

“Way over there. Do you see the turkey vultures?”

“The what?” Ivan asked.

“Those big birds flying around. They circle like that when there is something dead. I don’t know if they would eat zombies or not. Maybe if they weren’t horribly rotten there might be some good meat left. Or plenty of tasty bugs wiggling around in their skulls.”

“Nice imagery, Penwell,” Ivan told me.

“It’s on our way; we can drive over and take a look,” Hayden said. We all got back into the cars, not bothering to put our seatbelts on. Only a few minutes later we came across what the turkey vultures were eating.

Two birds blinked at us before taking flight, their long wings flapping as they flew to safety.

“It’s just road kill,” Rider said with a disappointed shake of his head. It used to be so common I almost dismissed it. Hayden snapped his head back to look at me; our eyes locked—he was thinking what I was thinking.

He put the truck in park and got out. I hurried after him. Brock rushed over too. Never before had I been so excited to see a dead raccoon in the middle of the road.

“Has it been dead long?” Brock asked me as if I would know.

I nudged it with my foot. “A few days at the most,” I guessed. The vultures had done a good job picking it apart. It was honestly hard to tell if the poor little guy was fresh or not.

“There are still bloodstains,” Hayden said, scuffing then with his foot. He looked down the street.

“They have to be close,” Brock commented. The other three guys joined us.

“Uh, what is so significant about this?” Rider asked.

“It was hit by a car,” I said, emphasizing ‘car’.

I could see the light bulb flick on in Rider’s mind. “People were here,” he said aloud.

“Let’s find them!” Wade exclaimed. “Can you tell which way they went?” he asked nobody in particular.

I shook my head. Dammit. I should have paid closer attention to all those reruns of
CSI
; I was sure there was a way to tell.  Ivan pulled out the map.