Authors: Dirk Patton
We quickly covered the final distance to the bus and rushed
through the open doors. Betty was waiting behind the wheel and leaned into the
lever to close the doors as soon as we were aboard. I stumbled with my burden
in the center aisle of the bus when Betty hit the gas and would have fallen to
the floor except for the hands of the kids that reached out and grabbed me and
held me upright until I got my balance back. Moving to the back of the bus I
gently laid the girl across one of the back seats and collapsed onto the
other. Rachel dug around and found a small towel that she draped over my
privates, then dug some more under a seat and found a rough woolen blanket that
she used to cover the girl’s body after removing my rifle and laying it on the
floor under the seat. That task completed she looked over the bus and after
appearing to count heads twice reached out and placed her hand on a boy’s
shoulder.
“Jared. Where’s the boy with the lighter. I’m sorry, I
don’t know his name.”
“Trey,” one of the girl’s volunteered.
“He was lighting the gas tanks like he was supposed to and
one of them went out. He went back to re-light it and just when he got to the
side of the truck it exploded.” The boy answered her question. Rachel cursed
and lowered herself into the seat next to the boy. I glanced around the bus
and did a quick head count. There were now only six surviving kids. I wanted
to know the details, especially about the girl who had been killed rescuing me
from the pit, but that could wait. Climbing to my feet I held the towel over
myself and side stepped, bare assed, up to the front to check on Betty.
“How we doing, Betty?” I asked, stepping down onto the
first exit step so I could talk to her without bending over. There was also a
short bulkhead there that shielded me from the rest of the bus. I’m hardly
what you would call a modest person, but I didn’t particularly enjoy running
around in front of a bunch of teenagers with just a small towel covering my
crotch.
“If I was only 20 years younger we’d both be doing a lot
better.” Betty glanced sideways at me and grinned with the familiar twinkle in
her eye. “We’ve got half a tank of gas and those crazy people don’t have any
vehicles left to chase us. We’re going to follow this road for a bit then turn
north to Murfreesboro. Should take us about an hour if the good Lord’s willing
and the creek don’t rise.”
I couldn’t help but grin when she used one of my mother’s
favorite sayings. Leaning down I kissed her on the cheek and headed to the
back of the bus. Resuming my seat I was surprised to see a large boy walk up
and sit my pack down on the floor next to me. I thanked him and dug through,
finding a spare pair of underwear. After the third time I dropped them on the
floor Rachel helped me get them over my feet and up in place. For not the
first time in my life I was amazed at how much better it feels to have some
clothing on. Modesty restored I plopped back onto the seat as Rachel reached
out and took each of my arms in her hands, holding me by the wrists as she
examined my damaged hands.
“We’ve got to get these cleaned and do something to stop the
bleeding.” She said and bent down to dig the medical kit out of my pack. The
first thing she held up was a morphine auto-injector, but I shook my head. As
bad as the pain was I couldn’t afford to be loopy on morphine if we ran into
another fight. Shaking her head in doubt she put the spring loaded syringe
back in the med-kit and spread the rest of the items out on the seat next to
her. Waving one of the girls over Rachel handed her a small flashlight that
she aimed at my hands.
This was the first good look I’d gotten at my hands and I
was shocked at how bad they looked. The nails they had driven through me had
been large, so large in fact that when they were removed the wounds failed to
completely close back together and I could look all the way through each hand.
Worried that my earlier assessment of the degree of damage may have been
optimistic I experimentally made a fist with each hand. I can honestly say the
pain was the worst I’ve ever experienced in my life. Worse than a dislocated
shoulder. Worse than a broken jaw and nose. Worse than getting shot. I
leaned my head back on the vinyl covered bench seat as Rachel started to work.
If I thought my hands had been hurting it was nothing like
the experience of having alcohol poured into the wounds to sterilize them. How
I managed to not jerk my hands away I can’t really say, but somehow I was able
to hold them out as the alcohol burned its way through my raw flesh and sweat
poured off my body. What’s the expression? Sweating like a whore in church?
