The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes

by Michael Canon

  Marcus came forward and hugged me. “It’s all good, pretty lady, you’ve still got our backs so whatever happened to you is okay by me. If you ask me, it’s nice to have someone like you on our team. Kinda evens out the playing field. Um, so how strong are you?”

  I smiled and turned to the tubular steel handrail at the bottom of the stairs. I grabbed it with my right hand and folded it back on itself with minor effort.

  “Holy shit!” exclaimed Marcus as he and Nikki inspected my handiwork.

  Connor stayed where he was, remaining silent and looking apprehensive. The cold presence tickled my mind as I thought I would need to keep my guard up around him, at least for now.

  Martin continued, “Thank you all, now let’s join the others and get out of here.”

  30

  Martin moved his BMW, adding it and two Chevy Suburbans from the Davron motor pool to our fleet of escape vehicles. The survivors were all gathered around the five vehicles. Joining the others, I noticed a small group had gathered around Mr. Chambers, away from the others. He was talking quietly but with large, animated hand gestures. He fell silent as we approached.

  Martin placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “The individual who left these fine vehicles here for us is a friend of Ms. Ashleigh Rhodes family, and has taken it upon himself to help us get out of Boston, and get her back to her family in Tucson.”

  The use of my full name must have sparked some recognition to Chambers and his new followers. He looked shocked and cowed, his followers quickly melting away into the small crowd.

  Smiling, Martin leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Insurrection averted.” before he continued, “The navigation systems in both vehicles have been programmed to lead us to a new temporary safe house, and the means to escape the city.”

  A thin, middle-aged Asian man with expressive eyes and a calm voice spoke up, “Martin, I understand the need to escape the burning building, but why do we need to leave Boston so quickly?”

  Martin replied, “Greg, the city is completely overrun with zombies. Resources within the city proper will be in short supply and will become increasingly hard to obtain. Our best bet for survival is to move to a less populated area, where we can deal with the undead threat in more manageable numbers.”

  Greg nodded and said nothing more, seemingly satisfied with Martin’s explanation. I guessed that this was Gregory Cho. He was one of the individuals the stranger mentioned on the CD. I liked him immediately.

  Martin and I helped distribute the rest of the weapons in the two Hummers and introduced me to Brett, our fifth driver. While everyone made ready to leave, Martin, Marcus, Connor, Artie, Brett, and I all jumped into H1 and hit play of the CD player. The same three beeps sounded, followed by a new, female voice,

  “Hello Ashleigh, I hope you, and any survivors are ready to leave. Please follow the directions preprogrammed into the navigation system of these vehicles.

  If you have too many survivors for these two vehicles to handle, there are portable two-way radios for up to 8 vehicles, four in H1 and four in H2.

  We have assets in place that can assist you once you are close enough to your rendezvous point, but they have been instructed not to reveal themselves until you are near enough for them to assist you successfully. Also, please make sure all vehicles tune their radios to 88.1 FM.

  Good luck, I hope we will meet each other soon.”

  We moved the vehicles into a line near the security gate as quietly as possible. Martin broke our escape party into the five available vehicles and had everyone enter the vehicles but told them not start them.

  Taking out my machete, I made my way over to the manual gate release lever on the wall to the right of the gate. It was right where Connor said it would be. Opening the panel, I flipped the lever and was rewarded with a rather loud thunk. I opened the gate enough to exit the garage, closing it behind me. The sound of the vehicles and the gate piqued the curiosity of the local undead looking for an easy meal.

  A group of five Georges made their way towards me, with another seven or eight in reserve a few yards behind them. I walked forward to meet the group of five. As usual, the first two hesitated and started to turn away from me. I put them down for good with a couple blows from the machete, advancing on the rest. Just as the last of the five hit the floor, I heard the staccato beat of running feet on concrete. Three Hunters came around the corner to join our get-away party.

