Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies (Book 2): Escape

by Baker, Scott M.

  “Will we clear it?”

  “With room to spare.”

  From the stern, Nathan called out. “We have incoming on the left.”

  “What the Hell is he talking about?” Steve leaned to the side to get a better view. “Shit!”

  A horde of deaders poured off the edge of the bridge into the river, like living dead lemmings. Steve swung the cabin cruiser to starboard. Alissa watched the living dead waterfall, wishing them good riddance. Four of the deaders noticed the cabin cruiser rushing by and kicked off at the edge of the highway, trying to gain the extra momentum to reach them. One hit the side of the boat and bounced back into the water. The other three landed on Ocean Escape, one on the forward deck, one on the roof, and one on the rear deck, slamming into Nathan.

  The deader on the bow, a woman dressed in a torn and bloody waitress’ uniform, snarled and smashed its face against the windshield. It kept up the assault, leaving broken teeth and gore against the glass. A spiderweb crack spread across the surface. Alissa grabbed the Glock from the dining table, stepped in front of Steve, and raised the weapon, steadying her aim on its face. The deader snarled. Alissa fired three rounds. The first two disintegrated its head. The last thudded into the body as it slumped against the windshield.

  “Thanks.” Steve motioned to the back. “Go help Nathan.”

  Nathan needed it. The deader that had landed on him, a male with no shirt and its internal organs missing, had shoved him against the starboard gunwale and pinned Nathan’s AR-15 rifle against his chest. Its shredded fingers clutched at his face, scraping against his skin. Nathan extended his arms, using the stock of the weapon to keep the deader at arms’ length. Bending his right leg, he tried to place his foot on its chest and push it away, but did not have enough room to maneuver. Mustering all his strength, Nathan extended and locked his arms, shoving the thing away enough so he could place his foot against its ribcage. Loosening his arms, he allowed the deader to get closer before kicking out. The deader flew across the deck and crashed into the port gunwale. It shook itself, snarled, and leaped. Nathan was still halfway to his feet and not ready to defend himself when Alissa body checked the deader. It stumbled to its right, teetering precariously on the stern. She stepped forward and kicked it, sending the deader tottering off the boat. It splashed about, trying to stay afloat, no longer remembering how to swim. As Ocean Escape drew way, the thing disappeared beneath the surface of the river.

  Alissa extended her middle finger toward the churning water. “Good riddance you—”

  “Alissa, watch out!”

  Nathan’s warning came too late. She had forgotten about the deader that had landed on the roof. It had crawled to the stern and dropped on her back, pinning her to the deck. Face down, she could not defend herself. Only the deader’s body mass centered on her back prevented it from getting into a good position to bite. Alissa pulled her arms close to her side and kept moving her head to present as small a target as possible. She waited for the inevitable bite that would seal her doom.

  Nathan slammed the stock of his AR-15 into the back of the deader’s head, momentarily stunning it. He used the pause to pull the deader off Alissa with his left hand and drag it into the center of the boat. When he did, it rolled over and attacked. Nathan did not have time to aim. Instead, he rammed the stock into its face, knocking out several teeth, breaking away the left jaw hinge, and shattering the front of its skull. Despite the facial distortions, it continued its assault. Nathan pushed as hard as he could. The deader stumbled back a few feet and collapsed onto the deck, then scrambled back to its feet. Alissa stepped up beside it and fired a single round from the Glock into the side of its temple, blowing away the upper right side of its head. It still did not drop. Slowly turning to her, it opened its mouth and snarled. Alissa placed the barrel of the Glock into its mouth and pulled the trigger. The back of its head disintegrated, leaving only a chunk of the left-hand side of the skull dangling by its neck from a piece of flesh. The deader swayed for a moment before dropping to the deck.

  “I hope you’re done,” said Steve. His back and the console were covered in blood and chunks of skin and gore from Alissa’s last two shots.

