Transformation (29 page)

“It’s clear.”

Ron felt himself relax, wasn’t even aware he had been tense, and then crawled in after him.

The warehouse was largely empty, but it was clear it was the place where plants were processed and dried and bundled for sale. Amongst the gear, Weed noticed a few machines. They were large but simple contraptions and it was apparent that some were designed to compact materials like bark and mulch into cubes, another was for bagging the stuff.

“Look at this poor bastard.”

Weed was standing over a dead dog. From the looks of it, the poor thing was left chained in the warehouse and starved to death.

“Good news is . . . “ Weed opened a large garbage can several yards away. He scooped out a handful of dog food.

“I’ve eaten worse,” he said as he tossed a few nuggets into his mouth and started crunching.

“I’m not complaining,” Ron said as he did the same. “I have to say, this is pretty tasty.”

Weed lit another joint and ate some more kibble.

“This is gourmet! Especially with the case of munchies I got,” Weed said as he crunched on nuggets with gusto.

Ron walked around the warehouse a bit. He came across a spigot in the wall and turned it. Water gushed from it. He got on all fours and drank from the flow, letting it wash over his head. He thought he heard yelling and cut the water. It was Francis.

“… or is that a horse taking a piss?”

“Over here,” Ron yelled and was instantly aware of the noise they were making. He walked towards the sound of Francis’ voice and met the old man halfway.

“Water,” Ron pointed.

But Weed hobbled past him and was on his knees, drinking and sputtering. When he was done he stood up, dripping like a wet dog.

“Much needed.” Was all Francis said as the two walked towards the front of the warehouse.

The place had clearly been there for decades. The large double doors at the front of the building sat partially opened. They slid sideways on tracks and the gap between them was a good three feet. Outside were a few vehicles, one a large flatbed truck. Ron raised an eyebrow at Francis who simply smiled.

They were cautious as they crossed the space between the old warehouse and the front building. The back door was locked. The door looked ancient, but the padlock on it was new. Weed kicked the door and the latch and lock ripped out of the wood with little effort. The door split and almost fell off its hinges as it flew inwards.

They entered one large room. This room was beyond cluttered and was stacked high with boxes, trunks, and suitcases. There was also a small space towards the front door that was an office and living quarters. Ron wandered over to the desk.

“Hey Francis, look at this.” There was no reply. Ron turned to look at Francis.

The old man was still looking over the mounds of boxes and junk that filled a great part of the large space. He stood still hands on his hips. When he turned he had an expression that scared Ron. Francis looked disturbed and whatever could disturb the old biker had to be something significant.

“What is it?” Ron approached the old man and it occurred to him he might be having a stroke.

Weed pointed back over his shoulder. “God knows I’ve seen some bad shit in my time. I killed many a man, but this…”

Ron looked past Francis and still he didn’t see it. Francis saw it in his face.

“All this Ron.” He motioned around the room. “All this shit is from travelers, lots of them I’m guessing.”

It hit Ron like a bucket of ice water. All the suitcases, the scattered backpacks, a pile of wallets, a box of cellphones. On the desk were boxes of rings and jewelry, watches, eyeglasses. But most horrible among all the items were the child seats piled in one corner. There were at least thirty of them.

Ron felt sad, angry, but mostly he was frightened that the sick individual, or individuals, responsible for this was still around.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ron whispered.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Francis was heading to the door.

“Wait.” Ron went to the desk. He hated the idea of touching anything in the place but he thought he might have found the keys to the big truck out back. He held them up to Francis as he walked past him in a rush to vacate the place.

“GMC truck. GMC key.”

Before they started the truck, the two sat for a moment of silence. Ron had no idea what Francis was thinking, but in balance to all the cold-blooded killing he’d done, he was truly upset by the apparent evidence of multiple families meeting a horrible end.

Finally Francis turned the key. The truck started easily and it was loud, especially given the silent state of the world.

“We don’t know who heard that. We have to move fast.” Weed put the truck in gear. He sped forward, turned right around a few telephone poles laying across the dirt lot, and down a narrow dirt road towards the crops. He was passing the warehouse when he spotted what he really wanted the most. He slammed on the brakes and the truck slid in the mud.

