Genesis Plague (26 page)

“I
think you’ll want to put that down,” I said quietly to Conny.

She lowered the
revolver slowly, but didn’t let it go.

There were five men in
the group. They stopped a few feet from the truck. One of them stepped closer,
toward my window. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with long hair pulled
back under a baseball cap. In the dark, his eyes were pits of black with only a
tiny star of light reflected in his pupils.

“Easy now,” he said as
he approached. He briefly turned back to the others in his group. “You fellas
watch ‘em close.”

He peered into the cab,
inspecting Conny and me. He saw the revolver in her hand and a small grin creased
his lips. She slowly set it on the floor between her feet and brought her hands
up to rest on her thighs.

“That all you’re
packing?” asked the man. The glow from the warning lights in the truck’s dash
cast just enough light on his face to be able to tell he was several days into
infection.

“That’s it,” I said.

“If you bend down to pick
that up, sweetheart,” he said to Conny, “it will be the last thing you ever do,
understand?”

She nodded.

The man looked at us
for a long moment. “Good.”

“Are you with the
drivers of those two cars?” I asked.

“Hell, no,” he said,
looking offended. “They know who runs this stretch of road, which is why they
tucked tail and ran like the cowards they are.”

He casually walked to
the bed of the truck, checking the boxes of supplies.

“Hey, Pete,” he said.

Another man from the
group came forward and looked into the bed.

The man with the
baseball cap held up a can of black beans, then pointed to the water, then to
the blankets.

“Don’t this look an
awful lot like what Jamie said he was bringin’ back?”

Pete pushed aside a
box, then picked up a few batteries from the shopping basket.

“Sure as hell does.”

After he spoke, every
man in the group raised their rifles and aimed them inside the cab of the Chevy.

“What’s going on?”
whispered Conny, her voice muffled by her face mask.

“I think they were
friends with the men we found just off the highway.”

“Oh, great.”

The man in the cap
walked back to my window.

“Say, how’d you come
across all your gear, friend? Quite a find, considering the state of things at
the moment.”

“I know how it looks,”
I said.

“Do you, now?”

He squinted
suspiciously, his eyes flicking down to my face mask. I didn’t want to move to
pull it off.

“If Jamie is an older
gentleman with camo pants, a khaki vest, and a white beard, then I’m afraid I
have some bad news for you.”

“That’s Bill!” said one
of the other men. They all started talking at once.

The man in the cap
raised his hand and they quieted down. His eyes never left mine. I could tell
by the clenched muscles in his jaw that he was struggling to keep his cool.

“And what exactly were
the circumstances surrounding your meetin’ with Bill?”

“He, uh, he was
deceased when we found him, probably for about two days.”

“That’s when he last
checked in,” Pete said.

“Quiet,” said the man
in the cap. He nodded at me. “Go on, then.”

“He was shot,” I said.
“I don’t think he suffered.”

The man’s face was grim
as he asked, “Were there any others with him?”

“Two men in the bed of
the truck, next to the supplies. Two others a short distance away. They looked
like they weren’t part of the same group. And there was a younger man on the
ground nearby.”

The man in the cap
breathed in sharply. “Dead?”

“Yes. Shotgun, close
range.”

“There was a dog, too,” said Conny. “A golden retriever.”

The man looked away
briefly, then back to me. “Describe the two men on the ground.”

“I don’t remember what
they looked like, but one of them carried a shotgun, and the other had two
chrome 9mm Berettas with pearl grips.”

“That’s the Wallace
boys, Jake,” said Pete.

“I know who it is,”
said the man in the cap – Jake.

“I think they’re
lyin’,” said one of the men.

“Then yer an idiot,”
said Jake. “You think these two killed our four
and
the Wallace boys?”

“The Mayor said we
shouldn’t underestimate anyone these days,” Pete said.

“And he’s right,” said
Jake.

“So what do we do?”

Jake looked at Conny.
“You’re infected, Miss?”

She returned his gaze
with bloodshot eyes.

“Well, then, yer gonna
feel right at home in Helena. As for you,” he said, studying my face, “I
suggest you keep that mask on.”

“We’re gonna keep on
going,” I said. “Take the supplies with you, but I need to be in South Dakota
as soon as possible.”

“It ain’t negotiable,”
said Jake, stepping back from the window. “Get ‘em out!” he called to his crew.
“If they buck, tie ‘em up and toss ‘em in the truck. Let’s get back to town.
The Mayor’s gonna wanna meet these folks.”

J
ake and his boys had two four-wheel-drive trucks stashed in the
trees just past the overturned semi. I rode in the cab of the first with Jake
and a guy who never lowered the .38 revolver away from my face for a second. I
tried not to think about hitting a pothole and him accidentally squeezing the
trigger. Another guy rode in the bed of the truck I was in, standing against
the cab, watching the road ahead.

Conny was in the second
truck, squeezed between the two biggest men in the group. My cab was so cramped
I couldn’t turn to see her, but I caught an occasional glimpse in the
passenger-side mirror. They were driving with the interior lights on, and I
could tell the men with her were all infected.