If that’s the case I had been a very bad girl and the preacher was on a roll. As
I watched, Rachel repositioned the light and peered at my palms then started using
tweezers to remove debris. Finally satisfied she doused me with alcohol again
before slathering antibiotic ointment into the wounds. Thinking the worst was
over I was ready to relax until she unwrapped a suture kit. Fuck me.
Half an hour later Rachel trimmed the final stitch, applied
a thin coat of antibiotic ointment then started wrapping my hands with gauze.
I made her adjust and redo the bandages a couple of time so that I would have
at least minimal use of my hands. When everything was as good as it was going
to get she packed everything except a fat syringe and a bottle of yellow liquid
back into the med-kit. Sticking the not very small needle through the rubber
top on the vial she pulled out the plunger and the syringe filled with some of
the liquid. All of this was done right in front of my face and if I didn’t
know better I’d swear Rachel was enjoying messing with my head. Needle ready
she motioned me to stand, pulled down the back of my underwear and after
swabbing a spot clean with an alcohol pad she jammed the needle into me.
“OK. That last was a high dose of antibiotic.” She said.
“Do you know when your last tetanus shot was?” Actually I did. I had gotten
one as part of routine vaccinations for international travel just a year ago.
“Good. I don’t think there’s any significant damage but
there’s no way you don’t have some degree of nerve damage. The good news is
you can open and close your hands. There may be some numbness and weakness,
but we’ll have to wait and see. The biggest danger right now is infection.
Those bandages need to be changed twice a day so we’ll keep a close eye for a
while.”
“Thank you, mother.” I said, receiving a nasty look in
response as she busied herself with cleaning up and repacking the med-kit in my
pack. While she was in the pack she dug out pants, a shirt, socks and a pair
of athletic shoes for me and helped me dress. I had no boots and had lost my
vest. Retrieving my rifle from the floor I checked it then slung it over my
head and cut a big chunk of the heavy vinyl upholstery from one of the bus
seats. Rachel started working on it to make a sheath for my Kukri while I went
back up front to check on our progress with Betty.
“How we doing, sweetheart?” I asked as I reached the front
of the bus.
“Oh listen to how you talk! We’re almost to the highway
that goes north to Murfreesboro. We were a little farther away than I thought,
and I’m having to keep this old pile of junk under 40 or it feels like the
whole front end is going to shake itself to pieces.” Betty never took her eyes
off the road, leaning slightly forward to peer into the gloom that was as good
as the weak headlights could do. As poor as they were I was kind of glad the
speedometer only read 35. A cheap, dollar store compass was stuck to the dash
and it showed we were driving directly south, but less than a mile later the
road curved and swung around to the east. At the very edge of the lights I could
just make out the stop sign that must be at the highway we were looking for.
Turning my head to check on Rachel and the kids I didn’t see
the female infected that ran right at the front of the bus, bouncing off the
right front fender. The sound of the impact jerked my attention back to the
road and brought gasps from the kids. Rachel rushed forward and stood next to
me, peering through the windshield. Ahead the road we were on ended at a T
intersection, connecting with a state highway. A small green sign that read
‘Murfreesboro’ pointed to our left, but no distance was indicated. Betty hit
the brakes and Rachel and I had to brace to keep from being thrown into the
dash and from the back of the bus I heard a yelp of protest as Dog slid off the
seat he was sleeping on. The old bus shimmied to a stop 30 yards shy of the
stop sign and we all stared through the cracked windshield. The lights didn’t
do a good job of lighting up the highway we wanted to turn onto, but they were
good enough for us to see the hundreds of infected marching along it in the
direction we wanted to go. We were immediately noticed and dozens of males and
females peeled off from the group and headed in our direction.