Ron was thrown against the dash. “What the hell?” he snapped at Francis.

Old Francis had found rows of plants potted and ready for replanting in the fields. He hopped from the truck and grabbed a pot from the table.

“Ronnie, get up on the bed.”

Ron took the pots from Francis and lined them up.

“We’re in business, Ron.” Weed was winded sweating, but he was a man on a mission.

Ron lined up a good twenty plants before they quit.

“OK, I want to get a bunch of the harvested stuff over there. It’s dry and a lot lighter. We can pack it down.”

They walked back towards the fields where plants had been partially harvested, or neglected, and were dried out. Weed was thinking about the best way to gather it all up for transport.

“Maybe we can find a tarp or something. Fill it up, tie it up.”

Ron was looking around for twine or rope. He was going to head back to the camo building. Surely there would be something there.

With a crack the ground gave way and Ron’s foot dropped into a hole up to his knee. A mechanical clank followed and Ron screamed in pain.

Weed clamped his hand over Ron’s mouth.

“Ronnie, hush. I’ll get you out of this.”

Tears ran down Ron’s contorted face. He nodded his head in response. He involuntarily moaned and grunting with the effort to suppress his screams. He grabbed and squeezed his leg above the knee.

“Can you pull your foot out?”

Ron shook his head no.

Weed laid on the ground and cleared the debris away.

“Fuck!” he said under his breath. He looked up at Ron with a sadness in his eyes. He didn’t know what to tell the man. He thought he could light him up a joint to help with the pain.

Ron was sweating, feeling sick, going into shock. His expression was one of pleading, begging Francis for help.

Just as Weed finished rolling the joint he heard the sound of gravel crunching, heard an engine revving as a vehicle sped up the nearby road. He turned to Ron, eyes wide.

“Don’t leave me,” Ron whispered, teeth clenched against the pain. “Don’t leave.”

“I have to or we both die, but here this might help you through it.”

The engine cut off and doors slammed. More than one door slammed Weed noticed as he jogged to safety.

37.

They never found a vehicle so Sal and Eddie walked all night. They began to see the dead lying about everywhere, motionless. It was creepy. Sal was afraid they would all start to stand up at once. But he kept moving on.

“I’m so tired,” Eddie whispered.

“We can’t stop.”

“I’m not asking to, just saying . . . “

Sal grunted. He was tired too. “Maybe we can duck in somewhere for five minutes, and try to find something to eat.

They’d been walking through the typical San Jose landscape; strip malls, businesses, wide streets and medians. They came to an intersection that was quiet and stopped at a convenience store. It had been busted into but looked to still have a good deal of stuff in it.

They each grabbed a handful of food and some bottles of water and went out to the parking lot. They sat on the hood of a car and ate, drank, said nothing for a long while. Eddie spoke first.

“It seems only bad people survived.”

“You’re not the first who noticed that. I wonder if it’s true or if the good people are just in hiding.”

“I hope my mom’s in hiding.” Eddie was looking at his feet.

Sal was glad Eddie couldn’t see his face for it was surely a mask of pity and doubt. Chances were his mom was dead.

“You’ll be welcomed at our place. You’d like it there.”

“Lots of video games, huh,” he said sarcastically.

“Actually, yeah.”

“Need electricity for that. You got electricity?”

“And hot water.”

Eddie looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but then he looked away.

“You’re lying. Just like everyone else.”

“You’ll see. We have a guy with us that has gotten us electricity, hot water . . . it’s actually really nice.”

“Must be. We lived like cavemen. Fires in the middle of the mall, cooking rats and dogs, whatever they could catch. Everybody stinks.”

“Well, better get going,” Sal stood and stretched a little, but it pulled on his wounds and he grimaced.

“Yeah, play all those video games.”

“You’ll see.”

“Soak in the hot tub.”

“I didn’t say anything about a hot tub, and we better be quiet now. We’re pretty close.”

