TV, it meant survival. “Let’s get to work.”
The Bearcat had a full tank of diesel. They spent an hour loading it with gear, weapons and ammunition, and they each took the time to pull on a full set of cell extraction body armor. Carney reminded his cellmate of how the things killed, and so they both donned black, heavy plastic shin, knee and forearm guards. They finished with mesh-reinforced bite proof gloves, a standard in America’s prisons, where inmates often chose that method to assault officers.
They broke open a pair of vending machines and emptied them of soda, bottled water and snacks. TC left for a few minutes, and then returned to report that all six men on the bench had turned.
By the time the Bearcat rolled into the afternoon sunlight, Carney at the wheel (it took some adjusting, since he hadn’t driven in seventeen years and never something this big), nearly twenty of the walking dead were gathered at the gate. Three of them wore orange, San Quentin jumpsuits, and that answered any questions about the prison’s fate. Carney pictured thousands of the dead wandering the cement halls and tiers, drifting through the exercise yards and across the manicured lawns of the administration buildings. COs would be among them, their adversarial role now moot in this new reality.
Carney hit the gate at forty mph, blowing it open and sending bodies flying or crunching under the big tires. The massive steel push bar on the front of the Bearcat handled it easily, and after a short drag the gate fell away and they were rolling. When they reached the main road and turned left, away from the prison, they saw what Carney already knew; corpses in orange shuffling over the asphalt. The Bearcat drove over them.
Soon they were at the entrance to the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, and what was left of the highway patrol roadblock. A couple of cruisers sat with their rooftop lights flashing, a yellow sawhorse standing between them. The outbound, northwest lanes were completely blocked with stalled traffic, car doors standing open, but the lanes heading towards the urban sprawl were clear. Bodies moved sluggishly among the vehicles, and near the roadblock a corpse in a highway patrol uniform walked to the armored truck and beat its fists against TC’s door. Out over the bay, a pair of fighter jets streaked by, wings flashing in the sun as they banked and headed south.
“Brave new world,” whispered Carney.
TC grinned and waved at the dead cop, then lit two cigarettes from a pack he had found in a locker, passing one to his friend. “Where we going, brother?”
Carney put the Bearcat in gear and started pushing one of the patrol cars out of the way. “Mexico.”
THIRTEEN
San Francisco – The Tenderloin
They learned fast. Single file and quick was best, moving between cover and keeping out of sight, dumpster to doorway and down alleys. They slipped into unlocked buildings when they could, standing still and holding their breath until the dead passed. Silence was their ally. By the time night settled over the city, Father Xavier and his group had traveled a total of six blocks. They had seen no indication of an organized evacuation, no military or police activity, and only heard the occasional helicopter without actually seeing one. A jaded voice within the priest suggested that any evacuation would take place in the upscale neighborhoods, and the dregs of the Tenderloin, as usual, would have to fend for themselves.
As they went, they watched and learned about the dead, an easy task because they were everywhere. Xavier paid close attention. Generally, they were slow and seemed to have a short attention span, frequently wandering with no apparent sense of purpose. At times they were motionless, standing still, maybe swaying a little, sitting on bus benches or propped against walls, staring at nothing.
The priest knew now what the absence of a soul looked like. Though he understood they were dangerous killing machines, his heart ached for them, and for the lives they had lost and would never regain. He couldn’t think of them as evil.
Their balance was poor, and they were prone to trip over curbs or obstacles in the street, falling and slowly getting back up. There didn’t seem to be any communication among them. When prey was around, however, their lethargy vanished, and Xavier’s group had witnessed up close the horror which followed, powerless to do anything to stop it. A young woman in a miniskirt and bare feet,