Slow Burn (Book 5): Torrent (6 page)

“I know.” I swam around to the back corner of the boat where I’d be able to climb up the swim ladder.

“It looks like it hurts.”

“I have the virus. It doesn’t bother me.”

Once on the deck, the wet wind gave me a shiver. I’d been in the cold water too long. Near the bow, the three Whites lay across one another, two shot through the center of the chest, one through the head. I’d deal with that mess in a minute. First, I retrieved a rope from one of the storage bins beneath the bench seats and tossed one end over to Murphy. “Tie it off to something and I’ll pull the boat over.”

“Tie it off?” Murphy asked.

“So we can get all the stuff out of the Humvee.”

While we weren’t in danger of sinking, the pontoon boat was riding low in the water and we were making good progress. Still, Murphy spent a good deal of time looking down at how close the water was to washing up over the deck and gauging the distance to the shore.

“If you can’t swim, does it matter how far out we are when we sink?” I asked, putting a subtle emphasis on the “when.”

“I’m checking how far you’ll have to pull me. Keep us close to the shore. Make it easy on yourself.”

“When we came downriver this morning, almost no Whites were onshore,” I said, changing the subject. “Now I’m seeing lots of ‘em, and most of those seem to be interested in us.”

“Maybe they like to sleep late.”

I started to retort, but realized Murphy’s comment, intended to be funny – and it was – could be true. That would match my experience with the Whites when I was on Nancy’s chain gang.

“Besides,” Murphy said, “this morning we were drifting. Now the engine is on. That’s bound to make them more interested.”

“You’re probably right,” I said.

“You only say ‘probably’ because it bothers you when you’re not the only one with the answers.” Murphy was smiling, so I knew he was just giving me a hard time. “I’ll bet in school you were one of those kids who always raised your hand first so you could answer the teacher’s questions.”

“It’s no wonder you get in lots of fights.”

“Hey, don’t be reminding me of fighting. I think I still owe you a punch in the face.”

“More like a thank you for saving your ass again.”

Murphy laughed out loud. “Like when I kept you from blowing yourself up
again
? You mean that time? I swear to God, you’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

I shrugged. “That’s a two-way street, buddy.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

I grinned back at Murphy. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“I don’t need to know that.”

The rain started to fall heavily again and Murphy moved to a seat on the other side of the boat to stay out of it. I watched the naked Whites on shore as I steered. To me, they seemed too interested.

A mile or two had passed when Murphy asked, “How do you think things turned out at the riverboat?”

On our way downriver that morning, we’d stopped by the riverboat where Amy and the two tweens were living. I’d introduced everyone and then headed out with Murphy.  “I guess we’ll find out when we get back whether we’ve been invited to stay. I think I’d feel safer sleeping on that boat than I would sleeping in that house tonight.”

“Me, too.” Murphy said. “How are we set for fuel?”

“Still about a half-tank.”

“We should maybe try and fill it up on the next run. One those marinas probably has gas.”

I nodded. “We should get some gas cans to keep on the boat.”

“I wonder how much fuel is in the riverboat.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s diesel anyway. This is a gasoline boat.”

“We should get diesel, too. I’ll bet that boat has some big ass tanks. We can store diesel there for using with the Humvees later on.”

“We don’t have a Humvee.”

“’Cause you drove ours into the river.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Besides, you keep sayin’ that most of these white-skinned fuckers will kill each other off eventually. When we get there, having a good supply of gas to get around will come in real handy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. Scrounging up everything we can get our hands on while we’re out killing Smart Ones is a good idea.”

An awkward silence followed.

“Zed, you know I’m not thrilled about
that idea, right?”

“I hear you. But it needs to be done. If we don’t, then we’ll always be
at risk. They aren’t going away, not completely.”

“They might go away. That big bunch came here from Houston. What’s to say they won’t just keep wandering west and die of thirst somewhere on the way to El Paso?”

“What if they decide they like it here and stay?”

Murphy shrugged.

“Mark was up there, you know.”

“
So you said.”

“He screwed us over once already and would have killed us if you hadn’t been on your toes.”

“And?”

“And he needs to be killed.”

Murphy looked away from me and watched the waves float by for a minute. “Are you sure this isn’t about something else, Zed?”

