Rolling Thunder - 03 (3 page)

He fell to the ground screaming and cursing me and the two
younger ones dropped the bags in their arms and started scrambling to get
behind the Toyota.  I fired again and one of them spun to the ground with a
shattered hip.  Turning quickly I shot the third one in the lower back as he
dove behind the pickup.  He flopped to the ground and started trying to drag
himself away with his arms.  His legs weren’t working any longer.

Stepping down off the porch with rifle at the ready I roughly
searched each of them, removing a pistol and a knife from each and the keys for
the Dodge from the older one and the Toyota keys from one of the younger ones. 
I walked over and piled the weapons into the cab of the Dodge and locked it
with the remote on the key chain.  They cursed me.  Spat at me.  Screamed at
me.  I ignored them and said nothing.  Didn’t react to them at all as I worked,
piling the three of them into the back of the Toyota, none too gently.  By now the
younger ones were frightened and pleading with me, asking what I was doing and
why I was doing it. 

With them loaded up, I got into the cab of the truck and
started the engine, then drove around to the barn and stopped next to the
ambulance.  Getting out, I ignored their renewed curses, checked on Dog and
Rachel then disappeared into the barn for a moment after making sure the straw
I’d stuck into the door jamb was undisturbed.  When I’d cleared the barn
earlier I’d noticed a cabinet that held several lengths of chain and padlocks. 
These are used to secure equipment at horse shows and events so it didn’t grow
legs and wander off on its own.  Tossing the chains and locks into the Toyota I
climbed back in and headed across the pasture behind the barn.

The pasture was large, maybe half a mile across, and at the
edge of it the forest that had been cut back was thick with large oak, elm and
walnut trees.  Parking at the edge of the forest I stepped out of the cab,
walked around to the tailgate and drug out the one farthest back, letting him
fall to the ground.  It was the one I’d paralyzed with the shot to his back and
his head cracked against the tailgate as I drug him out of the truck by an
ankle.  He was crying now, tears rolling down his face and snot bubbling out of
his nose.

“C’mon mister.  What the hell?  I didn’t do nothing to you! 
Please!  I need a doctor!”  I ignored his pleas, dragging him to the closest
tree where I sat him up and chained him to it around his waist.  Pulling the
chain tight I snapped the lock into place and walked back to the truck.

Five minutes later all three were secured to the same tree,
the chains tight enough around their waists that even if they had the use of
their legs they still wouldn’t be able to get free.  They had stopped cursing
me.  No more screaming.  Only tears from the two younger ones and a look of stubborn
resignation on the older one’s face.  I stood in front of them for a few
moments, looking at them, then turned to go.

“What did they mean to you?”  The older one called.

I stopped and turned, wanting to raise my rifle and empty a
magazine into each of them.  Wanting to draw my Kukri and see how many body
parts I could remove before they died.  But I didn’t.  I wanted them to know
terror like they had inflicted before they died.  When the infected arrived,
they would know terror.

“They didn’t mean anything to me,” I answered, climbed in
the Toyota and headed back to the barn.

I woke up eight hours later by the dash clock in the
ambulance.  For a moment I was disoriented, didn’t know where I was or what had
wakened me, then I heard it again.  Everything clicked into place and I
scrambled off the gurney in the back of the ambulance and looked down at Rachel
who was awake and calling my name.

“Hi,” I said, smiling down at her.

“What happened to me?  Am I alright?”  She was still
strapped to the backboard and couldn’t move.  The look on her face was one of
true fear.

“It’s a really long story, so first things first.  Can you
feel your legs?  Your feet?  Wiggle your toes?”  She looked at me and a whole
new wave of fear washed across her features.

“I think I’m wiggling them,” she said, trying to raise her
head to look at her feet, but the strap across her forehead kept her secure.

“Hold on.”  I crab walked my way to the foot of the
backboard and gently unlaced, then removed Rachel’s boots, wincing with every
movement of my hands.  The anesthetic had worn off and they hurt like a son of
a bitch.  “OK.  Wiggle again.”

I let out a big sigh of relief when all of her toes started
waving in the air, and the smile on my face was all she needed to let her know
everything was working as it was supposed to.  Quickly I pulled the straps lose
and a moment later Rachel was free and sitting up.  She started to say
something then clamped her mouth shut and scrambled out the back door and
dashed to the far side of the barn, disappearing into an empty horse stall.

