Slow Burn (Book 3): Destroyer (11 page)

The drive through the infested city was time-consuming and strenuous. My arms were tired from constantly turning the steering wheel at each corner, to avoid large groups, or to run down solitary Whites. That last, a questionable practice. How durable was the armored Humvee, after all?

But some of them looked enough like
Mark that each time, it seemed worth the risk to the vehicle.

I glanced down at the Humvee’s radio about a thousand times on my circuitous journey. Contact with Dalhover, Evans, and the other survivors waited for me through that little metal box, but each time I looked
at it, I was immediately befuddled. It was nothing like Dan’s simple CB radio that I’d found stashed in the garage when I was a kid. That radio had an on/off switch, a channel selector, and a volume knob. It was easy, both to figure out and to operate.

But this thing had about a half-dozen knobs, only a few of which seemed to have an understandable purpose, several jacks, and a keypad. A keypad! What the hell was that for? Even what I thought was the on/off switch looked to have nine positions.

Frustrating.

Without an operator’s manual, figuring it out could take hours, or days. Certainly not something to be done while running like a mad mouse through west-central Austin. Perhaps Murphy knew how the thing worked.

With something resembling optimism, I finally made the right turn onto Matheson Ridge Road, committed to running over any infected anywhere near my path. One died on the asphalt as soon as I rounded the corner. Others were in front yards or driveways as I passed, and not worth the risk, though they did pursue.

There was a huddle of Whites in the driveway, feeding on their dead, looking up at my Humvee as it bore down on them. But there just weren’t enough functional synapses left in their brains to process the lethal conclusion coming their way at forty miles per hour.

I braked hard into the turn, and Humvee’s tires squealed loudly as the heavy truck bounced over the mailbox and up the driveway. Some of the Whites jumped at the last second. Most thudded against steel. The garage door rent in long panels of bent aluminum that shrieked as the Humvee barreled through. After all of that, to my surprise, two infected were pinned to the back wall by the Humvee’s bumper when I came to a stop. They were messed up and bloody as hell, but alive and pissed.

I jumped out of the driver's side door with my M4 in my hands. No point in trying to be quiet now.

A White came running at me from outside. I fired about three rounds before I got the guy. He fell back, squirming, but not a danger for the moment. It took three more shots to finish off the other two on the wall. I turned my attention back to the garage door, almost too late.

"Dammit!"

The infected I’d shot was crawling at me, and close. I couldn’t miss at this range. I shot him twice in the chest and he stopped moving.

I saw no movement down the driveway and out into the street. That wasn’t going to last.

Now, for the moment that I’d dreaded.

Please, let Russell be okay.

With only a few rounds left in my magazine, I switched it for a full one. Ammunition was way low. That was a real concern. I positioned myself by the doorway to the kitchen, with one hand ready to pull the trigger and the other on the doorknob. I didn't expect anything dangerous inside, but caution could not be overrated.

I turned the knob, tugged the door, and jumped back several feet as I raised my weapon. The door slowly swung open, and the sunlight pouring in through the bank of windows on the back of the house silhouetted a man standing just inside the kitchen.

"Russell!"

He didn't move.

I stepped closer and squinted at the light. Russell's face was streaked with tears. He stared emptily forward, back in the state in which I'd originally found him.

I felt like shit.

I wondered what emotions Russell could feel. I wondered what thoughts went through his simple brain. Did he feel abandoned? Did he think I was never coming back? I let my rifle dangle from its sling and put a hand on his shoulder. I looked into his unresponsive eyes and said, "Russell, are you okay?"

He, of course, said nothing.

I squeezed into the kitchen, closing and locking the door behind me. Pushing past him, I took his hand and said, "C'mon, Russell," hoping that he'd follow.

He did.

We walked back over to the granite-covered island. A room-temperature sandwich still sat there on a plate. I tore it in half and set a half in front of each of our stools. "Russell, let's sit down and eat. C'mon, sit down."

Russell complied, and together, we shared another meal.

With Russell back to normal, or perhaps after no apparent change in Russell, but with my guilt assuaged, I did a quick search of the house for goodies. There were no firearms, but there was a good quantity of food and water. Twenty minutes of silence in the house had left the garage empty of infected, though there were several who’d started feeding on the newly dead in the driveway.

Bad choice for them.

With no trouble from the feeding infected, I loaded the Humvee with enough food and bottled water to last four people for a few days.

After getting Russell loaded into the passenger seat, it was a just a matter of running down the infected in the driveway again, and another long, tiring drive through the neighborhoods north of downtown. I found a passable bridge over the highway and lost a few platoons of chasing infected as I sped the Humvee into the ash-covered wasteland of east Austin.

Thankfully, it was still a dead zone. I slowed the Humvee down to thirty miles per hour, a safe speed for navigating around road hazards. With nearly every structure burned to a black skeleton and piles of ash, and with all the street signs unreadable, there were few landmarks, but the towering concrete overpasses at the intersection of highways 183 and 290 were visible from the tops of hills miles away.

Knowing that I’d been too long in getting to the rally point, I chose to go there before picking up Murphy and Mandi. I felt sure they were safe for the time being.

As I approached the southwest corner of the intersection, in what had been a parking lot for a small complex of low-rent duplexes, I spotted a single Humvee with a thin slouched man standing on the roof keeping watch with a pair of binoculars: Dalhover. He had to have seen us as we approached, but remained vigilant in watching the other directions for threats.

“There they are, Russell,” I said, pointing.

I spotted Steph’s flaming red hair catching in the breeze as she exited their Humvee. She was followed by one of the soldiers. Among the burned ruins of the duplexes, I saw no other vehicles and no other people got out of the Humvee. My heart sank. Surely they weren’t the only escapees.