The narrower road we were sitting on was quickly filling up
with infected. A few females raced ahead of the slower males and in seconds
were at the grill and spreading out along the sides of the bus pounding on the
thin sheet metal walls. Sounds of panic came from the kids and Dog ran forward
and stuck his head in between mine and Rachel’s legs.
“Back up!” Rachel said, anxiety causing her voice to raise
an octave. For a moment I agreed with her, but…
“Wait,” I said to Betty who had already shifted into
reverse. We sat there with her foot on the brake and the bus’s back up alarm
beeping loudly. “If we go back, where does this road go?”
“It winds around a bunch of small valleys then turns south
and down to Alabama eventually.” Betty said, hand still on the shifter.
“Forward! Push through them and turn for Murfreesboro!”
Betty and Rachel turned and looked at me like I was crazy.
It wasn’t doing us any good to just sit there so I repeated myself a little
louder, waving at the gear shifter with my bandaged hand. “Trust me. Just get
us moving and I’ll explain.”
Betty didn’t waste any more time. Moving the shifter back
to drive, she slowly accelerated. The males in our path were either knocked
down then run over, the bus’s worn suspension squeaking as the whole vehicle
swayed from each body we drove over, or were pushed aside where they lost their
balance and fell to the ground. Unfortunately they were back on their feet in
no time and in pursuit. The females stayed with us, running alongside and
pounding on the bus as Betty kept our speed under 10 miles per hour. Maintaining
a steady speed Betty turned onto the larger highway and the bumping and swaying
got worse due to the sheer number of infected in our path.
“The herd coming up from the Gulf,” Rachel said a moment
later, turning to look at me.
“That’s what I’m thinking. I think it’s a safe bet that the
defenses the military was setting up at the southern Tennessee border were
compromised when the second outbreak hit. These infected are only a little
ahead of schedule based on what we heard Max say the other day. I’m guessing
this is the leading edge of the herd. The healthiest and fastest males and a
lot of females. If we’d gone back and followed that road south we’d run into
the main body of the herd.”
Indeed, there were quite a few males on the road, but the
majority of the infected we were encountering were females. Both sides of the
bus were now lined with females as they pounded in frustration at not being
able to get to us. Two of them were clinging to the large mirror mounted on
the right front fender but for the moment I wasn’t worried about them as it was
taking all their effort and concentration just to hang on. Betty was still
poking along not moving any faster and I wanted to tell her to accelerate, my
mind screaming at me that we needed speed, but there were just too many
infected on the road for us to risk going faster. The impact of bodies was a
near constant sound and for as far as the weak headlights could shine there
were infected in front of us. By now most of them had turned, having heard the
noise of our engine, and were either standing and waiting for us or coming
directly at us. If the bus broke down we were royally screwed.
We continued bulling our way through the herd for the next
ten minutes. The press of bodies against the old bus alternately thinning out
before thickening again. To its credit the bus kept moving, but I was hearing
a grinding noise from somewhere in the drivetrain that was starting to concern
me. I kept glancing between the dash and the road in front of us and was not
happy to see the engine temperature gauge hovering just below red. A quick
glance up and I saw the problem. Infected were plastered to the grill,
blocking the normal air flow across the radiator that would cool the engine.
Our speed was so slow that both males and females had managed to grab on to the
front of the bus and were clinging to us. Overheating would also bring us to a
dead stop. Glancing back and up at the ceiling of the bus I spotted the vents
in the roof I expected to be there. These old busses didn’t have air
conditioning so the manufacturers had cut large vents into the roofs and
covered them with translucent plastic domes that could be raised a few inches
to allow hot air to vent out.
Striding back to the third row of seats I waved the kids
sitting there out of the way and straddled the aisle, standing on the edge of
the seat on either side. A small handle, just like older houses had for
opening their windows, stuck down and I grabbed it with my damaged hand and
cranked several turns. The cover over the opening was hinged at the front end
and the crank moved a rod at the unhinged end that pushed it open to a 45
degree angle, the crank stopping when the cover reached the limit of its
travel. The opening itself didn’t look very large, but I thought I could work
my shoulders through and get my upper body above the roof so I could shoot the
infected off the grill.
