Lizeth turned on the cell. It binged at least ten times. Sanders said Megan would rant and it’d always be the same every time he asked her to do something she wasn’t keen on doing. Lizeth ran through the messages and commented on the crucial parts without including the irrelevant bits.

We are leaving…

We have a guest…

We are in Houston…

Where are you?

Sanders turned his head to Lizeth. He saw his reflection in the blacked-out window over her shoulder. He looked tired, but he supposed anyone would after a grueling trip in a vehicle in crappy weather, and with a kid who continually filled his diaper.

“Go back to the message about them having a guest,” he said.

Lizeth scrolled back to the message. “Blah…blah…blah. Billy, one of the police and an old friend of Tanya’s is tagging along. He’s been infected by the green shit you’re sniffing.”

Sanders smiled. “Megan sure has a way with words, especially when she’s in a bad mood.”

Lizeth grinned. “I can curse with the best of them. I refrain myself because it isn’t ladylike.”

Isn’t that the truth. Sanders smiled. Now his reflection didn’t appear to be so tired. He asked Lizeth to message them and to get ready; they’d be there between four and five with no more hold-ups. Her fingers tapped away on the on-screen keypad. She hit send and waited for a reply.

“You never mentioned Billy.”

Sanders leaned back and pulled his sizeable cape-like coat over his body. A slight chill ran through his spine. “I’m not going to comment until I’ve met him. Talking about him now’s just a waste of my time.”

He rested his head while the hypnotic rhythm of the tires helped him drift into sleep. He started to dream.

He walked from the darkness. The trees behind him were bare from leaves, yet the sun warmed his face. The birds sang, and there was a rustle from the ocean of long grass which stood in front of him. The grass parted, and Gabriel stood in front of Sanders.

“It seems you aren’t as smart as you think,” Gabriel said, stepping closer to Sanders. “And you most-definitely aren’t so tough.”

“I’ve no idea why you make such stupid comments,” Sanders said.

Gabriel stood in his white vest. His bare arms flexed his muscles. “I’m human, and you still haven’t gotten rid of me.”

“All in good time. You’re like putty in my hands. I could squash you any time you like,” Sanders said.

Gabriel walked forward. He wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow. “That’s what you want to believe,” he said. “Squash me now. Take your best shot.”

Sanders pulled back his arm and called on his vlad form. Claws pushed from his fingertips while his arm swung in front of him. Sanders fumed. Gabriel’s form stood at the side.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Sanders swung with both arms. Gabriel vanished and appeared in a safe location. Frustration set in while Gabriel continually mocked Sanders. “You see, it doesn’t matter what you try. You can’t win.”

Sanders fumed, and his eyes glowed a deep red. He bared his teeth and snarled in Gabriel’s direction. “I can and will win if it’s the last thing I do,” he screamed.

“It might be precisely that, you never know.”

“What’re you talking about, you boy?”

Gabriel’s apparition laughed wildly in Sanders' face. “It might be the last thing you ever do.”

Sanders awoke with a start. He gasped for breath while Lizeth rubbed her hand over his shoulder to calm him. Juanita handed her one of Drake’s baby wipes, and she gave it to him to wipe off his sweat-ridden brow.

“These dreams are too lifelike,” he said as he dabbed his brow. He shuddered and shook his head. Like with the first, he mentally crossed his fingers and hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come. After all, dreams were only dreams. “Where are we?” he asked.

Sanders wound down his window an inch. It opened enough to look upward and see all the tall high-rise buildings across the cityscape.

“Just outside Houston. I messaged Megan for the name of the motel. I tried to make it sound like you. You know she’s taken offense to me already.”

“She’s that way with most people, and that’s why she’s not the best-loved person on the planet.”

“They’re waiting at the Sunset Motel, and the driver has punched it into the GPS, and we are...” Lizeth leaned over the front seat and looked at the distance to a destination on the screen. “A little under four miles away.”

Sanders exhaled and let out a huge sigh. He lifted the lid on the mini-bar and reached for his bottle of whiskey. “You want one?” Lizeth held her hand up and said she didn’t drink.

Her vice was sex as he’d found out, and she’d no time for any other bad habits. He poured a half glass and sipped merrily-away on his own. Drinking became a social event for many, although Sanders relished those quiet moments when he could sit alone and contemplate.

“A few minutes,” the driver said, now craning his head over his shoulder.

Sanders reminded him to pull right up to the door so they wouldn’t be caught by the dipping sun. The driver acknowledged his request and pulled off the freeway and made his way down the turnpike. The sunset sat directly in front of the vehicle as they approached the stop light at the bottom of the ramp. The vehicle crossed the parking lot while they looked for the room numbers. The driver spun the vehicle and pulled up to the door. He honked his horn twice, maybe three times.

