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

by Baker, Scott M.

  He barely made it five feet when the ice gave way, plunging them all into the frigid water.

  “Chris!” Kiera untied the rope from around her waist and rushed down the bank to help.

  Alissa grabbed the cooler and followed close behind.

  Nathan only delayed long enough to gather up the rope.

  All they could see were the deaders thrashing around and the ice collapsing, both of which churned the river into a frenzy.

  “Do you see him?” asked Kiera.

  “No.”

  Kiera hugged Alissa and cried.

  Nathan ran up to them. His gaze met Alissa’s. She shook her head and held Kiera tighter.

  “Let’s go.” Nathan gently placed a hand on their shoulders and led them away.

  A cry came from the ice. “Aren’t you assholes going to help me?”

  Kiera spun around and squealed in delight. Chris lay on a sheet of ice along the edge of the break, his legs and groin immersed in the river. Only the hunting knife plunged into the sheet like a pick, which he held onto for his life, prevented him from being swept away.

  “You’re alive.” Kiera ran out onto the ice.

  Alissa grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “It’s too weak. You’ll both get killed.”

  “We can’t leave him there.”

  “We won’t.” Alissa took one end of the rope and tied it around her waist. She handed the other end to Nathan, who ran it around the closest tree and attached it to his own. Alissa walked ten feet out onto the ice before laying prone and crawling the rest of the way, moving as rapidly as possible.

  “I can’t hold on much longer,” Chris groaned.

  Alissa quickened her pace, ignoring the cracking all around her. After seconds that seemed like an eternity, she reached Chris and held out her right hand.

  “Grab on.”

  Chris reached out and clasped Alissa’s hand and wrist other.

  “Now pull yourself up.”

  Alissa yanked her right hand into her chest, straining to lift Chris out of the river. As she did, he kicked his legs to the side, throwing them up on the ice.

  The ice gave way, plunging him and Alissa into the river.

  Alissa’s first reaction warned her to let go of Chris and fend for herself, but rationality prevailed. She had a rope tied around her and Nathan would save them. She needed to hold on to Chris and her breath until they were rescued. The former would be easy. She clutched Chris like a frightened child hugging a teddy bear. Holding her breath would be much more difficult. When she dropped into the water, she did not have time to inhale.

  The rope tugged against her waist, nearly pushing out what little air remained in her lungs. She felt herself being lifted through the water and held Chris that much closer. Each jerk made it harder not to hold her breath, but she hung on, knowing… praying… it would be over soon. Only a few—

  Alissa plunged deeper into the river, suddenly and violently enough that it forced her to inhale, sucking water into her lungs. Panic took complete control. She let go of Chris and fought to swim to the surface, but the desperation to breath clouded her judgment and ability to rationalize. She struggled for air. Her vision narrowed and blurred. She felt herself being raised and saw a bright light growing larger. Her last thought was, Oh God, please don’t let me die like this.

  Nathan yelled, “Get her to shore.”

  He and Chris each grabbed one of Alissa’s arms, dragging her across the crumbling ice.

  “Will she be okay?” asked Kiera.

  “Don’t come out here.”

  They dropped Alissa onto the frozen ground. Nathan knelt beside her and compressed her chest several times. Nothing happened. Nathan continued pushing. Her still body suddenly rolled onto its side and purged the water from her lungs. Alissa hacked and struggled to take in air. She spewed again, forcing more water from her lungs. Some of the liquid stuck in her windpipe, causing her to hack. The coughing became so intense, it prevented Alissa from catching her breath. With each attempt, each wheeze, she felt her body slipping back into panic mode. She coughed violently, clearing the airway. The hacking continued.

  “Don’t panic.” Nathan knelt beside her, rubbing her back and squeezing her hand. “Try to relax and let the air flow.”

  After several terror-filled moments, Alissa took a long, deep breath, providing her with the air she needed. Slowly, the coughing subsided and she began to breathe easier.