Grinning, I stepped out and looked around for Dog.  He was
stretched out on a pile of straw in a stall with one of the horses.  They had
both been asleep, waking when Rachel made her bathroom dash, and now Dog lay
there looking at me with half closed eyes, his tail lazily wagging just enough
to rustle the straw.  Out of old habit I reached to my breast pocket for a pack
of cigarettes that wasn’t there, muttered a curse and sat down on the back
bumper of the ambulance.  A couple of minutes later Rachel came back and sat
down next to me.  She looked at the damaged back end of the vehicle then turned
to me with an expectant look on her face.

I filled her in on all that had happened since she had been
knocked unconscious by the exploding fuel tanks.  It took a while and I made
sure I didn’t leave anything out until I got to our arrival at the barn.  I
told her about the bodies in the house, but didn’t go into details about the
three men I’d shot and chained up in the forest.  Some things I do, and they
damn well need doing, but that doesn’t mean I’m proud of them. 

We talked for a few more minutes then decided to walk down
to the house to see if the water was still on.  Rachel dug clean clothes out of
our packs while I checked the clock in the ambulance and noted we were still ok
on time, but didn’t have long before we needed to start moving again in case
the herd was heading our direction.  Walking around the Dodge truck that I’d
pulled into the barn after hiding the Toyota behind the horse trailer so no
vehicles were visible to passerby, I raised my rifle when we reached the
doors.  Dog stood up, shook the straw out of his fur and joined us.  Unlocking
the doors I pushed one of them open a few inches and looked out at a sunny
afternoon.  Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I slowly kept pushing the door
open sweeping through my expanding view with the rifle.  No infected waiting to
pounce and no survivors waiting to ambush.  Stepping fully out of the barn, I
told Dog to stay with Rachel while I made a full circle of the building to make
sure we were alone.

It was a beautiful afternoon.  The temperature was probably
somewhere close to 80, the sun was shining brightly, birds were singing in the
trees and a gentle breeze mitigated what could have been oppressive humidity.  The
breeze was out of the north and I glanced in that direction and noted heavy
storm clouds on the horizon.  Somewhere north it was raining like hell.  I knew
there were a lot of streams and rivers in the area that flooded spectacularly
from time to time, but had no idea if rain that far away would drain into this
part of the state.  Something to keep my eye on.

Reconnaissance complete, I rejoined them and we walked to
the house.  Again leaving Dog with Rachel, I went to each end of the house to
check our perimeter, staying behind bushes to move to the edge of the wall to
scope out the front.  Still all clear.  At the back we moved through the
screened porch and into the kitchen.  Rachel checked the sink and smiled when
water flowed out of the tap.  Keeping the rifle up and ready I led the way to
the bedrooms, bypassing the one with the dead girl.  The master bedroom was
obviously the man’s room, but it was neat and orderly and the bathroom was just
as clean.  I did a quick clear of the room and left Rachel to get cleaned up.

Back in the front room I sat down in a leather wing chair
that had a good view out the front windows and screen door.  I had only been
sitting for a minute when I got back up and went to the unoccupied bedroom to
retrieve a sheet that I used to cover the man’s body in the front room.  I
wasn’t spooked or bothered by the body, it was just one of those funny little
quirks of mine.  Leaving a body lying out in the open was disrespectful. 
Covering it up was acknowledging that this was a person that didn’t deserve
what had happened to him.  Strange?  Maybe, but that’s how I think.

Rachel took a long time in the bathroom.  Getting bored I
left Dog in the front room to keep an eye out and wandered into the kitchen to
find some food.  The pantry was well stocked as was the refrigerator.  The
power was still on so nothing had spoiled.  Taking my time I put together a
large meal for us, finishing off one of the half gallon cartons of milk while I
prepared the food.  I was still working when Rachel walked in, wet hair hanging
down her back and soaking her T-shirt, dirty clothes balled up in her arms. 
She poked around, opening doors until she found a laundry area.

“Give me your dirty clothes and go shower.  I’ll finish
making the food,” she said, stuffing her clothes into a washer.

“We really don’t have time for that,” I said, pausing to
look at her over my shoulder.

