Indestructible: V Plague Book 7 (25 page)

The residential area at the bottom of the slope was quiet. 
Dark and quiet.  Other than the sound of trash and leaves skittering down the
streets, being tossed by a night breeze, nothing was moving.  The houses were
small and not particularly well kept.  Most were in need of repair and paint,
and the few front yards that showed any green were only growing weeds.

Not a good neighborhood.  The kind where you expect to see
Pitbulls chained to trees while sullen men work on rusting cars in the shade. 
But we didn’t see any of that, though I would have been happy if we had.  The
complete absence of life meant that there had either been a house-to-house
evacuation, or the population had turned.

I led the way through the empty streets, rifle in front and
ready to go if needed.  I hoped it wasn’t needed, as I didn’t have much ammo
left.  One encounter with even a small group of females, or any size group of
armed survivors with bad intentions and I’d be dry.

Dog walked at my side, alert as ever as we pushed deeper
into the abandoned city.  Katie and Martinez walked a few feet behind us. 
Katie carried my pistol, which was also low on ammo and wasn’t sound
suppressed.  I’d reminded her not to fire if there was any possible way to
avoid it.  Martinez walked with my Ka-Bar knife held loosely in her right
hand. 

We weren’t well armed, but we could still fight if we had
to.  I hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.  I was counting on finding a vehicle
we could commandeer to get us across the city and to the airport where the
National Guard air unit was housed.  But so far there wasn’t a single car or
truck to be seen.  At least none of the houses had garages, only a few of them
even boasting a single space carport.  That saved us the time of having to
check every garage we passed.

It wasn’t long before we reached a commercial area.  Keeping
to the darkest shadows I brought us to the rear of a squat, cinderblock
building that had been painted white sometime last century.  A dark neon sign
advertised liquor and videos.  There was a small door that opened into the rear
lot that once upon a time had been protected by a heavy iron security gate.

The gate now rested in the gravel parking lot, twenty feet
from the building.  Large chunks of the exterior wall had been torn out when it
was ripped away and the door it had protected was gently swinging back and
forth in the breeze.  The opening was black, the inside of the store even
darker than the night, and I suspected there were similar security measures on
the front that blocked any moonlight from making it to the interior.

I would have bypassed the building, but there was a ten year
old Jeep Cherokee sitting in the back lot, front bumper pulled up close to the
dirty wall.  It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to realize it most likely belonged
to an employee, or possibly the owner, of the liquor store.  If we could find
the keys, we had our ride to the airport.

“Check it,” I hissed to Martinez as I kept the rifle trained
on the open door.

“Locked up tight,” she said a minute later.

Shit.  I’d hoped we’d get incredibly lucky and the keys
would be dangling from the ignition, the gas tank full and the doors unlocked. 
I might as well have been hoping for Santa Claus to swoop in and give us a
ride.  Either scenario had about the same likelihood.

“You two stay here and keep watch.  Dog and I are going in,”
I said, not waiting for an acknowledgement.

Pausing to the side of the entrance, I checked on Dog.  He
stood directly in front of the opening, head stretched forward as he sampled
the air.  After a few moments of watching him and not hearing a growl, I
stepped through into the pitch-black interior.  It probably wasn’t as dark as
some areas of the caverns, but it was too dark for me to be able to see a
threat before it was on top of me.  I was very happy to have Dog at my side.

Moving deeper into the store I shuffled my feet as I
walked.  I had no idea what objects might be on the floor and I’d rather kick
something than step on it and turn an ankle.  The smell of alcohol was
overpowering.  Whiskey, rum, tequila, and the sickly sweet aroma of beer told
me that there had been a lot of bottles broken and their contents spilled.

“Stay!” I mumbled to Dog.

There had to be a lot of broken glass on the floor and I
didn’t want him to slice his feet open.  He hadn’t alerted on the presence of
any danger, infected or survivor, so I was fairly confident in proceeding
without his nose, eyes and ears at my side.

I had only taken a couple more steps when the toe of my boot
came into contact with a bottle, sending it spinning across the hard floor.  There
was a crunch under my foot, and I was glad I’d stopped Dog when I did.  Moving
on, every step I took was on shards of shattered glass, the crunching and
cracking sounds seemingly as loud as gunshots in the silence of the dark
building.

The store was small.  No larger than the average convenience
store.  It didn’t take long for me to reach the front, bumping into a waist
high counter.  Reaching out I could feel a chipped laminate covering, then
something smooth that ran from the counter up as high as I could stretch my
hand.  A bullet proof sheet of glass, I realized after a moment.  No.  Not a
good neighborhood.

And not good news.  The presence of the protection against
armed robbers meant the entire register and office area was most likely
secured.  I had hoped to either find a body with keys in the pocket, or keys
left behind the counter, but my optimism was fading.

Covering all my bases I followed the counter, bumping along
in the dark.  Reaching a corner I turned and ran into a door that gave when my
body touched it.  Access to the register, and it was standing open.  Stepping
around it I stopped when my foot hit something that felt soft.  Squatting, my
suspicion was confirmed when I touched a body.