  “Sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” He smiled at her. “But you’re cleaning the boat.”

  “How much farther?” asked Nathan.

  “We should clear the last bridge in a few minutes.”

  “Thank God.” Nathan tapped Alissa on the shoulder. “Let’s dump this thing overboard.”

  Dan panted, his breathing hitching and shallow, even though he jogged three miles a day. However, a huge difference existed between an exercise routine and running across parked vehicles with a pack of flesh-hungry deaders chasing you. All the jumping from vehicle to vehicle wore him out. Nor did it help that those crazed things behind him never tired. He refused to check on them but could hear their growls drawing closer.

  A deader entered his peripheral vision off to his right. Dan waited for it to attack. Instead, the thing’s head exploded. One hundred feet ahead of him, three soldiers stood at the end of the barricade, two on either side sniping at any deaders that drew too close and one in the center urging Dan to run faster. Summoning what little energy he had left, Dan bolted across the cars toward safety.

  A blue Amazon van blocked his path. Dan side jumped from the roof of the Dodge Charger to the roof of a Toyota Corolla. Ahead of him, side by side, were a Jeep with a canvass roof and a Ram. He knew he could never get over the Jeep, so he headed toward the pick-up and jumped, catching his foot on the pick-up’s right rear fender. Dan crashed into the bed. The loud snap and the pain shooting down his left side told him he had broken his arm in the fall. Despite the throbbing, Dan rose and attempted to climb over the cab of the pick-up when two deaders dove into the bed. One grabbed Dan from behind and sunk its teeth into his neck. The other tried to bite his arm but could not break through the leather jacket. More deaders piled into the bed until no room remained, each tearing into their prey. The leather jacket and pants slowed the deaders but did not stop them, only prolonging Dan’s agony. Eventually, frenzied fingers and teeth broke through the material and ravaged the flesh beneath. Already weakened by the massive blood loss from the first wound in his neck, Dan did not feel his body being ripped apart.

  The several hundred deaders that could not fit in the back of the pick-up surged ahead, focusing on the three meals at the end of the barricade.

  Simmons stood on the center span on the I-95 bridge, watching the scene play out through a pair of binoculars. He doubted the motorcycle rider would make it past the barricade. Even if he did, the deaders would be hot on his heels, so blowing up the bridge became the only option to keep the outbreak from reaching Maine. He lowered the binoculars and keyed the microphone on his headset.

  “Kenney, is everything set to bring down the center span?”

  “Just waiting for the word, sergeant.”

  “All right. Hang tight.”

  “Shit,” said Private 1st Class Brooks, who stood beside Simmons. “The deaders took down our runner.”

  Simmons raised the binoculars in time to see a pack of the living dead swarming over the runner in the back of the Ram. Damn, he almost made it. He keyed his microphone again.

  “Lee, fall back. Fast. We’re gonna blow the bridge once you’re clear.”

  “On our way.”

  Simmons walked over to the two soldiers in the Humvee, one in the driver’s seat and the other manning the .50 caliber machinegun. “Cover their retreat until they reach this point then fall back.”

  “Yes, corporal.”

  Simmons and Brooks retreated to the Maine side of the bridge. As they reached Kenney and the detonator, they heard the .50 caliber come to life, the heavy staccato echoing through the night. Simmons stood beside Kenney.

  “On my command.”

  Kenney held the detonator in his left hand, his right ready to set off the charges.

  A minute later, th
e Humvee crested the top of the span doing over sixty miles per hour, the machine gunner firing to his rear. Four hundred feet behind the vehicle, the first of the deader horde crested the top of the span. Simmons waited until the Humvee cleared the explosion zone and gave a single command to Kenney.

  “Now.”

  A series of explosions detonated along the southern and northern boundary of the center span, creating a cloud of smoke and dust that partially hid the deaders from view. For a moment, Simmons thought the explosives had failed. Then he heard the creaking of steel strained beyond its limits. Without warning, the center span separated from the rest of the structure and plummeted one hundred thirty-five feet into the Piscataqua River below.

