Tracking Blood: Episode 10
An apocalyptic serial
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Washington D.C.
Lincoln Heights
The garbage bag leaked vile-smelling liquid from the small hole in its bottom, leaving a squiggly line of nasty water on the driveway from the garage all the way to the curb. Ryan lifted the ticking time bomb of trash and stuffed it into the already full garbage pail he’d taken out earlier. He had tried to get his chores done early, including feeding the living room fish, but when he got back, he realized he’d forgotten one bag by the vacuum cleaner in the garage.
The lid wouldn’t shut with the extra bag filling it past its brim, so using both hands, he pushed on the bag, trying to squeeze it down. All he needed was one more inch for the lid to close.
Pow. The top of the garbage bag exploded open, shooting a puff of vacuum dust right in his face.
Ryan stepped back from the garbage pail and wiped his face. “Nasty,” he said to himself. He wiped his face and started heading back to the house. Halfway up the driveway, he let out a giant sneeze.
Sniffing, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. The itch in his nose was replaced by the feeling of being watched. He looked over to see their neighbor, Mrs. Lang, staring at him. She’d been taking her five-year-old daughter Mary out of the car.
“Hey, Mrs. Lang,” he said with a wave.
Without saying a word, Mrs. Lang rushed Mary up the driveway, through their front door and inside the house. She slammed the door closed, not once looking back.
“Psycho,” Ryan mumbled.
Back inside, he found his mother in her office, working on the campaign as usual. But something on the Internet had distracted her about all the crazy Red Flu stuff going on. Infected patients escape from hospital. Illness begins to spread to other states. He’d been watching stuff like this for years. Other people were just catching up.
“All done,” he said.
“I’ll start dinner in a minute. Pizza sound good?”
“Always.”
She looked away from the screen. “Did you really wear that today?”
He looked down at his t-shirt, with its giant red biohazard symbol. “I don’t see the big deal.”
“You know I don’t censor what you wear, but you have to be a little considerate about how others feel. People are freaked out right now.”
“I think Mrs. Lang is one of them.”
His mom rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Lang has plenty of other problems.”
“Dad’s not scared.”
She nodded. “Your dad’s a tough guy, but even he’s not indestructible.” Her face softened when she saw his reaction. “I don’t mean that he’s in trouble. He just has to be careful out there.”
“It sounds like Uncle Stan is the one who should be careful.”
His mom frowned. “To be honest, I wish I hadn’t told you about that. I know you look up to your uncle. Knowing something like this about someone you love isn’t easy.”
“It’s not like he killed a guy, he just hacked into a few computers.”
“He broke the law, honey. I know it’s not as bad as murder, but it’s still the law.”
“Yeah, but the computers he hacks into, the government ones and the ones from the companies, he does it because they’re hiding things. Bad things.”
“When did he tell you that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. A while ago.”
She sighed. “I know that’s what he says, but-”
“So if the people he’s hacking into are doing bad things, and he’s trying to tell people about it, isn’t he actually doing something good?”
She got up from her chair and went to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “There are a lot of gray areas, and I know it can be confusing,” she said. “But don’t let your father hear you talk like this, or Uncle Stan won’t be the only one in trouble. Understood?”
Ryan snorted. “Yeah.”
“Good. Now let’s go make pizza.”
Pennsylvania
Route 666
The highway followed the path of a creek that twisted like an artery through the snow-covered land. Will followed it north until it passed through a town blanketed in white. The streets were eerily empty, his truck’s tires crunching through snow the only sound he could hear for blocks in either direction. There was no name he could find for the town on the map or in the GPS, which seemed like the kind of place Stanley might appreciate.
The only action he could find was at a small bar in the dead center of town. It was a typical hole in the wall, a tiny bar crammed with drunk locals talking loudly over country music. That made it the perfect place to ask a few questions.
He approached the bar and pretended to wait for the bartender. The bar’s patrons were rowdy, slamming down drinks like it was their last. He leaned in close to the guy next to him, who was having a hard time keeping his eyes focused in the same direction. “I was just talking to John,” he spit-balled.
“John’s a good man,” the guy slurred.
“He’s looking for Steve. Steve Agudo. Have you seen him?”
“I have …” he paused, his head bobbing on his shoulders, “… no clue who that is.”
“Then I don’t know what he’s talking about. I think maybe this Steve guy’s got a cabin around here he wants to check out.”
“Then … then you should … you should talk to Steve.”
Will was regretting his choice of targets. “Steve’s who I’m looking for,” he said.
“No, no, not that … not that Steve. Real Estate Steve.”
“Who’s Real Estate Steve?”
The drunk guy spun on his stool, annoyed that Will didn’t understand him. He put all his energy into focusing his eyes until he spotted someone at a table across the bar. “Him,” he pointed with an unsteady finger. “Real Estate Steve. He knows … he knows everyone’s business.”
