Chapter Twelve
If the people of Lapeer could not be evacuated because of the weather, the mutants were also kept in shelter because of the winds. They could not move in great hordes toward food because the winds would pick the lightweight mutants up and toss them around like confetti. So the hunter and the hunted waited for the weather to abate.
The only people now left safe in Lapeer Parish were housed in the two warehouses, the Catholic Church, and a gym. The older schools were the first to be overrun, then a gym, then the smaller, older churches. The fugitives in the holding areas kept in touch by walkie-talkie.
“What’s the count?” Sheriff Ransonet asked Slick.
“Little over twenty-five hundred, last check. But it won’t be that many for long. We’ve got a few hold-outs in the high school and some more scattered around in different places. They’re gonna try and make a run for it.”
“Where do they plan on running?”
Slick shrugged.
“The men at our local communications hut?”
No word since last night. They were screaming they were being swarmed, then we lost voice contact.”“We can’t hold out here another night, Slick.”
“I know. That wood out there wouldn’t burn if you poured jet fuel on it.”
Vic sighed, the sigh just audible over the howling winds and slashing rain. “I’d rather be shot down by my own kind than sit here and be eaten by those damned bugs. Can you get anything on the all-weather band?”
“Storm is supposed to let up by dark.”
Wonderful,” Vic said sarcastically. “That’ll be just in time for supper.”“I got an idea,” Bob whispered to Brett.
“Believe me, friend, I am open to almost anything at this point.”
They were standing outside the warehouse, under the roof of a small parking port.
“You heard the rumor about the virus maybe being airborne?”
Yeah, Tanya told me she heard Dr. Whitson telling those government doctors. They can’t risk sending anyone in here after us.“And maybe they can’t risk letting us out, either,” Bob said. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“The thought has occurred to me. I couldn’t blame them.”
“I’m not looking to fix blame. But if that’s the case, then we may as well hang it up. We’ve bought the farm, old buddy. All of us.”
“What’s your idea?”
“Your truck’s the same model as mine and they swarmed all over us yesterday. Couldn’t find a way in.”
“True.”
Tanya and Kiri joined them. Sarah clung to her mother’s hand, her eyes registering numb fright.
“And you have a reserve tank on the truck?”
“Yes. Both tanks combined hold over forty gallons. Kiri and I are going up in the mountains on our honeymoon.”
Kiri squeezed his hand.
“Okay.” Bob paced the small area they occupied. The rain blew in from three sides. “As long as we’re moving, the bugs can’t get us—right? If we stay here, as soon as this rain and wind passes, the bugs are going to swarm us. We’ve had it. I’d rather take my chances outside, rolling. How ’bout you guys?”
Tanya and Kiri nodded their agreement.
“I like it,” Brett said. “Let’s go tell the sheriff. Maybe we can form a convoy.”
“The networks are screaming, the big dailies are screaming. Everybody with a two-bit press card is hollering, Mr. President,” the chief advisor on internal affairs informed the President. “People with relatives in those areas are howling for information. I just don’t see how we can sit on this any longer.”
President Hospon swiveled slowly in his leather chair. “I’m so very happy this is the last year of my last term,” he said. “You couldn’t give me this job again if you offered me a billion tax-free dollars a year and Linda Ronstadt to help me spend it.”
His friend and advisor laughed. He was one of the very few who knew the President of the United States had the hots for the sexy singer.
“Wallace, you did the only thing you could do with the people in those Parishes and with the media. I think we’ve averted a nationwide panic. Now it’s time—I believe—to let the rest of the nation know what is happening.”
“The damned Russians are going to accuse us of germ warfare,” President Hospon said glumly. “They’re going to say we had a spill—and they won’t be too far off base. I wish to God we could use this stuff to drop on them!”
“Screw the Russians.”
The President grinned. “I’ve seen some I’d sure like to have a bang at.”
“Wallace, if your wife doesn’t give you some, and quickly, you’re going to be the horniest man in this town. And nobody should be horny in Washington.”
The President ignored that. He didn’t want any from his wife. He glanced at his watch. “We’ll sit on it till dawn tomorrow.”
“That’s cutting it fine.”
“My aide down there tells me it should all be over by then.”
“What do you mean?”