  Directly in the path of Ocean Escape.

  Alissa and Nathan dropped the deader’s corpse off the stern when explosions went off above them. Nathan ducked. Alissa directed her attention toward the bridge. Scores of rocks of various sizes rained down. She reached out, grabbed Nathan by the collar, and yanked him under the roof as the stones began landing around them. Several fell on the cabin cruiser, the larger ones denting the roof and deck, including the space were Nathan had been crouching. One the size of a basketball fell on the waitress deader on the fore deck, exploding her and covering the windshield in blood and gore.

  Steve jerked back. “What the—”

  “They blew the bridge,” Alissa yelled. “Get us out of here.”

  Steve already had the throttles pushed as far forward as possible, which left only one possible option. Yanking the joystick right, he swung the cabin cruiser to starboard and headed for the riverbank.

  Alissa ran over to port. The debris falling from the bridge had lessened. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, the sound of steel straining and snapping filled the area. A moment later, the center span broke free and collapsed.

  Murphy stumbled to his feet, bruised and sore, but thankfully with no broken bones. He also lucked out that he fell in such a way he had not hit his head, otherwise he would be dead or incapacitated. As he stood and regained his balance, a voice barked an order.

  “Don’t move.”

  Two National Guard soldiers stood in front of him, their Carbines aimed at his head.

  “You’re bleeding.” Taylor used the barrel of his weapon to point toward Murphy’s left arm. The leather had been torn and blood stained his shirt underneath. “Have you been bit?”

  “No, you asshole. I got it when you nearly shot me off my fucking motorcycle.”

  “Come with us. We need to check you for… motherfucker.”

  Hundreds of deaders raced out of Bow Street and swarmed the approaches to Memorial Bridge. Both men raised their weapons. Taylor ordered, “Move!”

  Murphy did not need to be told twice. He ducked and ran between the two soldiers. They ignored him, concentrating on bringing down as many of the deaders as possible, an impossible task. There were too many to take out by themselves, even if they had enough ammunition. The guardsmen bought time for Murphy to make it to the raised span. He assumed whoever commanded the show would not risk lowering the bridge for him. A vertical beam sloped up at a seventy-five-degree angle. Using the holes of the castellated beam, he made his way to the top of the span. The two National Guardsmen had dropped their weapons and headed back to the bridge. One must have spotted Murphy climbing the beam and attempted to do the same; the deaders reached him before he could made it more than a few feet, ripping him off the structure and tearing him apart. The second ran for the raised span, making it only twenty feet before the horde overwhelmed him. A few of the living dead spotted Murphy and howled, attracting the attention of others. Those not feeding rushed the steel structure, snarling and groping at the meal they could not reach.

  Not that it mattered. Murphy sat down on the top beam and breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was alive.

  Wilcox stared down at the carnage below. He felt horrible about Taylor and Riviera. They deserved better than to be torn apart by the living dead. As for the motorcyclist, the son of a bitch had made it this far so they might as well help him out.

  “Foster.”

  He stuck his head out of the control booth. “Yeah?”

  “Tell the operator we’re going to lower the bridge enough to rescue the survivor on top of the span. Then come down here and help me get this guy to safety.”

  “Roger that.”

  Wilcox keyed the microphone on his headset. “Sarge, do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “I wanted to let you know we’re lowering the span to rescue a survivor trapped on top of the span. And to let you know we lost Taylor and Riviera.”

  “Damn.”

  “What about that boat that slipped by us? Did you stop it?”

  “It got by us. I’ll check with—”

  All conversation ceased when the explosions sounded from the I-95 bridge. Everyone, even the living dead, watched as the center span collapsed into the river. Several seconds of stunned silence followed before Downey finally muttered through the headset, “Holy shit.”

  “Do you see the boat?” asked Wilcox.