Jake and the other guy
in my truck looked to be a little farther along than Conny, maybe about four
days in. The translucent network of thin black veins was visible on their arms,
and burst red vessels were beginning to crawl toward their pupils from the
edges of their eyes.

They coughed, too. More
than Conny. I tried to keep one hand pressed against my face mask on the
journey. Jake wouldn’t let me ride in the bed of the truck. He was probably too
afraid I’d turn suicidal and jump out while we were on the highway.

Jake stuck to Route 12
until we passed into Helena. I couldn’t distinguish much detail outside. Sparse
housing became dense suburban streets as we drove toward what I imagined was
the downtown area. The street lamps had all been shot out, and none of the
houses were lit from within.

“You’re making a
mistake,” I said.

“Is that right?” Jake
asked without concern.

“The woman I’m with
works for the CDC. We’re going to South Dakota to find a way to stop the
virus.”

“Ain’t no stopping it,”
said the man with the .38.

“What’s in South Dakota?”
asked Jake.

“A pharmaceutical
processing facility. It’s where we’ll make the cure.”

He hesitated for a
moment, then said, “We’ll just wait and see what the Mayor thinks.”

Route 12 took a right
turn onto North Montana Avenue. A few blocks later, Jake turned the truck onto
a small road that led up to an imposing historical building topped by a broad
copper half-dome. A single spotlight illuminated a feminine statue atop the
peak.

Jake cut the engine and
sat looking up at the statue.

“They started building
the State Capitol in 1897,” he said. “I wonder if it ever crossed their minds
that something like this would happen. They probably thought Lady Liberty would
always be watching over a living, breathing city.” Disgust crept into his voice
as he said, “Now look at us.”

“If you let us go,” I
said, “we might be able to return everything to the way it was.”

“You ain’t been listening
to the reports, friend,” Jake said quietly. He nodded to the man with the .38.
“Sean’s right. Ain’t no stopping it.”

I looked at the
revolver. “You won’t need that.”

Sean motioned for me to
get out of the truck. “I reckon I’ll keep it handy just in case.”

I met up with Conny as
we crossed the wide, grassy lawn that led to the front steps of the Capitol
building. We passed a manicured flower bed that had been carefully trimmed to
spell out the word
Montana
in white-pink flowers.

“You okay?” I asked as
we were ushered up the steps between two massive stone pillars.

“A little dizzy,” she
said.

Jake led us into the
building. He took us to a large rotunda lined with four circular paintings. One
was missing half its canvas. A splash of red decorated the wall in its place.

“Looters got to it
before the Mayor decided to set up shop in here,” said Jake. “Someone stopped
‘em though. Not sure what you’d do with something like that these days. Could
be they just wanted to see what an empty frame looked like.”

He stopped in the
center of the rotunda as the rest of his crew caught up.

“Pete,” he said, “you
take this lady to triage and see about getting her an injection.” He nodded at
me. “I’ll take this fella down to see the Mayor.”

“We want to stick
together,” I said as Pete took Conny’s elbow and pulled her away.

“Well, you’re shit
outta luck,” Jake said. “This way.”

Conny was taken away
before I could say anything to her. Jake and Sean ushered me down a hallway
lined with the pictures of men who must have been important, or who at least
held offices that were deemed important by someone who made such decisions.

At the end of the hall
were two wide wooden doors with brass handles. A muscular man showing no signs
of infection blocked the way. He had a hunting rifle strapped to his back and a
belt of grenades slung over one shoulder. Holstered at his waist was a 9mm
pistol, and sheathed on the opposite side was a serrated machete.

“Marco here is our last
line of defense,” Jake said, slapping the man on the shoulder. “Try not to make
him angry.”

Marco grinned from beneath
a thick handlebar mustache – the only hair on his entire head.

“The Mayor in?” asked
Jake.

Marco stepped to the
side and knocked on the door slowly: once, twice, a third time. He turned the
brass handles and pushed both doors open. Sean stayed outside as Jake entered.

Inside the palatial
room, carpeted steps led up to a dark wood podium. The podium faced a room of
empty chairs, arranged in rounded tiers several levels high. At the base of the
tiers was a small typist’s desk, of a kind generally reserved for taking down
notes during meetings.

An older man with a
thick head of white hair sat alone, reading from a stack of papers on his desk.
Jake walked over to the desk and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Mayor,” he said.

The Mayor did not look
up. Jake leaned a little closer.

“Dad,” he said loudly.

“Hm?” said the Mayor.
He looked up suddenly, saw Jake, and smiled.

Then he saw me, and his
smile faded.

“Who have you brought
me?” he asked with a raspy voice.

“This man found Bill
and the others…and Jamie.”

At the mention of this
last name, the man rose to his feet on shaking legs, and the full measure of
his frailty became apparent. Jake offered his father a supporting arm as he
approached me.

“Tell me about Jamie,”
rasped the Mayor. “Tell me about my son.”