Turning my rifle muzzle down I used the stock to batter the
cover off its hinge and out of the way. Opening ready I shifted my feet until
I was standing on the tops of the back rests, and rifle in hand shoved an arm
and shoulder through the opening. That was as far as I got. I was just too
large to work my head and other arm and shoulder up through the roof. Cursing,
I retreated and started trying to think of a way to enlarge the opening.
Rachel had come back when I’d started battering the cover out of the way and
stood looking at me trying to figure out if I’d gone nuts.
“What are you doing?”
“The infected hanging on to the front of the bus are
blocking the radiator and we’re going to overheat,” I said, dropping back into
the aisle. Understanding dawned on her face and Rachel shooed me out of the
way.
Climbing up onto the seats then the back rests she wormed
her head and shoulders out of the opening. That was as far as she got, the
back rests she was standing on not high enough for her to get her upper body
above the roof line. With only head and shoulders in the clear she couldn’t
effectively use her rifle. Stooping I moved in between her legs, wrapped an
arm around each thigh and took her weight onto my shoulders as I stood up to my
full height. Rachel crossed her ankles across the small of my back to
stabilize her perch and she gained over a foot of elevation and was in a good
shooting position. I was facing the front of the bus and watched out the
windshield as she started picking off the infected riders with head shots.
Unfortunately it wasn’t a one and done exercise for as soon
as she shot an infected that fell away from the grill and under the wheels of
the bus, another one took its place. Rachel kept up the fire. She was slow
and methodical with her shooting and as far as I could tell she didn’t miss a
single shot. A couple of times female infected climbed over the mass of bodies
riding along with us and made it on to the hood, charging Rachel’s position,
but she was able to drop them before they climbed fully onto the roof. I was
getting occasional glimpses of the engine temp gauge over Betty’s shoulder when
she swayed to her left as we ran over bodies, and while the temp was still high
it had stopped flirting with the red zone of the gauge.
Rachel kept up the shooting for what seemed like hours but
was closer to fifteen minutes. I was focused on staying as steady as I could
as I supported her while the bus rattled, shimmied and swayed and it didn’t
register at first when her rate of fire started slowing. When I did notice I
was relieved to note the infected in front of us were thinning out. Then they
were gone, seemingly as if a line had been drawn. Rachel shot the last one
hanging on to the grill then shifted and dispatched the two females that were
still clinging to the mirror on the fender.
“Spin me in a circle. Slowly.” She shouted down through
the roof.
I made a slow circle, feeling her body tense slightly as it
absorbed the recoil of another shot, then I completed the circle and was facing
front again. Rachel uncrossed her ankles and I took this as a sign she was ready
to come down. Sliding my aching hands down her legs I guided each foot to the
top of a back rest as I squatted. When I felt her weight shift off of me and
onto her legs I ducked out from under her and reached up to help her down.
Holding her just above the hips I steadied her as she worked her body back into
the bus then stepped away so she could drop down into the aisle.
“Good shooting!” I said with a grin. She smiled, pleased
with the compliment, and then led the way back to Betty. A glance at the
speedometer showed we were up to over 25. Looking out the windshield I was
pleased to see nothing but dark pavement ahead of us. Looking back at the dash
I noted our current mileage on the odometer.
“How far do you think, Betty?” I asked.
“Not sure. Maybe another 20 miles to the center of town,
but we should start getting to the edge of town in about 10 to 15 miles.”
“Half an hour, roughly.” I commented.
“Maybe longer.” Betty replied. “This old tranny isn’t
sounding so good and I think I’d better slow down a bit.” I watched as the
speed dropped to 20 and Betty seemed satisfied for the moment even though the
grinding sound from beneath my feat was growing louder.
