The Deadland Chronicles | Book 4 | Siege of the Dead:

by Spears, R. J.

  Eli sat back in his seat, but his face seemed tight and filled with the flush of embarrassment.

  Garver cleared his throat and said, “All I know is that we can’t stay up here much longer, Sergeant. We only have so much fuel and we aren’t getting any more. And we’re going to need that fuel to fight these sons of bitches when they show up on our doorstep.”

  Jones sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly as he turned to look out the windshield. He watched as the helicopter ate up the air as they traversed over the burning landscape below.

  “Just a little longer,” Jones said. “A few more miles.”

  Jo leaned forward and pointed off to the left side of the windshield. “Looks like we don’t have to wait much longer.”

  Almost unconsciously, everyone lurched forward in their seats as they stared ahead. A strong wind from the west had knocked a huge hole in the smoke cover, exposing hundreds and hundreds of shambling figures. Covered in a drifting layer of smoke, they looked almost like ghosts or wraiths.

  Their mass covered the ground in what looked like a fallow farm field, trudging along in the mindless way that they did. Everyone in the helicopter knew the zombies had a purpose and there was a good chance that they were being driven by sinister forces.

  “Fuck me,” Garver said.

  “Yeah,” Jo said, but her voice sounded dry and weak.

  “We’ve seen them, can we go back now?” Garver said.

  “No, not yet,” Jones said. “Peel off to the right and check their perimeter.”

  “What for?” Garver said. “The fires aren’t stopping them.”

  “Just do it,” Jones said, and where Jo’s voice lacked power, there was a metal underneath his tone.

  “Okay,” Garver said, as he pulled the stick to the right, pivoting the big chopper in the sky.

  The smoke cloud wafted over them and Garver felt like he was flying blind. His instincts told him to pull up, and he started to, but Jones put out a hand and said, “Keep her steady.”

  Garver didn’t like it, but he did as he was asked, holding the chopper steady. The bird cut through the big cloud of smoke. They did this for almost two minutes, and Garver fought every instinct to pull the helicopter up. The terrain around the area was hilly, but it was mostly rolling hills. Still, he had no idea if a radio or cell tower was sticking up in the sky, ready to pluck them out of the air.

  “What are we doing,Sergeant?” Eli asked.

  Jones stuck his index finger in the air and said, “Hold on just a little while longer.”

  Jo leaned forward and asked, “What are you looking for, Nate?”

  Jones remained silent for a long twenty seconds. The helicopter burst out of the smoke cloud revealing a valley filled with the undead, streaming along like a river along a winding two-lane road. Their ranks spilled over the sides of the road, as they widened and constricted their group depending on what they encountered along the side of the road. It could be trees and fences, but they flowed along like dark flood waters.

  “Look,” Jones said, pointing toward the back of the pack.

  “What is it?” Eli asked.

  “Towards the back,” Jones said. “A large portion of them are peeling off,” Jones said. “Take us back there, Garver.”

  Garver sighed and said, “Aye, aye, Captain. You know the deeper we get into them, the more fuel we use.”

  “Do it,” Jones said.

  The helicopter passed over the hordes and a few even looked up at the big thing making all the noise in the sky. But it passed over so quickly, they lost interest and continued trudging forward. Garver pushed the chopper along and within a few seconds they were at the back edge of the horde.

  “Yes,” Jones said.

  “What are you talking about?” Eli asked.

  Jones pointed out the windshield, “See all those zombies wandering aimlessly?”

  Their eyes followed to where Jones pointed. Below dozens and dozens of small groups of zombies had either stopped moving or were trudging off in a different direction from the large throng of undead.

  “They’re drifting apart on the edges,” Jones said. “I think the fire and the smoke are breaking down the cohesion of the horde. Maybe it’s breaking down whatever control or compulsion that is driving them toward us.”

  “But it’s only a few hundred,” Eli said, sounding a little exasperated. “There’s still thousands down there.”

  Jones turned in his seat and said, “We’re only seeing a small section of them. I’d bet this is happening across the whole herd of them.”

  “Eli has a point,” Jo said. “There’s still a shit ton of them down there.”

  “Every bit we pare off or wander off is less we have to face when they get to us,” Jones said. “If the smoke or the confusion from the fires breaks them up into smaller groups, I have this theory that more and more will slice away from the main herd. It might not come close to halving them, but the less we have to face the better.”

  “I guess I’m all for that,” Jo said, leaning forward and putting a hand on Jones’ shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

  Jones wasn’t a man that smiled easily, but he exposed a slight grin. “Every little bit helps. Take us back, Garver.”

  “You know,” Garver said, “I was almost sure you were going to call me Jeeves right there.”

  “I wasn’t close,” Jones said, “But I could call you asshole,”

  Garver let out a slight snicker and put the helicopter in a long looping turn in the sky.

  “Take us north a few clicks,” Jones said. “We don’t want them to know what our direct flight path is.”

  “I know that, but every mile north is less fuel we’ll have for later,” Garver said.

  “It’s the smart play,” Jones replied. “And you know it.”

