One Blink From Oblivion (16 page)

The freeway-man bolts to his next mark, and without breaking stride snaps the soldier’s knee with his left hand. Now ten seconds into the attack the circle begins to lose its cohesion and the soldiers start to fire wildly at the rapidly moving biter. The freeway-man darts from soldier to soldier ripping the body-armor from some and injuring others.

Now, most of the soldiers are firing their weapons at will. Occasionally one will find its target but more cases than not the soldiers end up hitting each other. Without their body-armor to protect themselves the freeway-man is in essence making them kill each other.

Max is shouting at the top of his lungs from under the Hummvy, “Shock him! Shock him!”

One soldier that has turned to flee apparently hears Max and decides to take his advice. He pulls the cattle prod from his waist and returns to the fray waving it frantically as he goes in, in an attempt to get others to join him. His plan seems to work and a few of the remaining soldiers produce their prods as well. The first one in is swatted hard by the freeway-man and sent sliding backward across the asphalt. The next soldier has slightly better luck and gets a shock in before he too is flung sideways into a parked car. The shock seems to slow the freeway-man down just a bit and this spurs-on the remaining soldiers to forge ahead with prods in hand.

The next soldier gives the freeway-man a solid shock to his midsection stunning him, and is immediately joined by two other soldiers that do the same. The freeway-man drops to a knee and they continue to shock him. If he had indeed been some kind of cattle animal the level of voltage now coursing through his system would surely kill him.

One of the wounded soldiers makes his way to the truck and produces a pair of shackles. The chain is thick, resembling the kind used by slave traders while attempting to control their captives. The injured soldier lugs the shackles over to the downed biter and with the help of his comrades, binds both the hands and the feet of the freeway-man. For good measure, they continue periodically to shock him.

“Let’s get him in the truck.” 

Upon hearing this, Max rolls out from under the Hummvy and launches a protest.

“You can’t put him back there with us. That thing has been hunting us half the night. We’re the reason why he’s here.” Max pleads with the soldier.

A deep scowl covers the soldier’s face, “If you’re the reason he’s here then you’re responsible for the deaths of these men. Now you can get in with or without our help.”

Max can tell by his tone and the look on the soldier’s face that he would prefer to
help
him into the vehicle. His father always told him that it was better to risk possible death than to accept a sure beat-down. Once again, there were unexpected words of wisdom from a man that lived his life as though he had none. Max helps himself into the truck and picks a seat next to Vinny. The soldiers are still tending to the freeway-man but as soon as they are done, they make sure to strap in Max as well.

The freeway-man is still dazed from the shock he’d sustained but that isn’t making anyone else in the truck any more at ease. Even those that were newly infected and not yet turned look upon the freeway-man with eyes full of dread.

Before the last soldier steps down from the back of the truck Vinny asks him, “Hey dude, do you think you could give his ass one more jolt with that thing before you go, just for shits and giggles?”

The soldier turns to Vinny and reveals a slight smile on his face, it’s Gilly’s pal. “No problem,” he says.

The soldier removes the prod from his hip and returns to the freeway-man where he stops and stands facing him. He lifts the prod, presses the button and lets it crackle a few times into the air. The back of the canvas-covered truck is filled with a blue light for an instant before the moonlight returns. The soldier laughs a bit and turns quickly; he plunges the prod into Vinny’s gut and lets the voltage loose. Like a rattlesnake, the fangs of the prod bite into Vinny’s abdomen and release a burst of electric venom that causes all of his muscles to contract at once.

Max lunges against his chains trying unsuccessfully to reach the soldier. The soldier releases Vinny from his electric grip and his body goes slack.

He points the stick in Max’s direction and asks him, “Ready for your turn boy?”

To Max, it’s beginning to appear as though he’s going to get that beat-down after all.

Before the soldier can step in and zap him, another calls from outside of the truck, “Corporal! Stand down!”

Luckily for Max, the corporal decides to obey the order and he promptly exits the vehicle.