§

A giant of a man with a shock of greasy red hair and dressed in mute colors watched the escaped guy and the little Asian kid, Eddie, walk away. He didn’t see the pretty lady, the only one he cared about. He hoped these two would lead him to her. He rubbed the scars on his temples and shut his eyes. The headaches were getting worse. He turned and walked back to the other three in his group.

“OK. They are on the move. Let’s go.” His eyes were dead, flat, and expressionless. They were under a prominent brow that shadowed them and added to their dead affect. His nose was large and his bottom lip a fat slug that hung down and made him a mouth breather by design. And he was huge, a thick mountain of muscle with a generous layer of fat.

The other three individuals rose and grabbed their crude weapons, a bat and stick were among them. Two women and a man. The man tried to walk next to Sherm as the four of them set out into the dark.

“You think they found the girl?” It was Choco, short for Chocolate. He earned his nickname due to his preferred medium when drawing on walls. He was an older man, short and skinny. What little hair he had left on his head was slicked back and greasy. He sported a moustache, a poor attempt at a Salvador Dali.

“Shut up, and get the hell away from me.” Sherm stopped rubbing his temples to glare at Choco. He wrinkled his nose. Choco always stank, worse than your average asylum inmate. Sherm continued his self-massage. As bad as Agnews was, at least they had meds that kept the pain away.

Sherm was big so no one messed with him, but before that . . . He’d been in the asylum for years. At first he was on the bottom of the pile literally and in every other sense of the word. It wasn’t until recently he’d started to standup and fight back. When he did, everyone backed down, even the administration. He may have been confined for life to that shithole but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it a nicer place for himself. He was given (most would say took) freedom and privileges that the other patients didn’t have.

He stopped and squeezed his eyes tight for a moment to let the worst of the pain pass. Everyone knew to stop and remain quiet until he started walking again. But Matilda could barely contain herself and started up the second Sherm’s foot moved.

“Sherm? Ah, Sherm?” Matilda was skinny, frizzy haired, eyes like saucers, and loyal as a dog to Sherm. He’d abuse her, berate her, let her take the blame for any trouble pointed his way. He even came close to killing her a few times. But Matilda was like a puppy. He kept walking and didn’t give her a second glance.

“What?”

She smiled at the attention. “I have to pee.”

“Why didn’t you . . . forget it. Go now.”

She walked off to find a place to relieve herself. Sherm stopped her.

“No, here.”

“Right here?” Matilda looked amused, not offended or scared. She didn’t wait for an answer. As she looked at Sherm and smiled, she dropped her pants and squatted. She started urinating.

“Just like a dog,” Sherm mumbled. Choco giggled. Sherm looked annoyed at this.

“You are a dog too. Squat.”

“I don’t have to go,” Choco whined at Sherm.

“You better.”

Nancy, the other woman stood firm and quiet with her arms folded and looked at Sherm as if daring him to say something to her. A thin but muscular woman, short grey hair and a scar across her chin, she wasn’t a former inmate. She was a former staff member, and one of the few that survived when the inmates started to escape. She actually helped them get out. She had another scar, a long jagged one along her side that few had ever seen, but everyone knew the story.

Choco smiled and held his hand up. “Look Sherm, I did it.” His long nails were dirt traps, and they shook as he held his open hand towards Sherm as proof.

Sherm walked away. He passed Nancy, Nurse Nancy Dickerson, without a word. He had several scars too, a few from the same story as Nurse Nancy had to tell. They both almost died that day. She was the only person that survived a confrontation with Sherm and the only person that scared him. But he also liked her, owed her. She was one of the few staff members that cared about the inmates, in her own sick twisted way. She and Sherm had a mutual relationship based on some weird form of respect and bonding that developed the day he tried to kill her. She defended herself with a hidden scalpel she always carried, and they both survived. Even the two orderlies there to protect her didn’t make it out alive.