The door opened, and Tanya’s head peeped through the gap. “Get your shit together and get in here,” Sanders yelled from the open side door. He looked behind him, and the rear seat looked full of Juanita and Drake’s things. She had hardly any time to pack them away.

“Juanita, vamoose-vamoose,” he yelled, waving his hand for her to make space for the girls and the new visitor.

“Si senor. Ni pedo tu hijo de puta,” Juanita muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“I say, I hope baby not fill diaper.”

Sanders watched the door open, and Tanya and Megan dashed across the walkway to the side of the vehicle. They clambered inside, and Sanders heard the gas canisters rattle in the backpacks. He smiled because he was all set for the trip.

The driver reached for the handle on the passenger door. The motel door swiftly flung open, and Billy appeared with his head covered. He scrambled into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

“I’ll let the manageress sort the room keys out,” Megan said as the vehicle pulled away from the motel. “She’s a miserable bitch if I ever saw one.”

Lizeth glanced at Sanders through the corner of her eye. How freakin’ right you were.

“So, this is the famous Billy?” Sanders asked.

“At your service.”

Billy wasn’t kissing ass; so to speak, but he knew how the rungs in the ladders worked and there was no way he wanted to start at the bottom. Three-quarters of the way up could be good as a starting point, and from what he saw or knew of the “organization,” Sanders controlled it well. He needed a good strong guy who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

“Megan tells me you didn’t wither and die like the other infected ones?”

Billy twisted his body to speak to Sanders, face-to-face. “No sir, I got bitten right at the start when the first became infected. It must be the first ones who received too high-a-dose from the ruptured water pipe.” Billy explained they weren’t turned from the gas. “So, when I turned, the dosage must’ve been somewhat diluted.”

Sanders pondered over his explanation for a while. His fingers drummed on the top of the mini-bar as he stared with his solid blue eyes at Billy.

“You mean… infected water?”

“No! The government built a pipe to pump this organic organism to their test center. That ruptured at the same time as the water pipe to Colorado Springs. That’s why the shit has hit the fan.”

“The Springs population will become infected?”

“I’ve been assured they wouldn’t be. It appears, at the moment, I’m the only one in my condition,” he explained. “To get more, well it needs liquid and the correct dosage.”

Sanders instantly knew how to get the liquid. The dosage, on the other hand, could be harder to come by. He asked Billy what his skills were. Billy explained he’d made the top of his class in almost everything while training for the police force. Weapons and unarmed combat were his favorites, not that he needed weapons anymore, because his hands were his lethal weapons.

Sanders became quite impressed with Billy and his background. Once the daywalkers were created, he’d need a firm grip to control the ranks below him. Sanders wanted overall control and would take the opportunity to relinquish the shitty part of the job.

“We’ll see how it goes,” Sanders commented. “There’s one thing though...”

“Shoot, anything you want to say, we may as well get it out in the open.”

“Billy, don’t be a hero.” Sanders laughed a little too-loudly.

Black smoked bellowed through the rain into the late afternoon sky. Charcoal-colored clouds muted the sun which attempted to break free. The hooded figure bent over and screamed.

“Try it again.”

Andy turned the key to the old bus. This time the smoke eased and the engine coughed and spluttered like a (two-pack-a-day) smoker. It rasped as Andy feathered the gas pedal. He yanked on the lever, and the doors swung open. Dustin stood waiting and stepped up to the place next to Andy and removed his raincoat.

“What a bitch that was.”

He blew on his fingertips to warm his hands, that didn’t help much so he sat on the front seat and wedged his hands under his thighs. Slowly heat spread back into his fingers. He edged closer to the window, and as Andy drove through the city, Dustin peered at the motoring history which time had forgotten.

Those were the days.

Junkyard heroes the lot of them. Cadillac’s, Buick’s, old Chevy’s, and Fords. Cuba became a mobile museum of nostalgia, and if there was one good thing with communism back in the day, it was the number of old vehicles which were saved from the crusher.

Dustin smiled as he imagined a day back then. The smell of new leather and cigar smoke billowing out from an open window. Cuban girls approaching the car with extremely high-cropped shorts. They were good times, and back then; Dustin was too young to appreciate it. He’d made do with his mom’s old catalogs and the lingerie pages. As a kid, he’d thumbed through the pages and pictured bare breasts (not that there were any in the old days). He often sat on the window sill looking at the street below them. The cars back then were the cars he admired now, and it wasn’t only a testament to the mechanics of Cuba. Makin’ somethin’ outta nothin’ was often how the genius metal crafters were spoken about.