Their eyes touched.
“You really want to know, Kenny?”
You mean, no one gets out. Is that it?”“You said it, not me.”
The aide turned away and quietly left the room.
“God!” the President spoke to the silent room. “I will be so glad to get out of this office.”
He punched the play button on a small cassette player. Linda was singing Blue Bayou.
“How many buses do you have, Sheriff?” Bob asked.
“Little over forty.”
“And they seat ... ?”
Vic told him. “But there is no guarantee the buses aren’t filled with bugs. And there is no guarantee the buses are bug-proof. But,” he sighed, “I like the plan. Sure beats the hell out of sitting around here waiting for dinner. Someone else’s.” He thought for a moment. “Slick, let’s do it. Check out the buses for bugs—take some fire extinguishers. Let’s roll—get the hell out of here. You!” He pointed to a city patrolman. “Get on the horn and contact the others in the churches and the gym. Tell them we’re going to park buses in front of the buildings. Be ready to roll.”
Many of the people did not want to take the buses; they wanted instead to use their own cars and trucks and vans. Vic did not argue. He was too tired to argue.
“We’ve got two Parishes to play around in,” Vic said, as the people filed into the vehicles. “Lots of highways. But let’s stay together in case of breakdown. First, we’ll head north, then drive right up to that goddamned blownup bridge and tell General Bornemann what we’re doing. We’ll keep in touch with handy-talkies.” He looked around him. “All right—mount up and roll.”
Many of the people had vans, and these were used to transport the more seriously ill. Everyone was relieved just to get out of the stinking warehouses and churches.
You seen Rollie or Jimmy?” Vic asked Slick.“They’ve had it,” the chief deputy said. “Bought it last night tryin’ to keep some punks out of the gym.”
“Damn!” The sheriff looked at a paper in his hand. You believe this? Nineteen hundred and fifty-six people. Out of almost ten thousand people, we got less than one-fifth still alive and going.” He shook his head. “Okay, pal, space ’em once we hit the highway.” He shook hands with Slick. “I’ll take the point. Luck to you, Slick.”
You believe this? Nineteen hundred and fifty-six people. Out of almost ten thousand people, we got less than one-fifth still alive and going.” He shook his head. “Okay, pal, space ’em once we hit the highway.” He shook hands with Slick. “I’ll take the point. Luck to you, Slick.”“I’ll be drag-assin’ around in the rear.”
Let’s go.”“General?” A spotter-plane pilot radioed back to the CP. “We got a convoy on the way up to the bridge. A long one. Cars, school buses, trucks, vans. Flashing lights front and rear.”
“How’s the weather there?”
“Improving. But still too turbulent for choppers to try any evac. I’m staying above it.”
General Bornemann changed frequencies. “Sheriff Ransonet? What in the hell are you pulling?”
“Just out for a little drive, General. It got a little stuffy all cooped up back there. If you know what I mean. Things were getting close.”
“Going to blow the whistle, Vic?”
“No. I was, though. I was gonna drive this convoy right up to the bridge and blow the sirens and honk the horns and make a general nuisance of myself. Maybe get some press attention. But what the hell? It’s not your fault.”
“That infection might be airborne—if you haven’t already figured that out.”
Yeah, I know. Mrs. Campbell was with Dr. Whitson for a time. He told her, or she overheard him talking to somebody.”“Campbell?”
“The wife of Bob Campbell—the ex-ball player.”
“Fine linebacker. Yeah. You know, Vic, you have some heavy people in that convoy. The press would just love to get ahold of that news.”
“Got an ex-Green Beret here, too, although he never talks about it. I think he was some kind of a hero in Vietnam.”
“Who?” The General’s voice took on a different tone, a more urgent note.
“Fellow by the name of Brett Travers.”
“Travers! Hell, man. He’s a Medal of Honor winner. He’s one of the ten most decorated men to come out of Vietnam. Captain Travers. Led an A-Team.”
“Hold on for just a second, I’m going to turn this convoy west. Keep them away from your area. Long as we’re rolling the bugs can’t get us. I hope. Now, what were you saying?”
