The Week of the Dead (15 page)

He looked at Jenna and said, “Nurse Amy wrapped me up. I got my hand stuck in a car door.” Jenna felt reserved with this man who looked like a relic of a different time.

“Nice hat,” Ethan said, trying to move the conversation along.

“Thanks. I’m a purebred cowboy,” he said as he held his hand out to the right pointing them in the direction. They made their way to the food line. “My friends and I are overstaying over there. Come find a seat when you’re done.” Junior left to join his companions who were all dressed in similar clothing. Ethan watched as Junior took a seat next to their campfire. Junior kept looking at his cowboy boots. “Interesting,” Ethan said as he picked up a tray. The food line was where the party was. People were drinking and cooking. They were laughing their cares away while throwing together some grub. Everyone was feeling good because FEMA was picking up the bill. So they took it at face value. There were a couple of food trucks, but there were a lot more hillbillies bringing grills and smokers out.

After Ethan and Jenna filled their Styrofoam take-home boxes full of whatever they could find and bottles of water, to their left, there was a shouting match going on. “What’d you say, nigger?” caught Ethan’s attention. There was a body-builder black man and a large group of white people. “I asked ‘Can you turn that music down?’ my children are trying to sleep.”

“No, I won’t. Nigger.” By this time, the white guy had his fists balled up. The black man, although he had a large body structure, remained docile and calm. The white man took another sip from his pocket bottle of whiskey.

“Sir, I am asking nicely,” the big man said.

“And I said no, Nigger.” Ethan set his box down and walked over to the commotion.

By this time, people had started to gather around. “I ain’t afraid of you. Nig—”

“If you finish that word, I’m afraid I’m going to have to beat the shit out of you,” Ethan said as he pushed people aside.

“What’d you say, boy?” the drunken man said stumbling to his direction.

“I said, if you call him a ‘nigger’ one more time, I’m gonna kick the shit out of you,” Ethan said, coming alongside the black man.

“How’s it going?” Ethan asked the big man. The intoxicated man pulled out a knife from his back. Ethan stood still.

“I don’t want any trouble,” the gentle giant said behind Ethan.

“Fuck you, nigger lover!” the drunken guy said as he lunged at Ethan with the knife. Ethan leaped forward and socked the drunken guy in the forehead with his aching arm. The drunken man stopped in his tracks. Ethan grabbed the knife, flipped it around, and began pelting the drunken man in the rib cage with the butt end of the knife like a stabbing motion.

The drunken man was unable to feel the pain but suddenly collapsed at his feet. “Who else wants some?” Ethan shouted. He flipped the knife and pointed at the sea of onlookers. Some wore looks of disdain, some looks were vengeful. Ethan went over and politely turned off the obnoxious radio. “This is not a time for bullshit!” Ethan said. Two white men walked forward. Ethan pointed the knife at them and got in a defensive stance. He held his closed fists in front of his face. His left hand was back, and his right hand was forward and held the knife. The two men came forward with their hands up. They reached down and dragged their incapacitated friend away. “Stop,” Ethan said. The two men dropped the man’s feet. “Give me what’s in his pockets.” The two “friends” emptied the man’s jeans and so forth. Ethan spoke to the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are in disastrous times. It’s time to put away your petty bullshit and work together. So help me God, I will not hesitate.” He sheathed the knife and handed it to the big man. “You might need this,” Ethan said.

“I’m a peaceful man,” the big man said.

“But silence is golden.” Ethan followed by taking the bottle of whiskey, wiping the rim, and taking a drink from the pocket bottle he took off the drunken man. Ethan handed the muscular man the knife. “Take it. He might be back.”

The big man took the knife and extended his hand. “Jacob Johnson, DDS.”

Ethan shook his hand. “Ethan Simmons, optimistic pessimist,” he said with a smile. “You’re a dentist?” Ethan said with a puzzled look.

“Yeah,” Jacob said with a smile of pearly white teeth.

“But you’re so big.” Ethan said.

“Yeah, my mom wanted me to use my brain and not my body.”

