Rotter World (16 page)

Dravko slid up behind him. “Are you ready?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want to drive?”

Robson shook his head. “I trust you.”

Dravko smiled and headed for the armored car. Robson followed and crawled into the back, closing and securing the door behind him.

Sultanic shifted the Mack into drive. The truck lurched forward, crossed underneath the twin overpasses, and turned toward the exit ramp. Its engine roared as it picked up speed. A few seconds later, the Mack reached the northbound lanes of Interstate 87 traveling at close to fifty miles an hour. By the time Dravko drove the armored car onto the highway, the Mack was merely a dark image against the flame-filled night sky.

The conflagration had not spread this far north, so the first mile remained uneventful. Random embers blew across the highway. Some came to rest in trees, igniting the dry foliage, or settled onto small patches of grass that began to smolder. As the convoy drew closer to the center of Glens Falls, the flames grew steadily denser, consuming everything. At that point, the median widened enough to contain a thin line of trees that blocked the southbound lanes from view. Ahead of them, the trees on either side of the highway burned furiously, creating a fiery tunnel that the Mack plunged into.

Inside the armored car, Robson and the others felt a spike in the temperature as the flames closed in around them. A mixture of burning embers and ash coated the windshield. Dravko switched on the wipers. The blades squeaked across the glass, leaving gray streaks. When Dravko sprayed the windshield washer fluid, most of it evaporated into wisps of steam.

Robson felt the sweat forming on his forehead. “This was a bad idea.”

Dravko grinned. “Remind me to say ‘no shit’ if we get out of this al—”

The brake lights on the school bus suddenly flared red and then its speed dropped rapidly. Dravko pulled into the outer lane and sped past. As he took second place, he keyed the microphone.

“Why are you slowing down?”

Tibor’s voice came over the radio, fear in his tone. “I want to stay far away from Sultanic.”

“Why?”

“Because the dump bed is catching too many embers.”

“Fuck!” Robson strained through the smeared windshield to see the Mack. Even from this distance he could see the paint on the fifty-five-gallon drums beginning to smolder. He grabbed the radio from Dravko.

“Sultanic, do you copy?”

Caylee answered, her voice flustered. “We’re a little busy here.”

“You’re about to get even busier. The drums of gasoline are about to explode.”

“Fuck!” Caylee yelled into the microphone.

A few seconds later, the convoy emerged from the trees and the area on either side of the interstate opened up. Robson immediately realized that they had traded one hell for another. Glens Falls spread out in every direction. Here the fire was less intense because a majority of the buildings were commercial, composed of steel and concrete that did not ignite as easily as the wooden homes. With little here to burn, the surrounding air was sucked toward the center of the conflagration, creating a convection plain. The winds raced across the highway at close to forty miles per hour, forcing Dravko to steer into the wind to keep the armored car going straight.

Suddenly, Sultanic veered to the left and drove the Mack toward the shoulder. The others began to follow, but his voice came across the radio.

“Stay on the interstate. I’ll catch up.”

Robson made his way to the rear window to keep his eye on the Mack. Rather than veering toward the shoulder, Sultanic headed for an exit ramp. He raced the truck down it and across the interchange, pushing aside a Prius abandoned in the middle of the road. As the Mack entered the incline of the opposite ramp, the dump bed began to slowly elevate. As the angle increased, the drums of gasoline slid along the metal, inching toward the rear. They eventually tumbled onto their side and rolled out the back, crashing to the asphalt. A fireball erupted behind the truck, extending across the ramp and washing over the Mack’s dump bed. For a moment, Robson could not see the truck and feared it might have been engulfed. But as the fireball dimmed, he could see the truck accelerating up the ramp, tongues of flame licking off the bed. The Mack merged back onto the interstate and fell in behind the Ryder.

From up front, Dravko keyed his microphone. “Sultanic, you all right?”

“Yeah, but that was a little too close for my liking. Are we almost out of this hellhole?”

“Almost.”

The conflagration still roared off to their left, but had not yet traveled to the southern, residential outskirts of the city spread out in front of them. With the prevailing winds blowing north, falling embers had not ignited the surrounding homes. Flames from the burning city reflected off of windows. Convection winds bent the tops of trees toward the inferno as if nature pointed to where the danger lay. Thankfully, the road ahead was clear, and the convoy sailed through the neighborhood without mishap, covering the next three miles in as many minutes.