“Murphy, playing coy isn’t your game. Don’t bother to sugarcoat it. Just tell me what you think.”

“The world is fucked, Zed. But we’ve got it all right at the moment. I mean, we don’t have it like we did at Sarah Mansfield’s mansion. That place was just a couple of cheeseburgers and a hooker short of Heaven, if you know what I mean. Right now, we’re safe. At least if they let us stay on that riverboat, we will be. We’ve got good people with us. You’ve even got a hot redhead who likes you if you’d pull your head out of your ass and do something about it. Forget the past. Forget revenge, man. Try to put on a smile and move ahead. That’s all you gotta do. Go with the Murphy plan.”

I didn’t respond.

He looked back at me and after a long time said, “So you’ve got nothing to say about that?”

“I didn’t think you were finished.”

“Of course I’m finished. I stopped talking, didn’t I?”

“You said my desire to kill Mark and the other Smart Ones wasn’t about our long-term survival
, but about something else. I was waiting for you to tell me what that was.”

Murphy shrugged. “No sugarcoating. It’s about Amber. You want to kill him for what he did to Amber. But what you don’t know is
, revenge is pointless. Sure, he was a prick, but he was just a prick. You can beat people up for that, but you can’t kill them.”

“
What?
”

“Let me finish. He turned into Mr. Psycho Killer Dude when he got the virus. You know the virus makes some people crazy. You’ve seen that. Now he’s just a crazy fuck. He does crazy fuck bullshit. He doesn’t have enough brain cells left to be normal. Getting revenge on him for killing Amber is like killing the neighbor’s crazy pit bull for shitting on your lawn. That’s what this is, right? Revenge?”

“No,” I lied. At least, I partially lied. Sure, at first it was revenge, but that turned into—or rationalized its way into—a necessity. “I told you. It’s about our survival. The Smart Ones are too good at using the rest of the Whites to hunt us down and kill us. Left unchecked, they will succeed. They’ll kill every last one of us.”

“And you’re going to go all Null Spot and save the world. Is that it?”

“Fuck you, Murphy.”

Murphy grinned. “You’re getting all bitchy again, man. You said no sugarcoating.”

I wasn’t angry about it, not really. “I meant it in the most loving way.”

“So what
, then? Level with me, man. Tell me what’s really going on inside that big, white peanut head of yours.”

I laughed. “I don’t have a peanut head.” That reminded of my earlier collision with the boat. I touched the place where the metal had cut my skin. It was still bleeding, lumpy, and i
cky.

“I know, man. Like I said, it’s a fucked up world now. If you don’t lighten up, you’re
gonna go nuts. If you don’t learn to let all of this shit go and be happy about what little we have left, you’re gonna explode one day. Or finally do something stupid enough to get yourself killed.”

“I know.”

“Well if you know, then why are we out raiding National Guard bases full of crazy white fuckers, instead of staying back home under the blankets and getting some pussy? You know Steph wants it, right? You can see that, right?”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well, who cares, man? This isn’t seventh grade. Why don’t you just ask her? Or do you want me to ask her for you?” Murphy busted out laughing. “Do you? Want me to ask her, I mean.”

“I think I can handle it myself. Thanks anyway.”

“Man, lighten up. We might not be around much longer. We need to enjoy life while we can.”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“What?”

“You remember those guys I told you about,
Nico and Mr. Mays?”

“Yeah, the old guy and the dude you escaped with.”

“I think we should stop by Mr. Mays’ place and see if they want to join us.”

Murphy nodded but didn’t agree. “
Steph’s the boss. Shouldn’t we run it by her, or at least ask the others first?”

I shrugged.

“Okay, tell me why this is a good idea.”

“Sure, but can we at least stop by and see if they’re interested before we try to sell it to the group?”

“We?”

“Yeah, look, their place is just up here on the left. To give you the short story, that old guy looks old enough that he was probably raised on a farm around here back when people still grew their own food.”

“And?”

“And if he knows how to farm in central Texas, he might be the most valuable person we’re likely to meet.”

“Fine, but you better practice that shit up before we get back to the boat, because you’re selling it to Steph, not me.”