  “I’m okay,” she gasped.

  “Are you sure?” Nathan asked.

  Alissa nodded and the two men helped her to her feet. Kiera hugged her.

  “Where’s the cooler?”

  Nathan pointed behind him. “We left it by the tree so it wouldn’t get hurt.”

  “Let’s get home. I’ve had enough for one day.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s been five days since our incident in North Conway or, as Kiera has been referring to it, Deaders on Ice. We found a thick patch of ice not far down the river where we were able to cross safely, and there were only a few deaders to contend with on the opposite bank, so retrieving both the Ram and Land Rover was not a problem.

  We gave Steve enough blood to replenish what he lost in the accident and have enough left over, although I doubt he’ll need it. His recovery has been excellent. The wound is healing nicely and isn’t infected, and with luck there’ll be no complications. Hopefully, he won’t get any more.

  I expected Miriam would chew me a second asshole for putting Kiera in danger. Surprisingly, she was not as mad as I had anticipated, probably because of her pride over the way Kiera handled herself in the crisis. I can’t blame her. I’m proud of Kiera myself. She’s grown up fast. It’s a shame it has to be in such a nightmare.

  The only downside to the day was that Chris and I both caught colds from being dunked into the river, although he got a bit sicker than I did. For a while, I feared he might contract pneumonia, which thankfully he didn’t. We let him and Shithead stay here the past couple of days. He slept on the living room sofa and enjoyed the company. Shithead not so much; Archer has been a bastard to him the whole time.

  A knock sounded on Alissa’s bedroom door. She placed her pen in the journal and closed it.

  “Come in.”

  Miriam stepped inside. “We’re having some coffee on the deck. Would you like to join us?”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Good. I’ll make you a cup.”

  Alissa didn’t bother to change out of her wool pajamas. She slipped on a pair of sneakers and threw on her leather jacket before making her way downstairs, with Archer tagging along. Miriam had left a mug of coffee on the dining room table, steam lofting from the surface, along with some sugar; the cream had gone bad weeks ago. Not that it mattered since she took her coffee black with no sugar. Alissa took the mug and headed for the back deck, stepping out into the cold. It felt good after being cooped up the past five days.

  Miriam, Kiera, Nathan, and Chris stood by the rail overlooking the mountains. Shithead stood beside his master, his front paws on the railing as if he were one of the humans. Archer sauntered out, jumped onto the railing, and made his way around to the others, hissing when he got to Shithead. The dog whimpered and got down from the rail, curling up at Chris’ feet and keeping a wary eye on the cat.

  “Sorry,” she said to Chris. “Archer can be an asshole sometimes.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He coughed.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Believe it or not, much better. Whenever I get a cold it’s followed by a cough that lasts for weeks.” Chris took a drink to wet his throat. “It’s a lot better than the alternative. I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for you two.”

  Kiera cleared her throat.

  “Sorry. The three of you.” He raised his mug. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Nathan, patting his new friend on the shoulder.

  “We make a good team,” added Kiera, smiling at Chris.

/>   Miriam flashed her daughter a disapproving glare. “We all make a good team.”

  “We do.” Alissa took a sip of coffee and stared out across the mountain. “Let’s hope we don’t have to put it to the test again any time soon.”

  A Preview of Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies III: Firestorm

  The small town the convoy entered seemed like so many others they had passed through during the last two months–either quiet and desolate or overrun by the living dead. Those in the convoy would find out in a few minutes whether this town was clear or infested. Chances were fifty-fifty which, for Todd Dickson, were good odds. If a deader town, they’d plow right through. If vacant, they’d stop and replenish. Same procedures his team had followed since leaving Buffalo.

  Nora Robbins watched the scenery pass by from the passenger seat of their Hummer H3. “Where are we?”

  “How the fuck do I know. What am I, a fucking GPS?”

  “You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Nora huffed. She took the radio off the dashboard and keyed the microphone. “Jack, what town are we in?”