  “No. Simmons, there was a cabin cruiser heading your way. Can you see it?”

  A momentary pause. “Can’t see a thing, sarge. It must not have made it through.”

  Poor bastards, Wilcox thought. At least they were in a better place.

  Alissa’s eyes widened in terror as she watched hundreds of tons of steel and concrete plummet toward them. The boat lurched to starboard, nearly throwing her off the side. Alissa closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. Instead of crushing the cabin cruiser, the span landed five feet behind them and to the left. She opened her eyes, staring at the edge of the span only a few yards away. A wall of water washed over them, pushing Nathan against the forward bulkhead and dousing Steve, and propelling the boat thirty feet toward the riverbank. Steve swerved to port to avoid crashing into the rocks, heading into a small cove filled with pleasure craft where he throttled back the engines. Alissa kept her gaze focused on the span that almost killed them, watching it sink beneath the surface of the Piscataqua River.

  When the ripples died down, Steve steered out of the cove and headed north up the river.

  Nathan stood, shaking his head as much to dry off the water as to bring back his senses. He still needed to support himself on the dining bench. “What happened?”

  “You almost got killed,” answered Alissa. “Twice.”

  “How much more of this do we have to go through?”

  “That was the last bridge. It’s clear sailing from here.” Steve turned to Alissa. “Could you check on Miriam and the kids? I’m sure they’re freaking out down there.”

  “I will.” Alissa headed below deck.

  Chapter Four

  Alissa reached the door to the main stateroom. Archer’s meowing could be heard out here. The poor thing must be terrified. Alissa knocked. Miriam responded, her voice wavering and tinged with panic.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Alissa.” She tried to open the door, but Miriam had locked it from the inside.

  “Just a minute.”

  Alissa heard Miriam approach the door and unlock it. The door opened a foot. Miriam clutched the Mossberg, her hands shaking as if she feared she might have to use it. She relaxed upon seeing Alissa and pulled the door wide.

  “Sorry. We had no idea what’s going on up there. For all that I knew, we’d been boarded.”

  “A few deaders jumped onto the ship from the bridge but we cleared them off.”

  “It must have been bad.” Miriam closed the door. “We heard rounds hitting the deck.”

  “That was the military trying to stop us.”

  “Our own people were shooting at us?”

  Alissa nodded.

  “Do I dare ask what happened a few minutes ago.”

  “You mean all the maneuvering and the big splash?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We were almost crushed
when a portion of the bridge nearly fell on us.”

  Little Stevie’s eyes lit up. “Cool. I wished I could have seen it.”

  Miriam was not as excited as her son. Her eyes focused on where the sleeve to her sweater used to be and the blood stains on Alissa’s hands. She dropped onto the edge of the bed trying to comprehend everything. “Is everyone all right?”

  Alissa hesitated a moment before responding, “Yes.”

  Miriam’s lips quivered. “Kids, take Archer into the bathroom. I think he needs a drink of water.”

  “Bullshit,” said Kiera. “You’re trying to get rid of us.”

  “No,” Miriam lied. “I want to shut up that damn cat.”

  Kiera confronted Alissa. “Did something happen to dad?”

  Miriam started to argue with her when Alissa jumped in. “A stray bullet hit you father in the hand. He may lose movement in some of his fingers, but he’ll be fine.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not lying?”

  Alissa took Kiera’s hands in her own. “I’ll always tell you the truth. Considering what’s going on out there, you’re going to be growing up quickly. Do you believe me?”

  The teenager took on an adult air. “I do.”

  Alissa squeezed her hands lightly and released them. She removed the torn sweater, trying not to laugh when Little Stevie made a face at her being topless.

  “What now?” asked Miriam.

  Alissa opened the closest and selected a plaid shirt that seemed warm. “Is everything ready to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then come up and join us on deck. We should be reaching our final stop in a few minutes. After that, we’ll be on foot.”