The Farmhouse

Chapter 31

Tuesday, 1700 CST

Millington

D
evin and the soldiers crept along the side of the house. It was Devin followed by Walker, Daniels, and Jameson in the back with his trusty M14. Devin stuck his head up to the window. “Looks empty,” he said. “Walker, you and Daniels go to the front and knock politely. We’ll stay here and cover you from the window. If anything happens, start shooting. It’s them or us. Oorah?”

“Oorah.” Walker pushed his glasses back on his face. Walker and Daniels walked up the steps to the door. Daniels held his weapon as he leaned next to the door. Walker knocked politely. There was no movement from Jameson and Devin’s point of view. Walker started banging on the door with his fist. There was no movement inside. “Maybe there’s a basement,” Devin said as he eyed the small window at their feet. Jameson lay prone to examine the window with his flashlight. “No movement.”

“Open the door,” Daniels said to Walker. The door handle creaked as he turned it. He held a rifle close to his body as he moved silently through the house. He made hand signals to Jameson and Devin.

“What?” Devin asked.

“He said it’s empty,” Jameson responded with a series of hand signals with a lot of pointing.

“You’re gonna have to teach me that shit. When I was in, we had radios,” Devin said with a smile. Jameson and Devin made their way into the house. Walker went up the stairs. His heavy body made the wooden stair creaks beneath his boots. Devin and Jameson stayed on the first floor.

They rounded the first floor. One opened doors, while the other one pointed his weapon. They came to a small door under the stairs. They opened it only to see a flight of stairs that led downward. Devin took the lead. He walked down the stairs, waving his weapon toward the opening that was appearing to his side. “
Nothing
,” he thought. The two men swept the basement of the house, and both deemed it safe. They met Walker and Daniels on the first floor. “Take the car, go back to the group, and lead them here. This is home for the night,” Jameson said to Walker. Daniels began sifting through the pantry looking for something to eat. “Score!” he said as he found a bag of flavored potato chips.

The farmhouse became their home for the night. The vehicles lined the front yard. The doors were locked, bolted, and reinforced with furniture. The survivors were weary from their journey. The head count came to forty-seven, including Devin, Erica, Jamison, Walker, and Daniels. People made pallets from what they could find. They picked their respective places upstairs, on the ground floor, and in the basement. Before night fell, Erica and some of the others were in the kitchen cooking what they could find. Children were playing quietly downstairs.

Devin was in the back of the transport truck with Walker and Jamison going through the weapons. “What have we got?” he said to Walker holding a folded piece of paper and a pen.

“Twenty-eight handguns—mostly .45 caliber and 9 millimeter, sixty-two hunting rifles—all random calibers, a couple of SAWs, fifteen M16s, and eight M14s.” He flipped the paper. “An armload of shotguns, some plastic explosive, a box of hand grenades, and one .50 M2HB heavy machine gun with about four thousand rounds of ammunition,” Walker said as he tapped the pen against the paper.

“So we are OK then?” Devin retorted.

“Fuck, yeah sir. We didn’t get any food rations, but I think we can scavenge.”

“That means we’d have to stop,” Jamison said from the side of the truck.

“First rule of a convoy is ‘You don’t stop.’” Devin met him from the other side of the truck tarp.

“We’d have to stop for fuel too. We could just raid as we go.”

“Hang on, where exactly are we going, and why aren’t we calling for support?” Walker said.

“I got a text from someone offering safe haven. It’s in Kentucky. This is an outbreak; we need to stay away from anything that resembles military until things cool down. The military makes decisions without finding out the ramifications first,” Devin said.

“So we’re just going to trust whoever sent you a text message? This doesn’t sound shady at all,” Walker said with frustration.

“It’s the only viable option. If you saw what I saw at the base, you’d agree too. Besides, we’d be treated as deserters, ” Jamison said. Devin nodded.

“What about our families?”

“Hopefully they made it out, man.” Devin watched as Walker scuffed away. He stuck out a closed fist to Jamison. “Thanks for backing me up, man.”

Jamison mimicked the fist and touched knuckles with Devin. “It was the truth.”

Danny’s Apartment

Chapter 32

Monday 1500 CST

St. Louis

D
anny and Tricia had made it out of her apartment complex. Danny picked her up, and they were heading to his place. The sun shone down on the city. Tricia gawked at the sight out of her window. Danny was more concerned with getting to a safe area. None of his fellow firefighters had answered. He thought about driving over to his firehouse, but he knew that was a bad idea. He wanted to make it home.

