Slow Burn (Book 5): Torrent (18 page)

On the top level of the parking garage adjacent to the hospital, the Humvee was exposed to the rain. And just as I’d left it, the machine gun hatch was open, providing the only way to get back inside the vehicle. All of the doors had their battle locks set. I’d set them before I used the fifty-caliber machine gun to shoot up the stairwell on the side of the hospital.

Climbing up on top of the Humvee and getting back down inside was easy enough. I went in first, leaving it to Murphy to close the hatch in the face of Jeff Aubrey, who’d followed us up through the parking garage’s five levels. He was tagging along, that was clear enough. I realized he’d understood so little of our conversation, he didn’t get that we were going to ditch him. The virus had left his brain too addled. At least, that’s how I rationalized it.

The last I saw of Jeff was him watching Murphy and me drive away, crying out loud, reaching his hands toward us, though his feet took no steps to chase.

I put that thought out of my mind as Murphy drove the Humvee down the ramp, which was littered with the bones of hundreds of Whites, gnawed clean by those who survived that day on the roof. The Humvee’s big tires rolled over them like so many bumps on the road. Thankfully, the noise of the rain pelting our metal roof covered the sound of crunching and breaking.

When we were down to the second level, Murphy said, “You’ll need to tell me where to drive this thing. I don’t know how to get around down here.”

“When we get down to the end of the bottom ramp, turn right. We can take the garage exit onto Red River Street.”

“I know you didn’t want to leave that dude there, but it was the right thing. I know you’re
gonna want to make yourself feel all guilty about it. Don’t. The world is fucked up now. That’s just the way it is. You can’t fix everything. You can’t save everybody.”

We got to the bottom of the last ramp and, without a word, I pointed right.

Murphy drove slowly to push some barricades out of the way and then we were back out in the rain. The pounding on the roof made conversation impossible without shouting. So we didn’t talk, mostly. I pointed and Murphy turned the wheel.

On Red River Street, the water in the road had filled it to the tops of the curbs, and still the intensity of the rainfall did not let up. Things were starting to float with the current in the road. It all flowed toward the creeks, which flowed south toward the Colorado River, which ran through the center of town.

I hollered. “This thing will do okay with all the water, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

We drove past the circular basketball arena and crossed over Martin Luther King Boulevard. We were back on the campus.

The road veered off to the right. Looking at the maze of abandoned vehicles in and along the road, Murphy gave me a look. He was wondering whether we could get through. Several weeks before, I’d driven that big motorcycle down Red River on the way to the hospital. I knew it was clear enough for us to pass. I motioned for him to head up the road.

Slowly, we went north. IH-35’s upper deck loomed out of the easing rain on our right. Several heads popped up to watch us. They were Whites, making a living off of scavenging rotten meat from the carcasses of motorists who’d died in the highway traffic jams. Those Whites probably still had bellies full of putrid flesh and little motivation to come after us. As we passed between one of the football practice fields and the LBJ Library, the road dipped down. Before I could form the words to shout, the Humvee was in a couple of feet of water. “How deep can we go before we’re stuck?”

Murphy shrugged. “I don’t think it gets that deep.”

“I thought you were afraid of water.”

“I can’t swim, but I’m not neurotic.”

We reached the bottom of the dip between the two hills and the pavement angled back upward. When we reached the top of the hill, the sky had opened up again and the rain was coming down as heavily as before.

“When you come to the next street, that’s Dean Keeton,” I shouted. “Turn left. That intersection where Jerome got shot is a few blocks down.”

Murphy stopped the Humvee halfway through the turn onto Dean Keeton Street. Looking at me, he asked, “What do you think?”

“Hell if I know. We’ve come this far. Let’s just drive over there and see what happens.”

“And if those dudes are still there?”

I rapped on the glass in my door. “Will this protect us?”

“It should. But if they are there, I doubt they’ll shoot at the Humvee. They’ll wait until we get out.”

“I’m sure they’re all dead. I mean, what are the odds of any of them making it through the infection?”

“Pretty slim.”