Now Will was getting somewhere. He patted the drunk guy on the shoulder. “Thanks. I’d buy you a drink, but it would probably kill you.”
The guy waved it off. “That’s alright, I’m … I’m dead when I get home anyway.” He spun back to the bar, where he found his glass had been taken away. As he cursed himself for letting his guard down, Will made his way over to Real Estate Steve.
Ten minutes later, he left the bar with two business cards and the directions to Steve Agudo’s cabin.
After a turn he almost missed, Will took a long drive through the pitch black woods. It should have only taken ten minutes to reach the cabin, but the only route through was an unplowed, single-lane road that, at the moment, didn’t want to be driven on. He slipped and slid his way up until finally, after his knuckles had turned white from gripping the steering wheel, a steep incline appeared up ahead.
Will stepped on the gas, gradually, so he didn’t spin out, and built momentum. He kept the wheel straight and prayed silently as the truck climbed the difficult angle, the tires wanting to slip. He didn’t take a breath until he had cleared the incline. Then he let off the gas.
The truck had made it to flat land.
In the distance, through a cluster of bushes, a small cabin peeked out from the dark.
The engine ticked as it cooled under the truck’s wet hood. Will had parked it a good distance from the cabin to not alert Stan or anyone that might be with him. Knowing Stan, there wasn’t anyone else, but he could have a closed-circuit camera or some other security system in place. It was better to keep quiet and play it safe.
As he was deciding his next move, he got a text message from Tanya.
When are you getting back?
Usually he didn’t like sharing details about the job with Tanya, but this time felt different. She was nervous about the outbreak in Denver, and about him going after his brother.
I’m staking out his place now, he wrote.
Please be careful.
I’m not the one who should be worried.
You sound like your son, she replied. There was a long pause, then: The Red Flu thing reached Ohio. I’m keeping Ryan from school tomorrow if you’re okay with it.
Ohio. That was only one state away. How on Earth had it spread so quickly? He didn’t think Ryan had to miss school over it, but maybe it was better to keep him home. Somewhat for Ryan’s sake, but mostly for Tanya’s state of mind. She was a strong woman, not easily rattled, and if she felt this strongly about it, he had to respect that. He went through a few things to type in reply, but in the end, he kept it simple.
Okay.
She responded almost immediately. Thanks. Please please hurry back as soon as you’re done.
I’ll be home before you know it. Promise.
He put down the phone and turned his attention back to the cabin. The green van was out front, as were partly covered tracks in the snow, but there weren’t any lights on in the windows. He decided he needed a better look.
With his coat on, he slipped out of the truck and closed the door as quietly as possible. The night came to him all at once. The wind moving through dead branches, a small animal scampering through snow, the chirp of a bat somewhere high up, seeking water before returning to its hibernation. As he moved toward the cabin, with his eyes on the windows and door, he was grateful for the sounds that masked his own.
Fifty feet from the cabin, someone coughed.
Will stopped. It sounded close, yet he seemed to be alone. Between the surrounding woods and the dampening effects of the snow, he wasn’t sure which direction it had come from. It could have been anywhere, even bouncing off the walls of the cabin itself.
Unable to see anyone, he continued to the cabin in a crouch. There weren’t any cameras mounted he could see, but there was a film on the windows that prevented him from getting a good look inside. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest.
He moved quietly around the perimeter of the cabin, listening for voices or movement. On one window, he found a corner where the film had peeled up slightly. Cautiously, he moved closer until he could see through.
Most of the small cabin was visible from his angle. There was a small bed, a table with some supplies spread out on top, a coat hanging on the chair, and the glow of a floor heater working in the far corner. All signs that someone had been there recently.
But no Stanley.
Throwing stealth to the wind, he knocked on the front door. If Stan was in there, he wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted badly to break the door down, especially with the snow still coming down, but he had no legal right to do so. Though as an Enforcement Agent he was within his rights to enter Stan’s home, on paper the cabin in front of him belonged to someone named Steve Agudo. The last thing Will wanted was for Stan to claim he’d had his rights violated. And if there was one thing Stan knew, it was his rights as a citizen.
His feet were getting cold. He decided to go back to the van and wait for Stan to show his face.
It happened again. The cough. This time, he was sure it came from the woods. As he listened, the coughing grew louder and louder, until soon it became a sound anyone who’d gone to college knew all too well.
Someone in the woods was throwing up. It was a violent sound, not at all like someone who’d simply overdone it at the bar, but like they were vomiting up their insides.
They sounded sick. Deathly sick.
Tune in next week for the next episode. For more Bleeders action check out the two books on Amazon, with the third on its way.