Finally, the convoy crossed the bridge spanning the river that marked the southern boundary of Glens Falls. Once on the opposite banks, the homes and commercial buildings gave way to trees and fields, leaving the inferno behind them.

Chapter Twenty-five

Approximately a mile outside of Glens Falls, the convoy exited the interstate onto Route 9 and stopped to assess the damage. Daytona and Whitehouse checked out each vehicle to make certain they were fit to continue, and were pleasantly surprised at just how well they had fared. Each of them had suffered from blistered paint due to the intense heat. The Mack came through the worst because of the explosion from the ignited drums of gasoline; most of the aft half of the dump bed was blackened from where the flames had burned off the paint and seared the metal. Ironically, the two innermost drums in the front right corner of the bed had not broken loose from their mountings. Sultanic and Caylee were fortunate that those drums did not explode when the fireball erupted around them, otherwise everyone in the front cab would have been roasted alive. Beyond that, each vehicle looked fine. None of the engines had overheated, none of the hoses or belts had melted, and none of the circuitry had gotten fried.

As the two mechanics went over the vehicles, the others sat around near the school bus eating a late night dinner. Most of the conversation focused on small talk related to their recent run through Glens Falls. Sultanic told the best story, dramatically relating how he raced through the side streets with his truck bed filled with flaming gasoline sloshing over the rim until he found a safe place to release his volatile cargo. At least, that was how Sultanic told it. Even Caylee seemed animated when telling her own part of the saga. It was the first time she had shown any emotion other than depression or anger since Jordan’s death.

More importantly, it was the first time humans and vampires bonded in such a manner.

As the Angels changed shifts, Robson pulled out his map and checked their location.

“How far out of the way did our little adventure take us?” asked Compton.

“Not far at all.” Robson swigged down a huge mouthful of water from a plastic bottle, still parched from the heat of the inferno. “We originally planned on approaching Saratoga Springs via the Route 9 Bypass. Instead, we took the commercial road.”

“Saratoga Springs?” questioned Thompson. “Is that our next way point?”

“Yeah. It’s a fairly large town about ten miles south of here. But there’s no going around it, at least not without going through even larger urban centers or traveling a hundred miles out of our way.” Robson opened his satchel bag and pulled out a folder, shuffled through it, and withdrew five photographs of commercial imagery. He handed the sheets to Natalie on his left, who passed them along. “According to the last satellite photos downloaded by Windows, the path we’re going to take runs through the center of town along the main commercial road. The route looks wide open.”

Dravko looked at the photos as they passed by him. Even with his advanced night vision he could barely make out any details in the dim light. “How can you even read these things?”

“I go with what Windows tells me.” Robson grinned. “Of course, if you think she’s wrong, you’re free to go scout ahead for us.”

“No, thanks,” chuckled Dravko. He passed the photos down to the colonel. “You ain’t getting rid of me that easily.”

“So what’s the game plan?” asked Natalie.

Robson looked at his watch. “It’s just after midnight. We’ll head out in about half an hour. It shouldn’t take us long to clear the town. After that, it’s open driving until we get to southern Pennsylvania.”

“Sounds good to me.” Natalie flashed him a flirtatious look.

Robson smiled back, feeling a bit self conscious. “We’ll hit the road once the Angels have had a chance to rest.”

* * *

The trip to Saratoga Springs passed without incident. No one saw any signs of life on the run. No abandoned cars, no desiccated bodies, not even any rotters. None of them even realized they had entered town until the floodlights mounted on the Mack’s grill fell upon the sign reading “Entering Saratoga Springs.”

Sultanic’s voice came across the radio. “Where to now?”

Robson keyed his microphone. “About a mile down the road we’ll come to a large intersection. Turn left onto Broadway.”

“Gotcha.”

A few minutes later, the Mack slowed as it approached the intersection. The City Center stood off to their left, a giant black structure blocking out the night sky. Darkened traffic signals hung above the intersection, and between them a street sign notifying drivers they were on Broadway. Sultanic veered left and, once certain the street was clear, accelerated. The rest of the convoy followed.

