Caldera Book 7: The End Is Here Read online

  Both men turned and looked at him strangely. “What?”

  Shooter nodded slowly. “Fire.” He turned and met Simon’s gaze. “Not fire power, but actual fire. We find a gas tanker and turn it into a giant rolling Molotov cocktail.”

  Simon rubbed at his chin as he considered the idea. “We could certainly use the gas more than as a bomb.”

  Shooter nodded. “But if you wanted to make a mess…I mean like, kill ‘em all and let god sort ‘em out type of mess, then that would be the way.”

  Sinner nodded slowly. “Yeah, and you wouldn’t even have to be behind the wheel.”

  Simon turned and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “We line it up when they aren’t looking, rig the throttle, tie off the steering wheel, light the fuse, pop the clutch and…boom. No more Cagers.”

  Simon grinned wildly. “I like that idea.” He nodded to Shooter. “We could sit in the bushes and snipe them as they come running out.”

  Shooter smiled back. “Just like they did to us.”

  “Home, James.” Simon pointed toward the road. “We got some plans to make.”

  Trevor whistled as he drove slowly through the narrow city streets. At every accident scene or potential blockage in the road, he peered well past the carnage and looked for Ragers. He knew that they could use such bottlenecks to stage ambushes.

  “I really hate to clump you in with them Crazies, but your people sure are sneaky sumbitches.” He slowed the RV and piloted through the wrecked cars. When he cleared the accident scene he slowly increased speed again. “They’re wily; I’ll give them that.”

  Out of curiosity, he switched on the radio and hit the scan button. The radio cycled through its limited range twice before he turned it off. “I was just hoping, ya know. Even if it was an old emergency broadcast recording, that would mean that somewhere there was still power.”

  He sighed and settled back in the seat. “I know the world will never be back to the way it was, and it was really fucked up before it got even more fucked up…but I miss it.” He glanced back to her still form staring at him. “I miss when you could pull into any fast food place and get a burger. I miss cold sodas and hot French fries.”

  He turned slightly and gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know if you ever had a chicken fried steak, but oh my god…” He rubbed at his middle and sighed again. “The gravy…on everything. Pour it all over the meat and the taters and…” He shook his head. “And bacon. I know everybody likes a good BLT, but me? I like bacon and onion. Pile that shit nice and thick, slather the toast with mayo and—”

  He slammed on the brakes as something huge and yellow pulled in front of him. Trevor jerked the wheel in a panic, praying to miss the giant, lumbering machine that appeared from behind a semi blocking his lane.

  He felt the wheel jerk in his hand as the front tire jumped the curb and the RV swayed, threatening to flip over. He fought the momentum and slid the machine to a stop, dust and dirt flying as it skidded across the dry median.

  Trevor had to pry his fingers from the steering wheel and he spun in his seat to check on Patricia. “Are you okay?”

  She appeared startled but unharmed.

  “What the hell was…” He turned to stare out of the window and saw two figures running toward the RV. He jerked the transmission into gear and stomped the gas pedal.

  It was right about then that he realized the engine had died.

  In a panic, he put the transmission back into park and turned the key, praying that the engine would start.

  Sudden banging on the side window had him cursing under his breath and pumping the gas pedal in an effort to start the machine quicker.

  “Hey, are you okay in there?” A very large black man asked from the passenger door.

  “Go away!” Trevor continued to crank the ignition when another man appeared at his door.

  “Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t even look before…” the wide-chested white guy said.

  Trevor panicked and reached for the AR. He fought to get it around the steering wheel and had to lean to the middle of the cabin to point it at the white guy. “Get the hell out of here or so help me, I’ll…”

  Hank stepped back from the window, his hands in the air. “Hey, buddy…we don’t want no trouble.” He stepped further back and shook his head. “But you ain’t going nowhere unless you got a spare tire.” He slowly pointed to the front driver’s tire. “Blowout.”

  “Leave us alone!” Trevor’s voice cracked as he jabbed the barrel toward Hank. “We just want to get the fuck out of here.”

