Here We Stand (Book 1): Infected (Surviving The Evacuation) (11 page)

She was shaking. The shotgun, which had been balanced across the handlebars, fell from her grip. Her expression was one of abject misery.

“Why?” she asked. “All this… it’s… why?” There was no real question in the words. Or perhaps there were so many that none could be answered, certainly not by Tom.

“How much fuel do you have in the tank?” he asked instead.

Slowly her head turned to the gauge. “A quarter. You?”

“About the same.”

In the distance, there was the sound of a helicopter. A moment later it was drowned out by the roar of an explosion.

“Will anywhere be safe?” Helena asked.

“I don’t know.” He wiped his hands against his coat. Automatically, he searched for cuts, and wished he hadn’t. He saw none, but knew there was nothing he could have done had he found any. He picked up the shotgun and stuck it in the straps behind Helena’s seat.

“We need to find better weapons,” he said.

“Or more ammunition. Or a world where—” She stopped, took a breath. “We need to get out of here.”

“Let’s keep moving, as far as we can get, and hope safety finds us if we don’t find it first.”

“Hope?” She shook her head. “What good is that?”

Chapter 10 - Grand Theft Auto

Fair Lawn, New Jersey

West End Avenue, Essex Street, Berkshire Road: the British names made him think of Bill Wright. He rocked his head from side to side, trying to shake those thoughts away. It was shock, he supposed, calling to mind all the things he’d left undone and unsaid, but it was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

The fuel gauge bounced erratically between empty and full. He had no idea what that meant other than it was time to find a better vehicle. The further west they rode, the more streets they found barricaded. Some of the barriers were hasty constructs of vehicles and junk. Others were of wood, concrete, and steel, made with an impressive professionalism matched by the armed figures standing sentry at windows and on rooftops. They passed a turning blocked by two police cruisers. A pair of uniformed officers stood nearby, and the people with them all wore vests marked ‘police’, but Tom didn’t think any of them carried a badge. At least, from all that he could see, people were staying at home. Whatever warnings had been given, and whoever had given them, they were being heeded.

There was a bang from Helena’s bike, a rattle, a high-pitched whine, and it came to a sudden stop, billowing smoke from the exhaust. He brought his own bike to a halt. Wordlessly, she climbed on the back. When he tried the throttle, the engine wouldn’t start.

“On foot, then,” he said.

“There’s a car over there,” she said, pointing toward a drive.

“Look at the window above. People are watching.”

She grabbed the shotgun from the back of her stalled bike. “So?”

“So they’re probably armed, and with ammunition for their guns. What have we got? A few bottles of water.” Automatically, he checked his pockets. He still had the money he’d brought with him from the apartment. He doubted that would buy them anything any more. He started walking. “Besides, do you know how to steal a car?”

“I sort of assumed you would,” she said. “Isn’t that the sort of tradecraft they teach you in the CIA?”

“I’m not CIA,” he said. “I’m not a spy. I analyze data.”

“Yeah, sure. So are you saying you don’t know how to hot-wire a car?”

“Well…. yes, I do, but not one that’s made of more silicon than steel. I need something at least a decade old.”

“Ah.” She gave a self-satisfied smile as if he’d just confirmed her suspicions. He let it go.

The next street was guarded, but there were no barriers. Vehicles were lined up on the curb, with people scurrying back and forth, loading their possessions. From the irate yells of the bearded man who seemed to be in charge, they were putting together a convoy.

“Keep moving,” the sentry yelled at them. Tom did.

“Remember the road,” Tom said.

“Why?” Helena asked.

“If we can’t find anywhere else, we’ll double back. They won’t have taken every vehicle with them. We’ll find an empty house with a car in the drive, break into the house, and find the keys. That’d be far easier than trying to hot-wire it.”

“They might leave some cars, but they won’t leave the fuel in the tanks, will they?”

“We won’t know until we check,” he said, but she had a point. Surrounded by armed people, even when those guns were being pointed at them, he felt safe again. Not relaxed, but able to think more clearly about the next stage of the journey.

“We could look for a vehicle rental place,” she suggested. “Or a hospital parking lot, or—”

There was an explosion behind them. They both turned around. Smoke billowed up from the east. The moment of calm was gone.

“The next turning,” Tom said. “And we’ll take the next likely-looking car we see.”

It was a slightly smaller road, filled with slightly smaller houses.

“Do you see the people at the windows?” he said. “They’re protecting their own properties, not each other’s.”

