“Why were you there this morning?” Miranda asked.
“A regular inspection. Skye always gives me a lift,” Larry said. He then said to Skye, “Were things okay when you went back?”
Skye nodded. “Yeah. Everything was normal. They offered me breakfast, but I had things to do here.” At Doug and Miranda’s quizzical looks, she added, “We were back here when I realized I forgot my sunglasses. I went to get them on my own. Don’t rat me out to Anna.”
Larry frowned. “I’m worried another station besides Eight and Six is off-line, and we just don’t know it. For there to be this many zombies here at LO…that would take eight, maybe ten hours. Six never radioed that there was a problem, but something is going on in their direction.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Doug muttered.
Larry nodded, his face anxious as he continued to explain. “Every station has a noise diffuser. End result is basically a big speaker playing white noise. It’s loud enough to keep a zombie’s attention but not so loud that it brings all of Portland and the surrounding area down on us. Most funnel south to the kill zone, and the ones that fall into the trenches around the stations are dealt with in place. That keeps the two-mile radius around us in place. That’s really important on the Portland side especially. We get the highest number of zombies from that direction.”
“So the systems in all the stations are hooked up to one another?” Miranda asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to have them operate independently to avoid this?”
Larry shook his head. “We networked it a few years ago to get the amplification consistent at all the stations. We’re using different equipment across them, depending on what we could find at the time and who we had to work it. If the amplification is off, you get some stations louder than others.”
“And they get too many zombies, which messes up the funnel to the kill zone?” Doug said, looking to Larry for confirmation.
Larry nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. We have to figure out what’s going on at Six and what’s causing that failure at Eight, or this will keep happening. Even if Six is off-line like I think, we’ve had problems at Station Eight before. I’m sure it’s the root of the problem. We’re still waiting for all the other stations, including Eight, to radio in.”
What Larry had just explained sounded like an accident waiting to happen to Miranda. “Why haven’t you gone out to get the right equipment so that it’s standard across the stations?”
“It’s on the list,” he said, then sucked his gaunt cheeks between his teeth. “You know how it is. There are always more immediate problems. And it’s been working like it should until now.”
“Okay,” Skye said. “I’ll update the commander and check back in with you. Let us know at the Nature Center as soon as Eight and the rest radio in, okay?”
“Of course, Skye,” Larry said. He dug in his pocket and produced a threadbare handkerchief, which he pressed against his face. “We’ve been so lucky here. Feels like it’s running out.”
“It’s not luck,” Skye said to him. “A lot of work has gone into all this, and neither Six nor Eight are on the Portland side. We’ll get it figured out.”
She patted Larry on the shoulder, then motioned to the door. Once they were outside, Doug said, “You’re going to need to send someone out to check at least those two stations.”
Skye nodded, and they started down the path to the Nature Center.
“How long before the zombies surround us?” Miranda asked.
“Hard to say for sure,” Skye said. “Depends on how many stations go out. They’re all about a mile from one another, so it won’t take too long for them to start getting through any gaps. Twenty-four hours, tops. That’s what makes a possible failure at Station Six so troubling. If it has been overrun, it happened so quickly that they couldn’t radio in.”
Miranda could see the buzz of anticipation in Doug’s eyes. He wanted to get out there and see it himself, to run into the danger. There was definitely something wrong with people like him.
“You in?” he asked her.
Miranda nodded. She wanted to see it, to run into the danger, too, if it meant she might be able to make a difference. She had known for a long time that there was something wrong with her.
17
A crackle of static on the headset, then Phineas’ voice said, “It’s just ahead.”
Now we see, Miranda thought. Her pulse sped up a little, enough to beat back the chill from the heavy, damp air. She tried not to think about the zombies and how the noise of the motorcycles had attracted them along the way. They had been the right choice for transportation, since more than once their maneuverability had outweighed how loud they were. Right now, they did not have time for delays.
