The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking Read online

  He tossed the atlas back on the seat, ignoring his tire iron, now his only defense against the dead. He knuckled the steering wheel. Anger bubbled inside him, simmering beneath the surface at his own inaction.

  ***

  It had been around noon when Mauser rolled the airport mobile lounge to a stop. The lounge was a train car that sat upon five-foot-tall tractor tires with a hydraulic system, and formerly had been used to transport people from airport tarmacs to the terminals. It was big, and high enough that the infected humans couldn’t reach the passenger cabin.

  The people inside the mobile lounge stared out at a semi and a dump-truck blocking all but the very center of the mountain highway. Other vehicles dotted the road, abandoned and collecting dust.

  “Steele, come up here and take a look at this,” Mauser hollered back.

  Steele, ever vigilant, was there quickly. He wore a tan tactical vest, with a carbine across his chest, and had arms that looked like they were forged iron.

  “What’s going on?” His beard moved as he spoke, making him look like a young King Leonidas.

  Mauser looked back at him. “I don’t like the look of these trucks. Seems a little too coincidental out here to have them bottlenecked like that.” His anchor-tattooed hand rested on the steering wheel.

  Steele’s bluish-gray eyes debated the scene and his brow furrowed. “I don’t like it. Any way around?”

  “Not unless we want to backtrack about fifteen miles the other way,” Gwen said from her seat near the front. The blonde ran a finger over a map. Steele’s girlfriend was sharp, pretty, and a fighter. Joseph was glad to have her as a friend.

  “And our fuel situation isn’t favorable,” Steele said. He tapped the gas gauge with a finger. The red needle hovered timidly over a capital red E.

  “No, it isn’t.” Mauser rested his chin atop his forearm draped on the wheel. Joseph stood behind them trying to see the obstructions in the road.

  Movement caught Joseph’s eye. Pushing his glasses up from the tip of his nose, he wondered for a moment if he was seeing things. A woman waved her hands over her head in the international symbol for required attention. She stood next to a car with its hood up.

  “Look, somebody’s out there,” Joseph said.

  Steele and Mauser squinted out.

  Joseph moved up and pointed. “See, right there. It looks like a woman waving her arms.”

  Steele and Mauser gave each other a look, and made their weapons ready.

  “I don’t like it, but we should see if she needs help,” Steele said. A gleaming gold shield hung off his chest. The sun glinted off its surface. Agent Steele still thought that he was a lawman.

  “Could be a trap. Once we get past those two vehicles there, we’ll have a hard time reversing if things go south,” Mauser said.

  “She could just have car trouble,” Joseph said hopefully.

  “Or she could be waiting to put a bullet in us,” Steele said. He gave Joseph a sidelong glance, his beard twitching as he thought. He stood a good three inches taller than Joseph, and his long, dark blond beard was speckled with flecks of brown and even a gray hair or two.

  Mauser gave Joseph a dismissive look coated in violence from the driver’s seat. Joseph was scared of the agent; he looked menacing with all his tattoos covering his shoulders down to his wrists: engines, anchors, an eight-ball, flames, and a star on his elbow. His M4 carbine sat casually in the driver’s compartment next to him, as if he were an Old Western coach driver on the Pony Express.

  Mauser, like Steele, had also played a role in saving Joseph’s life, and it seemed he wouldn’t forgive Joseph for the deaths of his teammates. He saw it in the man’s eyes. You killed them, Mauser’s thunder-cloud-colored eyes said.

  Joseph held that guilt in. The deaths of the other agents stung him. Not in the same way, but watching Jarl’s final moments made his heart hurt. How many people will die for me to live, so I can try to save the world? What if I fail and it was all in vain?

  But he also drew inspiration from their sacrifice. Jarl had fought to his last breath knowing he would lose, then so must I. Joseph wanted to spit. And look where it got him. Jarl’s no more than stinking meat in infected bellies.

  “Forward,” Steele said to Mauser. Mauser nodded and under Steele’s direction they navigated through the stalled vehicles, the mobile lounge narrowly finding clearance between the two large vehicles like Odysseus through Scylla and Charybdis.