A moment later the truck rumbles to life and the vehicular blockade is cleared from the roadway. The convoy gets underway and heads west to the freeway. Max ironically feels a tinge of relief in his current situation. Granted, he is locked in the back of a military transport vehicle with several people that are believed to be infected, not to mention another one who he was beginning to believe was the anti-Christ. His situation could certainly be better, but on the other hand, it could be worse too. The fact is that they are most likely headed to the valley- ground zero, and this time they have a military escort. Their chances of getting there alive –assuming the freeway-man remains in his semi catatonic state for the duration- have just increased tenfold. In addition, Max had to admit to himself that he was happy to share the title of protector for his two closest friends. As the evening has gone on, the job has grown exponentially more difficult and he was not looking forward to whatever trials that may lie ahead.

The truck hits a pothole and the canvas that covers the bed gaps momentarily. Max catches a glimpse of the roadside in the moonlight. The scene is surreal. The gutters are littered with the burnt out corpses of what he can only assume were the infected. The bodies aren’t just burned but broken as if shoved aside by a snowplow. If the military was wholesale burning the infected then why hold onto the few in the back of this truck? In the case of him and his friends -who are not infected- he wonders what their intentions might be. At the moment they are along for the ride and not in control of their fates, but Max decides it’s best if -once they reach the valley- he keeps his eye out for a means of escape. In this rapidly changing landscape, whom do you trust?

The truck hits another pothole while turning onto the onramp and the freeway-man stirs just a bit. Brooke tenses and watches him fearfully. Her jaw is visibly clinched and she strains her wrist against the zip-tie holding her.

“It’s no use, unless you’re a stage two infected there’s no way you’re breaking those things. Anyway, your friend there won’t be waking up any time soon,” the words come from a fit, thirty-something, middle-eastern woman with short hair, bright eyes and a British accent wearing a smart gray pantsuit.

Brooke looks at her, mystified, “Excuse me?”

The lady sits up and straightens her posture as best she can with her hands tied behind her back, “Forgive my rudeness, you are absolutely correct. Our current state of affairs is no excuse for me to forego propriety. My name is Alia, or Doctor Al as my friends and coworkers at the CDC have come to call me. Being that we all find ourselves in the same unfortunate circumstance, please consider me a friend and call me Doctor Al. However, it would appear that my services are no longer required by the CDC, so I guess it would be more appropriate for you to just call me Al.”

Brooke –a bit perturbed by Alia’s sense of decorum given the circumstances- asks, “What do you mean, ‘stage two’.”

Alia purses her lips and gives her hair a quick flip before she responds, “Pardon me, I spend so much time conversing with other scientist in my profession that I occasionally forget how to speak laymen.”

Vinny interjects, “As much as I’m enjoying your accent do you think you could get your nose out of the air long enough to get to the point.”

Apparently not hearing, or just choosing to ignore Vinny’s statement Alia continues, “This virus is quite remarkable; it attacks the body’s various systems in stages. To put it simply, the initial stage is the sickness itself.

This is the stage in which all of us here find ourselves afflicted, in varying degrees, of course with the exception of your friend over there,” she nods in the direction of the slumbering freeway-man. “The only early symptoms are a high tolerance for pain, somewhat increased strength, a slight yellowing of the eyes in some cases and unusually aggressive behavior. It hasn’t any of the traditional symptoms we generally look for with an infection. There is no fever of any kind, no lethargy, headache, respiratory problems etc… Most cases however, do present themselves with that god-awful scream that I’m sure you’ve heard. All of those subjects are in stage one of the infection. In order for the virus to move into its second stage, a person that is infected must replace the nutrients that the earlier phase has depleted. It would appear that the most expedient way of doing so is by feeding on the blood of the uninfected. We’re still in early trials of determining how exactly the ingestion of human blood triggers the proceeding changes but what we do know is that it causes the virus to reproduce and spread throughout its host exponentially. The rapidity of the virus’s propagation seems to have a direct correlation with the volume of blood consumed. As the virus infects the more vital systems, including the nervous system and brain, it sends the body into over-drive. I imagine the feeling is quite intoxicating to those that live long enough to reach that level.”

Brooke doesn’t try to hide the disgust in her voice, “You talk about the virus as though you admire it. We’ve lost so many friends already, some by our own hands.”