Miranda saw the sign for a Quality Inn as they approached from the north on Southwest 189th Avenue, Doug and Skye following behind them.
Doug’s voice came through the headset just as Miranda saw it.
“Whoa.”
The motorcycle slowed, then stopped as they pulled abreast of Doug and Skye.
The intersection of 189th and Alexander Streets at the Quality Inn, about half a mile down the road, was completely jammed with zombies. Zombies spilled up the road from Highway 8 ahead of them. It looked like they were also coming along Alexander Street from the west. Station 8 was two-thirds of the way down Alexander Street from that intersection.
Skye flipped the visor of her helmet up.
“Let’s take Johnson, see if we can get in from the back,” she said, her breath frosting out from her helmet like cold dragonfire.
The next ten minutes were so full of backtracking that Miranda felt completely turned around by the time they left the motorcycles to continue on foot. The last street sign she had seen, peeking out from overgrown shrubberies and trees with stamped metal letters so faded she could barely read them, had said Almond Street.
Miranda was still blown away by how overgrown the terrain in the Northwest had become. While visiting her grandparents, she had taken many trips on the aerial tram in Portland that traveled up to the OHSU campus to take in the incredible view of the city. The only part she had disliked was when the degree of the tram cables had changed, making the car rock back and forth. Her stomach had always swooped, no matter how many times she made the trip. What had struck Miranda every time was how green Portland was. She knew that below the swaths of trees were houses and neighborhoods, but even then it had seemed wild and untamed compared to what she was used to in San Francisco.
San Jose had become overgrown despite the more arid climate, but Portland’s rate of overgrowth, with its wetter, more temperate climate, was to the tenth power. Even so, Skye and Phineas moved with quiet assurance.
The moans of the horde to the south started out as a buzz, but were soon so loud Miranda wondered if a nearby zombie would even be capable of hearing them. A shiver burrowed into the base of her skull. Some things were so unnatural that you never got used to them.
Skye crept behind a row of tall, shaggy cypress trees that blocked the road.
“The station is in the house behind this one. There are two fences around the property with a trench between them, similar to LO but not as big. There’s a shallow tunnel, a wiggle space really, under both fences. That’s how we’ll get under the fences without making too much noise.” She looked from Miranda to Doug. “How turned around are you?”
Doug snorted softly when Miranda said, “Very.”
Skye nodded. “It’s a rabbit warren back here. It might not have looked like it, but we left the bikes at a rendezvous point with three different ways to get out from there that are usually pretty clear. If we need to fall back, stay with me or Phineas. If we’re separated, we might not find you before we need to fall back. I don’t want to go back without you.” She glanced at Doug, her expression pained. “But we will, if we have to.”
Doug grinned at her. “Don’t worry, Skye. Miri and I are like a cheap suit. We’ll be all over you.”
&
nbsp; “Oh my God,” Miranda said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Don’t include me in that.”
But Doug’s teasing words, she noticed, had chased the pained look from Skye’s face.
They followed a trail through the tall weeds and grasses. As they reached the back of the yard, Miranda could see a chain-link fence. On the other side of the fence was a narrow strip of land, then a braced and reinforced trench about eight feet deep and four feet wide, with a mirroring strip of land and fence beyond it. On both strips of land inside of the fences, aluminum ladders lay on the ground alongside the chain-link mesh.
The area surrounded by the inner fence on the far side of the trench, where Miranda saw a garage, a house, and a patio, looked clear. The defense system’s speakers, along with other smaller components, were bolted to the roof. The equipment on the roof was bigger and more complicated than Miranda had envisioned. Cables connected to the components were fastened down with clamps that disappeared through the roof.
It was well fortified, but something about the place felt off. Miranda couldn’t account for the feeling since she had never been here before, but she also couldn’t shake it
Phineas dropped to his knees beside a gray, pebbled, two-by-three-foot paving stone that lay longwise on the ground abutting the fence. Beside it were two cinder blocks. Skye picked one up and set it on the other. Phineas flipped the paving stone up and leaned it against the cinder blocks.
