ELE Series | Book 5 | Escape

by Jones, K. J.

  “Yeah.” Chris scoffed. “You hope.”

  “They’re moving people fast,” said Brandon. “This looks like an evac ahead of something, ya think?”

  “Let’s just get our dumbasses on this here bus and get the fuck outta here fast,” said Chris.

  Brandon scanned around. “I don’t like it. Let’s make sure the women and kids get on board fast.”

  “Wow,” said Emily. “Are we to go on the lifeboats of a sinking ship first too?”

  “Hey,” said Phebe. “I’m all for it, after this enlightening pregnancy experience. If I gotta carry the primary reproductive organs and the young for the species, I want fringe benefits. I do not see why chivalry and equality have to be mutually exclusive.”

  “Huh. Something to think about.” Emily pulled Tyler to the front of the group with her. “You get to be a child, first one on the lifeboat, too.”

  “Whatever.” The kid watched everything.

  “Jayce?”

  The teenager moved closer to Phebe. His head high and placing an arm around her as if to justify himself at the front as the protector of her. Though, if something went down, it would probably be reversed on who protected whom.

  Phebe just wanted to sit down. A pee would be nice, too, since it had been a whole ten minutes since the last pee. Days in the fresh air, the scent of people to her pregnancy super smeller didn’t smell good. They were all unwashed, and some either neglected their deo or had forgotten to pack it. The idea of trapped for hours with the odors of humanity did not portend well for her. She wondered if they distributed barf bags on the bus. Commercial buses often had bathrooms. She wondered if this one did, hoping it would.

  Tension rose as they came close to the bus’s full capacity and worries if the whole group would get waved on.

  Phebe climbed the steps and passed a National Guard driver. Looking down its length, the passengers had filled in from the back forward. Vacant seats near the front. She and Jayce sat together. Emily and Tyler in the next row ahead. Phebe counted the remaining empty seats. Just enough for the rest of her group. She anxiously watched to make sure they all got on, fearing the door Guardsman would call a halt on the last of the guys.

  Peter was stopped. She watched out the window. A gesture to the sickle in his pack. He withdrew it, gave a goofy aw-shucks smile, and laid it on the ground. For some reason, a sickle was too much, whereas everyone else on board had visible firearms. Peter climbed the stairs, and Phebe breathed again.

  “Why wouldn’t everyone be disarmed?” Emily asked, peering between the bucket seats at her.

  Phebe shrugged.

  Standing in the aisle, Peter said, “I got disarmed of my farming implement.” He sat across the aisle across from Emily and Tyler.

  The last of the guys on board and seated, the bus was filled to capacity. The door closed.

  Just as Phebe relaxed, all hell broke loose outside.

  National Guard opened fire. The familiar rapid fireworks-like pop-pop-pop sounds. Everyone turned around to see what was to the six of the standing bus line. The group couldn’t see with people standing up or kneeling on seats to see. A moment, the screams told them the situation. The people on the bus burst into a panic.

  “Shit,” said Peter.

  Chris yelled out, “Can’t we just go? Get this bus moving.”

  “Negative,” the driver said. “Everyone quiet down and remain calm.”

  “Adult males.” Pez sat behind the driver and could see through his side-view mirror. “Rows of ‘em.”

  “Aw, shit,” said Chris.

  They waited as the shooting and man-pain screams went on. The rest of the passengers whimpered with terror. Some shrunk down onto the floor as if this would help. The group waited.

  “What do we gotta do to get going?” Pez asked the driver.

  “Don’t you see big buses ahead of us, sir?”

  “Why aren’t they going, sir?” Pez asked.

  The driver grabbed the radio and asked for an update from the lead.

  As the zoms made their way around their bus, the group watched out their windows.

  “Hey,” Peter yelled up to the driver. “You people don’t know how to fight ‘em, do ya?”

  “Sir?” The driver waited for a radio response to his question.

  “They’re shooting ‘em like they’re healthy people. That ain’t gonna work.”

