Judgment Day (Book 3): Retribution Read online

  Any animosity between her and Ang Lee was set aside as they sought the elusive cytokine messenger. Without an active virus to experiment with, they could only hope they were moving in the right direction, but any activity beat the morose feeling of defeat she had been experiencing. She felt alive again. She could kick herself for not saving a sample of Bob Krell’s, but his death and conversion had come so suddenly that blood samples had not been possible.

  She was certain that they were very close to the answer. Once they had the right cytokine protein, they could synthesize it using their own blood. It would be a slow process, but they should be able to produce enough vaccine for everyone at Agua Caliente. All she needed was more of Trish Moon’s. Given her mood when she left, that might prove an insurmountable obstacle.

  Tucson, Arizona

  Renda was not the only one bored with inactivity. Two hundred miles away, Mace paced the roof of the warehouse that had been his prison for nearly two weeks. He was eager to return to Agua Caliente and Renda, eager to return to the small bit of normalcy he had found there. Zombies milled about seemingly aimlessly out of gun range, but he knew they were watching intently, waiting for any opportunity to get inside the protective fence. He sensed that hunger did not drive them. These were not the flesh-eating animals he knew. These were cunning creatures that cooperated and planned. Given sufficient time, he knew they would breach the fence and the walls of the warehouse.

  Of even greater concern than the zombies, was a train that had passed by the previous day on the Union Pacific tracks less than half a mile away. Where there were trains, there would be military. It would only be a matter of time before they were discovered. He knew the military, as methodical as they were, would not fail to inspect a warehouse district. He did not want a repeat of the battle at Biosphere2 where they had simultaneously fought the military and zombies. If trains were moving, it would not be long before the military decided to use Sarin gas to clear the city. They were damned if they stayed and damned if they tried to leave.

  Elliot sat on an upturned crate at the edge of the wall watching Mace’s agitated pacing. He sensed Mace’s frustration. “Sit down, Mace. You’re making me nervous.”

  Mace stopped long enough to glare in Elliot’s direction. He noted that nothing seemed to perturb the lanky, slow talking former FEMA liaison. “You should be nervous. These creatures are different.”

  Elliot nodded. “I can see that. It’s not so much that you make me nervous. You’re making everyone nervous. They need to see a rock steady hand at the helm.”

  Elliot’s observation surprised him. “Me? Garza runs the show here.” He resumed his pacing.

  “Garza’s out of his depth, and he knows it. That’s why he confides in you. He respects you. If we’re going to get out of here, you’re the one who’s got to do it.”

  Mace stopped at the edge of the roof and looked out. “Any suggestions?”

  “Not really, but it’s time to do something. Everyone’s tired and tired people make mistakes. They’re frightened as well. They know what that train means.”

  Mace realized Elliot was right. They had been standing long watches for two weeks with little sleep and even less chance to relax between constant zombie attempts to break through the fence. All it took was just one inattentive guard and they would all die.

  “We have to break out of here,” he said. “No one’s going to rescue us.”

  “We have enough vehicles for the people, but not enough supplies to keep so many people fed for any time,” Elliot reminded him, “and where do we take them?”

  That, he knew, was the bigger question. They could load all the people onto the bus and the Chevy Tahoe and various other vehicles, but the eighteen-wheeler that he wanted to load with supplies would never make it through the maze of abandoned automobiles and trucks outside the fence. With the constant threat of zombies, removing the wrecks would take too much time and would be riskier than vacating the warehouse.

  “Maybe we could come back later for supplies when the zombies move on,” he suggested, avoiding the hanging destination question.

  Elliot looked at him doubtfully. He knew as well as Mace that the chances of their returning were slim. There was no guarantee the zombies would leave the area once the military moved in with Sarin gas, but it would still be too dangerous for a return trip. The risk of capture would be too great. “Maybe.”

  “So we go soon,” he said.

  Elliot shrugged. “Today is as good a time as any day.”

