Ames, a mere forty minute drive away. The driver had abandoned it and left for Minnesota, which was having some issues with the infected. The hub was dealing with a backlog of abandoned and missing cargo, most of it was due to move on to other states and had just been dumped there when the truckers opted to race to where ever they hung their hats. The dispatcher was in a foul mood that brightened just a little bit when Bill offered to come pick up his package himself.
“It is a huge crate and package, I don't know if you could get it into a regular pickup. And it weighs over five hundred pounds, can your truck handle that? We can boost it up for you, we have a forklift, but how will you get it off the truck?” the dispatcher asked.
“Probably in pieces, if I can't fit it on I will probably take it out of the crate and fit it in where I can. I have a regular bed pickup, with an extended cab I can fill, if I have to.” Bill said.
“Fine, look if you get it out of here I would appreciate it. It is not that big overall, but we are crammed full right now and the yard is littered with trailers, so we can use every bit of space inside the terminal.”
“I will get it, can I come up now?” it was a little after eight in the morning.
“Yeah, I would like it if you did.”
Bill hung up the phone and turned to Trisha, “Mind if I take John awhile?”
Of course she didn't. Before leaving Bill grabbed a blue diesel can he had gotten from his father-in-law a few years back. He didn't have any vehicles that ran on diesel, but he was going to pick up five gallons of it anyway, if he could, along with two cases of motor oil, two packs of light bulbs for each vehicle and new wiper blades. Trisha doled out the money, with an admonishment to spend it wisely. Once on the road the trip up passed quickly, there was nothing unusual until they got into Ames, where they were met by a road block as they exited the highway. Rolling his window down Bill was surprised to see it was the Iowa National Guard, not the police, who were stopping people.
“I.D. sir.” the guardsman said, holding out his left hand, his right, Bill noticed was on the butt of his pistol.
Bill handed his ID over and started rummaging through the glove box for his insurance papers, the guardsman waved him off saying, “We are not checking any other papers, we just need identification, this your boy?”
Bill nodded, “Yes, John, get your license out for the man.” John complied and Bill handed it over.
“What is going on sir?” Bill asked.
“Nothing that isn't on the television, we are checking everyone as they get off the highway in the larger cities right now, trying to weed out any infected. You have not seen anything unusual have you Bill? Or John?”
Both answered 'no' and the guardsman continued, “What brings you to Ames? We've had a run on the stores already so if you need food, I mean really need food, you are out of luck right now.”
“No, no we came to get a package from the trucking hub off of east Lincoln. I called them this morning, they are open and said I could come grab it, they didn't mention this at all.” said Bill waving his hand at the soldiers.
“We got called out last night, some people might not know we are out here yet, especially if they don't ride the highways in.”
“I don't know if you are going to get fuel either, gas cans sold out too, everyone is hording already.” said the trooper pointing to Bill's blue gas can.
“Well I thought I would try if I could. Have you, ah, seen any infected yet?”
“Only on my briefing tapes. One thing, if you see someone acting funny. Shoot them. Shoot them first and ask questions later. Do not let them get close to you, what they have is like rabies, they will attack you and try to bite you, if you get bitten you might as well put a bullet in your head to save someone else the trouble. Do you have a gun?”
“Yeah.”
“With you?” Bill nodded, “Good, we had an incident at Wal-mart last night. Some of the less well off folks decided to help themselves from the carts of people who were coming out of the store with their goods. It was a regular gunfight at the O.K. Corral. A gun might not have helped, but it wouldn't have hurt for some of those folks. Oh and if you see an infected, you have to shoot it in the head, once or twice, whatever it takes until it stops moving. They don't seem smart enough to fake dead.” Another car pulled up behind Bill's truck. The guardsman returned their I.D.s to them and waved them through.
“Well that is a sign of the things to come, I think.” Bill said to John.
They drove on to the shipping terminal, the streets leading up to it were lined with trailers, there were no semis, just trailer after trailer, like a path. Hopping out they went in through the front doors. A harried looking middle aged woman with some beauty still in her greeted them at a bare, stainless steel desk. The office was industrial with no attempt to 'pretty it up', the time clock was facing Bill and John as they entered and the woman looked up as they entered, taking her head phones off and saying, “It isn't like I can get through to anyone anyway. Everyone is calling in. You gotta be…Bill Carson, right?”
“Yeah, that's me.” Bill said.
The curly haired, slightly overweight blond called down a hallway to an unseen person, “Hey Ricky, Carson is here!”
A short man with black hair a mustache and a swarthy Italian complexion came out of a doorway. He was wearing a blue and white button up shirt and khaki pants, with heavy steel toed work boots, he came out and shook Bill's hand. “I don't suppose you have a CDL do you?”
Bill knew what that was, a commercial license to drive tractor trailer rigs, his brother-in-law had one, though he hadn't worked as a trucker for years. “No, sorry.”
“Damn, I would have hired you on the spot, no record checks nothing. You need work? I bet the cops are not checking these things too close these days? I could have you out on the road by this afternoon after a few test runs through the yard.”
Bill smiled and shook his head, “No, I am good, I think I am going to sit this one out at home.”
The man snorted, “You and all my drivers. Fuck. Sorry Gail.” he said to the blond woman. 'I moved your pallet to the third bay door, you can't miss it, it is the only bay door that doesn't have a trailer on it right now. The numbers are above it on the side of the building. Drive around to the side and I will meet you there and get you loaded up. Gail, why don't you knock off, it's obvious we should lock up and go, nobody is working today.”
“What me to lock up, or wait until you get mister Carson taken care of?”
“Wait until I get back, maybe we will try the retired list to get drivers. Around to door three Bill.” Rick said to them.
Bill drove his pickup around the building and backed up next to a bay door with a large number 'three' painted on it. Unlike most of the others, this door was set at ground level, not ramped down for semi-trailers. There were trailers crammed into every other conceivable spot on the lot, leaving a path just large enough for a semi to carefully pull through them; Bill had no trouble maneuvering around in his pickup truck. The crate was huge, he didn't remember it being so large the first time. Next to it was another package about eight feet long, which should be the brackets and support frame for the panels.
Ricky looked over Bill's truck, then at the crate and said, “Shit, this is going to be close, but I think we can do it. Should I try and just drop it into the bed? I will lift it and hover over the bed, so we can get a better idea of how to position the load.”
Bill nodded and waited for Rick to hop on the forklift and bring the crate over. He hovered it until it was just above the sides of the truck bed, then killed the engine and hopped off to have a look with Bill. Bill noticed the smell of diesel when Rick shut off the engine. Ricky noticed the blue gas can Bill took out of the back of the truck to clear the bed for the crate, both men looked at each other and Ricky looked about ready to say something when John interrupted them.
“Dad! Over there!” John was pointing to the alley in front of the truck. All of them turned and looked at the ragged man who was staggering around the front corner of the trailer to the left of them. The man was dressed in military fatigues, he was wearing tennis shoes and dirty white socks, his face betrayed him as middle age, with no meat on his frame. He had a week old beard and dark, silver black hair that was shaggy and in need of cutting. On the top of his head was a ragged hole with a thick, crusted over scab, dried black blood was oozing from the wound. The man stumbled forward, towards the bay.
“John give me the shotgun.” Bill said without hesitation.