Alia purses her lips again, “My dear, that is truly unfortunate, and it is not my intention to make light of your loss, but this virus could be the most important scientific discovery of this century to say the least. We owe it to ourselves to treat it with the respect and dare I say, admiration, it deserves. We could be standing on the precipice of a great changing. A virus similar to this could actually be the missing link between man and ape. Now that you too are infected, I suggest that you find a way to accept your circumstance. Resisting it would be an exercise in futility.”

Brooke practically spits her next words at Alia, “We’re not infected, and I would rather die than become one of those things.”

A voice like a growl joins their conversation with a threatening reply, “Fear not little one. Your wish is my command.”

The freeway-man is sitting up straight with yellow eyes wide and staring directly at Brooke. She turns her head to look at him and reflexively averts her gaze from his disfigured face and those piercing yellow eyes like a galaxy of supernovas rocketing toward her at the speed of light and threatening to burn right through to her soul.

Max flexes against his restraints in a futile attempt to shield Brooke from the freeway-man’s haunting gaze.

“Patience, patience,” the savage growls at Max at slightly more than a whisper, “I’m saving you till last for what you did to me. Your strength will be my strength. The despair you feel after watching me drink your lovely lady will make your blood taste… oh so sweet.” He tilts back his head and closes his eyes while imagining the ecstasy. “I think I’ll suck your veins completely dry. I know gluttony is a sin but it would be a shame to waste a drop of such sweet honey.”

Beginning to feel like a caged and tormented animal, Max lunges against his chains again, “The only thing you’re gonna’ suck is the barrel of my shotgun!”

The freeway-man’s eyes widen even more as he sits forward and raises his voice several decibels, “What shotgun? I see nothing here between us but air, and time…Soon I will rob you of both.”

Brooke screams out, “Why us, why can’t you just leave us alone?”

“Because my dear,” Alia speaks, but something about her voice has changed, “he has your scent now. No matter where you go or what you do, like a carnivorous beast, he will hunt you down.”

The last of her words sound as though she is struggling to form them, and just as the last syllable is spoken, she erupts into a screech so loud in the confined space of the truck that it leaves everyone’s ears ringing.  

The freeway-man throws his head back, bathing in the wretched squall, as do the other infected in the back of the transport truck. Another is added to their ranks and they all bask in her birth. For the moment, it seems they are all connected, spiritually, sexually, and perhaps even telepathically.

Max and Vinny look upon the scene in horrific curiosity while Brooke shrinks from the sound and sight before her.

“Hey,” Vinny yells to the driver, “these things are freekin’ out back here!” but over the roar of the engine the driver apparently hears nothing because the vehicle neither slows nor stops. “How could they just leave us back here alone with these crazy shits?” he asks of Max.

Max looks down at his blood soaked shirt, “Look at us. We’re covered in infected blood. If you saw someone that looked like us you would be cautious too.”

Brooke looks herself over. She is indeed covered in blood nearly head to toe. The whirlwind pace up to this point had kept her in an emotionally numb state. Now sitting still with a moment to reflect, her numbness begins to ebb, and the absolute horror of it all begins to trickle in.

Brooke struggles against her restraints and in a panic yells out, “I’ve got to get out of this blood. I can’t take it any more. I’ve got to get out of these clothes, out of this damn truck.”

Max watches Brooke and searches for the right words to ease her emotions but can find none. He’s always been a man of action and few words. Maybe if he confesses his feelings for her she will calm down enough to listen. Maybe if he tells her the truth about his past it will shock her back to numbness. Either method might be effective but this is not the time or place for such words.

Vinny -who is definitely a man of many words- unfortunately picks some inappropriate ones to try and bring levity to the situation, “I’d be glad to help you out of those clothes.” He says under his breath and with a heavy smirk.

Brooke’s eyes widen with rage, “Is that all you ever think about? Is that all I am to you, a piece of ass for you to pursue? Well let me put you out of your misery,
not before all this shit happened, not now in the back of this truck covered in blood, not ever!
In fact, you have a better chance screwing that freak over there,” she nods in the direction of the freeway-man who seems to be enjoying her diatribe, “than you would with me.”

