Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (30 page)

It was impossible. Inconceivable. A trick of his addled nerves, surely. In fact, so certain was he in his conviction that he refused to allow himself even to contemplate the notion that it could possibly be anything other than wishful thinking. But then he saw one corner of the girl's mouth turn up in a sly grin, and at that simple gesture, skepticism quickly gave way to recognition, recognition to relief, and relief to utter jubilation. He ran to her, and when she opened her arms to greet him, he finally allowed himself to believe it for real; truly and excitedly. He took the gun from her hand, hoisted her into the air, and held her so tight that she might have been a part of him.

"I couldn't tell for sure," Mackenzie cradled her head against Mason's shoulder and hushed quietly into his ear, "I thought I was imagining it, so I didn't say anything."

Mason saw a trio of creepers approaching along the seawall, but he made no move to go. He kept his arms wrapped around the girl and cooed back to her, "Oh, babygirl, you should have told me……"

"I couldn't be sure….." she began to explain again, but Mason hushed it all away.

"I know, Mack, I know. It's okay. I'm just so happy now that nothing else matters to me in the whole
world!"

Mackenzie pulled herself back and faced him squarely, and when Mason saw those big beautiful green eyes gazing back at him so full of life, he felt a tear well up and course down his cheek.

She could see. Walker's little white lie and Mason's idealistic bullshit aside, the girl could actually see!

"You look happier than you sound," Mackenzie said, then she giggled sweetly and wiped the tear away from Mason's cheek, "Even though you're crying."

"You caught me at a pretty good time, Mack," Mason knew he probably sounded giddy, but it was all he could do to keep from jumping for joy. "Oh, babygirl, we're gonna be okay now. No matter what else happens, we're gonna be okay.

She tucked her head into his neck and hushed, "If you say so, Mace."

"I say so, Mack," he said, and gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek.

As consumed as he was in the warmth of those eyes, Mason couldn't help but note the swarm gaining ground, so he finally turned and carried the girl back to the truck. He deposited her in the driver's seat and smiled as she scampered effortlessly across the cab to tuck herself cross-legged into her seat, then she turned her big green eyes back to him and threw him a toothy grin, and Mason felt as if his heart might just leap from his very chest. It had been his intention to retrieve his pikestaff and make short work of the gathering creepers, but suddenly he had neither the inclination nor the desire. Instead, he climbed into the truck, swung the door shut behind him, and turned all of his attention to Mackenzie. For several long moments they sat there, Mackenzie scrutinizing every feature of Mason's face, and Mason simply happy to see such life in those beautiful eyes, then the girl's attention was drawn to a particularly animated creeper banging its way down the side of the truck, and her smile melted slowly into a scowl.

"I think they were less scary when I couldn't see them," she announced grimly.

"They're scary either way," Mason said gloomily enough, though he wasn't able to wipe the smile from his face.

Mackenzie saw the look on his face, and a sly smirk began to creep back across her lips.

"I guess Doctor Walker was right," she suggested coyly.

"I guess so," Mason agreed, and though he wanted to shout his joy from the rooftops, he knew that nothing else needed to be said. Nevertheless, he found himself sharing a final kind thought for the man he'd been so quick to loathe, and a bothersome sense of remorse served to temper his elation.

Whether or not Mackenzie took notice of his subtle change of mood, she chose that moment to narrow her eyes and offer Mason a mischievous, "You know, you sound different than you look."

Mason scoffed.

"Well, I might not be at my best. I've probably aged a decade or two in the last couple of days."

The girl made a show out of studying his face.

"No, you don't sound
older
than I thought. Just ……
different."

With that, she dismissed the observation and turned back to the windows. She sat quietly observing the world outside as if she were drinking in every image, and at last, the creeper that had been alongside the truck came to a stop directly outside her window, and there it stood, staring blindly at the closed door and drooling a string of red saliva from the corner of its mouth.

"So, what do we do now, Mace? We can't just stay here, right?"

Mason looked to the dead wilder with a bullet hole in its back, and watched as it stirred and began to struggle laboriously to its knees.

"No, Mack," he told her honestly, "We can't stay."

"So, what do we do? Where do we go?"

Until that moment, Mason hadn't dared to think beyond that night. So sure had he been that their adventure was drawing to its inevitable close that he'd given no thought at all to an impossible future. Now, with boundless numbers of days suddenly stretching out before him like an untrodden path, his mind fairly reeled under a rush of possibilities.

