Scavengers. Part 12

Frank laughed. "It never goes away, honey."

"Found that out the hard way. I guess I knew in my heart that nothing would change, but I stayed to maintain the status quo. I fooled myself into believing we were still a family that way, but really we were roommates pa.s.sing in the hall." Street lamps scanned the interior of the cab, beamed across her hands in her lap. "It really just goes cold that way. I swear I don't have any feelings for him besides a dull kind of loathing. Like I can't even bring myself to expend the energy to be angry anymore. Then there's Selah. It's not just about me and Thomas. I have to think about her. How everything will affect her." Dejah leaned her head against the seat, shoulder slumping with exhaustion.

"If you get a divorce, you mean?"

"That and she has a ... some special talents," she said, thinking back to when Selah's touch seemed to heal Reverend Forbes.

Frank nodded in the dark.

"Thomas and I never saw eye-to-eye on most things. It started out as small interests; things I liked irritated him, things he wanted to do sounded dull to me. That led into how the money was spent. In the beginning we had a good marriage. A good relations.h.i.+p. We'd started out as such good friends, I wanted to believe we could be one of those old couples together for half a century. That could finish each other's sentences. That knew what the other was thinking before they thought it."

"That didn't happen, eh?"

Dejah shook her head. "No. Never. I kept thinking we just needed more time. But, we were never on the same page. We grew apart. It's like, after all these years, I don't know him anymore. And he doesn't know me. And he never bothers to try. Like he doesn't even have any interest. I swear he doesn't even like me. I know that sounds so ... I don't know, immature, but ... it went farther than that. He liked to see me hurt inside. He seemed to derive joy from leaving me alone when I yearned to have him home. That I yearned to hear a kind word from him, so all he gave me were clipped sentences and mild insults."

"That's a shame."

Dejah sighed. "I know. More so for Selah than for us."

"He's a good father?" Frank asked.

"Oh, yeah. Dotes on Selah. He's a good dad and a good son. He just sucks at being a husband."

"What are you going to do now? I mean, if you find him, after all this is over. a.s.suming of course, it's ever over."

"I'm not sure. I can't think about that right now." Dejah brushed the hair from her face, poking stray strands back into the long ponytail behind her head. "I don't know if I love him or not. I think that I don't, but then, occasionally it seems to come back, but I don't know if that's just false hope or...."

"If you have to think about it - if you have to ask yourself the question - then you don't love him. Love don't work like that. When you love someone, really love someone - you'd claw your way through h.e.l.l and back to get to that person. There's no thinking involved in it."

"You're probably right," Dejah said.

"No probably about it, girl," Frank stated. "Look how old I am. I'm old as sedimentary rock."

Dejah laughed.

"I've learned a few things. The most important thing is love. Having it, giving it. Life's too short to hope for something better. Life's too short to try to make something what it ain't. Find your soul mate. Find the man that makes you claw your way through h.e.l.l to get to him. Just like you're doing for your daughter," Frank said. "Because, when you love someone, you don't have to think about it and wonder if it's true."

"Did you and Nanette have that?"

"I loved her so much I was willing to shoot her if she came back a Sickie."

Dejah felt a pang of hurt for him.

"To be truthful," he said. "I can't imagine living without her. I don't even know where to start. I think that's why I wanted to stay holed up back there in the Bocadomart." Frank turned the Hummer sharply, veering from the road onto a shoulder to get around a wrecked Corvette and a Volkswagen Bug.

They'd left Lancaster behind now. Hills thick with forest pressed in on both sides of the highway as it began to veer north, toward Mesquite. Dejah's heart sped up anxiously, knowing they were closer.

"You really think you would have stayed there had me and Shaun not come along?" Dejah asked, holding onto the armrest on the door as they b.u.mped over a motorcycle on its side in their lane.

"I really think I would have eaten a bullet sooner or later had you and Shaun not come along."

Dejah stared at Frank, illuminated by the soft white glow of the dashboard, her eyes growing a little wider. "It's a good thing we came along then."

Frank jerked the Hummer to the left again, missing a pile of corpses. "Is it?"

Before Dejah could answer, they came to a pile-up with cars stacked b.u.mper to b.u.mper. It was obvious cars had tried to squeeze past others, and only ended up getting wedged tighter against those attempting the same feat. There was no way around the pile-up.

"Can we turn around?" she asked.

Frank turned his head, s.h.i.+fting in the seat, and put the Hummer in reverse. The car moved backward slightly, and then Frank shook his head, changing his mind. He s.h.i.+fted back into Drive.

"What are you doing?" Dejah asked.

"I think we can just go over the tops of that Miata and that other little piece of foreign s.h.i.+t over there-" he pointed to a slick black convertible that looked like an oversized Barbie car.

"I don't know. Maybe we should turn around and look for an exit or something."

"Naw, we can make it." Frank slammed the truck into reverse again, speeding backward, then threw the gears.h.i.+ft into Drive once more, and raced toward the Miata, intending to ramp up and over the two diminutive vehicles. Dejah gripped the pa.s.senger's roof handle. The b.u.mper of the Hummer hit the top of the Miata, emitting a metallic crunch. The vehicle shuddered and wobbled.