  Mace shook his head. “It’ll be dark in a couple of hours. We’ll need daylight to see what we’re doing. Tomorrow. I’ll let Garza know.”

  Elliot rose from his crate, stretched his arm and rubbed his aching shoulder. “I’ll go with you. I’m tired of sitting. I need to stretch my muscles.”

  Mace suspected Elliot wanted to see if he invited the TSS people back to Agua Caliente. It went against everything he felt, but he could come up with no other viable option. He could simply get them out of the warehouse and onto the road, but his sense of responsibility wouldn’t allow him to abandon them to the vagaries of chance. Garza had proven himself a capable leader, but he didn’t fully realize the seriousness of the situation. They had never dealt with a threat bigger than some gang bangers. They weren’t ready to face a well-armed military.

  He found Garza talking to two men about mounting guard shifts. He decided to couch his suggestion to Garza in such a way that would not usurp the man’s authority. This was Garza’s house and he was the visitor.

  “We’re not safe here anymore,” he said.

  Garza scrunched his face into a scowl. “Yeah, I know.” He paused and searched Mace’s face. “Any suggestions?”

  “We can load up the bus and the Tahoe and break out.”

  Garza looked around the warehouse. “We would have to leave all the supplies behind.”

  “They’re not worth dying for.”

  “Some of us did die for them, but I guess you’re right. Staying here is too much like being in prison. I would like to be able to walk in a straight line for a few miles just to see how it feels.”

  Mace was glad Garza was so agreeable to his idea. The last thing he wanted was a fight. He respected the Afghan vet. “We should leave in the morning.”

  “Where do we go?”

  Mace saw Elliot smiling and silently cursed him. “Back to Agua Caliente with us. A few more people won’t hurt. We can always scrounge up a few more trailers.”

  Garza frowned. “I thought you were against that.”

  Elliot answered for Mace, eliciting a scowl from him. “Mace has a heart as big as Arizona. He changed his mind.”

  Garza looked doubtful but nodded. “I’ll tell the others. We’ll bring what we can.”

  “Cots, blankets, and weapons only,” Mace suggested. “We can forage for the rest later.”

  The two men with Garza had been following the conversation without interrupting. The youngest one, barely in his twenties, posed the question everyone had been asking themselves for the past twenty-four hours. “What if the military comes before we leave?”

  Garza looked at Mace, leaving the answer to him. “I’m going to fight,” Mace replied.

  “But they’re …”

  “Human?” Mace finished for him. “Son, they’ll kill you just as quickly as the zoms. If they don’t, you’ll wind up a human Popsicle dripping away your life’s blood. Neither option suits me. You fight or die. It’s that simple.”

  The young man swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Then Elliot smiled as Mace did a decidedly un-Mace-like thing. He reached out and lightly punched the young man in the shoulder. The young man smiled at the small act of encouragement and walked away. Mace noticed Elliot’s grin and said, “If you tell anyone …”

  Elliot dropped his smile and held up his hands in mock surrender. “I never saw a thing.” He glanced toward the dining area and said, “I think I’ll eat.”

  While
Elliot went to eat, Mace located Vince and Amanda to inform them of his decision. When he suggested that someone would drive the Tahoe, leaving first to draw away as many zombies as possible, Vince immediately volunteered.

  “I’m a better driver and Amanda’s a better shot,” he challenged.

  “That’s why you’re driving the bus,” Mace countered. “It’s my plan, so I take the risks. Garza feels the same way.”

  Vince attempted to stare Mace down but gave up seeing that Mace was determined. He stepped back and nodded. “Okay. I’ll drive the bus, but if anything happens to you, Renda will kill me.”

  “Nothing will happen. I’ll lead them away like the Pied Piper and meet up with you later.”

  Vince looked dubious. “I’d feel better if Amanda and I rode shotgun.”

  “And I would feel better with you on the bus. I need you there.”

