She shook her head, a sadness forming in her eyes. “Or maybe we’re too late?”
He gave her a confused look. “For what?”
She smiled at him sadly. “Maybe they’ve starved to death?”
“Contact!” the soldier barked, swinging his rifle to the far left. Broussard and Carol both gripped the edge and peered over again.
A lone figure came staggering from the shadows, its face slack and its movement jerky as it stumbled toward the generator. Broussard stared as the creature made its way up the street and stop short of the generator. It seemed to sway as if listening to some unheard song.
“This is taking too long,” the soldier barked.
Broussard turned to him and pointed to the Zed below. “You saw how slowly it was moving. If there are others scattered about the city, it will take them time to come.” He pulled himself to his feet then brushed the dirt and gravel from his pants. “We should make ourselves comfortable and wait. Once more arrive, the military can spray them and the treatment will effectively be applied.” He looked at the soldier and gave him a smile. “Consider this a success. The generator works and the frequency it is set to appears correct. We can begin creating more for deployment.”
The soldier lowered his rifle and muttered something into the mic. He turned back to Broussard and shook his head. “This is taking entirely too long. How are we supposed to apply this so called ‘cure’ to the whole country? One city block at a time?”
Broussard smiled and placed a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It is like a cold. One person catches it and spreads it to ten others. Eventually, everybody is exposed.”
The soldier grunted. “If you say so.” He hefted the rifle and propped it across his shoulder. “Personally, I say kill ‘em all and take back our world.”
Simon sat at the upstairs window overlooking the housing addition. He scraped along the bottom of the can of beans then tossed the can to the side, licking his spoon clean. He washed it down with a long pull of bourbon then leaned against the window sill. “I’ll go nuts sitting here waiting for something to happen.”
He capped the bourbon and made his way downstairs. Once in the garage, he climbed into the tiny truck and twisted the key. To his surprise, the engine started and quickly began to fill the garage with noxious fumes. He backed the truck out and stared down the hill toward the gates. Simon turned the wheel and practically let the truck coast toward the street below.
“Time to find a real truck.” He slapped at the dash. “No offense old girl, but I need something that can haul more than a letter.”
He turned for town and slowly cruised through the streets. He knew he was approaching the intersection where the Ragers had rushed him and he slowed even more. “I know you’re out there. I can feel your eyes on me…”
He stopped at the intersection again and peered into the midday shadows. He couldn’t see the red-eyed bastards, but he knew they were there. He slipped the truck back into gear and let the clutch out, the engine protesting as it pulled forward.
“I’m gonna get me something big. Like…BIG big and come back here and run you fuckers down.” He chuckled to himself as he imagined Ragers squishing between the tires of a semi. “I need me one of them big four wheel drive Army trucks. Those things are unstoppable.”
He slowed the truck and stared down the street. He could see trash blowing across the pavement but nothing stood out to him. He eased down the road until empty fast food places came into view. He nodded to himself as he slowly swerved through pile ups and hastily left cars in the road.
He saw the sign ahead with Chevrolet, Buick, GMC printed boldly across it. Simon nodded as a smile began to form. “Maybe I’ll find me a big ol’ GMC with a diesel engine and all-wheel drive.” He took a pull from the bourbon and sighed. “Maybe even leather seats.”
He pulled the little pickup into the driveway and crept through the lot. He slowed toward the end and spotted what looked quite promising. A big, black GMC with four doors, dual wheels and four wheel drive. “Let it be a diesel…” He crawled out of the Luv and ran a hand along the fender of the dust covered truck. “Yup. Duramax, baby. With an Allison transmission. Well, what do you fuckin’ know?” He whooped as he eyed the truck.
He studied the beast until he found the little yellow tag with the stock number. He dug in the Luv until he found a pen and wrote the number on the back of his hand.
“Let’s go shopping.” He practically danced a jig on his way to the main building. “Daddy needs a new pair of shoes!”
Chapter 23
Hatcher looked up as Vicky stepped inside, her face one of concern. “What’s up?”
She sat down gingerly and loosed a heavy sigh. “I think….There may be something…wrong with Candy.”
Hatcher’s brows rose. “Why do you say that?”
“At breakfast, she only got a few bites down before she made a mad dash to the trash cans.” Vicky shook her head slowly. “The poor thing wretched until there was nothing left.”
Hatcher wiped a calloused hand across his face. “You should check her out. Make sure she isn’t contagious.”
Vicky’s face slowly lifted and she gave him a knowing look. “I did.” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “She isn’t contagious.”
Hatcher’s brows knit again. “Food poisoning?” He couldn’t keep the concern from his voice as he spoke.
Vicky shook her head again. “Not food poisoning.” She seemed hesitant to share and Hatcher felt dread rise in him. “She’s…pregnant.”
Hatcher couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d punched him in the groin. He pushed away from his desk, his face searching