With the pontoon boat tied to the same tree where I’d secured the canoe on my first visit, I knocked on Mr. Mays’ back door. Murphy stood a few paces back, rifle at the ready, keeping an eye out for any infected lurking nearby.

“
Nico, Mr. Mays, it’s me, Zed. Anybody there?” I didn’t want to yell, and I didn’t want to beat too loudly. But impatience came easily while exposed and making noise.

I knocked again. “
Nico. Mr. Mays.”

“H…hello.” A voice came from the other side of the door.

“Nico?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s me, Zed.”

“Who’s the b…
big dude?”

“That’s my buddy, Murphy. I told you about him. Man, are you going to open the door or what? It’s not safe out here.”

The long pause that followed made me uncomfortable. Something wasn’t right. I looked down to make sure the safety on my pistol was off.

Finally, I heard the heavy banging of some kind of braces being removed from the other side of the door. A moment later, it swung open and
Nico retreated into the house. I stepped inside. The old man smell still hung in the air, but something else was there too. It was familiar, too familiar. It was death. My eyes darted around looking for danger I felt sure was waiting for me.

Nico
was at the far end of the kitchen by then with Mr. Mays’ rifle resting awkwardly in his arms, dry blood crusted on his shirt and pants.

Murphy came in behind me. “Man, it stinks in here.” He spotted
Nico at the far end of the kitchen. “No offense, man.”

“Murphy, close the door.” I looked at
Nico. He looked to have eaten, but was otherwise unsettled. “Nico, what’s wrong, man? Where’s Mr. Mays?”

Nico
looked away without answering.

I stepped closer. “
Nico?” He was different, skittish, odd. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

Nico
shook his head. “They uh…they g…got in.”

Murphy asked, “The Whites?”

“Yeah,” Nico looked through a doorway into the living room. “They got in. They k…killed Mr. Mays.”

“What?” I’d heard what
Nico said, I just wasn’t willing to accept it. “What happened?”

Nico
looked at the floor, at the cabinets, at the sink and then back into the living room. “There wasn’t anything I could do. I tried. I t…tried to stop them.”

I tensed. “They’re gone, right?”

Nico nodded.

I stepped closer to
Nico’s end of the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t come in,” he said, looking out the kitchen window. “It’s bad. It’s…” He looked back into the living room. “He’s in
th…there.”

I tried to soothe him using slow, calm words. “It’s cool, dude. We’ve all seen it. You know what I mean.”

Nico turned almost manic for no apparent reason. “T…take me with you, Z…Zed. Don’t leave me here. P…please, take me to your friends.”

“Um.”

“Please. Please.” Nico had tears in his eyes. Outside of anger, after I implied he’d molested his daughter a few days earlier, it was the first significant emotion he’d expressed. “I can’t do this alone. I just can’t. I n…need to be around p…people. I’m l…losing it in here.”

“It’s cool,
Nico.” I had serious doubts about Nico’s mental state, but I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I glanced back at Murphy and then, out of pity, made a choice for the group. “You can come along, but you have to calm down. All right? Be cool. Okay?”

Nico
nodded, unable to speak, his emotions were bubbling over.

“Are there any Whites still around?”

Nico didn’t say anything.

“
Nico, any Whites still around?”

“No, I
ch…chased them off.”

With disbelief heavy in his voice, Murphy said, “
You
chased them off?”

“I… I swung the rifle like a c
…club and chased them b…back out the door.”

“How many were there?” Murphy asked.

“Two. Three. It…It all happened so fast. I was angry. I didn’t know what I was d…doing. I was so m…mad. I was trying to save him. I really was. I thought I was s…saving him.”

“It’s okay,
Nico. Just be cool, okay?” I said.

Nico
leaned on the counter and looked down at the floor.

I looked back at Murphy again.

He was worried about everything here and made sure I read it clearly on his face.

I shrugged as if to say, “It’s a done deal. Let’s make the best of it.”

“Nico, right?” Murphy said.

Nico
nodded.

“I’m Murphy. You got any food in the house?”

Nico shook his head. “Nothing. We haven’t caught any f…fish at all. Nothing.”

“Anything else?” Murphy asked. “Canned food?”

Nico shook his head.

