Barren Fields (11 page)

“We were praying,” Jeremiah says as he stands up.

“I have no doubt you were praying, but I think what Toby was doing is a thing called playing and he’s taking you for a fool.”

As usual, Jeremiah doesn’t like what I have to say, or how I say it, and believes it is intentional malice toward him on my part.

“He has a good soul, Eddie, even if he threatened us in the woods.”

“I’m sure he led you to believe that, Jeremiah. I don’t fault you for him misleading you but tell me what you think of him and his wife after you hear what he has to say about how his group functioned.”

Jeremiah looks at Isaac, who nods back at him as if to say
It’s the truth,
and Jeremiah steps away from Toby.

*

“As you can probably guess, Toby, your version of events up until now don’t exactly mesh with what these other five are saying. It’s pretty close, but not exact, so let me run over a few things with you just to be sure. You say it was the women’s idea to trade sex for supplies, but they all say it was your and Paula’s requirement for getting your protection and staying in your group. Why would all of them have the same lie when I spoke to them separately?”

“I didn’t touch them. I thought everyone should contribute something to the survival of the group, and they had nothing else they could offer.”

“Did he touch any of you?”

All of the women shake their heads
no
.

“Paula would have killed him,” Heather replies.

“Last thing, Toby, about the attack yesterday. You said you lost four men when your group was surprised by the runners, but the others say you had given each of them specific areas to guard, and they were all far away and spread out. I know, and I’m sure you do as well, that the runners like to attack solo targets. What about that?”

“Those men were a liability,” he says echoing Abigail’s words from earlier. “Those men used these women for sex...”

“And how is what you did any different?” Rachel interrupts to accuse him.

“I never touched you or any of the other women. You all had a choice of what you wanted to do. I can’t help it if you were all entitled princesses before the world fell apart and never bothered learning how to survive or defend yourselves.”

“Get back to your point,” I tell him.

“The day after we arrived in Rogue River we saw a large group of people move through on bicycles heading toward Grants Pass. I thought they were escaping to the coast like we were, but I heard someone mention bringing people back to a ranch so I knew they would come back this way. I thought when those people came back by we could barter or maybe join up if they had a safe place to stay. No decent group of people would have let those men in, and any other group wouldn’t want them because they would be competition for getting access to the women.”

“So you set the men up to get killed by the runners.”

“Yes, I did. They would have been turned away or killed by your group anyway. If they were turned away they would end up getting attacked and catching the sickness. I don’t want to have to fight any more of them than necessary.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes. That is it,” he says looking at me and the others like an innocent man wrongly accused. “So what now?”

Samantha uses the opportunity to give Toby a little scare. In a completely serious tone she says, “Everyone will go back with us to the ranch. You women will be safe there, and probably Donny as well, but our ranch was a former gay commune before the disease hit and the men have been complaining about no new single men showing up for a while. You can stay with us for protection, Toby, but you’re going to have to perform for our boys if you want to stay alive.” She walks behind Toby, smacks his ass and loudly whispers in his ear, “You are going to be so popular.”

I have to give credit where credit is due, and Isaac steps in to play supporting role to Samantha and gives Toby a flamboyant wink and a flying kiss. For a few seconds we are all able to silently hold on to the moment and I imagine I can hear Toby’s sphincter muscles tighten up, but then the moment is lost and we all start cracking up.

“So what are we really going to do with him?” Jeremiah asks, chuckling along with the rest of us.

I pull out my gun and shoot Toby in the head. “That, I guess,” I say to the suddenly silent and serious looking crowd. “I want to get home, let’s go,” and start walking away from Toby’s body to the truck.

“We shouldn’t leave them here.”

“Well, we aren’t taking them with us,” I say more coldly than I intentioned. “If you want to bury Roger, we can take him with, but I don’t care what happens to Toby or Paula.”

“Sadly, burying them isn’t what I meant,” Heather replies. “I wish I still had that kind of concern for the dead, but I don’t. Not anymore, not after everything I’ve seen. Still we should take them with us or we have to burn their bodies.”