  “Waitsfield,” replied Jack Carter from the lead vehicle, a red Silverado 1500.

  “Are we still in Vermont?”

  “As far as I can tell.”

  “Give me that.” Dickson grabbed the radio, twisting it out of Nora’s hand, and keyed the talk button. “What’s the fucking deader situation like?”

  “Nothing so far.”

  “Good. If you see a good spot to pull over, do it.”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  Dickson tossed the radio back on the dashboard.

  Nora massaged her fingers. “That hurt when you took the radio.”

  “Don’t be such a bitch.”

  “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

  “You’re welcome to switch places with Diana if you want.”

  “That’s okay.” Nora lowered her head and focused her gaze out the window.

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  Nora had been more of a pain in the ass than an asset. They had picked her up a week or so after the clusterfuck in Henrietta when he needed new people, no matter who they were. He didn’t expect much from her at first. She was only five feet two inches, in her early twenties, and a bit of a princess. Though not unattractive, she had that rough appearance of someone who has lived a hard life. She caught on quickly, learning how to use a firearm and a bladed weapon, how to effectively take down a deader, and how to be cold and hard to survive. Nora remained the least capable of the team and constantly mouthed off, but she would do until someone better came along.

  As the convoy entered town, it passed by the usual: residences, a florist, a cable company, an elementary school. But no humans or deaders. The former was unfortunate yet not unusual. They hadn’t come across anyone in several weeks. The living had either been eaten, become deaders, or, most likely, gone into hiding, which sucked. His team could always use more people. He couldn’t blame them, though. The deaders were fucking horrendous to deal with. They had learned that the hard way outside of Rochester.

  Dickson tried to repress those memories, which always ended in futility. He’d never forget their attempt to escape the nightmare that engulfed Buffalo. Sure, they planned on taking advantage of the situation. Why not? No one had ever given a shit about them, so now they looked out for themselves. But first, they had to make it to safety. Dickson thought he’d been smart by avoiding Rochester, the next big city east of Buffalo. However, not smart enough. He had chosen a major road that passed south through Henrietta, the bed and breakfast community for the city, and a location swarming with deaders. Twenty of them entered Henrietta. Four came out. Deaders got the rest: eleven friends, his two brothers and sister, his mother, and his fiancée. He would never forget their screams as the living dead tore them apart and devoured them alive. The arrogance of the two cops who drove by and didn’t bother to help. And that fucking Spic bastard who stole the Jeep from his younger brother, making his own escape and leaving Tommy behind to die. Since then he had played it safe, staying on back roads, avoiding cities and large towns, and always planning for the worst.

  The lessons had been learned… the hard way. Their numbers had fluctuated since Henrietta, never coming close to matching the original twenty, and only himself and his best friend Stratman remained from the original group. They had survived and would eventually find a good place to settle down, somewhere isolated, defendable, and well stocked. After that, then he could concentrate on building up their ranks and making sure that, whenever this fucking apocalypse ended, he’d be in a position where no one would be able to push hum around again.

  The Silverado pulled off the road and into the parking lot of the Mad River Valley Ambulance Service. Dickson chuckled to himself. Damn, how appropriate.

  Dickson pulled up alongside the Silverado. Carter climbed out of the pick-up. A burly guy, he stood six feet two inches in height and close to two hundred and forty pounds, all of it muscle. With his curly red hair and beard, and the flannel shirt he wore, Carter reminded him of a lumberjack. Except a lumberjack didn’t carry an AK-47 and wear a .357 Magnum and a hunting knife on his belt.

  From the passenger seat, Billy Barnes came around the front of the Silverado and joined Carter. Dickson didn’t want to bring Billy along. The kid was a scrawny punk, not even twenty years old, who used to bully the other kids in high school, thinking that made him tough. They ran into Billy hiding out in an abandoned truck stop in upstate New York. The kid gave them shit about how he owned the place and warned them to fuck off or else. The “or else” was a fifteen-minute ass kicking by Carter. After that, the kid became more cooperative. Carter had taken a liking to him because the kid took his beating like a man, never once crying or begging Carter to stop. Afterwards, he asked that Billy be allowed to join the gang, and Dickson reluctantly agreed. Billy wasn’t tough, smart, or useful in any way, but he was pliable, and as such agreed to do a lot of the dirty work for Dickson, which made him handy to have around.

