Biohazard

2

It seemed like my head had barely hit the pillow when Carl was shaking me awake. “Nash,” he said. “C’mon, Nash, wake the fuck up. We got activity here.”

“What?” I said.

“I think someone’s out there. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

I pulled myself out of my bag, looked out the window and saw absolutely nothing. Just the empty street, the rusting hulks of vehicles. Some at the curbs, others pulled right up onto the sidewalk. A few had been driven right through the plate glass windows of shops across the street.

“Looks pretty quiet,” I said.

“I think we were followed.”

I was still looking and not seeing anything.

“There was someone or something behind us, dogging us. I know it,” he said. “They’re out there right now.”

Carl’s intuition wasn’t always on target, but usually in situations of danger he was pretty damn perceptive. I watched the streets and though I did not see anything, I had the oddest feeling that as I watched, I was being watched. It made the flesh at the back of my neck creep.

Sean crawled out of his bag, stretched, said, “How the hell am I supposed to sleep with you two jabbering like this?”

“We’re being watched,” Carl said.

“You always think we’re being watched,” Sean told him. “Go lay the fuck down. Put a tampon in and get a few Z’s, for chrissake, you pussy.”

Carl almost hit him with the butt of his AK and it would not have been the first time. I stepped in-between them as I always stepped in-between them. Carl was always fighting with Sean or Texas. He had a short fuse and they knew it. He just couldn’t take a joke. One of those guys that walks around with a target on their backs.

I peered out the window again. I thought for just a second I saw someone dart behind a car. It could have been my imagination. My eyes were still crusty from sleep. The moon above the buildings had moved clear across the sky. I must have been out for hours.

I had just pulled my face from the window when the first shot rang out.

A bullet punched through the glass and I felt it pass by my cheek. Heavy caliber, too, because not only did it punch a neat hole in the window but it shattered it. Another round came through the glass face of the door. Carl brought up his AK and fired a few liberal three-shot bursts into the streets. And that brought the reports of at least three more rifles. The glass was blown out of the door and black bullet holes were punched into the walls behind us. Carl fired another burst and by then, on my hands and knees, I had everyone together. We rolled up our bags, gathered up our packs and made for the rear entrance.

Carl gave another three-round burst to keep our adversaries from making a rush at the building.

“Get going,” Sean told us. “I’ll hold off the Indians and catch up with you.”

I’ll never forget him standing there with his Ruger Mini-14 carbine, bopping and weaving as rounds peppered the tattoo parlor, telling us to get going as he worked the bolt and laid down suppressive fire. And I’ll also never forget that crooked, toothy smile he flashed me right before a bullet caught him in the head and blew his skull into mucilage that splashed against the walls.

Somebody screamed. In fact, two people screamed: Janie in horror and Carl in manic rage. I was too shocked to do anything but stare at Sean folded up on the floor, his legs kicking then going still, the top of his head just…gone. I crawled over there, pried the 14 from his hands and whispered something to him, something heartbroken and gushy, and followed the others out the back way. Sean. They’d killed Sean. Jesus Christ, fucking Sean.

The alley. Carl was already running and Janie was trying to wait for me, but Texas Slim wasn’t having any of that. He had hooked her by the arm and was propelling her along pretty much against her will. The alley zig-zagged, then opened up out into the street. I caught up to them and tossed Carl Sean’s Ruger which had much better range than his AK. One of our attackers came leaping out from behind a car and fired a round from what I thought was a. 30-30. He got off that shot, but that was it. Carl fired with the 14 and dropped him screaming in the street with a perfect gut-shot.

We ran.

And as we ran, we were pursued. I told the others to scout ahead while I gave our attackers a little trouble and bought us some time. The others ran ahead and hid out. I waited. The silence was unbearable. I heard a breeze rattle the branches of an aspen across the way. A dog howled in the distance. That was it. Then, after maybe five minutes, running feet. They were just down the block. I counted three of them.

They dodged behind a car.

I caught the glint of a rifle barrel in the waning moonlight, raised my. 30.06 Savage and fired. I didn’t hit anyone, but my round punched through the windshield of a Cadillac and gave them something to think about. A few more rounds came my way. I fired one more time and then took off down the sidewalk in a low run, hunched-over. More rounds punched into plate glass windows and I dodged behind a pick-up truck.

I had no idea where the others were by that point.

I waited for the bad boys to close in, but they were in no hurry. They’d fire a shot in my direction from time to time, but I didn’t return the fire. I was trying to draw them out and the longer I was quiet the more they’d want to find out why. If I’d have been smart, I would have cried out or something so they’d think I was hit. But I wasn’t that smart. And I didn’t want Janie and the others to come running to my rescue and get greased.