His original plan had been to get as far away from the city as he could, and at first blush, it still seemed like the best bet. He no longer imagined a doughnut and coffee at the end of the trail, but there would open countryside and clean air and rolling meadows of green. If nothing else, the population would be thinner outside the city, so it was
bound
to be better there than here.

But now that he had the luxury of considering the notion as a very real option instead of a half-imagined pipe dream, he was suddenly not so confident. Yes, there would be fewer encounters with the dead and the undead beyond the city walls, but there were other factors to consider. First and foremost, there was food in the city. Plenty of it. Enough to sustain a million people for several days, or several people for millions of days. And there was bottled water here, too, and guns and bullets and diesel fuel. There were matches and lighters and dry newspapers by the bushel. And there was medicine here; aspirin and antibiotics and cough syrup and Band-Aids. There were camp stoves and bottled propane and plastic tarps. Clean underwear and socks, toothbrushes and toothpaste and soap and shampoo. In fact,
everything
they'd ever need was in the city. Beyond it, who knew what the world had to offer?

Mason might be a survivor, but in his heart of hearts, he knew he was no survivalist. As frightening a prospect as it was to imagine the two of them spending their days scrounging through the detritus of a ruined civilization with a swarm at their heels, the idea of a city boy trying to eke out an existence in the wilderness filled him with an undeniable dread. Weighed against a handful of berries and questionable creek water, a can of Spam and a Coke suddenly seemed like haute cuisine.

Really though, pros and cons aside, he knew the decision was no decision at all. Not under the circumstances.

"We can't stay in one place for long, but we can't leave, either," he told Mackenzie pointedly, "Not until we know about Aunt Sarah, one way or the other. I left a note telling her to break into that yellow houseboat where she'll be safe and where she can signal us. I figure we spend tonight in the truck, then we check the houseboat in the morning, and if she's not there, we go out looking for supplies. The swarm will disperse once we're gone, so then we come back here before the sun goes down, check for Aunt Sarah again, and hunker down for another night. The next day, we get up and do it all over again, and then again, and then again."

Mackenzie didn't even have to consider. She nodded her immediate agreement, and all she asked was, "For how long?"

"Dunno," Mason shrugged, "As long as it takes, I guess."

The girl fixed him with a wary eye. "But we're not gonna give up hope, right?"

Mason heard his own words coming back to him, but it was only now that he realized how true they were. And where before he'd merely been parroting someone else's aspirations, with his mind still reeling from Mackenzie's miraculous delivery from a death he'd always considered certain, he now repeated them back to her with absolute conviction.

"Mack, I promise we'll stay here as long as we have to, and we won't give up hope. We
can't
give up hope, no matter what. In fact, that'll be our new motto. 'Plan for the worst and hope for the best'. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds good, Mace," Mackenzie said through a wide grin.

Becks' face appeared one last time, and now she was smiling. It was the same goofy, smart-ass grin she always wore when she knew she'd been right all along.

You win again….
.Mason happily conceded to the image,
just like always
…..then he grew melancholy and found himself adding a truly repentant.
….I'm sorry, Becks…..

A sudden thud along the driver's side of the truck ended Mason's reverie, and his eyes were back to his window. He looked first to the dead wilder pressed against the driver's door and then to the gathering swarm beyond, and not for the first time, he found himself doing the math.

It wasn't going to be easy. Death was waiting for them at every turn, hiding in every shadow and lurking in every corner, and it would come after them in wave after relentless wave, wherever they went. They could do all the right things a thousand times in a row…..hell, a
million
times, a
billion
times, and they only had to be wrong once to end it all. It was going to be a long, slow struggle, one cautious step at a time, always looking over their shoulder and forever on the ragged edge of extinction, with no guarantee of salvation at the end of the fray.

But still, even with the big question mark looming over the far end of his calculations, Mason's resolve was absolute.  He had no idea how long a road they'd be afforded or what twists and turns they'd encounter along the way, but of what one thing he was certain. Whatever the world threw at them from this point on, they'd get through it, and they'd get through it together.

Mason turned away from the swarm outside and asked Mackenzie casually, "Well, Mack, whaddya say we go find some quiet little corner of the world, have a bite to eat and hunker down for the night?"

"Okay," she said obligingly enough, but then she tossed her head toward the windows and added through a scowl, "You know they'll follow us, right?"

"Yes, they will," Mason agreed grimly, "They most certainly will."

Mackenzie pursed her lips worriedly, then she took a moment to regard the resolution in Mason's eyes and drew in a deep breath of shared resolve.