  “What do you know about fighting them, sir?” The driver turned in his seat to see Peter.

  “Been fighting them from the start. Tell your guys to shoot ‘em in the legs first. Cripple and crown. Legs, make ‘em crawlers, slowing their motion so you can gain control of the field. Later, come back and shoot ‘em in the brainstem. The only way to drop ‘em immediately. Don’t pay attention to the slow fuckers. They take forever to get to ya.”

  The driver stared at Peter. After a moment, he spoke into his radio, “I got a passenger who says you need to …” He relayed everything Peter just said.

  The group did not need to actually see the zoms getting closer to the bus. The other passengers' sharp increase in freaking out told them.

  “We’re gonna get surrounded by this dumb shit,” said Chris.

  “Well, we can get out and help,” said Peter. “How’s that, big man?”

  “Aw, shit. Why I always gotta do the shit?”

  “Your plight in life.”

  “Wait,” said Phebe. “You’re gonna go out there?”

  “It’ll be okay.” Peter stood.

  “What about your leg?”

  “I won’t run or do squats, babe. Stay here.”

  “Don’t get bit or killed.”

  “I won’t, dear.”

  “Open the door,” Pez told the driver.

  “Are you insane?” the driver responded.

  “Possibly,” said Matt.

  The men lined up to exit.

  “No, Tyler,” said Emily. “You gotta stay and guard me.”

  “I should be with them.”

  “Only if they need reinforcement.”

  The driver said, “Make sure the panicked people don’t follow you.”

  “Guys,” Peter called back. “Make sure they don’t follow.”

  Phebe sighed. “Fine. Get up, Jayce.”

  “I got it. You sit.”

  “I’m sitting for two. Yell if you need me, Jay.”

  “Your funeral.” The driver swung the door open.

  Phebe stared out the window at the carnage exploding. The usual stuff of an outbreak. Soldiers fired body shots at the zoms, which had little effect despite profuse bleeding, then the soldiers were attacked by hyper-strong viciousness and they screamed. Faces bit. Noses were bitten off. Spastic punching. Arterial spray from necks. All too familiar.

  The guys went out there. Peter had his leather ZBDUs under his winter gear. The others had only what the military supplied in the zom-bite protection area, but she figured they had enough looted clothing layers to keep even sharp jagged teeth from penetrating their skin. All of their necks and faces were exposed, though.

  Peter picked up the sickle from the ground. A zom came at him. He twirled the sickle and swung. The blade must have been sharp since it took off most of the zom’s head at the neck. In a fluid motion, Peter used the stick part of the sickle to hit a zom coming up behind him. Zoms were hardly quiet in their approach.

  “Sully’s going farmer ninja,” Emily said from the row ahead, staring out the window, too.

  Matt, still with a cast on his left arm, used one of the mop sticks, in addition to the cast. The pair gave cover for the other three men to grab up M4s laying on the ground.

  Once weapons were acquired and checked for bullets, the ninja stick pair retreated to get out of the firing line. The three armed men opened up in full spray-and-pray within ten feet of the legs they shredded. First row slowed into crawlers, they opened up on the second row.

  As they did so, a soldier set up a portable machine gun. Apparently getting the clue from the gu
ys, he opened up at the legs of the incoming runners. Sounds of rapid machine-gun fire on the other side of the bus as well.

  “He was right.” The driver laughed with a newborn victorious thrill. “He was goddamn right!” Since he looked out the other side, the machine gunner must be doing the same thing of crippling the runners.

  The female and children zoms easily dispatched thereafter, and soldiers moved onto the crown part, killing off the adult male crawlers, those who hadn’t died in the meanwhile from their wounds.

  All of the usual stuff for the two women and two teen onlookers staring out the windows. The rest of the bus passengers were hysterical, which annoyed the four. High pitched sounds. Whimpers. Screaming. Prayers muttered.

  “God,” said Tyler. “Get over yourselves, people.”

  “Can you people shut up!” bellowed Phebe.