I start feeling sick with the urgency of her tone. I’ve read too many zombie stories to think there is any meaning behind her words other than a new evolution of this sickness is starting to make the dead rise.

“Can’t we just shoot them in the head to prevent them from getting back up?” I ask, fearing maybe even that won’t stop them.
Is that why there are so many runners out there now? Are the infected that are dying finally starting to rise again?

“Get back up? What are you talking about?”

“Real zombies. The dead getting back up and walking.”

She looks at me like I’m a lunatic in a completely normal world. “You know that’s impossible, right?”

“Yes, well it has been an interesting eight months, and the last week has gotten even stranger with the runners showing up. I just thought the
worst-of-the-worst
case scenarios might be happening when you said we had to burn the bodies.”

“The infected are starving to death. You must have seen their corpses everywhere. If you leave an uninfected body out, they will eat it. I watched it happen once. If we leave them here, they should be burned or you will just be feeding the infected.”

“That’s good to know. Let’s take the bodies with us then. We’ll have to bury them at the ranch.”

“Those two don’t deserve a burial,” Rachel says.

“I agree, but I’ve had enough experience with the smell of burning bodies to fill ten lifetimes. I don’t want to smell it again.”

“It’s too bad we don’t have any poison,” Donny says. “We could use it on the bodies to kill any more infected that come this way.”

“Too bad Ruben’s house burned down, they might have had some rat or ant poison. It’ll take too long to search other houses in the area, so let’s just get the bodies loaded up and keep the idea of poisoning the infected available for another time.”

Chapter 9

The Caravan

Mexico.

Senior Maldonado and his family have been told about the radiation exposure George and the others received. There was concern that the sickly way they look and move was related to the disease that is everywhere, but a quick inspection by Maldonado’s personal physician confirmed what they were saying.

The supplies from George’s house have been loaded into two dump trucks from a local construction yard. Smaller bags and backpacks have been spread throughout the ten vehicle convoy for individuals to use if they have to get out and run. The only thing delaying their departure is Senior Maldonado’s mother. She is saying her final goodbyes at the graves of her husband and daughter in the back yard.

The whole scene, when taken in, comprises the entirety of the effects the Zeus drug has wrought in the world. Sadness, terror, and confusion are etched on the faces in the vehicles. Sickness and impending death are embodied by George, Keith, Frank, and Jack. Upheaval and destruction are represented by the vehicles loaded for exodus. Destruction is the smoke and flames rising over the city across the river. A bright spot in the turmoil is the hope that is represented in the scene as well. Hope has its place with Milagro, Maldonado’s newest grandchild that was born two days ago.

“Senior Maldonado is getting his mother in their truck now. Are you all doing okay?” Thomas asks the four other men in the Range Rover.

Keith and Frank are doing better now, they still have a slight level of nausea remaining but their strength is returning. George is still weak but has started to hold down water and chicken broth, which is a hopeful sign. Jack is in the worst shape of them all. Along with the ailments the others have, he has popped blisters on his upper torso and legs which they are treating to try and prevent him getting an infection.

Senior Maldonado’s physician, Dr. Morales, examined all of the men and gave them the same prognosis that they were able to glean from George’s books themselves. They were probably all exposed in the 2-6 Gray (Gy) of radiation range. Jack was likely exposed to the higher range and could die in eighteen to twenty-eight days. George might have a little less exposure than Jack, and with proper medical care, he might survive up to six months. In their current situation he probably has two to three months to live.

Keith and Frank are the real unknowns. Their symptoms have come and gone relatively fast—in terms of radiation exposure. It’s even possible that they are reacting to residual radiation from Jack and George, rather than something they encountered directly at the oil rig. The real sign will come over the next few weeks for them all. The level of hair loss they experience, from moderate to severe, will determine more than anything how much exposure they received.

“I’m doing fine,” Keith says.

Frank nods, and says, “Let’s hope we can make it through the country safely.”

George is lost in his own world as he stares out the window—tears flowing down his face. Jack is sleeping in the backseat between George and Frank.

*

The first test of their possible escape to the coast is approaching. They have only driven eight miles and reached the city of Minatitlán.

“There is a roadblock ahead,” Thomas tells the other men. “We will find out shortly if coming with Senior Maldonado was the right choice.”