“We were talking about Travers. Look, Vic, I’m going to do something that may very well end my career. Big deal. I’ve been in since ’44. Keep those people on the move for another two or three hours. Angle toward the northernmost bridge on the west side of your Parish. I’ll get back to you.”
“What are you going to do, General?”
Bornemann laughed. “I’m gonna try to get some American citizens out of a bad spot, Vic, like I been trying to do for the past twenty-four hours. I just couldn’t come up with a plan that’d work. But you just gave me some heavy ammunition.” He switched off.
Vic slowly led the convoy in a westerly direction, rolling at about thirty.
“Colonel Dickson?” General Bornemann said. “Would you walk with me for a moment.”
The CO of the Combat Engineers assigned to this operation walked through the rain with his CG. “Yes, sir?”
“Jerry, I don’t give a damn for my future—I can retire very comfortably after thirty-six years. But if you come in this with me, you’ll never make general.”
“I’m not going to make it, anyway, sir. Besides, Captain Chambers talked to me a couple of hours ago. Didn’t go into much detail, just asked if I wanted in.”
“And your reply?”
“Yes.”
“All right. You remember a linebacker name of Bob Campbell?”
“Yes, sir. Great ballplayer. Decorated in Nam, too.”
“He’s one of them trapped in there.”
Colonel Dickson whistled. “Damn, that’s tough news.”
“Yeah.” General Bornemann dropped his heavy artillery. “But so is Captain Brett Travers.”
The Combat Engineer stopped dead in the mud. “The Green Bennie?”
“Right. Tough, isn’t it?”
The General looked at the Colonel. A silent message passed between them.
“I’ll see you around, General,” Colonel Dickson said.
“I’m sure you will, Colonel.”
General Bornemann walked back to his tent. He was whistling a happy tune.
“Fuckin’ officers!” a rain-soaked MP muttered to his buddy. “What the hell is he so happy about?”
“’Cause he’s about to put his ass in a dry tent, and we’re stuck out here. That’s why.”
“Captain Chambers?” The engineer located the Green Beret. “I need a few minutes with you.” They walked through the rain.
“What’s up, Colonel?”
“We talked about it a couple of hours ago.”
The Captain grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m pulling some of my people out of here, in twos and threes. Easy-like. I’m going to repair that bridge on the west side of the Parish. You said you were going to get some gear together. Did you?”
“Yes, sir. General Bornemann OK this?”
“Not in so many words.”
The Captain’s smile broadened.
“Captain Brett Travers is one of those trapped in there.”
“The hell!”
“Yeah. So is Bob Campbell.”
“The ball player? The Marine from the early days of Vietnam?”
“Yeah.”
They walked on, slopping through the mud.
How’d you find out about this?” Captain Chambers asked.It was Dickson’s turn to smile. “Let’s just say a little birdie with stars on his shoulders told me.”
“My men located the fire trucks. They’re at the bridge. The guards there will go along with us. The Navy in the Velour said they’ll be deaf, dumb and blind.”
“Well, let’s sorta angle over to the hospital tents,” the Colonel suggested. “I’ll bet we can find someone along the way we can talk into joining us.”
Ten minutes later, the rear of the hospital tent was open, and supplies were being passed down the line, into trucks. A joint Army and Navy venture.
In his CP, General Bornemann was playing pinochle with the President’s aide. He whistled happily.
How come you’re so pleased?” the aide questioned suspiciously. “You’re losing.”“It’s not whether you win or lose,” the General grinned hugely. “It’s how you play the game.”
“You military people are weird!”
As the long convoy rolled through the stormy morning into the equally stormy afternoon, they witnessed the full horror of the mutants’ destructiveness. Small communities were lifeless ; not a dog or a cat had lived through the feeding frenzy of the creatures. Pastures were bare of livestock; only the dully shining bones were visible from the highway.
They came upon cars and trucks parked by the side of the road and glimpsed firsthand what was left of the occupants. After seeing the first few, the people in the vehicles kept their eyes forward after that.
“It’s awful,” Kiri said, sitting beside Brett in his truck. “I just can’t imagine what the government will do to these Parishes if we get out of here. After we get out.”