“So?”

“So, do you see the pickup truck, four houses down?”

“The one with ‘Mr Wu does the gardening for you’ on the side. Sure.”

“The house is empty,” he said.

“How can you tell?”

“The leaves haven’t been cleared from the lawn in a week. If the guy’s a gardener, he’d keep his lawn pristine as an advertisement. The only explanation: the house is empty. Stay on the curb, hold the shotgun like you’re prepared to use it, and hope no one realizes it’s empty.”

“Hope? Huh!” she muttered, raising the gun.

Tom darted ahead, down the drive, and to the truck. There was no time to pick the lock, so he smashed the window with the butt of the revolver. Making a point of waving the gun above his head, he ducked inside, and pulled the panel away from under the dash. It was a long time since he’d done this. He’d learned the knack during his childhood, and had been surprised to find that cars across the world were wired more or less the same. The only problem now was remembering which one to—

“Tom!” Helena called.

“Ten seconds,” he said.

“Not sure we have that long!”

The engine bucked, stopped, and then it roared. He pulled off the handbrake, slid it into reverse, and slammed a foot down on the gas. Only then did he look behind. He saw Helena dive out of the way. There was a shot. Another. Helena jumped into the truck bed. Tom shunted the car into first. There was another shot. He glanced in the mirror. People had come out of the houses. One held a rifle, and Tom saw him lower it without firing again. He took the next turn, and they were all lost from sight.

Chapter 11 - Syphon

February 22
nd
, NY, NJ, or PA

Tom woke, but didn’t open his eyes. As long as they were closed he could pretend it had all been a bad dream. The pain in his neck told him that wasn’t the case. A bird trilled nearby, echoed by another in the distance. At least there was no screaming. He opened his eyes. They were surrounded by trees, though they were not as densely overgrown as he’d thought when they had stopped.

They’d driven, sometimes south, sometimes north, but more west than east until it was dark, pulling in to what he’d thought was a campground. They’d slept in the cab, covered by a muddy tarpaulin from the back of the truck. He’d tried telling himself that he’d slept in worse places. Trying to come up with an example had kept him awake long after Helena had begun snoring.

They weren’t in a campground, just a cleared patch of woodland at the side of a farmed forest. Helena was by the tailgate, arms folded, her eyes on the trees.

“Morning,” he said.

“Hey. It’s so quiet, isn’t it? It’s wonderful. Peaceful. Listen. No traffic. No planes. Nothing.”

He found himself looking up. He’d no idea precisely where they were. They’d kept driving until they’d left the suburbs and exurbs behind. He wasn’t even sure if they were in New York, New Jersey, or Pennsylvania.

“The airports were shut down,” he said. “I checked, but it was done too late. The virus had already reached Paris.”

“Oh, I wish you hadn’t said that,” Helena said, turning away from the trees. “I was trying to enjoy the moment. I know it’s stupid, but I’ve spent most of my life in cities. I mean, sure, I’ve been away on holidays, but I don’t think I’ve been anywhere that seemed as remote as this road.”

As far as he could tell, it was no different to any other country road he’d ever traveled.

“I was enjoying the dream,” Helena continued. “Imagining that I’d left New York and was finally beginning the next chapter of my life. But I have to wake up, now, and face reality.”

“Yeah. And I wouldn’t mind it if this reality included some breakfast.”

Helena gave an exasperated growl.

Tom took out the sat-phone, plugged in the tablet, and waited for a signal. Waited. Waited. There. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I can give you our longitude and latitude, but the map’s not loading.”

“What does that mean?”

“That particular part of the internet is overloaded. The only maps I downloaded were of New York and Washington D.C. I’ve got nothing for here.” He glanced up again. “Wherever that is.”

“Oh. So…” There was a pause. “Where do we go now?”

He glanced up and down the road, hoping for a sign he’d previously missed. There wasn’t one. Dr Ayers’s home was around three hundred and fifty miles from New York. Precisely how far it was from where they were now, he wasn’t sure, but if he could find the gas, he could be there before evening.
He
or
they
, that was the real question.

“You said you had a sister in Canada?” he asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’m heading west, almost as far as Lake Erie. You might be able to catch a ferry across the lake from there. Where in Canada does she live?”

“She had a place in Toronto,” Helena said. “But she moved a couple of years ago. She’s not there anymore.”

“So where is she?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

He recognized the tone. With a little prompting she’d confess to some secret. He didn’t have time for that. An idea came to him. He sent a brief message to Bill. If the man was out of surgery and back at a computer, he could find a map.