  “Nice and easy, Lunchbox,” Mauser said, egging the mobile lounge along. He stuck his head out the window as they drew near the angled vehicles. The lounge inched and rocked.

  “How we looking, Mauser?” Steele said.

  “Got about a tick’s dick on this side.” He squeezed the mobile lounge through the gap. Joseph gazed at the vehicles. They seemed to close the gap in behind the lounge. Joseph rubbed his eyes.

  “Well, lookie here,” Steele said. Joseph looked ahead at the woman in distress. “I think she likes you,” Steele teased.

  She leaned against the car with the hood up. Her blue tank-top was dirty and her jeans were torn. She wiped strands of shoulder-length dishwater blonde hair back behind her ear impatiently as she waited.

  “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, Agent Steele.”

  “Jesus, you got to loosen up.” He turned to the rest of the group. “I need Mauser to stay with the vehicle. Ahmed?” He dismissed the women in the group. Clouds darkened in Gwen’s eyes. Steele rose his eyebrows at the Middle Eastern member of their crew. The two did not like each other.

  Ahmed leaned back in his seat, silent.

  “I’ll go,” Joseph piped up.

  “No can do, Doc. You are much too valuable.” He turned back to Ahmed, expecting a response.

  “Let me go with you. I’m a doctor.” Joseph crossed his arms over his chest.

  Steele shook his head no, a terse maneuver controlled by the muscle in his neck. “You said yourself, you aren’t that kind of doctor.”

  Joseph pushed his glasses up his nose. “That’s correct. I’m a virologist, but I know enough to be of use if there is a medical situation.”

  The man weighed his words and exchanged a look with Mauser. Mauser shrugged his shoulders.

  “If he wants to go, I say let him,” Mauser said.

  Steele slapped Joseph on the back and grinned through his bushy beard. “She must have really made an impression on you. Besides, you spotted her and no good deed goes unpunished.” He flipped a switch on the door and punched open the folding glass doors.

  “Probably a good idea to stay close,” Steele said to Joseph. He shouldered his carbine and slung down a rope ladder. He pulled on the ladder, ensuring it was secure.

  Gwen stopped them before they could climb down. They had told Joseph that Steele had fought through a horde of the walking dead to reach her, and Joseph knew why. A woman worth fighting for.

  “Be careful.” She straightened Steele’s tactical harness a bit. “I don’t like the looks of her,” she said, gazing up at him.

  “Why’s that? Don’t want to make new friends?”

  “Call it a woman’s intuition.” She squeezed his arm.

  “Everything will be fine. We’ll make sure she’s okay and leave,” Steele said. She gave him a look that said he’d better be right. He turned away and moved to the ladder.

  Steele went ahead of Joseph down the rope ladder. They walked together, Steele’s feet moving in sync with slow, calculated steps as if he was a boot-clad dancer. He held his black AR-15 in the low ready, eyes scrutinizing the surrounding mountain forest. The closer they got to the woman, the more hairs on Joseph’s neck stood up one by one.

  The forest went silent. Even the chill mountain breeze through the trees settled down. Steele stuck an arm out, stopping Joseph.

  “Let me stay in front,” Steele said with a wink. He checked the corners around the car while the woman, in her twenties, gushed at them.

  “Ohhhh, Lord. Thanks be God that these brave
men found me when they did,” she called out. Her Appalachian accent was thick. She grinned, showing yellowish teeth, and wrapped her arms around Steele. A perplexed look crossed his face and he shrugged his shoulders gently, creating space between them.

  “Okay there.”

  She clasped her hands together. “Please be pray.”

  Steele gave Joseph a look. “What seems to be the problem?” Steele asked. Joseph crossed his arms. She sat down in the driver’s side seat, door open and crossed her legs. She sparked up a cigarette with a flick of her lighter.

  “I’ve been hearin’ all sorts of craziness in the cities. It be scary on your own,” she said. Steele took a step back from her.

  “What seems to be the problem, Ms.?” Steele said.

  “Ms.” She tittered. “Mzzzzz. O’Neill. You big bag of muscles.” She gave him a playful wave. “And you see. There is something wrong with my car here,” she said gesturing at the engine. “I think I’m out of gas, but I just don’t know.” She exhaled cigarette smoke from the side of her mouth.