We’ll get out,” Brett promised. “One way or the other. As for the Parishes, the government will destroy them, probably with fire. I don’t see how they’ll have any choice in the matter. But it’s going to be interesting to see how the rest of the nation reacts when it learns what happened in here.”“Brett?” Kiri touched his arm, fingers gripping him. She pointed. “Look over there.”
A large group of men had jumped from cover and were running across an open field, toward the convoy. All carried rifles and had pistols belted around their waists.
“Dog eat dog,” Brett muttered.
Sheriff Ransonet rounded a curve and cursed when he saw the highway ahead was blocked. “Halt the convoy!” he ordered through his walkie-talkie. “All men to the right side of the vehicles. Keep your fingers on the triggers and sight those men in.”
Using his outside speaker, mounted on top of the car, between the flashing lights, Vic ordered the men in the field to halt. They stopped at the fence. Only a ditch separated them from the convoy.
Vic did not recognize any of the men. Must be from Baronne, he thought. From ’way up in the boondocks. “What do you people want?” Vic asked, his voice metallic in the dark afternoon.
“We want to go with you all,” one said.
No way,” Vic replied.“You can’t git through,” a man said. “You just try it and see what happens. But maybe we can work something out. You give us yore women and we’ll let you pass.”
The thirty-odd men by the fence stood rock-still as the sound of rifles chambering live rounds was heard up and down the convoy.
“You in the dirty cowboy hat and beard,” Vic said. “Get your ass over the fence and move those trucks blocking the road. You’ve got five seconds to start moving.”
“What happens at the end of five seconds?” a man asked.
You die!”The man slipped through the wire, waded the ditch, and walked to the road. He opened a route through the trucks, then rejoined his friends at the fence.
“You can bet on one thang, Sheriff,” a man spoke. He spoke loudly, so many of the women could hear him. “There’ll be another time. I thank we’ll just trail you around the Parish, till the time is rat. Then we’ll take yore women.”
Vic was suddenly, explosively, angry. A cold fury washed over him. After all they’d been through, trying to survive, to hear those words from a pack of white trash was just too much. He cocked his .357.
You don’t have any time left you, you bastard!” Vic said, then shot the man in the center of the chest. The heavy slug exploded the heart. The man was flung backward to land spraddle-legged in a mud hole, on his back.Not one of his friends made a move.
“Why is it,” Vic said, speaking into his mike, his voice cutting through the stormy air, “the scum and trash always seem to survive in any catastrophe?”
He was not expecting a reply, and received none. Vic put his cruiser in gear and rolled on, leading the convoy through the Parish. Heading westward.
“I think I’ve found a way in there,” a reporter said to his colleague. “You with me?”
“First let’s see what you’ve got in mind, Sid,” Jean said. “You almost got me killed in Lebanon last year.”
“I’ve been prowling around some,” the network reporter grinned. “And I found some old maps of these Parishes that go back into the thirties and forties. Look here.” He spread a map on the table in their tent, several miles from the bridge the Navy SEALs had blown up. “This is Red Creek, a little bitty thing. Back in the 1920’s there was a lot of work done in that area. Bridges and waterworks, stuff like that. There was a huge concrete culvert built right there.” He jabbed the map with a finger. “It’s still there, and you got to be a real oldtimer to remember it. Fellow I talked with looked like he was older than God. He scratched and chewed and spit for several minutes before he remembered it. There is kind of a blocked-off ravine, or ditch, leading to it, and the big culvert goes under this little creek. And, it’s not guarded.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“Because I drove out there as far as I could and walked the rest of the way. The fires are still burning, but you can get through. It’s as easy as stealing candy from a baby. And we can take it all away from the other networks. Are you with me?”
Let’s go!” Jean said, excitement building in her as fierce as an orgasm. Reporters, by nature, are nosy. And they watch each other’s movements very closely. And reporters have a sixth sense that tells them when another reporter is up to something.A minute after Sid and Jean left, along with their cameraman, two reporters from ABC followed. Two reporters from NBC followed them. Then it was Reuters, AP, and so on down the line, a parade in the stormy afternoon, heading into the unknown.
But moments after they departed, an Army Security Agency man reported to General Bornemann. “Reporters leaving the area like rats from a sinking ship, sir.”
“Is that a metaphor, Sergeant,” the General asked, “or an accurate comparison?”
