Wretched Earth by James Axler Page B

down out of sight of the road.
“Listen, this rottie thing is special. It’s different from almost anything we’ve
been up against. At least since that thing up in Canada.”
    “What does that have to do with getting stuck in Sweetwater?”
Mildred demanded.
    “You should know, Mildred. You and Doc both said this shit’s
contagious, right?”
    “Evidently so, friend Ryan,” Doc said. “It appears to be
saliva-borne.”
    “Or anyway carried by bodily fluids,” Mildred added.
    “And it’s spreading, right?”
    “So the information we’ve received suggests,” Doc said. “It may
not be altogether reliable.”
    “What’s to stop it spreading? Anything?”
    Nobody spoke.
    “How will us signing on to help the goons in Sweetwater
Junction commit atrocities stop the change spreading?” Mildred asked.
    “The rotties are coming to Sweetwater Junction,” Ryan said.
    “Wait—now you’re losing even me,” Krysty said. “What makes you
so sure? I know the bicyclists said the creatures were heading west. Why would
that mean they’d be coming here, specifically.”
    “Meat.”
    Everybody looked at Jak. The albino teen squatted with his
white hair blowing free in the killing wind, gazing out toward the desolate
highway. He seemed to be laughing soundlessly. It made him look even more like
what his enemies used to call him down in the bayou country: the White Wolf.
    “Gotta eat. Rotties go to food. Country empty. Ville full. Do
math.”
    “The lad does make a compelling point in his unlettered yet
concise way,” Doc said.
    “So how’s going into the ville and likely getting ourselves
pulled apart by trucks in the town square going to help end the plague?” Mildred
asked.
    “I’d say Ryan reckons we can fight the rotties better if we got
a whole ville to help us,” J.B. said.
    “Why would you think that’d even work, Ryan?” Mildred asked.
“Do you really think you can get this lady baron and her turncoat sec man to
just lay aside their differences?”
    “If we don’t stop the rotties,” Ryan said, “what will?”
    “Is that really up to us, Ryan?” J.B. asked.
    “Who else is going to do it?”
    “You’re the one who’s big on not sticking our noses into other
people’s business,” Mildred said. “For that matter, Sweetwater Junction’ll at
least slow them down for a while. Why not use the delay to just cruise on our
way and forget about these freaks?”
    “Cruise where?” Ryan asked.
    She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know. Mexico? The
Darks? Canada? Someplace far away.”
    “How long?”
    “Huh?”
    “What he means, I believe,” Doc said, “is how long before the
horde catches up to us in those places.”
    “Why would they?”
    “Mildred,” Krysty said gently, “you said yourself the change
was catching. And the horde is growing. What’s to stop it spreading to overtake
us wherever we go?”
    The predark physician looked blank for a moment. Then she shook
her head again, tightly this time, as if trying to shed water from her plaited
hair.
    “Maybe we could do what Jones and his friends said they were
going to—go the Cific and jump on a boat.”
    “Cific’s big,” Krysty said.
    “Mebbe rotties sail,” Jak said.
    “They’re mindless,” Mildred pointed out.
    “Do we know that?” Ryan said. “Most of them act like they’re
brain-chilled, sure. But they don’t all act alike. That stunt using the little
girl rottie to get Omar’s people to open the gate—that looked like tactics. So
did climbing the wall where nobody could see, and storming the gaudy. What if we
turn up in China and a boatload of rotties hits the coast twenty, fifty, a
hundred miles away?
    “Look, people. You know I’ve got no problem running when
running’s the way to survive. This isn’t trouble we can get away from by
running. Sooner or later it’ll catch up to us. We have to stop this now.”
    “How?” Mildred said. “You saw how they overran the
caravanserai.”
    “Omar