“Yeah. That’s one of the reasons we came all the way over here. The place might be underwater for all we know. If we can, we’ll go past by a couple of blocks and then loop around into that neighborhood north of campus. We can sneak up that way.”

Murphy shrugged. “And if it is flooded?”

“We go home.”

The Humvee rolled into the intersection and Murphy steered it toward the westbound lane and down a long slope toward Waller Creek. The rain was slacking again. Apparently, waves of heavy rain separated by waves of lighter rain were the order of the day. Lightning split the air a few car lengths ahead of us. The crack rattled me to my bones and I jumped in my seat. Murphy instinctively slammed the brakes and the Humvee jerked to a halt.

“Holy
shit.” The afterimage was burned into my retinas.

“I think I just shit my pants.” Murphy looked right and left again. “We need to get out of this.”

With plenty of leftover fright in my voice I said, “Just keep going. It’s okay.”

Thunder from another strike
rumbled over us.

“This shit’s dangerous, man.”

“Murphy, be cool. Trust me on this one. Inside of a car is a safe place to be in a thunderstorm.”

“What
?”

“I’m serious dude. It’s a physics thing. We’re safe. Trust me.”

Murphy took his foot off the brake and the Humvee started to move. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

“Have you ever heard of a Faraday Cage?”

“Nope.”

“Then don’t worry about it. Just keep going.”

We accelerated. As we neared the intersection where Jerome had met his end, Murphy slowed.

Only one Humvee was sitting in the intersection. On our first visit, three were there. Several inches of water were running down the street and through the intersection, burbling up over hundreds of carcasses, the success score of snipers hidden nearby.

“Just go on through like we’re not scoping them out,” I said.

The ride got bouncy as the Humvee drove over the rotting bodies.

Murphy looked quickly at the buildings on the corners. “Do you see anything?”

My attention was focused on the university co-op store on the northwest corner of the intersection. It had a second floor and an angled wall of windows. From there, snipers had command of the intersection and the roads leading up to it in three directions. Several of the windows were broken out, leaving jagged teeth of black, tinted glass hanging in the frames. Nothing moved in the shadows within.

Past the intersection, Murphy swerved the vehicle close to the right hand curb. “Where do you want me to pull this thing over?”

Looking behind at the co-op building, I said, “Keep going. If they’re still in there, I don’t want them to see us stopping.”

We passed a street on the right. We passed another and the road started to curve. Still looking back at the co-op, I said, “Take the next street, okay?”

The Humvee came to a stop.

I spun around in my seat. “
Not now
.”

Murphy directed my attention out over the Humvee’s hood.

“Shit.” I was stunned. Waller Creek, a deep, crooked ditch before the rain came, had turned into a river two hundred feet wide. The bridge ahead of us was completely immersed. Not even the rails were visible. Only the water rising up to flow over the submerged obstacles provided any evidence of their existence. “This is a lot worse than I thought it was going to get.”

“I’m worried about
Mandi,” Murphy said.

“I’ve never heard of flooding on the part of the river where they are. I mean, with Mansfield Dam just upriver, how could it?”

Murphy dropped the concern and turned determined. “Let’s get this done and get the hell out of here. This is bad.”

“Yeah.”

To our right was a parking lot for a small apartment building. I pointed. “Just stick it there between those pickups. Do it quick.”

Murphy gunned the engine and cut the wheel, ran over a curb and bounced the Humvee to a stop just where I’d asked.

“Damn.” I’d have to be careful next time I asked for quick.

Murphy shrugged.

I was already soaked to the bone, but was still reluctant to open the door and go back out into the rain.

Murphy noticed me hesitating. “You good?”

“As good as I’m gonna get.” I flung the door open.

Moments later, Murphy and I were well off the road and slogging through a park adjacent to the apartment building. Water was flowing or standing everywhere. In some places, it was just deep enough to soak into the toes of our boots. In others, it poured over the tops.

Broken limbs, fallen from the oaks in the park, were scattered. Fences were down. Shingles were blowing off of roofs. Garbage cans were sailing on gusts or floating in the water. Thunder continued to rumble.

“At least we don’t need to worry about being quiet. What do you say we just run the rest of the way?” Murphy didn’t wait for an answer. He jogged ahead and I fell in behind him.