"Hold on!" Frank said, voice loud over the impact.

The Hummer lurched forward, throwing Shaun against the back of Dejah's seat, waking him from his slumber. "What's happening?" His fingers clenched the leather seat. His head smacked the side of the cab. He groaned and his eyes rolled.

"Shaun!" Dejah tried to grab onto Shaun's bobbing head, but her seatbelt held her to her seat. Blood oozed over Shaun's face, streaming from a cut at his temple.

The Hummer shot into the air at an awkward angle, wheels spinning, motor revving.

"Frank!" Dejah screamed, as the Hummer plunged sideways, rolled over a Jeep, and careened directly into the back of an eighteen-wheeler.

CHAPTER 19.

A government trailer served as the main clinic in the new quarantine camp near the sh.o.r.eline of Lake Tawakoni. Dr. Josh Gutierrez leaned against the rail of rickety stairs leading to its front door and gazed across the lake. The reflection of the moon was a mirage-like s.h.i.+mmer on the surface of the waves. The night wind was crisp.

He lit a cigarette and deeply inhaled, letting the head rush come over him. Dr. Robbins would have his a.s.s if he knew he was smoking in the camp, but Dr. Robbins wasn't here. He was safe and warm back in his hospital lab working on an antidote for Toxin RE68. Gutierrez was the unfortunate sucker who got "promoted" to head the quarantine camp out here near H-Systems.

Colonel Weir had trucked in Army surplus tents and a few FEMA type trailers for use as hospital wards and clinics out here on some rambling forested cattle farm owned by one of the hospital board members. The tents were already packed with patients. Ambulance workers were bringing in a handful of infected people as Gutierrez smoked his frowned-upon cigarette. It was a bad habit, he'd give Robbins that, but he'd been smoking since he was an undergrad and it was hard to quit. It was especially hard to quit now.

Not that there was ever a good time to quit smoking.

His phone rang. Gutierrez fumbled in his pockets for a moment, then palmed it to his ear. "Gutierrez."

"Josh, glad I caught you." It was Robbins.

"Did Weir manage to get any additional s.h.i.+pments of sedatives sent?"

"That's why I'm calling-" His tone didn't sound promising.

"Dr. Robbins, our supply is extremely low. Too low to give the entire camp their next dosage."

"I'm aware of -"

"No." Gutierrez cut him off. "I don't think you are. I've got a couple hundred people - more now, the nurses can't keep up with the influx of new infected patients arriving daily who, unless they get another round of benzodiazepines soon, they're going to come out of the stupors we've kept them in. Now, you might not be too concerned about this little catastrophe in the making, but I sure the h.e.l.l am. There are thirty nurses, doctors, technicians and volunteers here - all of which will end up dinner entrees unless you or someone manages to get some s.h.i.+pments out here."

"Josh, calm down for a moment and listen to me," Robbins began.

"Calm down?" Gutierrez heard his own voice raise a couple octaves. "Have you really thought about what's going to happen out here when the sedation wears off of all of these infected people?"

"I'm not going to bulls.h.i.+t you, Josh. I'm not getting any help from the government. Colonel Weir has done everything he can, but basically, we're all being hung out to dry. This infection is bigger than Texas, but to hear him tell it, Weir's superiors are cutting him off from information as well. It's like the G.o.dd.a.m.n government is trying to contain the spread of Toxin RE68 by quarantining infected states and leaving them to their own ends."

"So, that's it?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm working non-stop to break this - to develop some sort of antidote - but I'm only one man. I don't have a research lab and our Internet access is down, too. Frankly, if I didn't know any better, I'd think we were being isolated on purpose."

"You think they're cutting us off?"

"I can't say for sure, Josh. But I can tell you I've got a d.a.m.n bad feeling that gets worse every time I talk to Weir. We're really on our own."

"What about the phones?"

"I'm surprised I was able to get through to you. I've been trying for a day now."

Gutierrez sighed. "I'm telling the staff they can leave whenever they want."

Robbins was quiet. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"What the h.e.l.l, Robbins? If they stay, it's suicide. I know your tests at the hospital were pretty successful, but we've discovered that some of the infected are still violent even when sedated. They're strapped to cots that they flip over regularly. Some bust through the straps and we've resorted to physical force to contain them. This infection advances at different rates in different patients. Some of these people look like someone went and dug their stinking corpses from a grave. Their flesh is deteriorating before our eyes. Without the sedatives there's no telling what exactly will happen and when. I'm not asking anyone to stay here if we can't sedate these monsters!"

"Okay."

"I'm not asking for your G.o.dd.a.m.n permission."

The phone began to cut out. "Josh?"

"You're cutting out-" Gutierrez spoke louder, as if that would somehow help Robbins hear him over the jumbled airwaves. The phone went dead. "Fanf.u.c.kingtastic." He returned the phone to his pocket.

He walked across the pasture to the check-in table. Nurse Ford was busy typing social security numbers, dates of birth, and names on a laptop that glowed across her features. One man didn't look infected at all. He stood at the check in table with a young girl by his side, expectantly watching the doctor's approach.