Vinny’s face is filled first with shock that such words would even come out of Brooke’s mouth, but the shock is quickly replaced by anger and embarrassment.

He spits words across Max at Brooke, “So I guess Zack was right. Maybe I need a tan to get with you. I bet you wouldn’t say any of that shit to brother man here. I bet you’d trip over your panties trying to jump on his lap if he let you.”

Max is hearing little of the argument that is being volleyed across his face. He instead is fixated on the infected’s reaction to it. They all seem to be enjoying the yelling match immensely. A couple of them are even starting to pull against their restraints as if being drawn into the angry discussion like a black hole.

Brooke fumes, “You bastard! Maybe if you were half the man Max is you would have a chance!”

Vinny nods his head and continues to speak of Max as if he’s not there, “Bullshit! What do you know about Max? You put him on this pedestal, but truth is if you knew him like I do we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Max watches the infected as the yelling whips them nearly into frenzy. ‘What if one of those things breaks loose? We would all be dead in an instant.’ He rationalizes what he dreads but knows he must do. If the situation isn’t diffused, they could have a truck full of overly excited biters on their hands. He searches for the courage to proceed and inwardly says a final goodbye to the idea of him and Brooke ever being together.

“I murdered my father.” Max speaks coolly, in stark contrast to the screaming match around him.

The argument comes to an abrupt halt and Max’s friends fixate on him.

He drops his head low and speaks slowly and softly, “I was just a kid. My dad was a mean old son of a bitch. He had all these life lessons that he liked to teach. He would begin each lesson with a slap just to make sure I was listening. The beatings came frequently and without warning, but you know what, I dealt. I was a kid. What was I gonna’ do? My mother though… when he hit her…she would try to fight back. It was no use. He would beat her like a grown man… ball up his huge fist and slam it into her face over and over again until she was unrecognizable. Her eyes would swell shut, and sometimes so much blood would pour from her mouth that I thought she might drown. I would try to stop him but he was a big powerful man twice my size. He flung me like a rag doll. Soon as he was done with her, he would come after me. I would just curl up in a ball while he wailed on me and pray for the beating to be over. But at the same time, when he would turn on me, I would be thankful. Thankful it was me instead of her… at least for a little while.”

Brooke’s eyes are wide and beginning to tear. She wants so much to wrap her arms around Max’s neck and tell him it’s okay to just let it out. She’s waited so long for him to open up to her. She’s not sure why he picks now of all times but she is grateful to share in his grief. Pain paints his features and she feels like she is seeing his true face for the first time.

“Something you may have figured out about my dad is that he was a career criminal… dealer, gun runner, thief, enforcer, probably a hit man and eventual pimp. Around my thirteenth birthday, he decided it was time for a new revenue stream. He had never allowed my mother to work; too many bruises brought too many questions. She begged him to let her do anything that was honest. I know now, that was more for my benefit than hers. She wanted me to see that there was another way, that I could blaze my own path and not follow in my father’s footsteps. It drove him crazy. Eventually he did find something for her to do though. At first, it was just with his high dollar contacts, suppliers, and crooked cops. But,” Max pauses for a moment as his voice cracks and a single tear cuts a salty path down his left cheek.

He slumps noticeably in his restraints as if the weight of the memory is too heavy a burden for his physical being, “but, after a while the money got too good to him and he started… he started… there were so many; crack heads, business men, truck drivers, anyone who could pay. At first, I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought things were getting better because he stopped beating her. She was a beautiful woman when her face was in one piece. Turned out he just didn’t want to damage his merchandise. No
trick
wanted to be with a woman that had been slapped around unless he was the one doing the slapping. They couldn’t get enough of her. She made him more money than all his other hustles put together. But, of course, she was miserable. She used to pick fights with him. I think she was hoping he would hit her and mess up her face so she wouldn’t have to work for a while.”

Vinny’s head hangs low. These are details that even he never knew and he feels like an ass for trying to use Max’s past as a wedge between he and Brooke.