  Patricia picked up on Trevor’s panic and began to whimper. Trevor spun in his seat and pointed the barrel at Wally. “I mean it, man. Get the fuck out of here. Leave us alone!”

  Wally had stepped away from the RV when he first spotted the rifle and now was easing his way out of the line of fire. “Hey man, whatever you say.”

  Trevor spun back and pointed the rifle at Hank. “Go on! Git!”

  Hank continued to back away, his hands held up in surrender. “I understand buddy. I ain’t…” Hank paused and squinted in the bright sunlight. “Hey…ain’t you that dude we dropped off the other day?”

  Trevor’s eyes widened and he stared at the man. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Hank breathed out slowly and nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you were with that group that we drove towards Albuquerque. You and two other guys, right? A big, shaggy ex-con looking dude and a small squirrelly looking dude.” Hank pointed at Trevor. “And you.”

  Trevor shook his head. “I don’t care man. Just…go. Leave us alone.”

  Hank nodded and lowered his hands. “Okay man. That’s fine. If you got them other fellas with you, then you got back up.” He stepped toward the front of the RV. “But I was just gonna tell you, we got a sweet setup now. Hot and cold water, electricity, the works.” He walked around the front of the RV and waved at Wally. “The offer still stands man. If you get tired of being on the road.”

  Wally shook his head almost violently at Hank. “How do we know that he wasn’t in one of those dozers?”

  Hank thought for a moment then nodded. “You’re right.” He hooked a thumb back toward the RV. “But if he came back, that’s one less dude plotting against us.”

  “You’re way too trusting.” Wally waved him back and away from the RV, his eyes straining to see the occupant. “Come on. We have to finish this thing.”

  Hank stepped away then leaned back toward the RV. “Offer stands, man.” He pointed to the front of the machine. “If you need help with that…let me know.”

  Chapter 5

  Buck shook Hatcher’s shoulder until he popped his eyes open. “What? What’s happening?” He sat up abruptly then gripped the sides of his head. “Oh, shit…”

  Buck handed him some aspirin and a tall glass of water. “I’d offer you a hair of the dog, but your sister and Candy swiped it all.”

  Hatcher groaned as he reached for the aspirin. “Good.” He popped the aspirins and washed them down quickly. “I need coffee.”

  “You need to deal with your demons.” Buck leaned back in the chair and eyed Hatcher cautiously. “If you don’t, you’re going to destroy yourself.”

  Hatcher tipped the glass and drank the last of the water then set it down on the table. “What do you know of demons?”

  Buck snorted. “You’re shitting me, right?” He leaned forward and tapped his finger on the table. “I know you haven’t forgotten who was right there in the middle of that shit storm when it first started.” He stood from the chair and stared down at Hatcher. “My sister and my mom were the first to catch this crazy-assed bug. My mom spread it through the entire park. My whole family died on that mountain. We barely got Skeeter out and I was trapped up there for months with those crazy bastards.” He crossed his arms over his chest and fought the quiver of his jaw. “If anybody has demons, it’s me.”

  Hatcher nodded slowly, his eyes mere slits as he stared at the angry young man. �
��Gotcha.” He leaned back and covered his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “Gotcha?” Buck stepped around the table and nudged him with his leg. “That’s all you have to say is ‘gotcha’?”

  Hatcher groaned and sat back up. “What do you want me to say, kid? I’m sorry?”

  “I want you to deal with whatever it is that’s burrowed into your head and sep up shop.” He thumped his chest. “I offered to but Candy thinks I’m too much of a kid.”

  “You are a kid.”

  “A kid that lived with the infected at ground zero for months and survived.”

  “That’s not the same as dealing with humans.” Hatcher rubbed at his eyes. “If you can even call them humans.”

  “Instead of sitting here on your ass, you should do what the Zulus do.” He glared at the older man, hoping he would catch on.

  “And what would that be? Eat them?”

  “HUNT them.” Buck pulled the chair over closer and sat back down, his eyes searching Hatcher. “Give me a couple of guys with military or hunting experience. I’ll bring you their heads.”