  Vince relented. “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  He left Vince and Amanda and found Elliot sitting at a table with Trish Moon. Since he had told Trish of Erin’s discovery a few weeks earlier, she had been strangely quiet. He thought she was probably still angry with him for the long delay in returning her to her friends. He had not pressed the point of her returning to Agua Caliente with them to provide more blood for a vaccine. He knew that she fully understood the significance of Erin’s find. A vaccine would provide permanent immunity for everyone, even those bitten or badly injured. It would mean the end of forced blood banking and the military’s monopoly on Blue Juice. It was not lost on her that such a vaccine could have saved Bob Krell. She held a mug of coffee in her hands, but did not drink from it as she stared blankly at the tabletop deep in thought.

  “We’re leaving in the morning for Agua Caliente. Garza and I will lead off with the Tahoe. The rest of you will follow in the bus.”

  Trish looked up at him but said nothing. He wondered if she thought their destination had anything to do with her.

  “Why just you and Garza?” Elliot asked. “You might need more firepower.”

  “We’ll move fast and rely on speed. The bus is slower. That’s where I want your gun.”

  “Okay,” Elliot agreed.

  “I suppose it was inevitable,” Trish shot at him with undisguised anger.

  Mace stared at her. “What?”

  “That me and my blood end up back at Agua Caliente.”

  Her insinuation irritated Mace. He snapped at her. “Look. You can go wherever you want. We won’t force you to come with us or to give blood if you do. Both are up to you. If we did, we would be no better than Hunters. You could save an awful lot of lives. In fact, you might be the only person who could, but don’t let me sway you.”

  He turned to walk away.

  “Wait!” she called.

  He turned back to her. Trish set her mug on the table. “I’m sorry. You saved my life, and now you’re trying to save all our lives. I didn’t mean to … to bark at you like that. It’s just that …,” she sighed and her shoulders slumped, “I don’t feel worthy of this gift you say I have. I don’t feel like I’m the one to save the world.”

  Mace softened his voice. He realized it was a heavy responsibility to bear. “There may be more like you. I don’t know. You’ve got a chance to make a difference. Maybe that’s the only reason any of us survived – to make a difference. All of us have this monster hanging over our lives. You might be the one to lop off its ugly head. If you decide to come with us, I’ll see that you get there safely and guarantee no one harms you once we’re there.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Good, I don’t lie unless I have to,” he replied, smiling. “Now, is there any more coffee? I have a feeling I won’t get much sleep tonight.”

  Few zombies were visible as they rolled open the gate to let the Chevy Tahoe through, but by the time they had gone less than a hundred yards, zombies came from everywhere. Mace gunned the gas and careened the Tahoe through the maze of automobiles, clipping several as he fought the wheel. A zombie leaped from the top of an overturned car and landed on the hood, slamming its fist into the windshield in front of Garza. The windshield cracked but held. Mace slammed on the brakes. As the Tahoe skidded sideways to a stop, the zombie tumbled off the hood onto the road. Garza fired through the open side window and killed it. Mace pressed the accelerator and ran over a second zombie racing at them head on. More zombies attacked from both sides. Garza fired short bursts from his M16 into their midst. The 5.56x45mm rounds were smaller than the AK47 Mace preferred but had a higher muzzle velocity. He fired short, tight bursts of three, killing several and slowing the advance of others, but Mace’s evasive driving made it impossible to aim.

  Zombies poured from buildings and from behind parked automobiles and gave chase. He fought the urge to outrun them, but the purpose of their excursion was to distract them. He slowed the Tahoe until it kept just ahead of them. Garza glanced at him as the truck slowed but said nothing, turning his attention to zombies in front of them. When they neared the end of the street, Mace picked up the walkie-talkie in the seat beside him.

  “It’s time,” he said to Garza, and then keyed the mic and spoke into it. “Time to go, kids. Drive slowly. Most of the bastards are chasing us. See you later.”

  Vince’s reply was terse. “Leaving now.”