“We have time if you’ll get your ass in gear,” she said. 
“By the time you shower and we eat, our clothes will be clean and if we have to
go we can take them with us still wet.  After a couple of days of tromping
through the woods and fighting we need to get clean.  You smell like a
slaughterhouse and look worse.  You happy with all that blood on you?”

I looked down at myself and saw what she meant.  My shirt
was as stiff as a board with dried blood, both my own and infected, and for the
first time I noticed the smell.  Giving in to the inevitable I took my weapons
off and piled them on the table, stripped naked and headed to the shower with pistol
in hand. 

Getting clean always feels good.  Getting clean with wounds
in both hands and your ear nearly ripped off your head adds a new dimension to
it, but I still felt better.  Twenty minutes later I was freshly showered,
dressed and sitting at the kitchen table with Rachel.  The clothes had washed
quickly and were tumbling in the dryer as we ate.  I hadn’t realized how hungry
I was until I started eating and couldn’t remember the last food I’d had.  As I
thought about it I realized it was the breakfast I’d eaten at Arnold Air Force
Base several days ago.  Don’t know why it mattered, it was just one of those
things my mind had to work out before I could move on to anything else.

“So where from here?” Rachel asked as she pushed an empty
plate towards the middle of the table.

“North for a little, then turn west.”  I answered around a
mouthful of food.  “I still think avoiding Nashville is a very good idea.”

Rachel nodded then leaned across the table and stole some of
the food off my plate.

“How are your hands?”

“They’re hurting pretty bad.  I need you to inject them
again.”  Rachel reached across the table and I put my right hand in hers.  She
examined the palm first, then turned it over to check the back.  Releasing it
she examined my left the same way.

“All things considered they don’t look too bad.  No external
sign of infection, but you’re not out of the woods yet.”  She stood up and
circled the table, coming up behind me and bending to check my ear.  “That
medic actually did a good job of sewing your ear.  He wasn’t kidding about it
being almost ripped off.  There’s only about half an inch of skin that is
intact.  I can see some redness so we need to get some antibiotic ointment on
it and you need another shot.”

Great.  Another shot in the ass.  I started to make some
smart ass comment about Rachel just wanting me to drop my pants but remembered
the last shot she’d given me and decided I’d be better off just nodding my head
and keeping my mouth shut.

I finished eating while Rachel folded our freshly laundered
clothes, made sure Dog got his share, then we headed for the barn.  In the back
of the ambulance Rachel attended to my injuries.  New bandages and another sore
spot on my ass later, I told her to gather all the medical supplies we might need
and went to check out the Dodge.  The ambulance had gotten us out of
Murfreesboro and clear of the carpet bombing, but it had taken enough damage
that I was ready to trade vehicles.

The Dodge was one of the huge, dual rear wheel trucks you
see retirees using in the summer to drag their giant fifth wheel RV trailers
all over the country.  It had four doors and a back seat big enough for three
grown men to sit across without being crowded.  In the bed was the hitch for
the fifth wheel horse trailer parked behind the barn.  The best part was the
100 gallon auxiliary fuel tank that when I checked was full of diesel.  I was
pleased, but not surprised.  If you’re pulling a heavy trailer long distances
you go through a lot of fuel and it’s a pain in the ass to stop and fill up
along the interstate where the prices are higher.  A lot of guys add these
tanks so they can fill them before a trip with cheaper fuel and also so they
don’t have to worry about stopping for anything other than a restroom or food.

We spent almost half an hour getting the truck loaded up and
organized.  When we were done I stood there looking at the horses.  I had toyed
with the idea of hooking up the trailer and loading them up.  There were
saddles as well as pack gear in the barn and the animals could come in handy if
we found ourselves on foot again.  Then the image of being tackled off the back
of a horse by an infected female went through my head and I decided maybe they
weren’t such a good idea.

Opening the double doors I walked around to each stall and
led the horses out of the barn.  There was plenty of food for them in the
pasture and streams abounded in the area so they’d be able to find water. 
Might not be as comfortable as they were accustomed to, but then I wasn’t as
comfortable as I had gotten accustomed to either.  We did what we had to do to
survive.