A metal-framed piece of chain-link stuck up from the ground, blocking the smoothed-out hole lined with bricks under the fence. Upon a closer look, Miranda could see it was fitted into a frame buried in the ground. The frame had fine mesh screen on both sides, presumably to keep the worst of the mud out when the weather was wet. Phineas tugged the piece out, clearing the way for them to wiggle through the opening underneath the fence.
“That’s ingenious,” Doug muttered.
Skye stuffed her machete and small pack through the opening. Then she lay on her back, head to the fence, and wriggled underneath.
They followed, Phineas bringing up the rear. He reached his fingertips through the chain-link and pushed the paving stone. It landed across the hole with a squishy thud. By the time he had replaced the screen, Skye had the ladder across the trench. It just fit, ends perpendicular against both fences. Miranda looked to the next fence. The paving stone, metal-framed square of mesh, and cinder blocks weren’t in place. She pointed it out to the others.
“Where are the dogs?” Phineas asked.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Skye murmured.
That’s what’s been bothering me, thought Miranda.
“How many dogs are usually here?” Doug asked.
Skye shrugged. “Two or three. Let’s go.”
Miranda saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. As she turned to look, a zombie staggered into view in the trench below. It began to moan as soon as it saw them, slipping in the mud as it rounded the corner of the trench. The moans of the horde of zombies on Alexander Street beyond them provided cover, robbing this zombie of its chance to raise the alarm and blow their position.
But it also meant that zombies had gotten through the first fence.
Skye swore softly, then said, “Phineas, stay here in case we need to get out fast. Kill anything in the trench that comes close, and be—”
“I know, Skye,” he said, sounding a little insulted. “I’ll be careful.”
Miranda grinned as Skye crawled across the ladder. She guessed Phineas was about twenty, which was just about the age she had been when she began to think she knew everything there was to know about killing zombies and going on missions. She appreciated that Skye’s instructions were so explicit, especially with a young man. Sometimes their testosterone got the better of them and they did stupid shit like letting zombies stack up and then timing how quickly they could kill them all.
As she started across the ladder, Miranda heard Doug say, “Don’t be insulted. Miri let them stack up once when she was your age and…”
“Its throat is slit, just like the other,” Doug said, looking up from the German shepherd he knelt beside. “What kind of asshole does this to a dog?”
Skye’s frown deepened as she left the shabby garage behind the one-story ranch. Doug wiped his gloved hands on his pants as he stood, then reclaimed his machete from Miranda.
“Something fucked up happened here,” he said.
As they approached the house, Skye stopped, motioning for them to do the same. She pointed to the roof.
“Those cords there, on the left side of the largest component on the roof. Have they been cut?”
Miranda squinted. The shingles were black, as were the cords, and she was not familiar with the equipment. She reached for the small binoculars she kept on her belt. It took a few seconds to find the cords. Two of them were sliced clean through.
“They’ve been cut,” she said, a chill running down her spine.
She handed the binoculars to Skye. Skye looked for a moment, then wrinkled her brow as she passed the binoculars to Doug.
“Jesus,” Skye said. “Everything was fine this morning.”
By the time Doug gave the binoculars back to Miranda ten seconds later, Skye’s mouth had settled in a hard line.
“We’re entering into the kitchen,” Skye said, gesturing to her left with her machete. “There’s a dining room to its left. It’s open to the main living room, like a big L-shape. The main room is the L’s long end and wraps back around the kitchen along the front of the house. A hallway that runs to the opposite end of the house opens off that main room to the bedrooms and bathroom. There’s a reinforced entry at the front door. I’ll go straight through the kitchen after we clear it and check the entry. You two go through the dining area. We’ll meet in the main room, then check the rest together. Ready?”