  “That I do, Captain,” Garver said as he took them northward.

  Chapter 16

  March of the Dead

  Audrey looked skyward and followed the helicopter as it flew through the smoke clouds above, coming in and out of view.

  She wondered who it was. Maybe it was the military? Yes, it had to be. Who else could it be?

  They had faced down a battalion of soldiers when they overran the base in Dayton. The soldiers had scores of weapons. Scores and scores. They had cannons and rockets. They had planes and helicopters. They used all the weapons they had at hand and killed zombies by the hundreds. Maybe even thousands. Their blood ran like a river across the pavement and onto the ground, turning the soil dark red.

  But the dead just kept coming.

  Grayson was nearly killed in one of the strafing runs by an attack helicopter. The bullets ripped apart the zombies grouped around him, literally tearing them to pieces as if someone had dropped a tree shredder down on them. The only thing that saved Grayson was a large concrete road divider.

  The zombies didn’t care how many of their brethren fell. They just kept coming. They were driven forward by the compulsion to stay near the half-dead and their own insatiable hunger.

  The military base had defenses, but the four half-dead creatures had the know-how to open gates. All it took was some brute force to break the locks, and the undead flooded into the base.

  A contingent of the soldiers saw that the base was lost and high-tailed it away, but a larger number of them stayed and fought. All those who remained died.

  Which was okay with Grayson and Lance. The less living in the world, the better.

  Audrey and Maxwell had no love for the living, not after what the scientists in Indianapolis had done to them. If the living had to die so that the four of them could live, then so be it. It’s just that she and Maxwell didn’t have Grayson and Lance’s blood lust.

  All four of them had been “drafted” into this mad experiment to find a cure. Grayson and Lance had been plucked from death row with the promise. If they “volunteered” for the experiment, the governor would seriously consider some type of clemency, maybe even a pardon. Both of them g
uessed if it was between waiting for the needle or giving this experiment a try, then why the hell not.

  Audrey and Maxwell were in a similarly desperate situation, but it was different. Both of them had been bitten by zombies and were on the downward spiral to death and then reanimation. They didn’t volunteer, but they begged for any help that could just to get one more hour of life.

  The lead scientist saw something in their blood tests that made him select them among the dozens of patients in the overcrowded hospital ward. So they went to the front of the line. After it was all over, they weren’t sure that they would consider themselves lucky. At least they were alive. Or close to it.

  The experimental trial worked, and it didn’t work. All four of them came back, but not all the way. Someone above the lead scientist liked what he saw in this trial and ordered that these four “unique” subjects be retained for further experiments.

  One of the more conscientious members of the science team pointed out that none of the four subjects had agreed to be experimented on. The man in charge slammed the argument to the ground and crushed it. These subjects were no longer human. Therefore they had no rights.

  And experiment they did. There were days that Audrey was sure she would be sliced, diced, and taken apart a piece at a time. Since she felt no pain, none of the experiments bothered her, but a voice spoke to her every night. It told her to kill the scientists and to escape. She did her best to ignore it, but sometimes it soothed her with promises of restoration to her full humanity. There was no way this was true, but a girl had to have hope, didn’t she?

  If it wasn’t for the voice in their heads, the one that told them to take down any living soul in their way, they might just break away from Grayson and Lance. Head out on their own. But the voice bore into their heads like an unholy drill. Each one of them heard the voice, but they didn’t talk about the presence behind the voice. They all knew what it was. Who it was, but it remained unspoken.

  Audrey sometimes wondered if their fall into this half-life gave them over to the voice. That it was a bargain with the devil that kept them alive. There were times when she honestly didn’t know if it was worth it.

  When the zombie virus was taking her down, like someone drowning in deep, thick waters, she would have grabbed at any lifesaver to have one more breath. One more hour, One more minute. Now, she wasn’t quite so sure.

  But she was still here. Some kind of abomination, but she just knew it was better than dying. Or, at least, thought it was.

  The sound of the helicopter drifted further and further away. A zombie jostled into her side, knocking her off balance as she pondered these thoughts. She barely caught herself from falling.

  Falling would put her on the ground, and that could mean that they just might roll over her and trample her into the dirt. The mere thought of this lit a fury in her, and she wheeled on the zombie that had bumped into her. Its partially decayed face looked at her vacantly, and she reared back her arm, bunching up her muscles. She reached an apex of energy and shot her fist forward like a bullet as she let out an animalistic roar.

  Her father had taught her to throw a punch. You didn’t stop with the impact. Instead, you followed through with your punch, driving your fist forward. It impacted the zombie’s sternum and smashed through the flesh and bone, plunging into the zombie's chest cavity. Once her hand reached its spine, she grasped it and twisted, wrenched the thing into parts and pieces.

  That was it for the zombie as its undead existence ended. She felt the anger pulsing through her as the zombie slid off her arm and fell back, sounding like a roll of wet carpet it hit the ground.

  When she turned her eyes skyward again, blood rolled off her fist and dripped to the ground. The helicopter was at the edge of her vision, barely visible through the hazy skies.

  Should she take action? The weapon strapped over her shoulder might work, but she had a limited amount of ammunition for it.