  “Why’d we stop?”

  Carter motioned toward the ambulance service center. “I saw three ambulances parked behind the building. I thought there might be something worthwhile in there. Besides, I need to take a leak.”

  “Do what you have to.” Dickson nodded. “I’ll get our little gophers.”

  He and Nora strolled across the parking lot as the last vehicles in the convoy pulled in: a black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter cargo van and an old, rusty, banged up 1999 Chevy 2500 pick-up truck with a decrepit cap covering the bed and a mismatched right front fender still coated in primer. Elaine Vasco climbed out of the Sprinter. They had picked her up five weeks ago handcuffed in the back seat of an abandoned New York State Police car, malnourished, dehydrated, and wallowing in her own piss and shit. She had claimed the cops had arrested her for turning tricks to support her drug habit and then, in transit, left her when the deaders attacked. Dickson didn’t buy it. Elaine did not act like a strung-out junkie. Besides, so many weeks into the apocalypse, the cops wouldn’t be wasting their time on a street whore. It didn’t matter. Elaine wanted to join, and he needed an extra body. They got her a long shower, a new change of clothes, and nursed her back to health. Elaine waited by the van. She stood five feet six inches, now a little paunchy around the waist and face, short dark hair, and a face and body that wouldn’t turn many heads.

  Jim Stratman, Dickson’s best friend since high school, leaned out the window of the pick-up. Six feet in height, Stratman was crammed when seated behind the wheel of the Chevy. Clean shaven, close cut blonde hair, and sporting handsome features and piercing blue eyes, he had been a ladies’ man in school, even with a few bitches who didn’t want it. Not that he cared. Stratman was loyal. They had been through a lot of tough times together and would see this one through as well.

  “Everything okay?” Stratman asked.

  “No problems. Carter found some ambulances he thinks might contain some useful supplies.”
r />   “Let me guess.” Stratman opened the door and slid out onto the pavement. “You want the gophers.”

  “Just the asshole. We’ll let the bitches and the kid get some air.”

  Elaine rushed over to the back of the pick-up. “Can I get him out? I still owe him for mouthing off to me last time.”

  Stratman tossed her the keys. Elaine unlocked the cap, raised the lid, and lowered the tailgate. She leaned over and smiled. The only way Dickson would describe it as malevolent.

  “Morning, dickless.” Reaching in, Elaine grasped onto something and pulled, dragging out a man in his thirties by his leg. She pulled him off the truck and let him fall. He hit the back of his head on the tailgate and landed hard on the pavement, moaning in pain. Elaine leaned over again and motioned with her hand. “Come on. You, too.”

  A woman in her thirties crawled out next, sliding along the tailgate and carefully lowering herself to the ground. Once out, she helped her two children, a young girl no more than nine and a boy almost fourteen. The woman went to help her husband, but Elaine pushed her back against the pick-up. Reaching down, Elaine wrapped her right hand around the man’s handcuffs and yanked him to his feet, ignoring his cry of pain.

  “Stop whining. No one likes a snowflake.”

  “You could be more careful.”

  “Shut the fuck up, dickless.” Elaine moved her hand as if about to punch the man.

  “That’s enough.” Dickson walked up to them. Elaine backed off a few feet. Dickson removed the key, undid the man’s handcuffs, and slid both back into his pocket. “There are some ambulances behind the building. I need you to rummage through them for supplies.”

  “You promised to take care of us.”

  Dickson ignored him, not even bothering to face the man as he talked. “When you’re done with the ambulances, check out the building itself and see if there’s anything there we could use.”