“Who’s Bill?” Helena asked.

“What?” He put it down to tiredness, but he’d not realized she’d been reading over his shoulder. “A friend. In London. He works in the government.”

“Oh. Right.” She looked at the tablet, the sat-phone, and then at Tom, this time with greater scrutiny than since they’d met.

“And there’s no reply from him,” Tom said hurriedly putting the sat-phone and tablet away. “Well, there’s no point standing here. Maybe there’ll be a diner open in the next town.”

“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully.

Tom’s policy the evening before had been to avoid the interstate. He still thought that a prudent decision, but it meant they were now on a two-lane road absent of any useful signs.

“We’re traveling south,” Helena said. “Don’t we want to go west?”

“There’s not much I can do about it.” He was missing his morning coffee. He was missing his bed, his house, even his life – as far from normal as that had been. “Sorry,” he added. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

Helena made a noncommittal noise. “Who’s Bill? I mean, really.”

“Like I said, he works in the British government.”

“He’s a spy, too?”

“No. And neither am I,” he said.

“That’s what you’re meant to say, right? I mean, you have a contact in the White House, and then first thing this morning, you try to reach someone in the British government? That’s not what normal people do.”

“Show me a normal person, I’ll show you someone putting on a very good act.”

“Hmm. So who is he, really?”

Tom sighed. She wasn’t going to be fobbed off. He’d long ago learned that it was easier to tell a version of the truth missing some facts than to lie outright. “He really does work in the British government. He’s a professional political operative. A strategist for hire. I tried calling him yesterday, a nurse answered. He was in a hospital with a broken leg. I thought that if he was conscious, he might have been able to help.”

“If he was
conscious
? Don’t you have any other contacts?”

This time, the truth was far too complicated to explain. “It’s all down to what phone numbers I can remember. His is one of them.” He checked the tablet. “And there’s no reply. He’s probably still sedated. Which means he can’t find us a map, and can’t tell us where we are.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said. “So who’s out west?”

He glanced over at her. Yesterday, she’d seemed… normal wasn’t the right word. Quiet, subdued. Had that been shock? Was this inquisitive questioning her true nature, or was it the product of all they’d experienced?

He reset the odometer. “About a fifth of a tank left,” he said. “Do you want to take a guess at what the most fuel-efficient speed would be?”

“Thirty-five? Who’s out west?” she asked again.

He thought of lying, but there was little point. “A scientist. Someone who might know how these… well, who might be able to give them a more useful name than zombies.”

“You know him?”

“Her. And we’ve never met.”

“Okay. And so you go to this scientist, and she says… what?”

“I don’t know. She might know how to stop them.”

“You mean she might have an anti-virus in a fridge or something?” she asked, skepticism returning to her voice.

“No. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that she might know where we start in coming up with a plan to stop these things.”

“If she did, wouldn’t she already have told someone at the CDC or somewhere?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no way of knowing until I ask her.”

“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there,” she said. “I’m a teacher, believe me, I’m used to subterfuge and evasion. Do you think she created it or something?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Possibly. I don’t know. I mean, I have no reason to suspect her over anyone else, but at the same time, I can’t think of anyone else who could come up with something so horrific. Maybe she didn’t create it, but the scientific world is small, she might know who did. Yeah, it’s not much of a lead, and maybe you’re right. I’ll get there and find she’s already working with the CDC, but what’s the alternative? Wait this out in some well-stocked bunker? I don’t know where one is.” That wasn’t strictly true. “But even if I did, this isn’t going away overnight. How long do we hide? Months? Years? No bunker will have enough supplies. You saw what Manhattan was like. It’ll only get worse. People might stay in their homes and barricade their streets, but the power grid will collapse. The water will stop running. The food will run out, and people will turn on one another. Neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend. They’ll fight. They’ll kill. Some will run, straight into the arms of the undead. They’ll be infected, and we’ll—”

“Stop!”

He slammed a foot on the brake, looking around for the threat. He saw none.

Helena swore. “I meant stop talking like that,” she said. “I get it. This is bad. I… I don’t need you to spell it out. I was there. I saw it, too.”

“Okay. Sorry. Sorry.” He sighed. “Seriously, do you know of anywhere between here and the Great Lakes we can go?”

“Everyone I know is in New York.”