It was male, I could tell that much as I ran my hands over
the corpse searching for pockets.  I found a wallet, a pack of gum and a
disposable butane lighter, but no keys.  Flicking the lighter, I blinked in the
light of the flame and looked at the dead man.  He was middle aged with a
swarthy complexion and closely cropped beard. 

A conservatively colored Kufi, a traditional cotton cap worn
by many Muslim men, covered his close cropped dark hair.  His throat had been
torn out, almost certainly by an infected female.  Blood soaked the front of
the knee length Kurta, a Muslim shirt, which he wore over jeans.  His body had
fallen across the threshold to the small, secured area, preventing the armored
door from swinging closed.

Stepping over the dead man, I held the lighter higher and
searched the area with my eyes.  A cash register occupied most of the available
counter space, a small calculator sitting next to it.  On the next shelf down I
recognized a rolled prayer rug, next to it the butt of a pistol.  Grabbing the
weapon I shoved it in my waistband and kept looking, finally spotting a large
ring of keys.

The lighter’s flame was shrinking, and I looked for
another.  A display stacked high with all different sizes was to the side and I
was reaching for one when I spotted another display targeted at the impulse
buyer.  Small, LED flashlights.  Grabbing one I clicked the rubber covered
button on the end and it came on.  Not a lot of light, but plenty in the small,
dark store. 

Shoving two more in my pocket for Katie and Martinez, I
picked up the key ring and examined it.  At least two dozen keys, more like
what a janitor would carry than a small business owner, but there was a key
with the Jeep name and logo stamped on it.  Dropping the ring in my pocket, I
was turning to head back to where I’d left Dog when something caught my eye.

Aiming the light I frowned when I realized what it was.  A
stack of Passports on one of the lower shelves.  Picking them up I shuffled
through, noting issuing countries of Syria, Saudi Arabia, Yemen and Kuwait.  I
began opening them, looking at the photos and names.  There were twenty-four in
all, each of them with a different photo of a young, Middle Eastern looking
male, and each also contained a US Student Visa.

None of them were the man on the floor who was easily twice
the age of any of the Passport holders.  I started to get upset, then came to
my senses and tossed the stack on the floor.  This guy was most likely involved
with terrorists.  There was really no other reason for him to have all of these
documents.  But it didn’t really matter.  All of these guys were probably
already dead, or had turned.  And if they hadn’t, they would soon.

Moving through the store was much easier with the little
flashlight and I quickly found Dog sitting, waiting patiently for me.  Grabbing
several bottles of water off a shelf, I scratched his head and headed for the
exit, clicking the light off and stepping to the side when I heard voices
coming from the parking lot.

Peeking my head around the doorframe I got a good view of
the lot.  Katie and Martinez were standing behind the Jeep.  Katie held the
pistol up, aimed at a man carrying an AK-47.  Two more stood behind him, equally
armed.  Martinez held my knife straight down behind her right leg. 

The moonlight wasn’t bright, but it provided enough
illumination for me to recognize the three men.  I’d just been looking at their
photos in Yemeni Passports.  Dog growled softly and I placed a hand on the back
of his neck to calm him.

“This is our Uncle’s store,” the one closest said.

“Then back away and we’ll be leaving,” Katie said.  She
spoke in a loud voice and I knew she was buying time and trying to alert me.

“I do not think so,” the young man said.  “My cousins like
American women.  You should stay with us.”

OK, enough.  I was almost certain these guys were the
remainder of a terrorist cell that had been plotting something before the
attacks.  I’ve known a few foreign nationals that were in the country for a
variety of legitimate reasons, and not a single one of them would have been
caught dead without his or her Passport and Visa. 

Plus, I was watching the way these guys held their weapons and
how the two in back kept up a constant scan of the area while the leader kept
Katie and Martinez talking.  They were trained.  Maybe not by a real military,
but by someone who knew what he was doing.

“And you do not want to fire that pistol,” the leader said,
stepping farther away from his comrades.  “There are what you call infected not
far away.  The sound of gun fire will bring them here.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I said to myself as I pulled the
trigger on my suppressed rifle and put a round in his head.

Shifting aim to the next closest man I fired, but he was already
in motion and the round punched into his shoulder.  I adjusted and fired a
second time as something flew towards the third guy.  My guy’s finger was on
the trigger and when my follow up shot tore through his neck he pulled it
reflexively and held it.  His rifle was full automatic, and it ran through a
full magazine as he fell to the gravel and began spasming.

The gunfire was loud and seemed to last forever.  I shifted
aim to the third man, but held my fire when I saw the hilt of my Ka-Bar
sticking up from his throat.  I’d forgotten how deadly Martinez was with a
blade.  She’d thrown the knife fifteen yards, at a small target, in the dark,
and had hit the bullseye.

“Coming out,” I called, just in case Katie was a little
jumpy with the pistol.

Running across the lot, I checked each of the men to make
sure they were dead.  Retrieving the knife, I wiped it clean and handed to
Martinez as she ran up.  Dog had followed me, but backed away when she
arrived.  Fishing out the key ring I tossed it to Katie and while Martinez and
I grabbed the rifles off the bodies and snatched up spare magazines, she got
the Jeep open and running.