"h.e.l.lo, I'm Dr. Gutierrez. Can I help you?"

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, doctor. Name's Thomas Corliss, this is my daughter, Selah." Thomas's hand rested protectively on his daughter's shoulder. The little girl had a face mask on, elastic cord knotted on the back of her head to make it smaller. It was a shop mask used for the reduction of paint fumes, but it was probably all they had. The little girl's eyes were big and shone with fear. She watched him closely. She was an intense little girl, but she didn't look infected.

"You and your daughter look well, Mr. Corliss, this is a camp for infected people. We have limited s.p.a.ce and limited capabilities."

"Yes, I know. I'm bringing my mother, Lily. My father died of the infection this morning. I ... can't leave my mother." His tone of voice was edged with resolve.

"You stay at your own risk, Mr. Corliss. And I don't mind telling you, the risk is getting greater. We do have some family members of the infected here, but we have separate tents to house non-infected people that absolutely insist upon staying." Dr. Gutierrez said. "But really, if I were you," the doctor's eyes flashed to the girl, Selah. "I would not stay."

"But my mother-"

"If it were me, I'd take your mother, sick or not, and your girl here, and go back home. Things are only getting worse." Gutierrez saw no point in mincing words, but he stopped just short of dooming the man and his daughter to a certain death. After tonight, he wasn't sure if he was even staying.

The nurse gave Gutierrez a fearful, questioning look. "Doris, you're free to leave at any time. I'm not sugar-coating the state of things for anyone any longer." Nurse Ford, whose trembling was barely perceptible in the deep shadows of the tent, continued to type.

"All the same, doctor," said Thomas stubbornly. "I think we'll stay here. My mother is seriously ill and she needs medical treatment."

"Suit yourself. Roger will show you to the tents for the non-infected. You'll find them unpleasant at best, I'm afraid. There are only a few portable toilets and the water is delivered through hoses rigged up to temporary showers and sinks. The only food available is provided in the form of Army MREs and those are in short supply. Here comes Roger now." Dr. Gutierrez pointed to a man in dirty green scrubs.

"Thank you, doctor," Thomas held onto his daughter's shoulder and steered her toward the orderly, Roger.

Gutierrez watched them go and then tapped on the table in front of Doris Ford. "I meant what I said, Doris. There's an ambulance leaving in about fifteen minutes, if I were you, I'd be on it. The benzo's in low supply and Robbins says we aren't getting any more."

"But what about you, doctor?" Her fear for him was evident in her face. Her large eyes panned back and forth, searching his face, looking for some sign that he might go with her. He knew she'd begun to show signs of having a thing for him, but so far he'd refused to acknowledge it. Still, it was nice to know that someone cared.

"I haven't decided yet."

An Army reservist and a Greenville police officer approached from the left. A mixture of able-bodied police and military patrolled the camp.

"Dr. Gutierrez?" the middle-aged police officer said. He had an air of authority that came from more than his uniform and badge. It was clear by his stance that he'd been doing his job for a while and was confident in his abilities. "Can we have a moment of your time?"

Gutierrez shrugged. "Sure, what is it?"

"Are you able to send any email out? We aren't picking anything up on the wireless. We knew the clinic had a landline."

"It comes and goes. Mostly goes. You can give it a try if you want." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed a low signal. Possibly he could access the Web from his phone if necessary. "What's up?" Gutierrez walked with the two men through the tall gra.s.s toward the clinic.

The police officer cleared his throat. He walked with one hand hitched high on the b.u.t.t of his revolver. "We believe we've positively identified a wanted fugitive and terrorist Bal Shem. Man's in Tent B2."

There was a pause as the doctor absorbed the information. "Is he sedated?"

The men nodded in unison. "But, we need to see if we can download a better photo than the one we have here-" The Army reservist unfolded a worn, computer-printed, fuzzy black and white image of the suspected terrorist. "I've had this since the beginning of the lockdown. Everyone was given one and told to keep an eye out for him."

Gutierrez ran his hands through his unwashed hair and over his face. He rubbed his eyes and smoothed his wiry, unshaven beard. "How certain are you that the guy in Tent B2 is this Bal Shem person?"

"Pretty d.a.m.n sure, doc," said the cop.

"That's not good." Gutierrez stood on the metal steps of the trailer, looking out over the camp. d.a.m.n. What the h.e.l.l else could go wrong? In about four hours, they would have over 200 raging, infected zombie lunatics on their hands, and now they also had the mastermind behind the f.u.c.king terrorist attack doped up in one of the tents? f.u.c.king A.

"No sir, it's not good at all," the Army reservist said, fear quaking in his voice.

"It's a f.u.c.kin' nightmare, is what it is, doc. That's one bad son of a b.i.t.c.h in there. Throw him and his f.u.c.ked up ideology in with the rest of this hornet's nest, and we've got nothin' but bad s.h.i.+t fixin' to erupt." The police officer spat a wad of pulpy, black tobacco and juice onto the gra.s.sy ground. "But, like we said, we need that 100 percent positive ID to confirm he's Bal Shem. Don't want to be doin' anything too hasty."