We exited the park, crossed a backyard and ran between two
widely-spaced houses. Caution wasn’t even an afterthought by then. We ran on across a street without slowing down to look. I saw no other living thing. We were apparently the only two infected people crazy enough to be out in the weather.

Once across the street, we had to weave our way between parked cars and some small duplexes laid out at unusual angles to the road and to each other. No front doors facing the street there. Past those, we were rewarded with a view of the backside of the co-op building, just across a narrow road. We squatted behind a car and looked.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“We could try one of those doors, but if those dudes are still inside, that’d be like asking to get shot.”

“Those doors are built to keep burglars out. If they’re locked, we’re not going to get through anyway.”

“Around front, then?”

I nodded. “We wouldn’t be risking this if we didn’t think all those guys were dead inside. I say we sneak around front and go in through the broken windows. If by chance some of those dudes are still alive up on the second floor, they won’t see us sneaking up along the wall and won’t be expecting anyone to come in that way.”

Murphy didn’t like the plan. “That’s all hopes and ifs. Why not just say you
wanna go out there and depend on your good luck to get this done?”

“Look, two of those Humvees are gone. They wouldn’t be gone if there were still soldiers up there, right?”

“How do you figure?”

“E
ither the guys who didn’t get infected drove off in the Humvees, or somebody came and stole them without getting shot. If they didn’t get shot, it’s because those guys are dead.”

Murphy
, uncharacteristically silent, pondered that.

“Cool?”

“Fine, but when we get inside, we should announce our presence, rather than sneak up on anybody who might be up there. I’d rather they yell at us and tell us to go away before they see what we look like and shoot.”

“Agreed.” I was getting to the point I just wanted to get the task finished and get back to the riverboat. Just as Murphy was worried over
Mandi, I was starting to worry about Steph.

I took off at a run with Murphy right behind. The water in the street was curb-deep again, nearly tripping me as I crossed. I leapt up onto a curb, crossed a sidewalk, and came to a stop at the corner of the co-op building. Murphy hit the wall beside me.

I gave him a nod. He nodded and peeked around the corner. The front wall of the building down its full length was unbroken by window or door. It was just a long, uniformly colored wall. In front of it, I was going to be a target nobody could miss. All of the big glass display windows and the front door were built into the corner of the building, facing the intersection.

With only the sagging crepe myrtles planted between the sidewalk and the street for cover, I took off at full speed down the length of the building. If someone had taken a shot at me, I wouldn’t have heard over the noise of the rain, my breathing and the sound of my feet splashing through puddles.

I came to a stop and dropped to a knee where the wall ended. Just around the corner was the main entrance. When Murphy fell in behind me, I asked, “Cool?”

He nodded.

I peeked around the corner and quickly pulled my head back, closing my eyes so I could concentrate on what I’d just seen. No movement. Broken glass. Dark interior. Books and merchandise on the ground. Closed door.

I risked another peek and pulled quickly back.

“Well?” Murphy asked.

“I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean no one is hidden. The place looks like it’s been ransacked. It’s a mess. A million great hiding places.”

“So what, then?”

“I’m going to risk it. The entrance is a couple of feet above street level. It’s got, like, this big concrete platform under a portico with four or five steps leading up to it.”

“Porti-what?”

“The roof over the porch, with columns holding it up.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Is this really the time for a vocabulary debate?”

Murphy looked around. “If somebody was going to shoot us out here, they already would have.”

“I’m going to run over there and get in the bushes in front of the
porti… porch,” I said. “From there, I can see inside. You stay here and don’t come until I wave you over. If somebody starts shooting, hurl a grenade inside and I’ll haul ass back. Cool?”

“It’s your ass.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned. Without taking the time to second-guess myself, I bolted around the corner. I crossed a sidewalk and dove onto the grass, sliding into the short hedge in front of the portico.

Ouch.

The grass had a few good-sized rocks hidden in it.

From my muddy, wet spot among the roots, I rolled over and gave Murphy a thumbs-up to let him know I was okay.

He was taking a risk by keeping his head around the corner to watch me.