It was years ago when Sherm snuck a shank into the examining room and attempted to slash Nurse Nancy’s body open. She jumped back, scalpel at the ready, and slashed back. The orderlies jumped on Sherm and started beating him. That was okay as far as Nurse Nancy was concerned. He needed to be taught a lesson, but when one of them got him in a choke hold and told her he would make it look like an accident, she reached over and slit the throat of the orderly standing in front of her. He dropped and the one choking out Sherm tightened his grip. He yelled for her to stay back, but she calmly advanced on him. He tried to run but her arm struck lightning fast and deadly accurate. A red line appeared on his throat followed immediately by a thick red arc that splatted the walls of the small room.

Ever since then, they’d considered each other friends. Sherm helped her tremendously with the other inmates, and she saved his life and proven to be a good ally.

Nurse Dickerson or Nurse Dick as the inmates called her behind her back, thought of herself as a good nurse with the inmates wellbeing always her priority. And her way of tending to the inmates resulted in many, many deaths. Had she worked anywhere else, other than Agnews, she would’ve been caught a long time ago. She justified her actions as humane and merciful. If it gave her a great sense of power to watch someone die at her hands as she was doing a good deed, making the hard choices so no one else would have to, what was the harm? Many a terminally ill, depressed, or patient in need of sweet release was paid a visit by Nurse Nancy.

Nurse Nancy saw Sherm rubbing his head.

“Here.” She handed him two small pills. “Only two, sorry but we are running low. I’ll find more.”

He nodded and popped the pills.

Matilda finished her business and ran after them before they were out of sight.

Matilda saw Sherm rubbing his head and tried to rub his neck from behind. He turned and grabbed her by the throat with one hand. Her face began to turn red then blue, her eyes rolled back in her head. She was smiling the entire time. When Sherm dropped her, she grabbed her crotch and moaned as she finished her orgasm.

“Now get up bitch,” he said, already walking away.

Sherm knew everything would go to shit with Dawn’s team, but she wanted her own team and she wanted her sister with her, that useless sack of organs. He didn’t expect her to actually find the guy or the girl. He was glad she did. It was the shotgun blast that led him to the area where he picked these two up. He was disappointed the woman wasn’t with the man. She was pretty and would make a perfect mother.

Sherm decided to follow Eddie and the guy rather than intervene or try and head them off in case they’d lied about the parking structure. He wanted to make sure he got to where ever it was his group was staying so he could see what was there for the taking. Shit maybe he’d just take the whole place for himself and move in.

The third team was out there, somewhere, and he figured they would turn up sooner or later. They were the Rabbits, three men from the cages. They were locked up in the basement and were the subjects of a lot of experimentation. Lots of behavioral shit, flashing lights and loud noises. Sherm went down to the cages once. That was enough for him. While everyone had orders to get to the parking place at the airport as soon as possible and wait, he knew the Rabbits would not sit still if they got there first and Dawn’s crew would just fuck things up somehow.

But he had to follow the big guy and the kid and they were taking their sweet time getting to wherever it was that they were going. He just wanted to meet that pretty lady, He’d waited too long and then they escaped.

§

Sal came to the edge of the parking lot. The structure barely visible in the distance. He whispered to Eddie.

“We’re here.”

Sal started walking through the corpses as he saw no other way over, around, or through them. He stepped down and immediately withdrew his foot. The bodies gave way under his foot like ashes, crackling like dried leaves, and sending up a puff of dust or ash.

Having painted cars for a living, Sal was particularly aware of the dangers of breathing in stuff like dust, ashes, and minute particles. If he wasn’t sanding and creating dust, he was spraying and creating clouds of minute paint particles all day. As a result he was always conscious of the air he was breathing, even off the job.

“We need to find another way. Probably should get a big vehicle.”

He wondered at the condition of the dead. Whatever animated them may have done this. He wasn’t sure and didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. He had to get to the garage.

Eddie nodded. He was leery of the corpses too for a number of reasons.

As they walked back the way they’d come, they saw three dark figures blocking the street farther down. Sal stopped, put a hand out to stop Eddie. He pointed towards the figures.

The figures seemed to have noticed them as they began to move forward. Sal and Eddie turned and began to walk away.

“Can’t go this way either.” It was Sherm, smiling. It was a creepy thing to see Sherm smile with his flat eyes.

“Come on, we’ll go together.”

“Together,” Choco mumbled from behind.