Caldera 8: Simon Sez Read online

  He watched the passenger door pull open and Carol slip into the passenger seat. “Let’s beat it. I want to put as much distance as I can between us and that soldier.”

  Broussard’s radio crackled with a garbled message and he tossed it to her lap. “I can’t believe we’re out of range, but keep listening just in case.”

  “It’s probably these buildings; huge steel barriers. We’ll be lucky to get anything through.”

  “Military radios shouldn’t have a problem in an urban environment.” He pulled the gear selector to D and pressed the gas pedal, putting the little econocar into motion. “Any idea where we are going?”

  “Just follow the coast.” She pointed to their left. “I’m pretty sure there’s a highway that hugs the waterline.” She gave him a doubtful smile. “Or, there should be anyway.”

  Broussard turned left onto the next street. He had to slow the car as more infected shambled up the hill, their faces turned to the north. None seemed to pay them any attention as they rolled past.

  “Thank god for small favors,” he muttered.

  “How are we on gas?”

  He glanced at the dash then pursed his lips. “Just over a quarter tank.”

  “Look for something big once we get out of the area. Maybe a truck or something?”

  “We’re switching cars?”

  She shook her head. “Bigger cars use more gas. I’m hoping that whoever we stumble on might have filled up since the world was coming to an end.”

  He nodded and urged the little car forward, angling the headlights to the edge of the road. “There. Isn’t that the sign for an interstate?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “I-5. I didn’t realize you’d driven so much in the States. Are the signs similar in France?”

  He nodded and turned the car, following the road signs. “I have. I spent a summer in New Hampshire many years ago.” He glanced at her as he navigated the tiny car between the wrecks and abandoned vehicles. “It was supposed to be…” He hesitated. “Like a work study.”

  “Supposed to be?”

  He sighed heavily and glanced at the moon. “I was supposed to be in the US for a three-week symposium.” He shrugged. “I stayed longer.”

  “I guess New Hampshire can do that to you.”

  He shook his head slowly. “It was…a girl.” His voice took on an edge that she couldn’t quite identify but knew that it must have been a painful memory.

  “I take it things didn’t end well.”

  He shrugged again. “It was…fast.” He gave her a melancholy smile. “I’ve tried not to wonder how she’s fared through this.”

  Carol reached out and patted his hand. “I’m sorry, Andre.”

  He grunted and accelerated up the onramp. “I hope that she has remained uninfected.” He gave her a quick glance. “I can’t say that I wish the same for her husband.” His voice became bitter and Carol stared at him open mouthed.

  “She was married?”

  “Not at the time.” He slowed to maneuver the car around a wreck, the tires crunching on broken glass and bouncing over debris. “We may have kept touch afterward.”

  “As friends?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “We both felt the other was the ‘one who got away.’” He chuckled slightly then turned his attention back to the road. “Looking back, I think that whenever she and her husband didn’t quite see eye to eye, she’d contact me. I don’t know what either of us thought would come of our…relationship.”

  Carol sat back and sighed heavily. “I would suggest you try to find her, but I don’t like the idea of crossing the entire country in anything less than a tank.”

  He cleared his throat and seemed to wince. “We should stick to the plan. Find a location that may have a lab and…” He cleared his throat again. “And try to work on the…” He leaned into his door and rubbed at his neck. “I fear I may have contracted the cure.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes. “Throat sore?”

  “Very.”

  She fished through the tiny glove box then the center console. “No Tylenol but I found some ibuprofen.”

  He extended his hand and she shook a couple of the brown tablets out. “I don’t know if there’s anything to…” she paused and turned to him as he chewed the anti-inflammatory. “…to drink.”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “That is nasty.”

  She turned and rummaged through the back seat. “How about a warm soda?” She held it up and gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s diet.”

  He popped open the can and jumped when it sprayed the windshield with a fine mist. “Anything is better than those pills.” He tipped the can and sucked the carbonated soda then quickly held the can away and shuddered. “Except perhaps that. Mon dieu! How do people drink such things?”

  She shrugged then rolled her window down, letting the chill night air wash over her. “Any port in a storm, right?”

  “Not if it’s a diet port.”

  Simon glared at the fellow standing over him, the pistol pointed at his face. He slowly raised his hand and tried to pull the trigger. He didn’t know why the cheap whiskey bottle wouldn’t fire.

  He cursed to himself and dropped his hand to his lap; the brown liquor spilled across his jeans. He stared up at the guy and tried to force his eyes to focus. He tried really hard to say, “Fuck you,” but even to his muddled mind and pounding ears, it sounded like an inarticulate growl.

  He watched the man…no…the boy slowly smile before he lowered his pistol, turned, and ran. Simon fell to his side and stared at the kid’s retreating form from under the driver’s door. That’s right you little shit. You better run.

  Simon lay on the ground for what seemed entirely too long. He could feel his body both freeze and burn up at the same time. He could feel the sweat oozing out of his pores and the stench made his guts twist.

  I gotta get out of here. The little fucker will tell them I’m down and their ‘dear leader’ will find me and put a bullet in my skull.