  “Are you alone?” Steele asked, looking inside a nearby car.

  “Alone as alone can be. A couple of my girls and I are bout five miles down the road in a cabin, waiting ’til this thing blows on by. I was out searching for some food. So if we get this car going, you guys are more than welcome to spend the night.” She giggled at the word night.

  Joseph’s jaw dropped a bit. She took a long drag from her cigarette. Her foot bounced up and down. Was she propositioning sex for assistance? Or just a good time? I guess there is a first time for everything. The idea made him uncomfortable. She let smoke exhale through her slightly open mouth. She smiled a bit as she blew smoke down her breasts. Joseph found himself staring. After a moment, he looked at Steele, who appeared amused. Well at least he’s enjoying himself.

  “We could sure use some big strong men to keep us company. At least not so lonely,” she said, bending low to show some cleavage through her loose, low-cut tank-top. Normally Joseph would look away, but he didn’t.

  “I’m a doctor,” Joseph mumbled.

  She glanced his way. “We could use a doctor.”

  Her last statement confused Joseph. Steele gave a backward glance toward the mobile lounge. It sat rumbling on idle.

  From behind the windshield, Mauser raised his hands in the air unsure, and Gwen stood next to him, arms crossed, clearly unamused by the interaction from afar. Steele turned back. Joseph nervously shifted the weight of his body from leg to leg.

  “So, hows ’bout it, boys? Will you help this little damsel in distress?” she cooed. Her eyelashes batted together. Steele gave her another look and nodded.

  “Okay, just give me—.” He was silenced mid-sentence. A loud crack of a rifle bellowed from the trees. Warm wetness sprayed across Joseph’s face, and Steele’s body dropped like a sack of potatoes, clanking into a heap of tactical gear. The gunshot continued to reverberate from mountain to mountain.

  Joseph’s legs carried him into the woods, fear pushing his body into a sprint.

  ***

  Those horrible memories were etched in his mind, never to be forgotten. The gun shot. Steele’s head rocketing backward. His blood on Joseph’s face. The thoughts consumed him as he drove his car through the winding back roads of West Virginia. The loss of his friends weighed heavily upon the lonely doctor’s soul.

  GWEN

  Mountains of West Virginia

  Gwen struggled awake from a nightmare only to find her arms were pinned behind her back. Opening her eyes, she found the darkness was real. Her hands fumbled behind her; she was tightly bound with thick, coarse rope. Thin threads of stiff frayed twine stuck into her skin, and the knot was heavy.

  She moaned in frustration through an old rag stuffed in her mouth. The rag, covered with metallic machine oil, stung her tongue. Her stomach burnt, trying to keep its contents in. There was no light except for that seeping in through a fine crack that pierced the door and the quarter-inch beneath the frame. A cellar?

  High-pitched chirping came from outside. She strained her ears, trying to hear over the wailing of the baby. The twitter was cheerful and gay, mocking her imprisonment. Has to be a bird. The outside was close. Someone sobbed nearby, muffled by her gag. All they do is cry.

  Her fingers scratched the ground behind her, searching for anything she could use to saw the rope. Instead, her fingers wrapped around a thin, worn piece of paper. She pressed her filthy fingers together, gripping the rolled-up document. The only solace she had.

  An earthy smell prevailed over anything else. That and piss. No one had let them out to pee. So they had gone where they sat and lay.

  The slumped, defeated shapes around her were the other women. Escape was the only option from this awful place. Escape, before they came back again. She frantically worked her wrists together, trying to wiggle them free, but she was only rewarded with the stickiness of blood flowing onto her hands. Frustrated and exhausted, her shoulder muscles cramping, she stopped.

  Lindsay stared at her from across the small confines, her eyes wide, her brown snarled hair outlining her face. Gwen remembered meeting her at the Dunn Loring Metro stop just outside D.C. after the outbreak struck. She looked worse now. Her eyes and skin had the wear of a woman ten years older than she was.

  Next to her sat a smaller woman with her head hung low. Lucia. She had barely escaped Mount Eden with them. Her husband was dead or gone. Lucia’s hands were bound in front of her, and she held tightly to her baby, Maria. She cooed to the baby, but nothing seemed to help the baby’s wails.