I was going to drive, Martinez climbing in the back seat and
Katie scooting over, but Dog wouldn’t get in the Jeep.  With a sigh of
exasperation I put the two women in front, Katie behind the wheel and got in
back.  Dog got in, then jumped over the seat back into the cargo area to be as
far away from them as he could get.

“Which way?”  Katie asked, reversing across the lot.

“East is the best I can tell you,” Martinez answered. 
“Airport’s on the eastern edge of town.  Shouldn’t be that hard to find.  Tulsa
isn’t that large.”

Gravel spun as Katie accelerated out of the lot and turned
onto a four-lane street.  Infected were already converging on the area, drawn
by the very long burst of automatic weapon fire.  They appeared out of alleys
and from behind buildings, but Katie pushed our speed up and we quickly left
the area behind.

“What the hell was that about?”  She asked after a few
minutes of driving.  I was occupied with checking over our new arsenal.

“Those three were Yemeni terrorists,” I said without looking
up.

“What?  How could you possibly know that?”  Katie asked.

“Inside that store there was a stack of passports, each of
them with a student visa.  I had just looked at their pictures.”  I said.

“Sorry,” she said.  “You’re right.  They get in the country,
then ditch their real passports and visas and carry forged ID with different
names.  Makes it a bitch to track them.  That was one reason Homeland started
recording the fingerprints of all foreign nationals entering the country.”

“Well, doesn’t matter any more.”  I said. 

After a moment she nodded and focused on her driving.

“How did we make out?”  Martinez asked, turning in her seat
to look at the AKs.

“Three rifles.  Well used, but in good condition.  Three
hundred rounds.  Here,” I said, handing one of them to Martinez along with a
couple of magazines.  She placed it on the seat next to Katie and reached back
for another.  Handing a second one over I passed a couple of bottles of water
to her as well.

“By the way, that was a hell of a throw with the Ka-Bar.”  I
said, leaning back in the seat, drinking deeply and looking at the dark, empty
city passing outside the windows. 

“Thanks,” Martinez said.

“That wasn’t exactly a compliment,” I said and she turned
around to look at me.  “It’s a heavy knife.  For fighting.  Stabbing. 
Slashing.  The balance is all wrong for throwing, but you put enough force
behind it to be accurate at forty-five feet and still bury an eight inch blade
to the hilt.  Seem normal to you?”

“When you say it that way… no, it doesn’t.”  She conceded. 
“I just threw it the way I always do.”

“And what you would normally throw weighs about a third of
my Ka-Bar and is perfectly balanced, or so close as to not matter.  Right?”  I
asked.

It was quiet in the Jeep as Martinez thought about what I
had just said.  She looked behind me at Dog, then back at me.

“Has he always been a party pooper like this?”  She turned
to Katie.

“If you only knew,” she said, laughing.  “He’s the guy at
the party that leans on the wall and watches everyone else.  Even the drunks
leave him alone.”

“It’s not being anti-social if you don’t like the people at
the party,” I said.

“Whatever you say, sweetie.”  Katie said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes and sat back in the seat.  If they weren’t
going to take this seriously there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. 
Maybe I could have handled Martinez’ sarcasm, or Katie’s quick wit and
smart-ass answer to everything, but together I didn’t stand a chance in hell so
I just shut up.

 We drove on through the night, seeing the occasional roving
band of infected.  If there were any other survivors in Tulsa they weren’t
showing themselves.  They were probably barricaded in something like a school
or church and weren’t about to step outside if they didn’t have to.

“There,” Martinez pointed to a sign that had an arrow
underneath large letters that said “AIRPORT”.  Katie took the turn and
accelerated onto a three lane freeway.

“Why are there infected here?”  Katie asked once we were
back up to speed.

“What do you mean?”  I asked, trying not to sound like I
thought she was an idiot for asking such a question.

“Fuck you, babe.”  She said in a gentle tone, which caused
Martinez to snort a laugh.  “What I mean is, why aren’t all of them in Oklahoma
City?  Or at least on their way?  Rachel told me about how the Russians are
controlling them, causing them to form into herds.  So, why are there any of
them still here?”

“I have no idea,” I finally said after trying to think of
any reason.  “Could they be people that were deaf and they can’t hear the
harmonic?”

“No way,” Martinez answered.  “Far too many infected still
hanging around.  My niece was born deaf and I remember my sister talking about
the odds and the percentage of the population that’s deaf.  It’s only something
like one out of every thousand.  That would mean there should only be two to
three hundred deaf people in Tulsa.  We’ve seen way more infected than that
already.”

“Then I’ve got no fucking clue, but if we get a chance to
talk to someone who can actually do something with the information we should
mention it.”  I said.

“See.  Not such a stupid question was it?”  Katie couldn’t
resist rubbing it in.  “You forget, darling.  I’m the brains and you’re just
the brawn.” 

It was quiet for a beat then both women burst out laughing. 
Great.  The two biggest smart ass, sarcastic women I’d ever known were bonding.