  He pushed himself to a sitting position then reached for the bottom of the door. With all of the strength he could muster, he pulled himself up and fell across the front seat of the truck. He huffed, trying to suck in air before reaching for the steering wheel. He hooked the hand holding the pistol over the edge of the wheel and pulled himself upright.

  It took him entirely too long to get into the seat, and Simon would have laughed if he had realized that he’d never let go of either the gun or the liquor. He chuckled to himself as he lifted the bottle and took another long pull from it before tossing it to the ground through the open door.

  Simon stared at the dials and gauges in front of him as he tried to remember what to do. He had to put the pistol on the floor in order to grip the key. He twisted it and felt the big diesel engine chug to life.

  It took him a moment, but he got the gear selector into drive and mashed the go-pedal. The truck bucked and fought as the flat front tire pulled him to the left. He didn’t care. He needed to go that way to get turned around anyhow.

  Simon fought the truck as it bounced and lurched away from the rebellious Cagers. He felt something roll against his foot; his eyes barely caught a glimpse of the bottle at his feet.

  Without thinking, he reached for it and stuffed the end in his mouth, biting down on the plastic cap, trying to wrench it from the neck. After several attempts he finally he realized he was chewing on a screw cap.

  He twisted the bottle while holding the end clamped tightly between his teeth and spat the cap onto the dashboard, spilling more than he’d have liked as he tried to take a drink.

  The truck scraped unmercifully along a small tree, removing his side mirror and buckling the thin metal that made up the skin. It was only then that he remembered he was supposed to be driving.

  He grabbed the wheel and felt his arm ache where he’d been bitten. He sighed and poured more alcohol onto the wound. To his surprise, it didn’t hurt. Nor did the liquid burn his throat as it
typically did when he took long swallows of it.

  He held the bottle up and stared at the label. He was pretty sure it was vodka. Or maybe gin. His eyes kept crossing and the midget that sat on his frontal lobe pounding its fists on his grey matter was really starting to piss him off. He tilted the bottle back again then dropped it to the floor.

  Simon had no idea where he was going…partly because of the billowing steam rising from the grille and covering his windshield. He could taste something sweet in his mouth and it almost gagged him.

  He began to slap at the different lights and buttons, inadvertently turning on the wipers and the turn signal at the same time. He could feel the truck bounce over things, but it continued to move forward.

  Until it didn’t.

  The steam still poured from the front and he cursed to himself as he pounded on the steering wheel, hoping to threaten the truck into continuing the journey.

  He had no idea how long he had sat behind the wheel, but he knew it was too long. He pressed his hand to his forehead, praying he could kill the midget, Maybe squeeze him out like a giant pimple.

  Eventually he worked the door open and fell to the ground beside the truck. He sighed heavily and rested the back of his head on the door sill, forcing his body to continue sucking air.

  After another long rest, he pulled himself up and stared at the interior. The steam had vanished and everything had a slick wetness to it. He lifted his hand to his nose and sniffed; the sweet smell was familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

  He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and quickly wished he hadn’t. He staggered to the rear of the truck and pulled the door open. His hand wrapped around a familiar shape and he lifted it. He stared at the automatic shotgun; he knew what it was, he just couldn’t think of the word.

  He chuckled to himself without understanding why. Boomstick.

  He was still smiling as he went back to the front of the cab and grabbed the last bottle of brown liquor. Whatever was about to happen to him, he knew he’d need what was in that bottle, and sooner rather than later.

  Chapter 3

  Hatcher glanced at his watch then turned to the eastern horizon. “It shouldn’t be much longer. The sun should be up soon.”

  An explosion ruffled the tree tops and echoed off of the stucco covered walls. Most of the men guarding the perimeter winced or covered their ears after the fact.

  “What the hell?” A sentry swung his weapon to the rising dust cloud to their west.

  “One of them tripped an IED,” Will Stanton stated dryly. He turned to Hatcher. “With their mental condition, I doubt it will slow them much.”

  Hatcher crossed his arms and stared at the dust cloud dissipating in the early morning sky. “It only needs to deter them a little longer. The sun will chase them off.”

  “If they haven’t grown past that already.” Will raised a brow at him. “They evolved to a sensitive state nearly overnight; what’s to say they don’t evolve right past it?”

  “Don’t speak it into existence, Doc,” Hatcher muttered. “We have enough on our plates already.”

  “They definitely know where we are now.” Will sighed and mimicked his crossed arms. “What’s to stop them from making this a regular occurrence?”

  Hatcher shook his head. “Eventually they’ll run out of bodies to throw at us.” He blew his breath out hard and glanced to the east again. “I hope.”

  Wally slid in next to the pair. “We’ve spotted some making their way around to our other flank. East wall.”

  Hatcher groaned and pointed to two of the sentries reloading magazines. “Go with him. Cover the eastern side and make sure those things don’t get close to the RV. I don’t know if Trevor has sufficient ammo to repel an attack.”

  Hank Willis nodded to Hatcher. “He took the kid inside earlier. The RV is empty.”

  Hatcher groaned and rubbed at his chin. “I should have remembered that.” He glanced to Hank and Wally. “I fear I have too many irons in the fire.”

