Omega Days (Volume 1)

THIRTY-FOUR



Oakland



“This is about to turn to shit,” Carney said, gritting his teeth and clenching the wheel even tighter.

TC nodded and went into the back, where Carney could hear him loading weapons. A glance in the side mirrors showed him that every millimeter of firepower the truck carried wouldn’t be nearly enough. And now the truck itself was about to fold.

They had followed the line of cars at a discrete distance, and Carney was encouraged when they turned west towards the water. Maybe they knew something about a boat? It was really his only shot, because the Bearcat was shimmying and knocking fiercely now. He had done some real damage to it saving the girl. Although he said nothing, it was clear TC thought Carney was crazy for doing it, the unspoken words obvious in the younger man’s expression. But he only shrugged and smiled, his faith in his cellmate apparently still intact. It was more faith than Carney had in himself. And that smile bothered him, it went past friendly. TC wanted the girl.

About the time they passed under the Nimitz Freeway, Carney heard rustling and the tearing sound of Velcro. “What are you doing back there?”

A pause. “Just making sure she’s not hiding anything.”

Carney twisted around and looked through the opening into the rear compartment. TC had bound the girl earlier, but now he had removed her rifle and vest of ammo pouches – the Velcro noise he had heard – and was kneeling beside her. Her tank top was pushed up to just below her breasts, and his palm rested on her flat stomach, moving across it slowly.

He looked up with a crooked grin. “She’s fit, man. Nice abs.”

“TC, leave her alone.”

The hand slid higher. “She’s burning up with fever. It ain’t fair, bro. A nice piece of ass like this…who ain’t dead…and she’s infected.” His other hand moved towards her. “I’ll bet as long as I don’t actually touch her with my-”

Carney slammed on the brakes, throwing TC forward in a heap. He reached down and grabbed the bigger inmate by his long blond hair, wrenching his head up painfully. His voice was soft. “Touch that girl again and I’ll bleed you out.” He gave the hair a yank. “Fast.”

“F*ck, man!” He grabbed at Carney’s wrist. “That f*ckin’ hurts!”

“I’m not playing, TC.” His voice was soft and even. “You want to stay with me, you listen and do what I tell you.”

“Yeah, man, yeah!”

Another painful jerk. “Leave her alone.”

“I got it!”

Carney released him and got the Bearcat moving. It was several minutes before TC climbed back into the passenger seat, and when he did he said nothing, just stared out the window. Carney didn’t offer any gentle words to smooth things over this time.

Now TC was in the back again, loading up, but Carney was confident he wouldn’t go near the girl. His confidence in their relationship was not so strong, and he admitted the question which had been bothering him for some time; how many times could you hit an obedient pit bull before one day it went for your throat? Not too often, but not today, he decided. TC would leave the girl alone for now, not that it would even matter for much longer. She was sick, Carney had trashed their vehicle – their life support – rescuing her, and now it was about to leave them stranded. They were all dead anyway.

He had quickly caught up to where he could see the convoy again, and stayed back while they cleared an obstacle by a pair of tanks and drove through. Carney gave them a few minutes and followed. They certainly seemed to know where they were going.

He saw the ship the same time they did, saw the destroyed vehicles and field hospital, and the army of the dead out on a peninsula near the long white vessel. And then the second army showed up, tens of thousands of ghouls spilling out of warehouses and truck yards behind them, pouring into every available inch of street and pressing forward in the rain. He remembered the signs for the infected quarantines. And now here they all were.

Carney had followed these people into a death trap.

He gassed the Bearcat down the open lane to the left of the convoy, passing vans and SUVs and sedans, rooftops loaded with gear and spare fuel cans tied to bumpers. All manner of surprised faces stared out at him as he rocketed by; families, children, people with bandanas and beards and long hair. Carney barely noticed as he passed the motorcycle leading them. He didn’t know where he was going, just following a road which wasn’t filled with the dead, heading south and trying to get some distance. To the right, the water of the big, semicircular harbor was only a dozen yards off the road as it ran close to the shore, lapping at the jumbles of rock and concrete slabs which formed a manmade barrier.

Ahead he could see another split coming up as the road ended at a ‘T’ with water beyond, more industrial park to the left, and another stretch of land sticking out into the water on the right; another wharf, this one lined with freighters tied up lengthwise against it. A dead end.

In the mirror, the column of vehicles was hurrying to keep up.

Carney reached the ‘T’ and stopped, the Bearcat shuddering. He slipped into neutral and feathered the gas to keep it from stalling. To the left, the road ran into a maze of warehouses, abandoned trucks and rail lines with box cars lined up on them. Even as he watched, corpses stumbled into the street, only a few at first, and then crowds of hundreds swelling to thousands.

He dropped the gear and cranked the wheel to the right, up the dead end wharf. Maybe they could make it up onto one of those freighters, lift the gangplank so nothing could reach them, deal with whatever they found on board. If he found a haven like that, would he let these other people in? More bodies potentially meant more firepower, but more mouths to feed, more trouble. He clenched his teeth. Think about it later.

The Bearcat bumped over cracked cement and railroad tracks, passing more rows of containers and a big black crane, weaving between a pair of forklifts. Four freighters were tied up along the short pier. Someone had spray-painted tall, yellow biohazard symbols on the rusty hull of each ship, and then used some kind of tractor or bulldozer to tear down their gangplanks. Piles of twisted tubing and metal stairways were crumpled on the wharf at each vessel, and a minute later the Bearcat steered around the heavy Caterpillar which had cut off access to the ships.

He reached the end of the pier. They were out of ships.

The rumble of a motorcycle came up behind them seconds later, and then the row of cars and vans came to a stop in a line. TC popped the roof hatch and went up with binoculars and a shotgun.

“They’re coming, man. Nothing but zombies as far as I can see. We’re f*cked, bro.”

Carney pounded the steering wheel, and then tensed as the Bearcat’s engine hiccupped and shook. It rattled, wheezed, but then settled back into a ragged rhythm. He checked his mirrors, saw people getting out of vehicles, herding children forward while adults with firearms moved to the rear. Pistols and shotguns, mostly. It was going to be a slaughter.

He looked to the right, out at the water in front of the prow of an aged freighter with Korean lettering on the side. Carney turned the wheel hard to the right, aimed the Bearcat for that space, and hit the gas. The armored truck left the pier.

Evan’s Harley followed a few seconds later.