Standing in the doorway with Rachel and Dog, we watched the
horses wander out into the pasture and start grazing in the late afternoon
sun.  I raised my eyes and tensed when I spotted the shambling figures of two
infected males making their way across the back side of the pasture.  Knowing
where they were heading, I told Rachel it was time to go and we piled into the
truck.  Dog seemed happy to resume his former position, sitting on the back
floor and resting his chin on the console between the two front seats. 
Scratching his ears I started the truck and backed out of the barn.

Driving around the house I turned north when we reached the
highway.  The Dodge was almost new with only 15,000 miles on it.  Like most new
vehicles it had navigation built into a display in the dash.  This is good for
finding out where you are or guiding you to a specific location, but not so hot
for planning out a route that will keep you out of populated areas. 
Fortunately the owner of the truck was also a little old school and went in for
road atlases.  I had planned our route to skirt the majority of Lebanon and now
Rachel sat with the atlas open on her lap, guiding me through the turns needed
to follow my plan.

We drove on small streets through everything from industrial
areas to neat little neighborhoods to what looked like Lebanon’s version of a
ghetto.  Nothing moved.  No survivors or infected, and the houses looked
abandoned.  Creepy was a good word, and our communication was limited to quiet
instructions on which way to turn. 

Lebanon wasn’t a large town and we were soon north of it,
moving along US highway 231.  My plan was to keep going north until we came to
state highway 10 where we would head west to Gallatin.  From there a series of
small highways would keep us well north of Nashville and eventually to
Dyersburg, Tennessee where I hoped we could cross the Mississippi River.  I had
spent some time scouring the atlas and had been surprised to find there was
only one bridge across the river between Cairo, Illinois and Memphis.  I wasn’t
about to go anywhere near Memphis and I’d heard reports that the upper mid-west
had been hit hard by the nerve gas as well.

I didn’t have a solid plan B in the event the bridge at
Dyersburg wasn’t passable.  It could be jammed with abandoned refugee
vehicles.  It could be swarming with infected.  It could be being used by
survivors to ambush unwary travelers.  It could have been blown up and dropped
into the river by the military so infected couldn’t cross.  The odds were not
in our favor, but it was our best option at the moment.  I had a couple of
ideas for plan B if it was needed, but wasn’t too fond of either of them.

We pushed on, driving through sunshine, but the storm clouds
on the northern horizon were foreboding.  The highway was completely empty.  No
wrecks or abandoned vehicles.  No other traffic.  It was like the world had
just packed up and left us behind. 

We hadn’t driven long before coming to the Cumberland River. 
I slowed to under 40 as we approached the bridge, scanning for any signs of
ambush.  If someone like me was lying in wait I’d never spot the ambush until
it was too late.  Fortunately, there aren’t too many out there like me.  If my
wife, Katie, were here she’d say that was very fortunate.

The bridge over the Cumberland was big, rising up from the
shore to crest at the midpoint of the river.  Reaching the crest I came to a
stop and looked out the side window at the water below.  I didn’t know what a
normal level was for the river where it went under the bridge, but I could tell
the water was higher than usual.  A lot higher.  Neither bank was visible as
the river was high enough to have flooded well into the trees on each side. 
Looking around and feeling fairly secure I put the truck into park, left the
engine running and stepped out of the cab.  Dog hopped out with me to take
advantage of virgin territory for his mark and a moment later Rachel got out as
well.

Standing at the railing I leaned out and looked at the muddy
water rushing under the bridge.  The surface of the river was maybe twenty feet
below the bottom of the bridge deck.  I watched for a few minutes, noting the
height of the water mark on the concrete pilings and saw it rise noticeably in the
few minutes I was standing there.  Looking up at the northern horizon I saw the
storm clouds still piled up, and the breeze blowing in my face was heavy with
the smell of rain.

We all got back in the truck and I picked the atlas up out
of Rachel’s lap and started checking our route for river crossings.  After turning
west we had a crossing over what was labeled as Old Hickory Lake, but on the
map it appeared to be part of a river that ran down from the north.  After that
we had another half a dozen crossings, including the Cumberland again, before
reaching Dyersburg then the Mississippi. 

I re-checked the atlas, looking for routes that would avoid
the rivers, but Tennessee is full of them and there weren’t any better ways.  I
looked to the north of the route I had planned but there were just as many if
not more bridges.  Oh well.  Onward, and we’d deal with what we found.