  “It’s almost over, Hatch.” Hank grinned and pointed to the horizon. “I see daylight.”

  The men all turned and faced the east. The first red and orange licks of light cast radiant tendrils across the deep navy sky. “It’s about damned time.” Hatcher turned to the sentry in the tower. “Make a call on the radio when you see them running.”

  The man gave a thumbs up then turned the binoculars to the border walls. “The rear lines are breaking away. Those closest to us are still too engaged to notice.”

  Rifle reports echoed again as the group flanking to the east broke from cover and ran toward the outer fence. The sentry turned and waved to Hatcher. “The stragglers are breaking off.”

  With a huge sigh of relief, Hatcher turned toward the main building. “Eyes open for the hard headed, but I think the worst is over.”

  Hatcher entered the common area and met Roger and Candy crossing from the front. “I set the regular watch for the day.” Roger pulled the magazine from his rifle and ejected the chambered round. “I think the attack is over for now.”

  “Let’s hope they figure out quickly that this won’t be easy pickings.” Hatcher pushed open the door to his office and fell into his chair. His eyes were closed before the chair leaned all the way back.

  “You sleeping in here?” Candy asked as she handed Roger her weapon.

  Hatcher nodded. “This way I can be close at hand when the next shit storm hits us.”

  She huffed and crossed her arms. Had his eyes been open, he’d have seen her glaring at him. “Your room is just down the hall. Everybody knows where it is.”

  “This is still closer.” Hatcher yawned and stretched before turning his head to the side and trying to fall asleep.

  Candy stepped aside as Vicky pushed her way into the office. “I’ve got Coop stabilized.”

  Hatcher immediately sat up and blinked rapidly. “How’s he doing?” He sniffed hard and searched his desk for his coffee cup.

  “For now, I think he’s out of the woods.” She sighed and sat across from him. “I really wish we had a supply of blood.”

  Hatcher stared at her and blinked, unsure what to say. “Do…do we have a way to…” He rubbed at his eyes. “Could we store it?”

  Vicky shook her head. “No, but I think we need to make a list of potential donors. Cross check their blood types, get a medical history, the whole shebang.”

  Hatcher nodded quickly. “Whatever you think, sis.”

  She stood up and stared at him. “You need to rest. You look like you’re running on reserves.”

  Hatcher shook his head. “My reserves ran out just before the attack.” He held his hands up and there was a slight tremor. “This is adrenaline burning off.”

  “I’ll get you a sedative.” She turned for the door.

  “No.” He stood and stretched his neck. “Candy’s right.” He ignored Candy’s feigned look of shock. “I’m going to my room and if anybody needs me, it had better be an emergency.”

  “I’m fresh, Hatch.” Candy patted his shoulder. “Me and Rog will take turns holding the fort while you rest.”

  “Appreciate it.” Hatcher paused at the door and lowered his voice to Vicky. “Should I check on the old coot?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “He’s sleeping right now. Which you should be doing too.” She pushed him out of the door. “If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

  Hatcher half staggered down the hall and pushed open the door to his room. He could just make out the bare bones of the room in the early morning light and sighed heavily. “My office is more of a home than this is.”

  He pushed the door shut and collapsed on the bed. “Just five more minutes, mom…”

  Carol’s eyes snapped open and she sat up in the seat of the car. She stared through the windshield then slowly opened the door. “Andre?”

  “Over here.” He held up a gas can, a short length of hose in his hand. “I found a large truck but it was diesel. Luc
kily, there were more than a few cars parked on the side of the road that still had fuel in them.”

  He flipped open the gas door and unscrewed the cap on the little car. She sat on the passenger seat and rubbed at her eyes. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

  “Your nerves are most likely shot from last night.” He tilted the can and leaned against the side of the car. “So. Have you given much thought to where we might look for a lab to set up in?”

  She shook her head. “I know of one in Long Beach and I’m pretty sure there’s another in Salinas.”

  Broussard raised a brow at her. “And do you know where these places actually are?”

  She shook her head. “I used to say that Google was my friend but considering it’s the end of the world…” She shrugged. “Maybe we can follow the road signs to the town then…I dunno. Look for a yellow pages?”

  He raised a brow at her. “You’re speaking Greek, chère.”

  “It’s a phone directory. They used to be printed on yellow paper, hence the name.”

  Broussard nodded as he screwed the cap back on. “I think that should be close.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “That can’t be more than three or four gallons.”

  “Yes, but that was the fourth can that I’ve poured in. If it’s not full, it’s full enough.” He tossed the hose and the can in the trunk of the car. “I’m sick of sucking petrol into my mouth.”

  “Sorry.” She quickly tugged her hair back into a ponytail and pulled the elastic band from her wrist to hold it. “You should have woke me. I could have siphoned some for you.”

  “Then we’d both smell of unleaded and have headaches from the hydrocarbons.” He shook his head. “I’ll let you do the next fuel stop.”

  She sat back in the seat and pulled her door shut. She seemed unusually quiet as he started the car and pulled back onto the road. “Are you okay?”