  No one listened.

  The bus door opened. The guys got back on board.

  “Great job,” the driver shook their hands. “Really awesome. Thank you.”

  Peter said to him, “Any way we just earned transportation to Boston?”

  “Is that where you need to go?” the driver asked. “It’s an orange zone.”

  Orange was close to red on the color spectrum, and red usually meant bad, so the group figured orange zone meant teetering on full-blown red.

  “Um, we gotta,” said Peter. “Family, ya know.”

  “I’ll send word ahead with how you helped us. Maybe they can hook you up with a ride.”

  “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

  Peter normally would have said ‘brother’ but he didn’t want any suspicion they had any connection to the military. He sat and looked across the aisle at Phebe.

  “Did you see the awesomeness, babe?”

  She snuggled down in her seat, ready for some rest. “It was inspiring. Never knew you were so lethal with farm tools.”

  “I know, right? A city kid like me.”

  “Any bites?” Matt asked.

  “These zoms too lightweight to get that close,” said Chris.

  “Maybe we’re just getting that good.”

  “We always that good.” A cocky Chris smirk.

  They all chuckled.

  3.

  POTUS’s voice grew harsh as he spoke into the phone, “Those oil reserves are for the cooling pool generators to run for an undefined period of time. Do you understand? That is the standing order. You want fuel, get on the ass of those stopping shipments.”

  The President slammed down the phone. Fortunately, it was a desk phone he could do that with. He paced behind his large oak desk for a moment, then picked up the phone again.

  “It’s me. I want the remaining oil refineries in Louisiana and Texas triple guarded by troops. Get the Army Rangers, the remaining ones. Anyone highly skilled to protect them. Nothing gets in. And double the guard at the refineries in the orange zone. ASAP.” He paused. “I don’t want to hear it. We have one of the largest standing militaries in the world. Pull troops off this damn misconceived war and put them on the refineries. Not National Guard, I want them helping the civilians. We got enough other troops. Make it happen.” Slammed the phone.

  The SEAL sailor pair stiffened when the secretary-supreme entered, Julia, the alpha of the support staff. Nonetheless, anyone coming it put the sailors on high alert.

  Julia brought a cup of tea.

  “Mr. President, you need to take a moment for yourself.”

  “There’s no time,” Freling responded. “This is a mess to epic proportions. Why the hell did my predecessors focus on the war aspect? Did they not see all the disasters blooming?”

  “I think it’s wonderful you’re focusing on the environment, sir.”

  “It’s for practical purposes. That’s what I keep trying to get through to these morons who think this is superfluous ideals. There’s no way for people to live off these toxic lands. They can’t farm. They can’t hunt. They can’t drink the water, even if it’s filtered. These are dead zones people cannot return to for decades. I cannot understand how this goes over their heads. It’s all about the interaction of different variables.”

  Freling seemed to need a good venting session.

  “I have a memo telling me a ship holding wheat was allowed to sit in the ocean off our shores. The wheat’s not only rotting now but it’s overwhelmed with rats. Useless for human consumption. It’s gotta be sunk because of the goddamn rat threat. And this culling order of livestock. What the hell? Those animals should have been protected by our military instead of destroyed. And ranchers are running away to protect their herds because they damn well know this is a stupid, destructive order. I know, I know. In the past, culling for a disease was the way to go. But that was when only that individual market was affected. Now, all of them. We cannot compensate like before for the loss of that livestock.”

  Mazy found all of this very educational. She had not known the sheer extent of oil dependency in the United States. One sees the trucks on the road, sure. But they turned out to be the primary means of transporting food goods from source to packaging to store. Not trains. The trucks also transported food to the livestock. With the refineries failing, the gas shortage was happening fast and furious. The first to be cut was the retail consumer end. People would freak as gas stations went dry.

  The President tried to change everything over to trains as fast as possible for the fuel shortage wave heading America’s way.

