The Black Death by Aric Davis Page A

injury. Not best-case scenario by anyone’s logic, but Matt figured what Flo was really wondering was, if they didn’t make it back, how long would Frank be stuck there? Even if he had the keys, and Matt figured he did, that wouldn’t do him much good if he fell into a coma or had a stroke. Still, even with the stresses, he’d seen Flo with the shotgun, and she was more than confident with it.
Hopefully not too confident.
    Free was another story, and aside from whatever awaited them at Bucky’s, he was the one Matt worried about the most. If he were going to turn, it seemed like he already would have, but Free could still decide that he’d had enough of being a white knight. Danimal’s death was going to carry Free only so far, and Matt hoped it would take them all the way to Bucky’s.
    Rain began to clatter on the windshield, and Free turned on the wipers. Matt watched them tick back and forth for a few minutes and then turned to Free.
    “How much farther?”
    “Not much. Why, you change your mind?” Free flashed a grin at Matt, and it did nothing to calm his concerns. They passed a truck that was dead on the side of the road. It made the van look like a luxury automobile. “That’s Luther’s truck,” Free said with almost no emotion. “I guess everybody’s coming to the party.”
    “Why would Luther be here? He seemed pretty out of it back at his house.”
    “Well, could be a happy little coincidence,” said Free. “Most likely, though, Sally made a phone call before everything got crazy at the trailer, and Luther came by to let Bucky know that I was the one who ripped him off.”
    “But you weren’t.”
    “I know that. Not that it will matter now, but it does make one thing clear. First Sally was ready to put me in the ground, now Bucky is probably getting ready to do the same, and the only evidence either of them has is that fuckin’ junkie whose beater we just passed.”
    “Kind of an argument against working for a bunch of thieves,” said Flo, a touch of steel in her voice. “After all, you partnered up with all of these guys.”
    “Yeah, I know. But what else was a guy like me to do? The mafia gave me money and drugs, not to mention ladies love a bad boy. It really was probably best-case scenario for me.”
    “Yeah, best case or not, now you’re driving through the rain to go put lead on some people. Flo, we didn’t give you the full details of what happened at Sally’s, but the short version is simple. Everyone there wanted us dead, and in a hurry.”
    “They went from a bunch of dudes smoking to a pack of cold killers,” Free clarified in a drawl. “Seriously bad mojo right there.” He turned the van off onto a two-track that barely qualified as a road. “Not far now,” said Free, just before slamming on the brakes hard enough to throw Matt onto the dashboard and toss Flo from the bare floor of the back of the van into the backs of their seats. “This ain’t good,” said Free. “They done buffaloed us already.”
    Matt raised his head and saw the problem, though it took a moment to figure out why they’d stopped. A crude but effective roadblock had been placed in the twin runnels of the two-track, four-by-fours with tenpenny nails driven through them and painted black.
    “What the fuck was that?” Flo shouted before poking her head between their seats. Blood was dripping from her nose—drops, not a river.
    “We had to stop,” said Matt, pointing to show her the boards.
    “So they know we’re coming?”
    “Maybe,” said Free, “maybe not. Bucky has become more than paranoid in the last few months, maybe even longer. Either way, if you two still want to go up there, we’re walking. Probably about a mile.”
    ***
    Matt left his bag in the van, figuring that even if he were to be killed by some awful thing at Bucky’s place, at least he’d have the ax with him. It was the only thing left from his old life, and if he was going to die again, it would be good to do so