  What did Lance call them? Warheads. Yes.

  Lance knew all the military shit. He had taught her how to load and fire the thing back at the base.

  She only had three warheads. The weapon and the three warheads...yes. They weren’t light, but she was easily strong enough to carry them. Maybe a dozen of them, really.

  Maxwell had opted for an assault rifle instead of her weapon. He wasn’t a gun person before the Outbreak but had always been fascinated by the big action movies with the likes of Stallone and Schwarzenegger. Bruce Willis, who starred in his favorite one, Die Hard. No, he wanted lots of bullets.

  In stark contrast, Grayson hadn’t taken any weapons. Instead, he said he would rely on his wits. Why he had left their group and gone off by himself was both a source of concern and frustration. But he had always been a renegade, and that’s how he ended up in prison before the Outbreak. He didn’t speak of it, but in everything he did, he wasn’t the most pro-social creature to walk the earth. At least, that was her observation.

  No one knew what he was doing or why. Plus, he had cut their ranks of the undead by a quarter when he left.

  The helicopter was nearly entirely out of view. Besides, she didn’t know the effective distance of her weapon. Maybe the helicopter was too far away? She wasn’t sure.

  The distant sound of the helicopter decayed away, leaving her just listening to the grunts, groans, and moans of the sea of zombies around her. The moment for action had passed.

  Nothing in the chorus of sounds lifted her spirits, but instead, made her feel more lonely than she had ever been in her life. Like lemmings, the zombies continued eastward as if drawn by a Siren’s song that only they heard.

  She didn’t understand why the zombies collected around her and her three colleagues. They just did, and that made them powerful allies against the living. She would make the living pay for their unholy experiments. For turning Maxwell and her into half-dead things, forced into this hellish existence.

  There were moments where she contemplated just checking out, but she knew that wasn’t an option. Being half-dead was better than being fully and irrevocably dead.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter 17

  The Evacuation

  “Holy shit, Henry,” Molly exclaimed, “we’re never getting all these old farts out of here in time. Hell, they might not make it in a year.”

  Henry and Molly had just completed a circuit of the dormitory outside the walls of the Sanctum. As they jogged along the hallways on all four floors, they banged on doors and shouted to the residents that it was time to evacuate. Much to Henry and Molly’s surprise, a great deal of those still in the building remained inside their rooms, afraid or unwilling to come out.

  “We’re going to have to force them to leave,” Henry said.

  “How?” Molly asked in exasperation. “Are we going to roust them out with the threat of violence? They’d probably pick the zombies over me when I get pissed off.” She paused a moment, and Henry saw an idea flicker on behind her eyes like a light bulb came on. “We can set fire to the place.”

  Henry closed his eyes tightly and said, “That is a terrible idea.”

  “Oh geez, Henry, I’m not serious. We just say the building is on fire.”

  Two of those who answered the call were Lowell and Archie. They had come to the Sanctum in the caravan with Henry and his mother. Lowell was tall and slightly stooped over with age. He was one of the slower ones with knees so full of arthritis that it made Henry hurt just to look at him. Archie wasn’t all that frail, but his eyesight was awful. He wore over-large, thick-rimmed glasses that made him look like an owl. The lenses were so thick that it made his eyes seem like they were bulging all the time.

  Lowell said, “While that idea might work for some, others might panic. If one of them fell and broke their hip or something, then that would be it for them.”

  “And about twenty so of them have walkers,” Archie said.

  “Well, we sure as shit have to do something,” Molly said. “Or else their old wrinkly asses a
re going to be eaten by zombies.”

  Lowell gave Molly a long look and said, “You are a coarse one, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not here to win any congeniality awards,” Molly said, staring back at the older man. “I’m here to save lives.”

  “What do you think, Lowell?” Henry asked. “You’ve been out here with them. Do you think they will leave?”

  Lowell redirected his attention to Henry. “Most or some of them will, but I think some will stay no matter what. I think they like being out here out from under Mr. Eli’s thumb. Apparently, they see him as a taskmaster.”

  “But if they stay out here, they could die,” Henry said.

  Archie said, “Son, from what I’ve seen over the years, there are people that will listen to reason and some who won’t.”

  Henry took a moment to digest Archie’s words, then said, “So, we have to get the ones that will listen out of here. At the least, get our people out of here.”

  “And fuck the rest,” Molly said.

  Henry closed his eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth.

  “I say we split up and see if we can coax people out of their rooms,” Henry said. “Lowell, you can come with me,”

  “Oh great, leave me with the owl,” Molly said.

  “Molly, you know,” Henry said, “Sometimes you...you…” He trailed off, but the message was sent.

  “Okay, okay,” Molly replied, “I’ll try to be a kinder, gentler version of myself, but just don’t count on that lasting all that long.”

  Archie said, “Well, at least you have some self-awareness. You don’t have to do much. People say I have an irresistible charm.”

  Molly rolled her eyes but kept her mouth shut.

  Two hours later, they reconvened in the main lobby with close to forty elderly people. That left around thirty people still in the building.