  Maria cried and cried, little lungs piercing the air, begging for something to eat. Gwen watched the woman rocking with her child. Gwen’s maternal instinct screamed with them. How could anyone do this to us? How could people lack any sort of empathy for a baby?

  Rough shouts seemed to answer her. Loud, jovial shouts of drunken men. No, not them again.

  “Lucia,” she mumbled through her gag. “Shhhh,” she tried. Please be quiet. Please be quiet or they will come in again.

  “Mi niña tiene hambre,” Lucia murmured. Her eyes teared up, pleading with Gwen for help. They begged Gwen to do something, anything.

  “Please keep her quiet,” Gwen tried to say, but instead everything came out as an incoherent slur. Metal jangled on the door. They’re here. Gwen’s swollen cheek was a reminder of the last time their captors came into their prison. That was when they took their clothes and watched them change into tattered, dirty lingerie in some perverted male fantasy.

  The shed door imploded inward. A narrow shadow took shape in the light. No, not the slender man. Lindsay started bawling. Her whole body shook as she sobbed. Gwen yelled through her horrible bitter gag.

  The thin shadow glided inside.

  “Ladies, ladies. What is the problem?” He wagged his head from side to side, disapproving of their behavior. His scrawny frame was clad in the same cut-off t-shirt and filthy overalls he always wore.

  He glanced over at Gwen as if she were to blame. His eyes ran over her skin. A smile crept over his features as he gazed at her thinly covered breasts. The smile faded as Lucia’s baby continued to scream with every quivering breath she had.

  “You made me come all the way over here because this Mexican dog can’t keep her mangy pup quiet?”

  He marched over to Lucia, who shied away, doing her best to shield her baby with her body and arms. Maria screamed bloody murder. He swatted Lucia in the back of the head like a bad dog. She yelped, terrified of the man.

  “Can’t you understand me? I speakin’ ’Merican to ya. Jesus, I feel like I’m living in a goddamn foreign country.” He stepped back and forth in the middle of the shed, hand stroking his chin.

  “Now, what am I to do with you?” he said.

  “Por favor, no entiendo,” Lucia whimpered, damp eyes imploring to be understood.

  “What the fuck did you say?” Slender man stuck a boot into her side. Lucia cried out. Maria continued her non-ver
bal barrage on everyone’s eardrums.

  “Casey,” a voice came from outside. “Puck says to shut that baby up. It’s drawin’ ’em in.”

  Casey crouched down in front of Lucia. He gripped her jaw in between his fingers. “Shut. It. Up,” he growled into her face.

  Maria didn’t care about what he said, she only had tears for him. He stood upright contemplating his next move.

  “Puck is pissed. Make it stop,” the voice yelled.

  “I heard you, dick,” Casey said, over his shoulder. He scowled down at Lucia.

  “Give it over,” he said finally, grabbing at Maria. Lucia dodged him, clinging to her child.

  “I said, give it over,” he shouted, grabbing Lucia by the hair. She shrieked as Casey ripped her child from her. She dove for his leg, wrapping tiny bound hands around his ankle.

  “Por favor, mi bebe,” she called out.

  Casey shook her off and kicked her in the stomach. Lucia tried to suck in air as she curled up in a ball.

  “Shhhhh. You be quiet, now,” he cooed at the baby, bouncing it. He put his pinky near its mouth and Maria greedily latched on.

  “You don’t even know what to do with a baby. Some mother you are,” he said with a vengeful look at Lucia, who wept on the floor.

  Gwen’s blood boiled. These pieces of trash had ambushed them and now treated them worse than animals. I must do something. She stood on weak legs, hands bound behind her back. Put that baby down you, bastard. She tried to look tough, puffing her chest out a bit.

  “Now, what do we have here? A brave little missy, aren’t we?” He smiled like the devil.

  She held the paper in her hands behind her back, crushing it between her fingers for strength.

  He rotated the baby in his arms as if to challenge her. Maria started bawling again.

  Casey gave Maria a nasty look. “Look at what you’ve done. I just got this thing—.” He stopped as Gwen lunged at him, throwing a knee at his groin.