The biters are starting to settle from the fervor of moments ago, but now -caught up in a bitter memory and past the point of no return- Max continues on without noticing.

“It broke her down, stole her spirit.”

He pauses a moment and shakes his head, “It killed me to see her that way. It seemed like she aged twenty years almost overnight. She wanted to leave, but his grip on us was absolute. Maybe one of us could have made it out alive but the both of us together? It was impossible. She used to beg me to leave without her, to run far away. She would tell me, ‘you need to go find someplace safe; someplace he or even I can never find you. You’re a smart boy; you know the streets, use that knowledge to get out of this place and never look back.’ I hated her for that. How could she ask her only child to leave? I thought she was weak and just didn’t want the burden of a child anymore. I was young and so naive. I didn’t realize how much love and strength it really took for her to say that to me. Anyway, I couldn’t do it. The thought of leaving her alone with him was too much. If I weren’t there, he would go too far and kill her for sure next time. Big Mama tried to help us but there was little she could do. He told her if she interfered with his family, he would kill us both and I’m sure he meant it. She tried the cops, but he was either protected or they just didn’t give a damn. They would pretend to investigate, but papers would get shuffled and lost. A report would never be filed, and every time she went in, they would act as if it was the first time they’d heard her complaint. I’m sure being a black family in the hood didn’t help either.”

“My mother got so low that she kind of disappeared inside of herself. I guess when you’re trapped like she was, the only true escape is inward. She wouldn’t eat. She even stopped talking for a while. He used to tell her he liked her better that way. He would say, ‘That’s right; keep your big mouth shut until a
trick
tells you what to do with it. Women should be seen not heard anyway.’ He would force feed her to keep her appearance up but she was slowly dieing inside. The light was leaving her eyes, and with it the will to live. One night, when my dad was passed out drunk, she came into my room and woke me. She told me she loved me and wanted me to promise her that no matter what happened I would fight to be the man she knew I could be. I was so blind… I was so surprised to even hear her voice after so long that I just told her yes and went back to sleep without stopping to think why she would say that.”

Max stops abruptly and turns his head to wipe his cheek on the shoulder of his shirt. He sits quietly, debating whether or not he should continue. After a few moments he does.

“The next morning when I woke up, I called for her and searched the house. She never answered, but eventually I found her. She was lying in the bathtub with a needle hanging from her arm. I tried to wake her for so long. I shook her and shook her. I yelled at her, even slapped her face… but her cold eyes just kept staring back at me, all the life gone out of them.”

Tears now stream freely down Max’s face and wet the collar of his shirt.

“I wanted to cry so badly, but the tears just wouldn’t come. I was like a balloon stretched beyond capacity, and all I wanted to do was pop and relieve the pressure… but all I could feel was rage and hatred…” He shakes his head as he continues.

“You know he didn’t even have a funeral for her. He just bribed the guy at the cemetery with some stepped-on heroin to burry her without a casket in an unmarked grave. He told me she was a sinner and that was all she deserved… said she went to hell with the rest of the sinners and that the two of us would be back together with her soon enough. You know what, that was the first time I’d ever agreed with him. He was going to hell for sure, and without my mother’s guidance, I was sure to follow close behind him. I waited a couple of months… felt like an eternity… just me and him in that torn up little house staring at each other like each of us was waiting for the other to make a move. Surprisingly he didn’t lay a hand on me but it always felt like he was just on the verge. After a while, the tension eased a bit. The whole time, I just kept remembering a lesson my mother had taught me once but apparently had never learned for herself…
patience
, ‘be patient…’ she would tell me, ‘opportunity will always find you if you can just be patient’. And so that’s what I did. I waited for opportunity to find me, and one night –just like she said- it did. He came home in a worse mood than usual. I think one of his dirty cops had slapped him around a bit, because his payments had gotten light since my mother’s death. He was pissed. He broke what little we had, throwing whatever he could, kicking whatever he couldn’t. I just covered up in the corner behind the couch and hoped he wouldn’t find me, just in case he decided to break me too. After a while, he found a bottle of Jack that my mother had hidden from him. He thought about breaking that for a second, but instead got drunk off his ass.”