“Stop daydreaming, will you?” Kelvin muttered as he made his way to the front of the bus.

He looked forward as the huge wipers arced back and forth across the large windows. The frog-eyed headlights cast a dim flickering glow onto the road ahead of them as they made their way to the village inland, and to where Andy’s distant relatives lived.

“How far?” Dustin yelled.

Andy looked at their surroundings. Without the assistance of a road sign, he couldn’t be too sure. He made a good guess. “Within the hour as a maximum.”

Andy pushed the bus harder up the steep slope to the mountain. It twisted and turned, and the pack peered down into the ravine, way below them. The view was very similar to Vista View, although on a much smaller scale. Mist filled the road as Andy slowed the bus to a crawl. He spotted the blinking of hazard lights ahead and pulled to a halt.

There’s been a landslide,” he said to the pack. “It seems there’s a tree blocking the road.”

Declan stood and got Dustin and Kelvin to follow him. Andy pulled the door lever, and with a painful whoosh the door opened. The rain now drizzled as they stepped onto the mountain road and approached the tree. Cars were parked both sides, and the drivers stood looking as if they could mentally get the tree to move.

Declan walked back and forward down the length of the tree and glanced over at the side of the road. A huge tree stood firmly rooted by the barrier. Declan muttered to Dustin who nodded his head.

“Señor,” Declan yelled. “You have a rope?”

The driver stared at Declan with a blank expression. He turned to the other driver who shrugged his shoulders.

“Tienes cuerda?” Sascha yelled as she approached the trunk of the tree. The two drivers shook their heads and shouted across the trunk to the other side.

“Tienes cuerda?”

“No. No tengo cuerda pero tengo cadena,” was the response the driver yelled back.

Through strands of damp hair, she looked toward Declan and explained the driver on the other side of the tree owned a chain. Declan grinned.

I’m not pulling his chain.

Declan told the driver via Sascha to get his chain. He returned and slid it under the trunk. Kelvin climbed on top while they looped and shackled the end together, and then dragged the long end over toward the tree by the barrier.

“You think we can drag this?” Declan asked.

Dustin nodded. The tree was huge (as a roadblock) but way smaller than Andy’s boat. “We can give it our best shot,” he said as he looped the chain around the standing tree and fastened it around his waist. “I’ll be the anchorman.”

Declan told Sascha to explain to the drivers what they were about to witness. He didn’t want them being shit-scared.

“Hombres lobo,” Sascha yelled through the mist and drizzle.

The drivers gasped with shock and turned to each other. “Hombres lobo?”

“They get the picture.”

Dustin changed to his inner wolf and dug his heels into the ground. Kelvin changed next, and wrapped his hands around the chain. The veins in his neck bulged as his jaw dripped with saliva. Declan flexed his shoulders and shook his arms and fully turned into his wolf form. The drivers stood open-mouthed as he towered above them. His claws gripped the chain. He raised his foot and slammed it against the asphalt, and cracks and a dent appeared when he screamed.

“Pull.”

He leaned against the weight of the tree. The sound of snapping wood filled the patch of the road once branches twisted and then bent, before breaking under strain.

“Heave.”

Inch by inch the tree moved across the road. The drivers began pushing at the roots.

“Ayuda al hombre lobo,” the closest driver yelled to the far side of the tree.

Sascha walked toward Declan while a large gap opened between the tree and the landslide. She said they were almost far enough to get the bus through.

“What did the driver shout?” he asked as he wrapped his muscled arm around the chain. He said it while he fed it through his hands.

“It wasn't much...” she started to say.

“Heave.” Dustin neared Declan and was going in the other direction.

“They just shouted ayuda al hombre lobo.”

Declan slammed his feet into the surface of the asphalt. He felt the fire burning in his veins from the strain. “What does that mean?” The drivers jumped up and down with their arms raised in the air.

“It means help the wolfman.”

The chain dropped to the ground. Declan and Dustin gasped for air together. Kelvin wheezed while Sascha noticed him clutching at his head. She said nothing.

“Señor lobo. Gracias.”

“It’s no problem.”

“Anysing you want,” the driver said; in his best English.

Declan asked how far they were to the village of Tapaste, and the driver grinned and waved his hand. He muttered something in Spanish and pointed down the road.

Declan turned and looked at Sascha. She translated.

“He says to stick close and follow him. He’s heading there now.”

They got back on the bus and the doors closed. Declan grabbed the pole which stood (floor to ceiling) next to Andy. He pointed at the old off-white and rust-colored Buick.

I’ve always wanted to say this since I was a kid.

“Follow that car!”

“I’m the darkness born from light. I’m the force of evil fires which burn here tonight.”