As they rushed down Broadway, Robson glanced around, a bit taken aback at the lack of activity. Not even wildlife roamed the streets. However, considering how well kept everything appeared, he figured that the town’s people had maintained order as long as possible, clearing away stalled traffic and rotter corpses. Just like in Andover. And he remembered how well that had turned out. As long as they didn’t open any closed doors they—

The brake lights on the Mack suddenly lit up. From inside the armored car, Robson heard the squeal of stressed rubber. The truck came to a violent stop, the rear end jackknifing slightly as several tons tried to stop too quickly, then the front end dropped down a few feet and the Mack came to a shuddering halt.

The other vehicles slowed to a more graceful stop. Dravko grabbed the radio.

“Sultanic, what’s wrong?”

No response.

“Sultanic, are you there?”

Again no response.

Dravko put the radio on the dashboard. “Something’s up.”

“Can’t be too bad,” said Thompson, pointing to the Mack’s forward gun mount. “If they were under attack, Caylee would be shooting.”

“What is it then?” asked Dravko.

Robson headed for the rear door. “Let’s find out.”

Dravko joined him. The two men exited the vehicle and cautiously moved toward the Mack, Robson unholstering his Glock. As they passed the school bus, the side door opened and Natalie stepped out. “Need fire support?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” said Robson.

Natalie leaned back into the bus. “Ari. Tiara. Josephine. Front and center.”

Natalie ran after the other two. As they approached the Mack, Dravko moved to the left to look around the front end of the truck. Robson wrapped a finger around the Glock’s trigger and clasped his free hand under the stock, keeping the weapon aimed low but ready to fire in an instant if need be. When he approached to within ten feet of the truck he called out softly to Caylee.

“Is everything okay?”

Caylee turned to him and shrugged. “I guess.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“I have no idea.”

Robson stepped up to the cab, surprised not to see anyone in the driver’s seat. “Sultanic?”

The vampire, who had been leaning to one side, popped up suddenly, startling Robson. “I’m here.”

“Why didn’t you answer the radio?”

Sultanic raised it in his hand. “It fell on the floor when I hit the brakes.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“There’s a huge sinkhole in the road. I didn’t see it until I was on top of it.”

Dravko stepped over to the front of the truck, and then turned to Robson. “He’s right. Damn thing’s about ten foot square. The right tire is hanging over the edge, and the left is only partially on firm ground.”

“Can you back out of it?”

“Too risky.” Sultanic turned off the headlights and floodlights and shut down the engine. He opened the cab’s door. “Too much motion might collapse the sinkhole even further, then we’re screwed. We stand a better chance if we pull it out.”

Dravko headed back to the school bus. “I’ll have Tibor back up to the truck. We should have her free in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.”

The three Angels came running up to Natalie and Robson, Mausers at the ready.

“What’s up?” asked Ari.

“Truck’s stuck in a sinkhole,” Natalie responded. “You stay here. Tiara and Josephine, take the flanks. Keep your eyes open for rotters.”

The three women nodded and took up their positions. Whitehouse walked up and climbed into the Mack’s cab, shutting the door behind him and waiting for the order to shift the truck into neutral. Sultanic stepped off of the school bus carrying a length of tow chain, one end of which he proceeded to wrap around the Mack’s rear trailer link. As he did so, Tibor turned the school bus into a large U-turn, plunging them in darkness as its floodlights lit up the rest of the convoy behind them. A sharp, steady beeping cut through the night as Tibor backed up behind the Mack.

Robson heard something out of place, like the muffled scuffling of feet, though it was difficult to tell between the idling of the bus’ engine and the clanking of the chain on concrete. He looked around for the source, but his eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark. The sound persisted, but he could not tell from where.

Robson tapped Natalie on the arm. “Tell Tibor to shut off the engine.”

A look of concern crossed her face, but Natalie ran off to do as ordered. Seeing her run off, Dravko wandered over. “Anything wrong?”

“I’m not sure. Do you hear that?”

Dravko listened. “The shuffling noise?”

“Yeah. Where’s it coming from?”

“I’m not sure.”

The bus’ engine shut off, plunging the area in silence except for the scuffling. Dravko and Robson listened closely. The noise came from in front of them.

“Whitehouse,” Robson called out softly. “Flip on the floodlights.”

Whitehouse complied, bathing the road ahead of them in light and illuminating a horde of more than twenty rotters advancing toward them less than three yards away.