"Okay, then." she said at last, nodding her approval.

With that, Mason keyed the truck to life and beg to pull away from the swarm. And as Mackenzie rose to her knees to gaze confidently forward, Mason reached out and felt her tiny hand slip into his.

The End

Read on for a free sample of Bleeding Kansas: A Zombie Novel

1

This is it, the day we’ve been looking forward to for so long, and it’s not starting well. Claire wakes up feverish and phlegmy, too sick to drive me to the airport. There’s not much to say but sorry, hope you feel better, before she crawls back into bed.

The next thing I know I’m loading my luggage into the trunk of the cab because it turns out the cab driver should have called in sick himself. “Hey, sorry, man, you know how it goes!” he says. “Ya don’t work, ya don’t get paid!”

“Tell me about it,” I say, settling into my seat.

“Airport, huh?” The cabbie sneezes wetly, brings his hand up after the fact. “Where ya headed?”

“Kansas City.”

“Kansas City! Kansas City, here I—!” God help me, he’s trying to sing that old song but a burst of coughing cuts him short. I pull a handkerchief from my pocket and cover my nose and mouth.

He composes himself, sniffs loudly. “So what’s out there?”

“Job interview.”

“Yeah? All the way out there? I hope they’re paying for it!”

“Oh yeah.”

“Must be nice! Wish I could get a gig like that!”

“Me, too.”

“Ha! I hear ya! So whatcha been doin’ all this time?”

“Unemployed.”

“Oh. Nowhere?”

I have to wait for him to finish his latest coughing fit before I can answer. “Pretty much.”

“You don’t seem all that enthusiastic about this.”

“Lot on my mind.”

“Oh.” A short, barking cough, followed by a long, gurgling wheeze. “Yeah. It’s tough out there.”

“Yeah.”

“So how long you been outta work?”

“Long enough.”

“Me, I got to work, know what I’m sayin’? I’d go crazy stayin’ at—!” The driver explodes into another round of coughing, his body bucking and convulsing behind the wheel. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open to see the road.

After a terrifying stretch of seconds in which I wonder if he’s going to run the red light we screech to a halt, the taxi’s rear swerving with the force— “Here, you want a piece of none-of-your business to chew on?” I say. “If I don’t make this flight my house goes into foreclosure and my family is homeless as of next month! If you can’t make it to the airport, I need someone who can!”

“Whoa, man, it’s okay, it’s okay! I got this!”

“Can you do it without interrogating me like some nosy old biddy? Can you keep quiet?”

“Hey, I’m just making conversation!”

“Just get me to the airport! I’m running late as it is!”

“Jeez, mister, I said okay!”

The light changes and we roll. I take some satisfaction that the cabbie is keeping quiet, which in turn has eased his coughing. Still, I keep the handkerchief pressed to my face until he pulls up to the white zone at the airport. He pops the trunk and I step out into the blessedly germ-free air to grab my luggage.

I include a tip for the driver with my fare. I can’t have any bad vibes tainting my luck, not today. “We good?” I ask the driver.

“Look, good luck,” he says. “I know you must be nervous.”

“Yeah. Try and get well. Don’t kill yourself out there.”

“I hear ya, brother! Take care.”

I’d like to think that’s the end of my exposure to whatever’s going around. Inside the terminal, though, I’m running a gauntlet of sneezing, coughing people all the way to the fat lady at the ticket counter. She got a red Hitler mustache of raw skin under her nose from wiping at it with her third wad of tissue.

For God’s sake, I can’t afford to get sick, not for the best chance for gainful employment I’ve had in years! It’s probably a matter of time, though. Turning away from the counter every other person I see is suffering from some degree of the “Mayday Malaise.”

That’s how the logo reads behind cable news queen Stefani Dunham on TVs all over the airport. “Now this is a different kind of cold bug,” she says. “Aside from the fact that one out of three people come down with it, you can actually sort of function through it! Of course, some are saying it’s because Americans with jobs are afraid to miss work for any reason, given the economic situation.” Our head cheerleader-cum-broadcast journalist makes a face to let us know what she thinks of some people.

“Whatever the case, doctors say it’s an aerosol virus, which means it’s all up in your air!” The shot cuts to a gray-haired eminence mumbling authoritatively in a plush office. Back to Stefani: “And we’re not immune here!” She coughs theatrically into a handkerchief. “All this and a runny nose! A big shout-out to my make-up people here in the News Center for keeping me presentable! Hey, we carry on, what can you do?”