  I smiled as I thought, “Our membership is exclusive and you three are not on the guest list!”

  As crazy as it sounds, this is what Martin and I hoped would happen. We wanted any local Hunters to make an appearance. We were concerned that with their strength and speed they could do some serious damage to our vehicles while we were still underground. We wanted to clear as many out as we could before we exited the parking structure. Hopefully, we could move fast enough to keep them off us after we left the garage.

  The Hunters attacked on the run. I sidestepped the first Hunter, a female, as she launched herself at me, bringing the machete down on the back of her skull, shutting her down permanently. Still wearing one shoe, the second Hunter slipped as it tried to stop and skidded towards me, entering my attack range. I struck fast and hard. The Hunter rolled right to avoid my attack. The razor edge of the machete slid down the left side of the creature’s face. Continuing its roll, the monster came away with a missing ear and a giant gash along its jawline.

  The bloodied monster let out a mewling hiss as it regained its feet. Joining its brethren, the zombies circled just out of range of my weapon. The sharp crack of a 5.56 round from Marcus’ rifle dropped the large, uninjured male Hunter where he stood. The injured Hunter did something we never expected, it turned to run away! A second shot echoed through the garage, the round taking the zombie right between the shoulder blades, damaging its spine. I slammed the machete through the side of its head before I went to work of the seven remaining Georges. I cleaned my machete on a George’s shirt before joining the others.

  I ran to and jumped into the passenger’s seat of H1 as it exited the executive parking area. Nikki, Jennifer Carter, and Gregory Cho were in the back seat, with Jennifer sitting on the drivetrain hump. Three people I didn’t know were crammed into the cargo area with the rest of the equipment. It was tight, but no one was complaining

  H2 was right behind us, with Marcus in the driver’s seat. We figured the two, powerful, well-equipped SUVs could help clear a path for the other vehicles. Third in line was Martin in his BMW X3. Artie was piloting first Suburban, with Brett driving the second one. Both had a full load of survivors.

  Entering H1, Conner looked at me and nodded. I could tell he had still not come to grips with what I had become. I was fine with that, as long as he kept to himself, and to our survival. I felt a hand squeeze my left shoulder and turned to see Nikki smiling eyes behind me. I touched her hand in return and held on for a few moments.

  Our survivor’s convoy snaked its way up three floors of the underground parking structure. We encountered quite a few Georges, some who met their fate at the end of the large vehicles’ enhanced plows. The parking structure was clear of most obstructions, with us only needing to push a couple abandoned vehicles out of the way. As we exited the parking garage, our luck changed.

  Boston’s notoriously narrow streets were heavily congested with abandoned vehicles, dead bodies, debris, and zombies - lots of zombies. The drive was going to be a lot tougher than I had hoped it would be.

  With a loud, “Hold on!” Conner ignored the street and headed across it to avoid an accident right outside the garage.

  He drove up and over the curb and down the sidewalk. Returning to the road, he went the wrong way down State Street, following the directions on the navigation system. I didn’t think we would get a ticket for it, but the thought of zombie cop pulling up on a motorcycle made me smile, even it was only for a few seconds. It took me a few more seconds to realize the nav system was taking us the wrong way down State
Street on purpose! I kept the thought that someone could be updating the system in real time to myself.

  Connor dodged or failed to dodge cars, bodies, and hundreds of zombies milling around. The big vehicle and its reinforced plow chewed through the mass of undead, quickly caking the front of our SUV in black blood and zombie gore. As gridlocked and impassable as some of the streets looked from the 22nd floor, we were surprised that this part of State Street was relatively clear of abandoned vehicles and debris. I almost said something but didn’t want to curse us by looking our gift horse in the mouth.

  As we approached our first right turn, we saw the street was blocked building to building, by a massive pile-up. It appeared that a semi-truck driver had attempted to use his rig to bully his way through a road block on an adjoining street, but lost control. The truck’s cab was crushed against the granite façade of the building on our right, with the trailer completely blocking State Street. We were stopped dead for the moment, with the clock ticking as the undead stacked up around us.