Fuck it
. If he can risk it, so can I.

I got up to my knees and lay my rifle up on the concrete landing, pointing into the darkness. The place was a shambles. Any one of a hundred gloomy lumps could have been a threat. My imagination started to brew up dangers, seeing rifle barrels and snipers’ helmets in every random shape.

Double fuck it.

I decided I was as safe as I was going to get. I jumped up onto the landing, bounded across and stepped silently through one of the big, broken windowpanes. Once out of the rain, I felt like I could hear again. The rain still roared down outside, but it was no longer the
only
thing I could hear.

Looking around in the darkness, I saw a wide staircase in the back corner. I slowly passed my eyes over what I could make out in the mess, first to my left, then my right. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. I waved Murphy in, turned and stepped gingerly through the junk on the floor to take up a position behind a checkout counter.

Murphy came in through the window I’d just entered and took a moment to do his own recon. He stepped silently through the scattered merchandise and dropped to a knee beside me. He looked at me, for an assessment I presumed. I made a show of looking around and shrugged to let him know I thought the place was deserted.

I whispered, “Did you see the stairs at the back?”

He nodded.

“What do you say we get over there and when we get near the top, we call out? If we holler from down here, nobody up there will hear anything.”

Murphy shook his head emphatically. “Let
me
take the lead on the stairs.”

Yeah, whatever.
I shrugged.

With his rifle at his shoulder, panning from left to right, Murphy led the way through the ruined merchandise clothing, books and souvenirs. He was tense, and his tension kept me on edge. He clearly wasn’t as convinced as I was that the soldiers were all dead.

We were halfway across the store and making our way through the remnants of some kind of glass shelving units full of Longhorn doodads and trinkets, the kind of shit parents put on their desks at work to let their friends know their kids were students at UT.

It started out as a scraping sound. Before I knew it, Murphy’s feet were slipping out from under him. He reached a hand out to catch himself as he fell and instead cut his palm open on a piece of the
glass shelving unit.

“Goddammit.” He hit the ground.

And that was a mistake.

A body doesn’t make much sound when it stands, except for the sound made by brushing against something nearby, or the sound of shuffling feet on a messy floor. Even the exhale or draw of a single breath isn’t that noticeable, especially when all the rain in the world seems to be falling outside. But when thirty or forty Whites jump to their feet to investigate an unexpected utterance of human speech, it makes a peculiar swoosh, distinct even under the noise of the rain.

If anything, the seemingly ubiquitous whisper made it that much more frightening.

Twenty feet away, between a wall of shoes and a mound of fallen clothing racks, all of those Whites rose. Every eye was on me and I knew in about two seconds, their frog brains were going to decide I was edible.

Without another thought, without taking a moment to warn Murphy—he’d figure it all out soon enough—I pointed my rifle at the nearest of the Whites and pulled the trigger.

Instant pandemonium broke out among them as I squeezed off a dozen rounds into their ranks.

Calm.

Breathe
.

Think
.

Breathe
.

Murphy was on his feet in a ridiculously short second, blood splattering out of his wound and bullets blasting out of his rifle.

My intuition was sparking rapidly.

With too many Whites still screaming and charging me from the front, I spun around to look behind. Damn good thing I did.

Seven naked Whites were running at us from the far end of the store. Only the size of the store and their choice to take shelter so far from the door had saved us. Had they been closer when Murphy fell, they’d have been on my back and ripping into my throat before I’d squeezed off my tenth round.

I fired at them. Half my rounds went wild, but the Whites obliged me by coming closer and closer into a range where even I was deadly accurate. When the last one fell, I spun back around to see the last of the larger group fall under Murphy’s bullets.

“Damn. That was intense.” Murphy grinned.

I looked up at the ceiling. “I guess they know we’re here.”

Murphy looked toward the bodies of the Whites I’d killed. “Dude, I’d a thought more were back there. What’d you do, shoot ‘em all three times?”

“Yes.”
Double helping of sarcasm.

Murphy chuckled. “It’s like the more you shoot, the worse you get. I know it’s hard, but just be calm and breathe. It’ll save your ass. And you’ll use a lot less bullets.”