I navigated my Humvee through the maze of streets toward Dalhover’s position. A straight line across the ruins of houses would have been quicker, but who knew what hazards lay under the ash and in the twisted metal and brick remains? There was no immediate need for urgency, so no need to risk the Humvee’s tires.

After stopping my Humvee close to the other and taking a moment to survey the surrounding area for movement, I got out. Russell immediately howled and I had to hustle around to let him out of the other side.

Dalhover, Steph, and the soldier were waiting between the Humvees, giving me odd looks as I led Russell back around.

Dalhover looked at me flatly. “You made it.”

The soldier shook my hand, and gave me a nod and wan smile. Steph stepped up close, and seemed for a moment caught between a hug and a handshake. In the end, she threw an arm around my neck and gave me a quick squeeze. “Wow, you’re still alive.”

“It’s the new hello,” I answered as she pulled away.

Both Dalhover and the soldier were looking at Russell suspiciously.

“Don’t worry about him,” I told them. “He’s harmless. Just ah…just…I think the virus fried his brain, but he’s not a danger. Are there more of you? Please don’t tell me this is all that made it out.”

Dalhover shook his head and said, “We lost seven.”

“So, how many?” I asked.

Dalhover answered, “Us and fifteen others.”

“Dr. Evans?” I asked.

“Yes,” Steph said. “He made it.”

I shook my head and looked down. “I didn’t know all of those infected were in the shadow of the building. I almost didn’t see them.”

With no change in his tone, Dalhover said, “Everyone knew the risk.”

“Where are the others?” I asked.

Dalhover pointed between the towering bridges of the highway interchange. “Dr. Evans’ family has a farm out near Taylor, maybe twenty miles northeast.”

“He knows that his family probably isn’t alive, right?” I asked.

Steph kindly said, “It kind of goes without saying, Zed.”

“Yeah,” I answered, “I guess so. And you guys waited here for me?”

Each of them nodded.

“Thanks.” That seemed insufficient for how I felt. They’d taken a risk and waited for me past the point where hope that I’d arrive had run out. That meant a lot to me. I struggled in search of a way to express that, but I was at a loss.

Dalhover gestured toward Russell. “You said you had three friends.”

“Two of them are in a house near here,” I answered. “I have to get them...um…or go there.” I suddenly realized that past the rendezvous point, I’d made no further plans with these people. Did they wait out of gratitude, or were they planning on sticking together now?

Into the ambiguity, Steph said, “
We’ll
go get them together.”

That’s what I wanted, or so I was thinking at the moment. But how would that turn out? I looked around at the burnt landscape to check for movement and to collect my thoughts. I looked at my feet. I glanced at their faces. My silence had grown awkward, so I just put it on the table. “I know what people see when they look at me and Russell. We’re monsters. Now that everybody has escaped from the hospital and they don’t need my help… well, I know how things go from here.”

“No, Zed!” Steph disagreed emphatically. “It’s not like that. Come with us. We don’t feel that way.”

I shook my head. “That’s how you feel, Steph.” I looked at each of them. “Maybe all of you do.”

Dalhover nodded, going back on word rations.

I went on, “The rest of them might feel that way,
too, but right now they feel gratitude for me helping them get out. Or, maybe they’re angry at me for dragging them out of a place they thought was safe. Maybe they’re angry at me for getting their friends killed. However they feel right now, eventually all of that will fade, and what will be left is the fear, then the hate. It’ll always be like that.”

“Yeah,” Dalhover groused.

Steph was instantly angry. “I didn’t have you figured for a quitter, Zed. What are you going to do? Give up and go be a hermit in the woods?”

I laughed bitterly. “Considering what I did this morning, I don’t think that quitter is the right word.”

“But you’re giving up on people, aren’t you?” Steph asked. “You don’t even want to come with us and try?”

“Yes, I do,” I nodded. “But the last group of people I helped turned on me once they had full bellies and guns in their hands.” My voice was notching up. “They wanted to kill me and my friends. We had a good place to hole up, in a dorm over on the campus, and we took those people in. After they kicked us to the curb, a half hour later, one of us was dead. These were people just like all of you, people that needed my help, people that were grateful. But in the end, I was just another monster to them.”

Dalhover said, “Man, I need a cigarette. Do you have any?”

“Nope.” I shook my head.

“You mind if I check your vehicle?” Dalhover asked.

“It’s not really mine,” I told him.

“It is now,” Dalhover countered.

“Yeah,” I said. “Go ahead.”

Dalhover swung the driver’s side door open and started rummaging.

We all watched in silence, because it was better than what we were talking about.

“Goddamn!” Dalhover jumped out of my Humvee with a red and white package of cigarettes raised in one hand. “It’s my lucky goddamned day.” He took one out and placed it between his lips, then fished a lighter out of his pocket. He looked me in the eye and said, “We’ll go with you to get your friends if you want. We owe you at least that much. After, if you want to come along with us, we’ll talk to all the others when we get to Colonel Evans’ place. You can decide from there if you want to stay or go. But I personally guaran-god-damn-tee you that you won’t be harmed by anybody there.”

“A
guaran-god-damn-tee,” Steph said, awkwardly stumbling over the curse with a smile. “That’s a pretty good guarantee.”

I looked over at the soldier with them. He smiled thinly and nodded. I said, “You don’t say much, do you?”

“No, sir,” he answered.

“Let’s go get my friends.” I extended a hand to Dalhover. “If they want to join up with you guys, we’ll tag along.”