“There’s a place in Maine, I—” He stopped, remembering himself in time. “It’s too far.” He glanced down at the fuel gauge. There was Julio and the airfield. Depending on precisely where they were, that was due south, and perhaps a little to the east. It was probably closer, but he wasn’t going to run and hide. He couldn’t. “I don’t know of anywhere we can reach without stopping for gas. We might make it to the Allegheny only having to stop once. Right now, that’s as good a destination as anywhere.”

“The Allegheny? That’s remote, isn’t it? Okay. Fewer people means fewer zombies. Okay.” She sounded mollified. “But we’re going to run out of gas in seventy-five miles.”

“You sure?”

She tapped the odometer. “Teacher, remember.”

He started the engine, driving more slowly. Perhaps he could leave her in a town, or find someone heading to Canada. He wasn’t going to take her into more danger, but nor was he going to tell her that. Not yet, at least. To forestall any further questions, he turned on the radio.

“I know this is a tragedy,” a woman said. “And maybe it’s because of that. Seeing all those videos of deaths yesterday, but there’s something… I dunno… reassuring in the way they blew that bridge up.”

“Reassuring? Yeah, I know what you mean,” a man replied. “With Manhattan isolated, it does seem like they’re getting a handle on things.”

“The military are,” the woman said. “I don’t think Washington has a clue.”

“When does it ever?” the man said, adding a nervous laugh. “But let’s leave the party politics alone for a while. This has to be the time to for us to put aside our differences and come together as—”

“No, I think this is exactly the time to talk about politics,” the woman cut in. “Maxwell won the popular vote with fifty-five percent, and he’s claimed that as a mandate. That means that nearly half the voters chose someone else. Now, look at the turnout. Look at the people who couldn’t even be bothered to turn out. He’s only got the support of thirty-two percent of the population eligible to vote. That’s not a mandate.”

“I really don’t think this is the time to discuss the election,” the man said.

“And I agree,” Tom said, and changed the station.

“I’m going to repeat the information we have… um… the news, I suppose,” a woman said. She spoke with uncertainty, in a voice that wasn’t right for radio. There was the sound of paper shuffling. “Um… according to the major news networks, the outbreak has been mostly contained to Manhattan. The island has been cut off. The bridges have been destroyed. Shipping has been… has been sunk. There are isolated cases in the United States and overseas. Yesterday, they broadcast an… well, an attack, I suppose, in Paris. There was video footage, recorded on the Champs-Élysées. Two of the networks are reporting incidents in Sydney and in Moscow. Um… look, I’ve seen the footage they’re talking about and I couldn’t say where those where. They could have come from anywhere. Um…” There was a pause. “That’s what the major networks are saying. I… I’m not saying they’re lying. I mean…” She took a breath. “Look, there’s a huge contradiction in what they’re saying. They can’t have contained the virus on Manhattan while saying there are outbreaks in Australia, Russia, and France. What? Oh. Um… Brad says… My producer, Brad, he said that it could be possible, if the outbreak began simultaneously in multiple locations. I hadn’t thought of that. Is there a way of confirming it?”

From the pause, Tom thought the question was asked of the unheard producer.

“Good point. Okay, people. Listeners, um… I suppose it doesn’t matter whether this began in New York or not, or if they’ve got zombies on the moon. They’re here, in America. So what do you do? What should we do? The official line is that you should stay inside. Do not travel. Isolate anyone who gets infected. That’s it. That’s all we’ve been told. Or I assume it is. It’s just me and Brad here. Maybe FEMA’s sent us a message we’re meant to broadcast, but we’ve not found it. Everyone who was here yesterday has gone. No one else has come in. Hey, maybe you guys are listening.” Her voice rose to a yell. “If so, come to work!” There was a pause. “Yeah. Right. Okay. Well, that official line seems to be the best advice. What else do we know? The schools are closed, at least that’s the case for the ones around. No trains are meant to be running although I saw freight trains moving on the railroad when I went up to the roof a few hours ago. The hospital isn’t accepting any new admissions. Patients are being sent home. They’ve said that you shouldn’t come in to collect any family members; they’re moving them by ambulance. That’s for the Mother of Mercy hospital, and direct from their chief administrator. What else? Do we have anything else? Okay, well there’s no point me repeating the same thing over and over. I’m going to see if we can find something new to tell you. We’ll be back. As long as there’s electricity, we’ll keep broadcasting. Stay inside. Stay safe.” There was a moment of silence. “Do I press the red button? The green—” Her voice was cut short by a guitar riff that led into an old protest song Tom hadn’t heard in a decade.