Footsteps were coming.

Light, agile. But they were coming from behind me which either meant that the bad boys had circled around me or that-

“Nash,” Carl said. “There’s a train station about two blocks down. Ground’s wide open around it, perfect killzone, we can waste anything that comes knocking. Texas and Janie are waiting down there. Let’s go.”

It was about that time that I heard vehicles start up. Two of them, racing their engines. We were on foot and the bad boys had wheels. Things were starting to look pretty bad. I ran off after Carl and about the time it seemed my lungs would burst, we caught up with Janie and Texas Slim. They were waiting behind an overturned Datsun. I followed them across Tyler Street, through the gates, and into the parking lot of the train station, which had been an Amtrak hub before the world ended. I saw signs for Michigan Southern and Conrail.

Carl was right: it was wide open in every direction, defensible, perfect killzone. Nothing could approach our position without us knowing it. The New York Central Museum was across the way and the Conrail Yards and the Conrail mainline just beyond. The yards were huge and went on forever. Nothing out there but trains lying dead and rusting on tracks. And in that moonlight, you could see for miles it seemed. The only problem was that it was a big, sprawling building and there was no way in hell the four of us could cover all sides.

I saw the headlights coming in our direction and knew we really didn’t have a choice. The horizon was getting blue and I knew the sun would be up in less than an hour. That was to our advantage. The station was open and we locked and barricaded the front door once we were inside. Carl checked the other doors, secured them, then we went upstairs into the offices. From the windows up there it would be like a duck hunt.

A pick-up truck and a Ford Bronco pulled into the lot. Two men stepped from the pick-up and three more from the Bronco. They looked normal. I didn’t know what they wanted with us and I knew I’d probably never know. Maybe just the ragtag remains of a militia out hunting. Maybe they wanted our weapons. Maybe they wanted Janie.

By the time they got out of their vehicles, the sun was making itself known in the east. They were chatting amongst themselves, pretty much at ease. They did not know we were there. Maybe they suspected it, but they didn’t know. I was hoping, really hoping, they’d just go away. I wanted to hurt them bad for killing Sean, but for the safety of the others I was willing to let it go. Carl had already killed one of them.

They started fanning out in the lot.

“Shit,” I said under my breath.

We already had the windows open. I raised my Savage, sighted in on a guy with a cowboy hat, squeezed the trigger and dropped him. Carl fired a split second after me and dropped another with a headshot. I caught another guy in the leg. The two dead ones lay flopping in the lot in their own blood. The one I’d shot was screaming. The others pulled back behind the pick-up truck, putting a few rounds in our direction.

“We’ve got ‘em boxed in, Nash,” Carl said. “When that sun comes up we’ll have ‘em.”

I nodded. “No shooting until it’s light. Unless they move. And they’re going to have to pretty soon.”

The sun was rising. The world had gone from black to indigo to light blue. It would be fully light in about fifteen minutes. What I didn’t like was the idea of playing cat-and-mouse all day long with those assholes. I went over to Carl, whispered something in his ear. He liked my idea. Janie waited behind me. Texas Slim was out in the hallway keeping an eye on the stairwell.

Twice in the next few minutes, the bad boys below tried to make it to their parked vehicles and twice Carl had put a round within inches of them. We had them boxed good. They were hiding behind the rear of the pick-up truck. The Bronco was over a bit and they didn’t dare make a mad dash for it. And that was good, because I’d already eyed that baby up. I wanted it. I didn’t care if I had to kill everyone of them to get it.

Carl lit a cigarette, blew out some smoke. “Nash?” he said.

“Go ahead.”

Janie looked at me, but I wasn’t saying. Carl, cigarette clenched in his teeth, sighted in on the pick-up truck. He started squeezing off rounds, working the bolt of the Ruger and squeezing the trigger in rapid succession. He put one through the windshield. Another through the front driver’s side tire. He kept them pinned down. Two more shots into the cab. And then the killshot. Leaning out the window, he scoped out the gas tank and pulled the trigger. Dead on target, too. Right away, gasoline started flooding out from under the truck.

The bad boys started shouting.

Carl fired into the tank again and it went up with a resounding explosion, the puddle of gas going up in flames. The three survivors-one of them beating his burning clothes with his hands-appeared from behind the truck. They were firing at the building, trying to make the safety of the Bronco about twenty feet away. I aimed and fired on the guy I’d already pegged in the leg, catching him in the side and pitching him to the pavement. He screamed like he was being roasted alive.

The smoke from the burning truck was thick in the air and it screened the others from us as it screened us from them. The two survivors were going to get the Bronco. I put two or three rounds where I thought they were, but I knew one of them would make it. And they would have.

But something else happened first.