  Mace glanced through the rearview mirror and saw the bus coming out the gate. It stopped for thirty seconds as one of the men closed the gate behind them, as if expecting to return. The bus then sped off in the opposite direction. Very few zombies noticed its departure; their attention was focused on the Tahoe.

  “Looks like it’s working,” he told Garza as he fishtailed the truck onto Contractors Way heading south toward Irvington Road. From there he intended to take Alvernon Way south to Interstate10, the quickest route out of town.

  He had barely uttered the words when a large Alpha male ran up to the side of the road and flung a car tire at them. It all happened far too quickly for Mace to avoid it. The heavy tire and rim smashed through the already damaged windshield. Mace threw his hands up to shield his face from a shotgun scattering of shattered glass. The tire caught Garza full in the face, pinning him to the seat. He barked out a quick humph, and then went silent. The out-of-control Tahoe rammed the right rear fender of a Honda Accord parked in the opposite lane, sending it spinning. The airbags deployed, smothering and blinding Mace. He fought the steering wheel in a fruitless attempt to straighten the truck. The airbag deflated. He hung on helplessly as the Tahoe careened out of control up the side of a pile of sand deposited by the summer monsoons, plowed through a chain link fence, hit a shallow ditch sideways, and rolled twice, ending up on its side across the railroad tracks with the engine running and the rear wheels spinning uselessly.

  Mace was shaken up and disoriented, but not seriously injured. He quickly checked Garza, but he had no pulse. The impact of the tire had snapped his neck. The former sergeant was beyond pain. Mace struggled with the release of his safety harness, finally falling on top of Garza’s dead body. He grabbed his rifle, the walkie-talkie, and crawled out the driver’s side window. His head spun and his knees ached from colliding with the dash. He had to brace himself against the chassis of the truck to keep from falling. The Alpha male zombie that had thrown the tire still stood beside the road fifty yards away howling in triumph. Mace fired at it but missed, his aim spoiled by his dizziness. More zombies gathered on the far side of the road. He glanced around but found no cover other than a small building a hundred yards up the tracks. The wrecked truck offered no protection. The engine chugged and sputtered a couple of times as the engine flooded; then died. He took off at a quick clip toward the building, hoping his legs held out long enough to get him there. He tried the radio.

  “This is Mace. I’m down. Garza’s dead. Don’t come back for me. I’ll make my way home.”

  He waited for a reply but heard nothing, not even static. He quickly checked the walkie-talkie and saw that the battery cover plate had jarred l
oose during the crash and the batteries were gone. He glanced longingly back toward the truck where the batteries probably were, but zombies were already closing in around it. He had no choice but to go on. He ignored the pain in his knees and increased his pace.

  He thought he was hallucinating when the warning lights at the railroad crossing on Irvington Road began to flash and the railroad barricade cross arms slowly lowered across the road.

  “Zombie crossing,” he muttered, grinning at his black humor.

  It suddenly became even more surreal when a train whistle began to blow in the distance.

  Dingane Soweta swung the ten-pound sledgehammer as easily as a slugger swings a baseball bat. He struck the seven-and-a-half-inch-long railroad spike squarely on its head, driving it into the hard wood of the crosstie. The metal sang out as he hammered it home. In three blows, it snagged the flare of the metal rail, securing it to the crosstie. Finished, he leaned on the handle of the sledgehammer and surveyed his work.

  He and his crew of snipes had just tightened down a couple of loose rails noticed by the engineer of the last train using the rail on its way to Texas. So far, the line ended outside El Paso, but soon the line would be open all the way to the railroad hub of Ft. Worth. Soweta smiled as he thought of Ft. Worth. He had visited the city once when he first came to America. Even wearing a cowboy hat and boots, the six-feet-seven-inch African had stood out in a state noted for its tall citizens. He turned to his crew. Most sat on the edge of the Hi-Rail crane watching him work while three others stood around with rifles ready for zombies.