Not being absolutely certain just what a metaphor was, the ASA man replied, “A little of both, sir.”
“I see.” Bornemann smiled. “Well, they’ve found a way in, I suppose.”
Do we stop them?”“Hell, no!” He was adamant. “They were warned and ordered to stay out. They know there is a news blackout on this, and they are in willful violation of the martial law being imposed in this area. I won’t nursemaid them. Follow them at a discreet distance, find out where they enter, and plug up the hole. You know the rules. This is not a goddamn game we’re playing. Those hold me in contempt. I’ll do the same for them.”
Eighteen reporters, print and broadcast, and their cameramen gathered at the west side of Red Creek. All were blackened from the smoke and ash. They made their way along the narrow spit of land between the Velour River and the Lost Swamp, eighteen men and women. There would have been more, but the rest got stuck in the mud on the dirt road. They were the fortunate ones. All had been stopped several times on the way, but they told the security troops they were on their way to the nearest town to get a drink. In this weather, the troops could appreciate that. The reporters were waved on through.
Once off the blacktop and onto the dirt road, hidden by the timber, the rest was easy. Just as Sid had said: taking candy from a baby.
“There it is.” Sid pointed. “It’s all covered with vines and crap, but that’s the way in.”
“Hell, let’s go!” A reporter pushed past him, plunging into the swampy ditch. Watch out for snakes.”
Watch out for snakes.”The ASA Sergeant watched from his position in the timber. Watched until all the reporters were gone from sight. He turned to an explosives expert. “Can you seal it?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“All right. Seal it, then let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Damn, I’m glad to get out of that culvert!” a reporter said, breathing a sigh of relief as he plunged into the dim light of the tempestuous afternoon. “I was afraid any second I’d step on a water moccasin.”
He would have been better off had he done so.
“According to this map,” Sid said, and it’s a new one, there is a small settlement about three miles from here. Little French community called Baie Comeau.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Bay something or the other,” Lee Chang said, shifting his camera from one hand to the other.
“How many languages you speak, Lee?”
Four.”They marched on.
“Maybe we can rent some cars from somebody in the town?”
“Oh, hell, yes!” Sid said. “We’ll just offer them three or four times the going rate. No sweat.”
They walked down the dirt road, muddy from the heavy rains. A woman said, “This is weird, you know?”
“What?” Jean asked.
“There’s no animals. Not a bird to be seen anywhere. Have any of you heard any dogs barking?”
They all shook their heads. “No,” a man said. “Come to think of it—no.”
“Nothing in their right minds would be out on a day like this,” a man said. “Except reporters.”
“Who says we’re in our right minds?” a woman laughed. “We were warned there was a health problem in here.”
“Well, Jesus Christ, Bette. We’ve all had every shot known to mankind. What in God’s name could we catch?”
They came to a house. A neat-looking house. A garden—or what was left of it—was by the side of the house.
“Wonder what happened to the garden?” Sid asked. “Damn! It’s been stripped clean. What the hell kind of a bug would do something like that?”
All of them suddenly remembered General Bornemann’s words at the press conference.
“Giant roaches,” a cameraman muttered.
“All right, all right,” Jean said. “Let’s not get panicky. He was joking and you all know it.”
“I hope,” Lee said. He said a silent prayer in all four of the languages he was proficient in: English, French, German, and Spanish.
A heavy explosion came from behind the group.
“What the hell was that?”
“Anybody want to bet that wasn’t the Army blowing the culvert?” Sid challenged.
“Those dirty bastards!” a man cursed. They’ve sealed us in.”
They’ve sealed us in.”“We were warned,” the Reuters man said, in a burst of fairness toward the military.
His peer group all looked at him as if he had suddenly gone mad. Which he would. Shortly.
The man from Reuters shrugged. Well, we were, weren’t we?”
Well, we were, weren’t we?”“I’m going to knock on that door,” Jean said. “See if anybody is home. If they’re sick, then maybe we can help. Goddamn military isn’t doing anything.”
The rain came down in spirit-dampening sheets, the wind slashing and whipping the forlorn group standing in the middle of the muddy road. They watched in silence as Jean walked up to the door, knocking, then hammering on the door. No answer. She pushed the door slowly open.
Then she began screaming.