Betty held our speed steady, driving through the dark
night. Twice we saw animals dash across the road in our headlights, a coyote
moving fast and a skunk moving as fast its short legs could propel it. The
road carved gentle curves through the heavy forest and we had been driving for 55
minutes, only covering 18 miles, when we came out of a curve and saw the
roadblock just ahead. Red road flares defined a line across the pavement in
front of a line of six wheeled military transport trucks. Behind the trucks I
could see the red and blue pulses of police lights flashing in the night.
Lined up behind the trucks was a row of men armed with all varieties of hunting
rifles and shotguns. They saw us at the same time we saw them and a moment
later dozens of weapons were pointed at us.
Betty slowed, finally stopping the bus a few yards short of
the line of road flares. Behind me I heard rustling as all the kids shifted
around trying to get a better look through the windshield. Dog growled and I
placed a calming hand on his head. He went silent but I could feel the tension
in him like a wound spring ready to release. Betty moved the gear shift into
park and we sat there for a long moment before a voice sounded out in the
night, amplified through one of the police car’s PA system.
“Step out of the bus without your weapons and your hands in
the air.” It commanded. Rachel looked at me and I shook my head. No way was
I going to disarm myself.
“It’s OK,” Betty said, having seen the exchange between
Rachel and me. “I think I know that voice. Sit tight.”
Rachel and I stepped back out of her way and she leaned into
the door lever to open the doors. They moved a couple of inches and stuck.
Stepping around Rachel I added my weight to the lever and they popped free of
whatever was obstructing them and slammed open, the glass that had been cracked
by the female infected shattering and falling free to the pavement. Betty
smiled at me, patted me on the arm and stepped out of the bus where she was
immediately spotlighted. Raising a hand to shield her eyes she called out
towards the roadblock.
“Is that Jonathan Jackson I hear?”
There was silence for a moment, then the same voice without
benefit of the PA system answered, “Ms. Jasinski?”
“Indeed it is, and I have a handful of youngsters and a
couple of survivors on this bus.”
Within moments the spotlight shut off and four men emerged
between two of the trucks and walked forward. All four were wearing police or
sheriff uniforms, I couldn’t tell which, and the one in the lead rushed up to
Betty and hugged her. She hugged him back and they talked for a minute, her
gesturing to the bus and him nodding his head as she talked. Conversation
completed Betty came back to the doors and called all of us out. I stepped
aside and let Rachel lead the kids out, shouldered into my pack and followed
the last kid out with Dog at my side. Moving over to where Betty stood with
the four cops I nodded a greeting as I approached. My rifle was slung in front
of my body, my hand on the pistol grip which was a natural carrying position
for me and not intended as a threat, but two of them placed their hands on the
butts of their holstered pistols as I approached.
“I come in peace,” I said as I came to a stop directly in
front of them. I caught a look from Rachel out of the corner of my eye but
ignored her. Betty introduced us but I declined to shake hands due to my
wounds and heavy bandages. It turned out that Jonathan Jackson was a sergeant
with the Murfreesboro Police and had grown up two doors down from Betty. I
could tell from his body language that her endorsement of me was all he needed
to accept my presence. He was full of questions and Betty was starting to tell
him our tale, but I interrupted the reunion.
“Sergeant, we’ve got a lot of infected on their way here
right now. 18 miles back, probably less than that by now, there’s a big herd
with lots of females at the front that is headed right here. They’ll swarm
over this roadblock in a hot minute and keep on going right into town. Please
tell me you’ve got better defenses set up closer to town.” He looked shocked
and turned to Betty who just nodded her head in validation of what I was
saying. “We’ve got three hours at the most.”
Standing there in the dark, his features washed with the red
flickering light from the flares I could still see the panic and indecision on
his face. He glanced over his shoulder at the other three officers, all
younger, and they looked just as panicked.