Pandemic Page 175

“That’s all that’s left,” the woman said. “Unless you know where there’s some living meat that everyone missed?”

Paulius pulled, but couldn’t see where he was hooked. He couldn’t even turn all the way around to the hostiles if they walked into the bus.

“Come on,” the woman said. “There’s got to be something worth eating in there. Come on.”

The voice couldn’t be more than ten feet away.

Hands grabbed at his waist. He reached for the knife sheathed on his chest — it was gone, he’d given it to Otto. He raised a hand to strike downward, but saw Bosh’s head wedged into the tight corner.

Bosh’s shaking black hands fumbled at something. Paulius felt the coat snap free, then he was yanked down into a dark crawlspace. He landed on frozen ground.

Paulius reached a hand back up, quietly, and grabbed the edge of the floor mat. He silently pulled it over the hole.

He waited in the darkness. He wiggled his body enough to draw his sidearm. He heard footsteps inside the bus.

“This forearm looks kinda okay,” the man said. “Kinda.”

“Great,” the woman said. “This is only temporary, Harry. I can’t wait until we get out of here in a couple of hours. I bet cash money there’s fresh meat down in Champaign.”

A few more footsteps, then nothing. Paulius sat silent, listened to the Converted’s fading conversation.

On his hands and knees, he scooted backward through the tight space, across the frozen ground until he felt concrete. He stood: he was inside the firehouse — a long, wide garage, gear hanging from the walls, electric heaters spaced around the floor, their coils glowing orange — and sitting there pretty as you please was the red, white, black and chrome bulk of Fire Engine 98, all thirty feet of her. Polished, clean and gleaming.

The boxy cab alone looked as big as an SUV; it would hold six people, easy, with plenty of window room to fire weapons out either side. The wide, wraparound windshield took up the top half of the vehicle’s ten-foot-wide flat front.

A square, chrome grille sat below that windshield, lights and flashers on either side. The front bumper was a massive thing: red-trimmed white metal sticking out some two feet from the grille, perfect for smashing past abandoned cars. Below the right-side windows at the rear of the cab, inch-high gold letters spelled out CHICAGO FIRE DEPT. Up on the front right, gold lettering read ENGINE CO. And below that a big, white 98.

The boxy rear section of the vehicle was around fourteen feet long and ten feet high, with a bed full of neatly coiled hose. Long equipment boxes ran the length of the bed, a ladder strapped horizontally to each side. Anyone in the bed would be able to take cover behind those equipment boxes, rest weapons on the flat tops and be protected from most small-arms fire.

Separating the rear bed from the cab, a three-foot-thick section of chrome packed with hose connections and valves. And on top of that control section, the crown jewel, the thing that might let Tim Feely’s plan actually work: a water cannon mounted on a swivel.

Bosh let out a low whistle.

“Ho-leee shit, Commander,” he said. “I’d rather have a tank, but since we don’t have one, this is pretty damn close.”

Bosh opened the driver’s door. He had to step up on a footrest to look inside. He reached in, grabbed something, then leaned back out and dangled that something in front of Paulius.

A key chain with a single key.

“Looks like they were considering bugging out,” Bosh said. He pointed to the rear of the building. “There’s a good fifty feet of space behind this baby, so we can build up a head of steam.”

“How are we going to move that bus?”

“Don’t think we have to,” Bosh said. “It’s just a shell. They took the engine out. Drive train, too. That’s why we could crawl under it. They even kept it warm in here, maybe to make sure the fire truck would start right up. I think those cops were getting ready to ram their way out and take their chances.”

Paulius nodded. If he’d left the cops alone, would they have driven to safety? He couldn’t allow himself to worry about that now.

“I’ll figure out how to get this blood into the water tank,” Paulius said. “Have to make sure the water’s warm enough, but Feely said the hydras should survive no problem.”

He looked at Bosh. “You’re qualified in heavy vehicles. You want to drive?”

Bosh smiled. “Hell yes, Commander. Navy SEALs was my second choice. As a kid, I always wanted to be a fireman.”

BOOK IV

Road Trip

MEET THE PUBLIC

Ten tons of truck smashed into the firehouse door, denting the metal outward and knocking the gutted bus a good five feet back.

Paulius was standing outside the firehouse, rifle snug against his shoulder, waiting for the inevitable reaction from the locals. The big diesel engine gurgled as Bosh reversed, then revved when he floored it. The rolling door ripped outward as the truck again smashed into the bus, knocking it back at an angle. One more shot would create enough room for Engine 98 to pull out onto the street. Bosh reversed; the dented roll-up door slid off the truck, clattered limply on the concrete drive.

Paulius spotted two people rushing in from the west, a man and a woman, and another man coming from the east. From all up and down the street, people scurried out of buildings like angry ants defending a hive.

The people from the west were fifty yards away, shooting hunting rifles as they ran.

Chapter end