  Hatcher’s eyes popped open and he glared at Buck. “I know you didn’t just offer to cut their heads off and bring them back as a prize.”

  “It’s a figure of speech, dumbass. But if that’s what it takes, yes.”

  Hatcher’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Then stop acting like one.” Buck came to his feet and paced across the narrow living room. “You act like you’re the only one that’s lost something. You’re taking on everybody’s wellbeing like it’s some kind of burden to be avoided. If you don’t want the responsibility, fine. Stand down and let Candy take over. Or me. Or Roger or Cooper or somebody with a sack.” He glared at him then shook his head. “Somewhere along the way, you lost yours.”

  “You’re pushing it, kid.” Hatcher pointed at him, hoping the kid would come to his senses.

  “If that’s what it takes for you to snap out of this funk, then I’ll push. I’ll poke, I’ll prod, I’ll kick you in your old, wrinkled ass.” He bent low and lowered his voice. “We need the Hatcher that had balls back.”

  “Or?”

  “Or step out the way and let somebody else lead.”

  Hatcher squared his shoulders and stared at him. “You’re so damned eager to go to war.” He shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “What’s to get? There’s a handful of them and we have an army.”

  “And when they’re dealt with, then what? Kill another bunch?” Hatcher sat forward on the edge of the couch. “You do realize that that’s all there is now, right? Marauders and Zulus.” He shook his finger at him. “Infected people and people who want to rape, plunder and pillage.”

  “Really?” Buck stopped pacing. “Which are we?”

  Hatcher opened his mouth then closed it. “Cute. Let’s just lump everybody into this.”

  “You just said that there’s only two types of people left. Bad and worse. I’m asking you which we are.”

  Hatcher set his jaw. “We’re the ones that apparently want to hunt down humans and cut their heads off.” He turned a knowing look at Buck. “So I guess we’re the marauders, too.”

  “It’s not the same and you know it.” He pointed toward the front gate. “They attacked us.”

  “And so will the Zulus and anybody else that realizes we have more than they do; the less there is, the more it will happen.”

  Buck nodded emphatically. “So, instead of trying to incorporate more survivors, we’re just going to slam the gates on them and wish them well. Is that it?”

  Hatcher blew his breath out hard. “Kid, my head is throbbing right now. I don’t have time to play these games.”

  “What else do you have to do? Mope around and make everybody else nervous? Perhaps you want to whine about how we’re sitting ducks? Or maybe you just want to crawl back into a bottle? That seemed to fit you well.”

  Hatcher was on his feet, his face a mask of anger. “You have no fucking idea what…” He swooned and fell back onto the couch. “That was too soon.”

  Buck snorted with derision. “Good thing nobody decided to attack us while you’re recovering from alcohol poisoning.” He marched to the door and reached for the handle. “You either need to pass the reins to somebody more capable or step up.” He pulled the door open and stood in the hallway. “Personally, I hope it’s the latter. I miss the man I met at Yellowstone.”

  Broussard stepped aside as Carol poured Kevin a glass of water. “It beats the tap.”

  Kevin sipped the water and made a face. “Not by much.” He worked his tongue around in his mouth. “I know I’ve been sick, but that tasted like something died in the glass first and somebody didn’t wash it good.”

  “Sorry.” Carol quickly stood and went to the bathroom. She poured the water into the commode and flushed it. She quickly rinsed the small pitcher out and filled it with tap. “Let’s try this. Maybe tap IS better.”

  She brought him another glass of water and he swallowed it eagerly. “Yeah. That’s better.” He sighed heavily as he leaned back on his mattress. “It’s funny. I was feeling better just a short while ago but then it was like I hit a wall. I’ve just felt so tired.”

  She nodded knowingly. “It’s to be expected. You had a pretty nasty bug.” She glanced to Broussard who refused to meet her gaze. “Have you had any trouble going to the bathroom?”

  Kevin eyed her curiously. “Not since I was three.”

  Carol chuckled and shook her head. “I meant, with all of the sweating, is your urine a healthy color or do we need to get you an IV?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll let you know. I haven’t been since I woke.”

