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Plague ZoneByDavid Wellington
1.Tim gave the Portland Plague Zone a wide berth. What he was looking for wasn’t there.He’d been walking so long his feet had stopped hurting, or rather that the pain didn’toccur to him much anymore. It was just there, a companion to the grittiness he felt on hisskin and the dryness of his lips. He walked on the margin of Interstate Five, between theedge of the road and the guardrail, staying out of the road as much as possible so hedidn’t have to spend all his time watching out for speeding vehicles. That had been a problem farther south. There wasn’t much traffic anymore, just the occasional militaryconvoy thundering past, the soldiers waving to him out of their hatches, not even bothering to slow down to ask him who he was or where he was headed. Anyonetraveling north had to be either crazy or authorized. The sick people the soldiers werelooking for didn’t walk in straight lines, as a rule.He kicked old picked-over suitcases out of his way. Avoided stepping on the trucker  bombs—old drink bottles, bright plastic full of yellow urine. Nobody on this road wantedto stop even to relieve themselves. The weeds he trampled on were softer than the asphaltof the highway, so that was something.According to the mile markers he was halfway to Olympia when he saw the bus coming.The road was on a slight incline, heading up over a hill so gently graded he was barelyaware of the added exertion of walking uphill. The bus was coming directly toward him.It was moving fast, he thought, but it was hard to tell when he could only see it straighton. The rectangular sign above its windshield that should have listed its destination was blank.It was coming right for him.Tim had time to blink and to reach up and start to adjust the brim of his straw hat. Thenhis body took over, his reflexes, and he sprinted out into the road, across two lanes. Fastenough to avoid being smeared. The bus didn’t veer off, didn’t turn to track him. It plowed across the yellow dashed line, jumped as it left the road surface. There was along, high-pitched squealing roar as it rubbed up against the guardrail. He heard a muchlower roar as one of its tires exploded.
 
Tim was breathing hard, shaking. The fear had come back, a fear he’d thought he wasdone with. The bus ground to a stop fifty feet behind him, rocked on its suspension. For asecond everything stopped moving.Then the doors at the front burst open and screaming people spilled out on the asphalt,grabbing at each other, shrieking, the men and the women with wide eyes, the kidslooking terrified. They flowed out like blood from a wound, moving cautiously awayfrom the bus as if they didn’t want to get too far away but just far enough. The driver came out last, a fat man in a blue shirt, and he waved at Tim with both arms, summoninghim. Tim loped over, unsure what had happened, unsure what was going to be asked of him. He tried to talk but his voice was rusty after so many weeks alone, his throat too dryfrom the road. “Everybody okay?” he managed to creak out.“Inside. In the back—one of them—” the driver stuttered.“He just had a cold, it was the sniffles,” a woman in a rumpled business suit insisted.“Just a cold!”Tim sensed what he was being asked to do, even if no one could seem to articulate it. Hescratched at his stubble-coated chin and then climbed the steps into the bus. At first hewas just happy to be inside, in the shade. The bus was air conditioned against the summer heat and it was some kind of mercy to be cool again. His eyes, long adjusted to the glareof sunlight on a pale road, could make out very little of the bus’s interior.From far ahead of him, down the serried aisle, he heard a thump. Tim squinted until hecould make out the rows of seats upholstered in green and red and orange. He could see piles of hand luggage tumbled out of overhead compartments, a tidal spill of foodwrappers and newspapers lining the floor. At the far end of the bus stood a narrow plasticdoor that was rattling, someone pounding on it from behind.“Crap,” Tim choked out. He dug his arm out of one strap of his pack. Started pulling atzippers. He’d never done this before. If the driver had given him specific instructions hewould have refused, turned away and kept walking. Let the passengers deal with it as bestthey could. No, he thought. He wouldn’t have done that. Even this late in the game he was stillincapable of turning his back on people in need. But why him? What made them think hewas the man for this job?The narrow door crumpled on one side, pushed hard by someone who didn’t have the brainpower to work the simple lock. With one last heave it broke free and swung outhard, then bounced back. A pale hand grabbed its edge, forced it open again.The man who staggered out of the bus lavatory wore an oxford cloth shirt with half its buttons undone. The cuffs of the sleeves hung loose as if he’d been trying to escape fromhis clothes when the change finally came. His head was almost bereft of hair, just a few
 
clumps left sticking up at random angles like obscene horns. His skin was the color of rancid cream and a thin sheet of black drool leaked from his lower lip. His eyes werecompletely empty.He wouldn’t have much brain left, Tim knew. The Russian Flu attacked your cerebralcortex first, drilling holes through your gray matter, turning it into a sponge so it couldhold more germs. It irritated whatever was left, the medulla, making you clumsy, theamygdalae, putting you in a permanent state of fight-or-flight. The speech centers, the parietal lobe, the parts of the brain that let you read a good book or enjoy a fine wine,shut down altogether.On stiff legs the man came toward Tim, moving as fast as he could, stumbling over theseats, getting tangled up in the garbage on the floor.There was plenty of time for Tim to reach into his pack and take out his 22A. The pistolstank of oil, as it had ever since Tim had bought it from a pawnshop in San Francisco.Back when there had still been a San Francisco.The sick man took another step, raised his arms with his fingers curled like claws.Tim took the safety off, took a stance, aimed. Squeezed the trigger. The bullet went inthrough one side of the sick man’s forehead. The next one went through his eye. He felldown like he was going to take a very sudden nap.It took a third one to put him completely out of his misery. The .22 caliber long rifle bullets in the gun were meant for target shooting or at best shooting small game. In theend, with enough shots, it didn’t matter.2.“I want to thank you.” The bus driver sat down next to Tim on the side of the road andstuck out a sweaty hand. Tim shook it without looking at the man.“Supposed to call it in,” Tim said automatically. “Every case is supposed to get called in.”The driver stared at him open-faced. He knew it as well as Tim did. If one passenger onthe bus had been infected it was likely others were, too. The bus could carry the diseasesomeplace that was still clean.“You a cop?” the driver asked, when Tim didn’t say anything.“A librarian,” Tim told him. He shook his head. “Used to be.”“You did us a big favor there. None of us are armed. When I saw you on the side of theroad there I figured you had to be a cop or a soldier or something.”
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I finished this book last night and I just have to say that this is very well written that kept you in its grips until the very last word. I recomend this to everyone

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