Something was really wrong, but I wasn’t putting the pieces together. I told myself it had to be
Nico’s fragile emotional state. “Is there anything in the house we need to take with us?” I asked. “Ammunition? Tools? Weapons? Anything worthwhile?”

“We should just go.”
Nico was deflating into sadness.

“No. We need to check the house first.”

“W…why do you need to ch…check the house?” Nico switched to defensiveness, but it was weak.

“We
have to see if anything is here that we need.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Murphy’s voiced boomed out. “Zed, let’s get outta here, man. Nico, it was good to meet ya.” Murphy looked at me and motioned to the door. “C’mon.”

It was clear Murphy thought
the virus or emotional weakness had broken Nico and he wasn’t worth trying to salvage. I was moments from following Murphy out the door.

“Please don’t.”
Nico was coming towards us with one open, pleading hand. The other hand still held Mr. Mays’ rifle. “Please don’t leave me.”

My head was telling me to ditch
Nico and go. My heart was hurting for Nico’s pain and lobbying hard to keep my word and let him come with us. Such is the stuff of which mistakes are made. “Nico, it’s okay. Just let us check the house, okay? Is that rifle loaded?”

“L…loaded?”

“Does it have bullets in it?”

“I d…don’t know.”

Murphy scoffed. “Man, you don’t know?”

Nico
shook his head. “I don’t know anything about g…guns.”

Murphy shook his head and snorted. “How could anybody not know that?”

“Nico, give me the rifle,” I said. “I’ll have Murphy check it out while I check the house, okay? Afterward, we’ll all get on the boat and head upriver.”

Nico
nodded. But it took several long, reluctant moments before he handed the weapon over to Murphy. In a desperate tone, he asked, “You’re n…not going to t…take it and leave me here, are y…you?”

“Man, I’m not taking your gun,” Murphy said.

“Okay, Nico, you stay here with Murphy. I’m going to see if I can find any ammunition, okay?”

Nico
nodded more times than necessary as his eyes found their way down to look at the floor.

Trying to think of a way to get out of my promise to bring him along, I
walked past Nico and went into the living room.

A shapeless red stain covered most of the rug under
Mr. Mays’s body. He had bruises and gashes on bloody hands. His skull was smashed. His shirt was torn at the buttons. Underneath, his saggy skin was ripped to expose a thoracic cavity, empty except for the gore left when his organs had been eaten.

I looked away from the body and tried to repress the memories of a crotchety old man who’d done me a kindness and given me a small meal, probably the last of his food. “Fucking Whites.”

A lamp in the living room was on the floor. A recliner was lying on its back. Some of the pictures on the wall were no longer hanging straight. One, an old black and white photograph, colorized by hand with paint a half-century past, showed a strong young man in a military uniform, arm in arm with a blonde beauty in a wedding dress. That was Mr. Mays with his bride, probably when he was my age.

The young man’s smile radiated through the years. Eight decades had not been unkind to that face, but death had masked it in ghastly anguish. He didn’t deserve to go like that.

Nobody did.

From the living room, the hallway looked like a retreat. I moved my feet quickly in th
at direction.

It turned out to be no kind of retreat at all. It
was covered with picture upon picture upon picture, documenting the life of Mr. Mays, his beautiful bride, their children, their grandchildren and more. It was a humble museum to happy, anonymous lives that ended and were now remembered by no one. The fragile mementos were destined to crumble under the moldy rot of time as if they never existed.

No wonder
Nico had gone half-crazy in this house. Every picture was a poignant reminder of the virus’s toll.

The first bedroom I came to was a guestroom, or so I guessed. It held nothing worth my time. I took the pillowcases off of the bed—you could never have too many of those—and stuffed them into my pockets.

The master bedroom, not really different from the other bedrooms in a house so old, had a gun rack on the wall above the dresser. It cradled a lever-action rifle that looked like it belonged in an old cowboy movie. That prize made my depressing trip through the Mays Museum worth it.

No, not worth it, not at all.

The weight of so much death was becoming hard to bear.

More searching turned up a nice-sized hunting knife with a sturdy blade, surprisingly sharp. Mr. Mays knew how to take care of his things. The knife was nestled in a sheath of leather undoubtedly older than me, probably older than my mother. That found its way onto my belt. It was no machete, but it was so much better than a kitchen knife stuck in a pocket.