Frank and Keith grip their guns tightly, but keep them low and out of sight, not knowing what to expect from a military blockade in Mexico. The vehicle Thomas is driving is the fifth vehicle in line. Senior Maldonado and his mother are in an SUV behind them, and the two dump trucks are in the rear followed by two more trucks filled with many armed men. The four SUVs in the front speed up as they approach the checkpoint. Thomas stops their vehicle to watch what will happen.

When Maldonado’s sons and guards reach the check point their vehicles spread out and stop, gushing armed men from their doors like water bursting through a dam. The soldiers, or men pretending to be soldiers at the roadblock, all take off running at the show of force. One or two of them appear to have real rifles, but the rest are holding sticks painted black.

A guard walks up to the Range Rover and hands Thomas a radio. They exchange a few words in Spanish, and Thomas drives forward to the men getting back into their vehicles at the roadblock.

“He told me I acted wisely by stopping when I did, and they thought I should have a radio so they can let us know what they are planning in the future.”

“Why did they take the chance of driving up to the roadblock like that?” Keith asks. “Some of them could have been killed if those were soldiers and they reacted like the military along the coast.”

“They knew those weren’t real soldiers. There haven’t been any military or police in this area for two days. Most of the people around here are also familiar with Senior Maldonado’s family and know to run when his sons or their security get out of a car,” he says back.

“What about the fires in the distance? Is that from rioting because the military and police are gone?”

“Unfortunately, no. The disease is here now, and we’ll have to move through the city fairly quickly once we get moving.”

Another call comes over the radio. Thomas replies once they start moving along with the convoy again.

“They told us to keep moving no matter what we see and to shoot anyone that approaches the vehicles, no matter who they are. We have to assume anyone moving toward us is infected.”

Keith rolls down his window in the front seat, and Frank does the same behind the driver. Their guns are ready for action, even though neither of the men is sure they are ready to take another human’s life.

Looking in the side mirror, Thomas watches the two dump trucks fall back slightly and the vehicles guarding the rear drive up to each side of Senior Maldonado’s SUV to flank it for protection.

“I guess the supplies are secondary to getting their boss and themselves to the coast,” he says to the others.

The sides of the highway are covered in trash. It isn’t an apocalypse thing. The streets here are just generally dirty. There are no street sweepers that come through this area, and the only saving grace for the garbage littering the landscape is the paper material it is comprised of. Very little foil or plastic packaging is used on the products here so the litter will eventually degrade and disappear, along with the houses, the roads and the bodies of people that are also laying on the ground in various places.

“How did the disease cause so much damage in this area when we haven’t encountered any infected yet?” George asks coming out of his depression for a moment.

“These bodies aren’t from the disease,” Thomas says back to them. “When the military pulled out of the area, many of the people wanted to escape with them. These people were killed because they got to close to the departing trucks.”

“And we’re supposed to do the same thing?” Keith asks with disgust.

“It probably won’t make you feel any better to hear this, but when the military pulled out, the disease hadn’t arrived yet. Or at least no one knew it was here. Now you can see the fires all over the city up ahead. We won’t truly know if anyone approaching our cars is infected, but there is a good chance they will be. When the military drove through, they knew the people they shot were healthy.”

“You’re right,” Keith says. “It doesn’t help.”

*

Five minutes later, flashes of light and reports of gunshots erupt from the lead vehicles. A few at a time at first, but with increasing tempo as they drive farther along highway 180D skirting the edge of the city. Men, women, and the occasional child walk toward the roadway they are on.

“They look like they’re in shock don’t they?” Thomas asks. “I mean, the way they just slowly wander around with those blank stares.”

The area they are driving through is completely infected. The vehicles in the lead are shooting the people that are too close to the road, but so far as they are driving, none of the infected out to the sides are moving fast enough to reach the vehicles. It is more depressing than it is terrifying while in the security of this caravan.

The fear starts to creep in as they approach another curve. The vehicles were forced to slow down to drive around several cars that wrecked against a wall on the last curve, and there is a concern about the same thing or something worse being up ahead. Some quick words on the radio ring out, and Thomas slows down their SUV to prepare.