At their nods, she banged on the door, waited, then eased it open. How anything inside would hear over the racket of the zombies at the front of the house Miranda didn’t know, but she was reassured to see Skye playing it safe. When no zombies appeared, they crept inside.
The tiny kitchen was clear. Miranda turned left and paused in the open doorway to the dining room. The spartanly furnished room had a crammed bookshelf on the opposite wall, its contents overflowing on the floor. A small table with two mismatched chairs was between Miranda and the bookshelf. The bowls on the table still had spoons jammed into the food.
“Whatever happened surprised them,” Miranda murmured.
They turned toward the main room. A beat-up table—heavy and old-fashioned—with a piece of electronic equipment that looked like a sound board, was flipped over onto the worn and blood-stained carpeting. The sound board stuck out from under the table, next to an old Mac laptop with a screen that had snapped off. The table had smashed the sound board beneath it. On the floor next to it lay a man’s body. From ten feet away, Miranda could tell he was dead.
Skye emerged from the reinforced entry room at the other end of the long living room. She glanced at the body, pain flashing across her face, and jerked her head toward the hallway. Miranda and Doug joined her.
“I could see the fence through the front door window,” she said. “One section is damaged. Not that many are through yet, but it’ll fall eventually.” She indicated down the hallway. “Bath and one bedroom on the right, two bedrooms on the left.”
They nodded, then followed her into the dark hallway. The doors to the rooms were closed. Skye gripped the doorknob of the bathroom door, then looked at Doug. He nodded, hefting his machete in his hand. She twisted the knob. Doug kicked the door open. Nothing visible. He stepped in quickly and checked the tub and the partition for the toilet. He shook his head as he turned around.
Miranda heard a moan. She turned around, trying to locate it. The first door on the other side of the hall? She stepped closer and leaned her ear to the door.
“Goddammit,” she whispered.
She turned back to Skye and Doug. Just as she pointed at the
door, something banged against it so hard that she jumped. Then scratching, more banging, and moans.
Somehow, a zombie had gotten in, even though every window in the house that Miranda had seen was bricked in. Doug joined Miranda at the door.
Skye touched Doug’s shoulder. “If it was Crystal, she was chubby. Not enough to turn fast, I think, but maybe.”
Doug crinkled his brow at Skye. “You sent a chubby person out here?”
She raised her hands in front of her, palms up. “I’m not in charge of staffing the stations.”
“Okay,” Doug muttered, looking unimpressed with Skye’s explanation. “Want me to go first?” he asked Miranda.
Miranda shook her head. “As long as I know it’s coming, I’ve got it.”
The zombie scuffled against the other side of the door. Doug put his shoulder against it, twisted the knob, and shoved. Not enough to open the door, but enough to get the zombie off of it. A loud growl, followed by another hard thump.
This time, Doug shoved for all he was worth.
The smell hit Miranda as she darted past him into the room. The damn thing had not lost its footing, which was the point of using the door against it, and it was a lot more than chubby. The room was smaller than she and Doug had realized. Not more than ten feet and long and narrow, like a shoebox. Miranda had just enough time to get her arm up. She heard the clatter of her machete hitting the Pergo floor as the dasher chomped on her upraised forearm. It shook her like a cat with a rat.
Pain radiated from Miranda’s arm as the zombie tossed her like a chew toy.
“Kill it!”
“I’m trying,” Doug said, but it kept shaking her, its head bobbing back and forth.
“Goddammit, Doug,” Miranda shouted. She hammered on the zombie’s face, trying to gouge an eye. “Chop its fucking head off!”
“Get your hand clear!”
Miranda whipped her free arm away. She saw a blur of silver, short and controlled. The head seemed to wobble, then fell away from the zombie’s body. She ripped her arm out of the now slack maw so hard that she smacked herself square on the nose with the back of her fist. Black blood spattered the walls and ceiling and most of Miranda from the shoulders up.
The Undead Age Series (Book 2): Damage In An Undead Age Page 15