With my luck, that’s the strain I won’t be getting. Claire struggled to make it to the bathroom. The cabbie I rode in with was barely functional.

I call my contact in Kansas City. “Mr. Grace!” says Giselle. “Aren’t you still in Colorado Springs? You’re at the airport, right?”

“Yeah, I’m right here at the gate. I just wanted to make sure the interview was still on.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“That cold that’s going around. Everybody’s sick!”

Giselle laughs. “Oh, that! We’ve had a few people call in, but that’s not enough to stop us. You’re not sick, are you?”

“Oh, no, no! I’m fine! I was…concerned.”

“Well, give me a call when you make it to KC.”

“Will do. Thanks, Giselle.”

“Don’t get sick!”

Right. If my wife didn’t give it to me, if the cab driver didn’t give it to me, if the lady at the counter didn’t give it to me, if half the people at the airport didn’t give it to me—now I’m ducking into a narrow aluminum tube, settling in to breathe recycled air people have been coughing and sneezing into since last week.

We’re getting fresh germs all the time, too. Barely half the seats on the plane are filled but half of those people are sick. The flight attendants sit at their seats along the fore and aft bulkheads and scowl at us over their surgical masks.

If I can stay well for 24 more hours. Twenty-four hours. Lord, that’s all I ask.

It’s a mercifully short flight. Eventually, I find myself in another TB ward of an airport, squinting through clouds of aerosolized phlegm to get to my luggage. I call Giselle. “Welcome to KC!” she says. “You know how to find us, right?” she says.

“Oh yeah. See you soon!”

At the rental car kiosk I check my pockets for the directions I’d printed from the Internet. “Uh, hey,” I ask the guy behind the counter. “Can I get some directions printed up here? I left mine at home.”

“What do you need those for?”

“To find my way to my job interview.”

He’s looking at me vaguely horrified, like I just pissed myself.

“Your vehicle has GPS.”

“Oh.”

“Man, really?”

Walking out to my vehicle, I have to work the keychain remote several times just to be sure this magnificent black luxury SUV is really mine. The new car smell is intoxicating. Nothing is slammed; the rear hatch closes with the touch of a button. I walk around to climb into the cab. Can’t slam this door, either. It’s like burping a Tupperware lid.

I turn the key and the air conditioning blows on full. The radio plays symphonic music in full-immersive surround sound and none of this seems a strain on anything. I turn down the music and give myself a minute to familiarize myself with the GPS. Not that I need a whole minute. It works on voice command.

The traffic is light on the way into downtown, allowing me the luxury of taking in some of the sights of the city as I drive. I park in the visitors’ area of the adjacent garage and take the elevator to my floor. The doors open to a wide, sumptuous lobby. I’ve never met Giselle but I know her on sight: a meticulously groomed young beauty working the Hot Librarian look in her horn-rimmed glasses and a navy blue power suit worth two or more of my mortgage payments.

She blesses me with a cinematically white, straight-toothed smile: “Thank God, something’s going right today!”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I say, smiling.

“First, I need to apologize. I thought Rob was going to be here today, but—guess what!”

“Not a clue.”

“In the four hours since we spoke this morning we’ve had people going home right and left. Rob sometimes doesn’t get here until ten so I imagined he’d at least be here to welcome you to the city. He ended up calling in.”

“Given how I left my wife this morning, I can tell you, if you’re sick, you’re really sick. And I know what I saw in both airports on my way here.”

“Yes, sir, and I do apologize! I honestly didn’t see this coming! We’ve got so many people here working through their sniffles just fine. Anyway, it seems there may be some…consequence to this.”

“Yes?”

“Assuming Rob’s among the group of the Really Sick we’ll have to postpone the interview.”

“How long are you willing to put me up here?”

“How long are you willing to stay?”

“I came to talk to Rob. If it’s not too much of a problem, I’ll wait.”

“Even with your wife sick back home?”

“My teenage children can take care of her.”

Giselle puts an envelope on the counter. “There’s a voucher in there for a really good steakhouse in the Power and Light District. Should be enough in there for breakfast and lunch tomorrow at any number of places close to your hotel. Call me in the morning before checkout. Either I’ll have another envelope or a plane ticket.”

“It’s a date,” I say, slipping the envelope into my inside jacket pocket.

“I hope you don’t mind eating out so much!”

“Not at all. Thanks, Giselle.”

“Okay. We’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”

“You bet.” I turn and walk out of the lobby. I manage to make it inside the blessedly empty elevator car before letting out a sigh of relief to blow the doors in.