  “Okay.” She jotted some things in her notebook then tucked it under her arm. “Oh, I asked for the yeoman. He’s going to ask the captain if you can get out for short bouts if you wear gloves and a mask.”

  Kevin nodded slightly. “Thanks.” He yawned broadly and lay back. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

  “I will stay and watch over him.” Broussard pulled the chair closer and propped his feet on the end table. “It will give me a chance to finish my book.”

  “What are you reading?”

  Broussard shrugged. “Some drivel I found in the cafeteria…er, I mean the mess deck.” He pulled the book from under his arm and held it out to her. “An American zombie story.”

  Carol pulled it close and stared at the cover. “White Flag of the Dead by Joseph Talluto?”

  Broussard nodded. “I say ‘drivel,’ but it’s actually a good read.”

  Carol nodded. “Maybe I’ll check it out when you’re done.”

  Broussard glanced at Kevin curling up on the mattress. “If we are still around, you are most welcome to it.”

  She handed him the notebook. “Remember…”

  “I know. Record everything.” He pulled his glasses from his coat pocket and slipped them on. “I will inform you of any changes.”

  Simon practically hung out of the door as they drove slowly through town. “You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a damned diesel rig before the end of the world. But now? Did they all fly south for the winter?”

  “Head toward the interstate. There’s truck stops all along there. Surely there’s a couple dozen trucks parked at one.” Sinner pointed toward the highway.

  “Roads are thick with dead cars, though.” Shooter complained as he angled around another wreck. “Don’t you reckon it will be tough to get them out?”

  Simon shrugged. “We push ‘em.” He turned and smiled at Sinner. “It’s not like those things can’t push a rolling turd like this out of the way.”

  Sinner nodded and tapped Shooter on the shoulder. “Up there.”

  Shooter turned the car for the onramp then slowed to go around a short line of deserted cars. “Damn, it’s tight.”

  “That’s what she said.” Simon laughed at his own joke. He kicked a foot up onto the dashboar
d. “She didn’t say that when I was done with her though.”

  “Simon…there is definitely something wrong with your head, man.”

  “Yeah.” He turned and smirked at the big man in the backseat. “Lack of tail!”

  Sinner gave him a disgusted look. “Yeah, I heard about what you did with the Rager down the block, man.”

  Simon nodded then froze. “Wait…how’d you hear about that?”

  Sinner paused and glanced to their driver. “Shooter must have told me.”

  Simon looked at Shooter who shrugged. “I don’t remember saying nothing about nothing.”

  Sinner groaned inwardly and slowly reached for his blade. “You must have man. How else would I know?”

  Simon nodded slowly. “Yeah, Sinner. How else would you have known?” He turned and glared at him over his shoulder. “You don’t suppose maybe Stinky came by and whined to you while you were convalescing, did he?”

  Sinner shook his head. “Nah, man. I told you. I hadn’t talked to him.” He slid the knife out further and turned it so that his forearm hid the blade.

  “Oh, wait…yeah.” Shooter exclaimed nervously. “I DO remember mentioning it to him.” He turned and gave Simon an unconvincing smile. “Remember when you poured the hooch over your pecker so you wouldn’t catch Crazy crabs…or Rager VD, whatever.” He nodded quickly. “I thought it was funny and I told him all about it.”

  Simon shook his head at the man. “Did you now?”

  Shooter nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah. It was funny, man.” He reached across the narrow car and ribbed Simon. “Remember how you had her howling and shit? Then you capped her in the head?” He swallowed hard. “I was standing downstairs with Stinky and…and I heard it.”

  Sinner sat forward, the blade concealed in his hand. “Actually, if truth be told, he said it made him sick to his stomach.” He leaned closer to Simon and lowered his voice. “I think he said something along the lines of you being a sick, twisted, perverted son of a bitch.”

  Shooter’s eyes widened and he slowed the car, his eyes darting between Simon and Sinner, either of them capable of killing him in moments. “N-no, I didn’t, Simon.” He swallowed hard. “I would never say nothing like that about you.”