  The alleyway to my right was blocked by a large produce truck, what was left of the driver was hanging out of the broken driver’s side window. All heads were looking for a way out, but the side streets were impassable. Connor looked back at the thousands of undead heading down State Street to join our little field trip.

  The big man sighed loudly and slammed the wheel with his hands, “Well that was quick! We’re fucking trapped!”

  Nikki lunged over the center console, grabbing Connor’s arm, “Look there Baby, care to break some glass?”

  Across a small concrete courtyard and through a medium-sized congregation of the recently undead, we saw the giant glassed-in lobby of one of Boston’s many banks. Through the opposing glass wall, I watched sunlight twinkling off the harbor between the waterfront buildings.

  Connor smiled wickedly, “I love you, Nikki Wilder.”

  Nikki kissed his cheek gently, “I know Honey, I’ve known for a while, thank you for waiting for me. When we’re out of this mess, I’ll let you know just how much I appreciate your patience.”

  Connor did a double take look at her, before hitting the gas and jumping the curb. Plowing through the milling undead, he aimed the big SUV for the giant plate glass doors that centered the wall. I grabbed the radio and told the others to follow us through.

  The SUV’s V-shaped plow shattered the large doors on contact with a loud popping noise. Thousands of pieces of sparkling, tempered glass rained down on our vehicle. In another place, at a better time, it would have been strikingly beautiful. The plow and the vehicle were wider than the doorway, so we were entertained by a second, deeper popping noise, and a lot more glass, as this section of the wall gave way to our assault.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” joked Nikki as she caressed the big man’s arm.

  Connor, now grinning from ear to ear, seemed to be the happiest man in our post-apocalypse world. He barreled the big SUV through desks, chairs, potted plants, and a few bank zombies as he made his way towards the doors on the other side of the lobby. Blasting through the doors and wall in a repeat of the earlier glass waterfall, we crossed the sidewalk and onto the John Fitzgerald Surface Road.

  31

  Connor continued to use the sidewalks and the center median common areas between Atlantic Avenue and the John Fitzgerald Surface Road as he followed the truck’s GPS system. The truck shuddered as its plow made contact with abandoned cars, zombies, or plowed through landscaping as we followed the navigation system.

  Even with its heavy duty design, the plow was beginning to show all the abuse it had already endured, as it listed slightly to the right. The map had us heading to a waterfront warehouse, across the Fort Point Channel.

  This would have been an enjoyable walk of just over a mile during a nice summer evening in Boston. I don’t think anyone was willing to try that now.

  Hordes of Georges milling around the area immediately focused on the sound of the vehicles coming towards them. Connor slewed the large vehicle across to the wrong side of the street, which was mostly free of undead and large obstructions for just over two city blocks, then back to the right side of the road. Even moving this short distance without incident improved our mood and hopes for survival.

  I yelled, “Contact right, two o’clock!” over the roar of the big diesel engine, as I saw five Hunters explode out of a nearby subway stairwell. The first two matched pace with our Hummer, attempting to leap on the vehicle’s hood.

  As both zombies left the ground, Connor turned towards them and mashed down on the gas pedal. Connor’s move caused both Hunters to impact the vehicle’s passenger side doors, rather than the hood. The big SUV boomed and shuddered from the impacts. One Hunter was pulled under the vehicle, while the other rolled across the pavement like a discarded rag doll. The battered creature drunkenly regained its feet, continuing to follow our convoy, but at a much slower pace.

  I looked at Connor and said, “Hell of a nice combat driving move!” He nodded and smiled slightly never taking his eyes off the road.

  Nikki shouted, “Martin and the others are in trouble!”