“There is a tight spot between some wrecked cars around the curve, and the trucks are driving through but scraping as they go. They want Senior Maldonado to go next, and we will go after him.”

“What about the supplies?” George asks.

“That is the problem. We’ll have to stop ahead and shoot any approaching people while the dump trucks smash their way through.”

The curve is a classically designed horror movie death trap. During normal times it is a perfectly functional two lane underpass that stretches for a quarter of a mile. It is recessed into the ground under an overpass and has tall ninety degree concrete walls on each side. Today it is filled with wrecked vehicles and diseased people approaching at both ends.

Thomas drives the Range Rover through the gap, occasionally scraping the sides along the wreckage. They are followed by the two security trucks. He pulls the SUV up to the other vehicles at the end of the curve in the road and watches as the men from the lead vehicles shoot countless people walking toward them.

An echoing screech and scraping sound erupts behind them as the first dump truck starts muscling its way through the pile of twisted and intertwined cars. They chose to go slowly to prevent front end damage to either of the trucks rather than attempting to slam their way thru with force and speed.

The men of the four front vehicles jump back in their SUVs and drive off, followed by Senior Maldonado. The remaining guards yell at Thomas, presumably to get him to move as well as the first dump truck approaches. The driver doesn’t appear to want to slow down.

Looking out the back window as they drive, the five men watch as the remaining guards open fire on the rear dump truck. They aren’t shooting at its driver or passenger but at the infected people at various stages of climbing onto the truck. Two of the guards are attacked by infected people while their attention is on the last dump truck. The men’s view of the situation behind them disappears as they take another turn.

“We’re entering the final stretch of Minatitlán before we head into the open countryside,” Thomas tells them. “We’ll be staying west on highway 1450 until we turn south on 185. That will take us all the way to the coast.”

“Are there many cities between here and there?” Keith asks.

Thomas swerves the SUV away from a man that walked in front of them. He bounces off the side of the vehicle and falls onto the pavement. Like everyone else out there, he must be infected. He doesn’t yell or wave his arms in anger at having been knocked down. He just slowly starts getting back up only to be run down by the dump truck that is speeding to catch up with the convoy.

The radio squelches out more quick Spanish phrases, and Thomas fills the group in again.

“Three men died back there, but we still have all the vehicles and supplies. The second dump truck and final two guard trucks are catching up.”

“What’s up ahead for the rest of the trip?” Keith asks, reminding Thomas of his earlier question.

“Once we clear the city we should have forty-five minutes before we reach the next town. It only has eleven thousand people in it, so we shouldn’t have a problem making it through.”

“Unless the entire population is infected and standing in the road,” Jack says with a weak sarcasm.

“Well, yes, there is that possibility,” Thomas says while shifting in his seat. “More likely though is the distant towns won’t have the infection yet.”

“Sorry to be a downer, guys, but my luck hasn’t been the best in this whole
escape from danger and death
episode. Let’s hope this trip is based on someone else’s destiny and not mine.”

“Or mine,” says George, ending with a sad smile beside him.

Thomas pauses a moment in thought, and then continues telling them what’s ahead.

“We have a hundred forty miles to go over the mountains before we get to the next major city, Juchitán de Zaragoza. It is smaller than Coatzacoalcos, only seventy-five thousand people, but if the infection is there we’ll have to figure some other way to the coast because Tehuantepec and Salina Cruz would be infected as well. We want to get to Salina Cruz to get to the Pacific. We might be able to get to the ocean through Laguna Superior, a large brackish water lake south of Salina Cruz.”

The radio squelches again, but the men can see what the problem is this time. A large crowd of infected have surrounded a building near the road. Two people are trapped on the roof and are waving frantically to the moving convoy for help.

The screams for help are recognizable to the men even with the language barrier and over the moaning sound the infected make. No shots are fired to kill the infected because their numbers are too great. If anyone in the vehicles shoot, they could draw all of the infected at them and there is already a large group heading away from the building and toward the more accessible vehicles. The men all hang their heads in shame as they drive by the trapped people, without helping in some way.