When he pulled into the parking structure of his apartment complex, he pulled out a flashlight from his car. He waved it around the dark garage. There wasn’t any sign of movement. “It looks clear,” he said. She quietly nodded, and they got out of the car together. Danny motioned for her to walk toward the elevator. He got out of the car and quietly closed his door, but she did not. She slammed the car door close and continued walking while Danny stood completely still. He sighed at her apparent apathy considering the situation. Danny grabbed the tire iron out of the back of his car. “I hope Mark is home,” he said silently to himself.

As Tricia pushed the button for the elevator, the red “Up” light illuminated. Danny stood with the tire iron raised. Tricia stood there and watched as the elevator was counting down. Danny looked to his side and saw the stairwell door leading up. When the elevator displayed the number “6,” the sounds of dragging echoed through the sublevel garage. The only illumination was the safety lights in the distance and the light over the elevator. Danny turned the tire iron toward the direction he thought the sound was coming from. Tricia began dancing on her toes waiting for the elevator.

Walking into the path of light coming toward them started with a woman’s legs. She was dragging a high-heeled shoe on one of her feet because her foot wasn’t fully in the shoe. Next her slim waist came into the light. After that was a blouse, unbuttoned to show cleavage, but “professional attire” in business sense, it was a light blue with see-through sleeves. “Oh my god, are you all right?” Tricia asked. “
Vicki!
” Danny thought. Danny motioned for Tricia to back away from her. Vicki’s face came into the light. She was pale, and her eyes were bloodshot. There was dried blood running down her neck. “Oh shit!” Danny said as he swung the tire iron at her head. As Danny stood over the corpse, he swung the tire iron again. “That’s what you get for giving me the crabs, Bitch!” Danny turned to hear a scream. The elevator doors were open. There were five pale faces looking at them. Danny looked at them and then looked at the staircase. As they were coming out of the elevator at them, Danny made a decision. He hit Tricia in the back with the tire iron and sprinted to the staircase. He sprinted up the staircase. He heard a scream, but he didn’t stop.

Answers

Chapter 33

Tuesday 2130 CST

Memphis

A
shley awoke from Josh’s sleeping embrace. There was a buzzing sound coming from one of the backpacks they had brought. She stealthy reached to grab the bag; it had a name written across the front:
C. Parker.
She hesitated to open it, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her. There was a cell phone vibrating against a can of cream corn at the bottom of the bag. She stuck her hand in the bag and retrieved the cell phone. The illuminated screen gave her a moment of hope until she saw the amount of missed calls and text messages icon. She remembered Parker saving her from the man at the college and felt remorse. The phone buzzed again in her hand. She swiped the phone open to reveal a locked screen with a pass code. She just stared at the phone buzzing in her hand. “Answer it,” Josh said in a sleeping tone.

“I can’t. It’s locked.”

“Let me see.” Josh took the phone in one hand and rubbed his eye with the other.

“It’s a four-number code,” she said. Josh opened his other eye and began rooting around inside Parker’s bag.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“I saw a piece of paper with something written on it, and I stuck it back in here. Here it is!” he said excitingly. He unfolded a piece of paper to expose a note. “
If anything happens to me, call Phoenix. 1-5-1-5. I’m sorry. Clint Parker.
”

“It’s his jersey number twice,” Josh said as he handed the note to Ashley. Josh entered the pass code and opened Parker’s home screen.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m calling that guy.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“Everything.”

Ethan and Jenna carried their food to Junior’s campfire and took a seat to complete a circle. “Guys, this is Ethan and Jenna. Ethan and Jenna, these are my friends.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Ethan said as he took a bite of whatever was in his box. He didn’t care what it was as long as it was cooked.

“How did y’all get here?” Junior’s older companion asked as he reached for something next to his seat.

“We got lost and got picked up by some military folks,” one said.

“How did you make it here?” another asked in a polite tone.

“When we got word, we went to my friend’s apartment, got really drunk, and then went on the run. Came here looking for a boat. We figured it would be safer. Ya’ll don’t look like Memphis-folk. How did ya’ll get here?” he retorted.