  I spun in my seat to see a Hunter trying to punch a hole in the small BMW SUV’s windshield. As the creature cocked its fist back for another strike, I saw three small holes appear in the BMW’s windshield, followed by the sound of multiple shots from a rifle. The zombie slid from the hood, and under the small SUV, causing the vehicle to buck wildly.

  Artie’s Suburban had a Hunter hanging off the side by the roof bars, with another on the hood. Artie slammed on the brakes, then mashed down on the gas, causing the Hunter hood ornament to fall off. The SUV bounced slightly as it passed over the prone monster, its partner still attached to the roof bar. A large boom of a shotgun solved the problem quickly.

  A loud “Oh shit!” from Connor spun my attention back to the front of the vehicle, as he slammed on the brakes.

  The bridge across the channel had hundreds of zombies on it. Martin had planned for this. Marcus expertly spun the SUV around and backed up until he bumped into our vehicle. Connor nodded, and dropped the plow to the ground, and then inched it up off the street. He stepped on the gas to move forward, and towards the bridge’s right guardrail. This tactic kept the creatures from being able to surround our vehicles and gave us a way out. Swimming in the channel in February was not something I wanted to do, but it beat resting in multiple stomachs of the recently undead.

  As both SUV’s moved forward, the deep V-Shape of the plow along with the combined power and size of the two vehicles parted the sea of Georges. A new Hunter made its way to Connor’s window and started beating on the glass, with little effect other than the annoyance of the noise.

  Connor said, “These trucks are IED spec-ed. They are fully armored, from the wheels up. We’d die of thirst, starvation, or boredom long before any of these bastards got through.

  Oh, and our GPS is updating in real time, meaning someone out there is watching us. Someone dumped a lot of money into getting you home.”

  The frustrated Hunter slammed his forehead against the window with no effect, as added testament to Connor’s statement.

  Even with the plow inches off the street some zombies were still pulled and crushed underneath the big vehicles. Connor shook his head as it appeared that we were stuck, or hung up on the zombie carnage building up under our SUV. Marcus used his Hummer to push us past it. This two SUV tactic was not perfect, as Marcus had to back off and slalom his truck back and forth to help clear out the crushed undead before he returned to our rear bumper. The backs of the two SUVs were quickly caked with gore as Marcus crushed any zombies unfortunate enough to get caught between the two vehicles.

  We were about 150 to 200 hundred yards past the bridge when things went from bad to worse. Even with the added power of the second Hummer, we were slowing down against the onslaught of the undead. What were hundreds, now numbered in the thousands, with more zombies being added every second. Connor cursed as our SUV s
topped moving forward, even with the combined power of the two diesel engines.

  Nikki had been put in charge of watching the two other vehicles but was having a hard time doing so with the other Hummer right behind us.

  She said, “There are more Hunters on the BMW and Suburbans!”

  I moved all around in my seat, but could not catch a view of either vehicle through the other Hummer. I grabbed my rifle and the door latch when the SUV’s radio beeped loudly.

  “H1, H2, and company, this is Valkyrie, we have you in our sights.

  Please sit tight. We’re on our way to your location to assist. Keep moving your vehicles forward as soon as you have the opportunity.”

  We heard their approach, and all sat in stunned silence as two glossy black helicopters, Pave Hawks, I said to myself, rose about the waterfront buildings to our left. I knew this type of helicopter well from my brother’s days as an Air Force Combat Control Officer.

  The cold presence tried to caress my thoughts with this information, but I knew the answer, so I found myself angrily pushing it back, almost as if I was trying to define who the real Ashleigh was.

  The two sleek black helicopters took up station off the left front side of our convoy, about 200 feet up and 100 feet apart, with one slightly in front of the other. Both aircraft pivoted left simultaneously as if part of an aerial ballet.

  Hanging out the open door of each helicopter was a man in a side gunner’s harness. Each man was in control of a six-barrel mini-gun. To each gunner’s right, I could make out a prone individual holding what could only be a .50 caliber sniper rifle.