  Another problem of trucks: Highway blockages. The red zone impossible to pass through due to abandoned vehicles everywhere. The President had given an order on the phone, ordering even tanks to lead the way of the trains and they should blow up anything in the way.

  A Senator-Somebody rang. The President’s stress levels skyrocketed while talking. His face turned beet red in anger.

  “I don’t need senatorial approval! I’ll go executive order. If you have missed out on current events, money has lost meaning. Therefore, I do not have to ask Congress for anything funding-based.” Freling stopped. The other guy must be talking. “Fine. Do what you think you must.”

  He slammed the phone down so hard, the cradle may have cracked. “What is wrong with these people!”

  If money had no meaning, how was Mazy being paid? Was her family going to receive the direct deposits?

  She stepped up to the warrant officer at the coffee table. He had been here longer and he seemed to know a lot.

  “How are we being paid if there’s no money?”

  “Numbers is my understanding,” he said. “No worries when in here since it’s like credits. The banks do not have enough cash in them to payout. A run on the banks to take out cash. It’s like the Depression out there. Scuttlebutt is places with food and supplies are no longer accepting cash. They want trade. Bullets, weapons, survival items.”

  Fear struck Mazy about her family. “Is it everywhere in the nation?”

  “Sweeping. It’s like a rolling black-out kind of thing. Each area, going up one at a time.”

  “My family is in hotels in Texas.”

  “Have you been able to contact them?” He blew on his coffee.

  “Yeah.”

  “They’ll be hit soon. Texas is turning red.”

  Mazy wished he meant politically, which it already was. Her mind raced on how to protect them. The email Ben told her regarding Julio’s family. He said Eric had replied, and he was in Colorado, planning on going to New Mexico.

  She searched the maps on the wall to see state lines and labels. Colorado was right above New Mexico, and northern Texas was right in there with them. She needed to email Eric before it was too late.

  Heading for the door, Mazy realized she didn’t have his email address. Ben had it. She had to get Ben involved and fast. Then she remembered she could not just walk out. Looking at the stressed President, resuming his pacing as he thought, she took a deep breath and approached his desk.

  “Sir, I have an emergency family situation I wish to attend to.”


  “What’s happening?”

  “They’re in north Texas, which is going red.”

  Freling nodded, confirming for her it was going Zone.

  “If money is losing value,” she continued. “They are in trouble. They are displaced from New Orleans.”

  He cringed.

  “I may be able to get them some help, but I must communicate this quickly. I require Gunnery Sergeant Raven’s help with this, sir. He has the communication information I require for the help.”

  “Go, go, of course. Do you want me to call ahead and have Raven relieved?”

  “Yes, thank you, sir. I very much appreciate this, sir.”

  “We’re all in this together.” Freling picked up the phone. It apparently still worked. “Anything I can do.”

  4.

  Ben sat at the computer terminal. “I’m going to tell them also to go to my rez.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Mazy. “That guy said the Plains were the safest. Everyone should go there.”

  She scanned around the room at others doing their personal emails or Facetiming.

  He typed the email to Eric and CC’d Mazy so she could directly communicate.

  “Has he asked about the others, Sully and them?”

  “Nope, fortunately,” Ben said. “I do not want to be the bearer of this news.”

  “Maybe Eric already knows.” Mazy chewed on her nails. Her shoulders tense.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m relieved he and Mullen are okay.”

  “They’re with Vi and Dre and all them,” he said.

  “Am I to assume how they are doing this, um, ya know?” Mazy didn’t want to say their AWOL plan.

  “Assume as I am. But don’t say anything.”

  “I wish I could help them. Get them outta there to help the families.”

  “I am amazed at their honor and loyalty. To do this for Julio’s family. I’m really impressed.” Ben clicked Send. “Done.”

  “Coordinating them to meet up will be hard,” she said.

  “If we caught Eric in time.”

  “God,” Mazy groaned. “Not like I can send Mom and Daddy to New Mexico in the hopes of bumping into them.”

  “States tend to be pretty big.”

  “Thanks, wise ass.”