The Remaining: Aftermath by Molles D.J

Author:Molles, D.J. [Molles, D.J.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Published: 2012-05-01T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13: DOC

Fear and urgency forced Doc to press harder on the gas pedal than was prudent in the rain. It came in white sheets that battered the windshield with too much force and volume for the wipers to handle. Perhaps if he was going slower, he might be able to see, but the speedometer hovered between sixty and seventy miles-per-hour in the straightaways, dipping below that only for curves or low points in the road that might have standing water and cause him to hydroplane.

He tried to remember the abandoned cars and wrecks that dotted Highway 210, heading west, away from Smithfield and back towards Camp Ryder. They seemed to sneak up on him, jumping out of the rain and forcing him to slam on the breaks and navigate around them at breakneck speeds. A few times, he clipped the shoulder and fishtailed, but he always quickly recovered. He couldn’t lose control.

Not now. Not when he was so close.

Fear and urgency.

He realized he’d been breathing heavily through his mouth and his tongue was becoming dry, so he closed it and worked up enough spit to coat his tongue again. He wanted to go faster, but if he went faster, he would crash, he was certain of it. Crash and die, and he would look like those battered, bloody messes that came into the ER, all covered in plastic tubes and oxygen masks and wires and beeping equipment. Except none of that modern technology would be there. There were no cell phones, no 911 to come save him, no medics to take him to a hospital and fix his broken body. He would lie in that smoking wreckage until the infected found him or he died from his injuries.

So the fear and urgency pushed him on, but he didn’t let them push too hard.

Because he had to make it back. He had to save Nicole.

Another abandoned vehicle loomed out at him, but it was a feint—the vehicle was far enough on the side of the road that he barely had to swerve to avoid it.

He took a look at his odometer.

Trip A: 8.7 mi

He’d zeroed it out as he’d peeled out of Smithfield. Ten miles, he’d told Doc. Ten miles outside of Smithfield, we’ll set it up. We’ll get him when he’s coming back. That’ll be best, Doc. And then we’ll let her go. Won’t that be nice, Doc? To see her alive and well again? Just bring him to us. But don’t be late, Doc, don’t be late. Because if you don’t show up, I will slit her open. Yeah. I’ll slit her open from her pussy to her tits. Do you believe me, Doc? Do you believe me?

And Doc did.

He believed him.

And he couldn’t be late.

He slowed down now, because the odometer read “9.0 mi,” and he knew the roadblock was coming soon. The staccato chatter of rain on his windshield settled to a dull drumming as his speed dropped from sixty miles-per-hour to forty miles-per-hour. The road

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