No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks

by Schlichter, William

  “Could be a million reasons. But they spared the city from the initial outbreak.”

  “It made it slower. This information...is there someone we could get it to?”

  “The military is gone, and no CDC is left. This information has no value.”

  “A quarantine area could be established and those not carrying the infection…”

  “Pipe dream, Mike. Even if I could test people, I only could clear a few hundred. You also have to deal with the people who are infected with family members who are not. Knowing the origin does nothing to change your situation.”

  Mike slams the El Camino hood hard enough to latch. “You cleaned her up.”

  “I couldn’t spare much. No water or ammo, but we could restore the engine and provide a few gallons of gas. Best I could do for a fellow soldier.”

  “You’re awful clean-cut, Airforce?’

  “Don’t get insulting.” He signals with two fingers on his right hand, and four men, all in matching tactical gear, carry a stretcher to place a sleeping Kelsey into the vehicle bed, the dog cage replaced by cushions to prevent her from being joggled.

  “I suggest you drive slow. Doc says her body won’t take much movement.”

  “You fear your boss?” Mike asks.

  “We’re mercenaries. We only fear the check bouncing. We’re not here to be friends or neighbors. I don’t know why the doc helped your friend, but you should drive and forget you ever found us.”

  “Guess I won’t be mailing you a thank-you card.”

  “Stay away. The doc learned what he needed. And I don’t want to have to…you must be a decent man to drag that woman along. Her wounds put you at risk. Not too many decent people left.” He holds out his hand, palm down; the keys dangle.

  Mike reaches for them.

  “Please, stay away.”

  Nodding, Mike climbs behind the wheel. His M16, clean, rests in the seat. First chance I get, I make sure it fires.

  The engine purrs, losing the sick sound it had when they pulled in here.

  “One more thing.” Another wave of his hand brings a man in tactical gear leading the dog by a red collar and leash. “We got him calm. I wouldn’t mind keeping him, but he’s your dog.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I put a hook.” He points to the ceiling.

  Mike glances at the roof and spots the freshly drilled eyebolt so the leash secures. He salutes the leader, not bothering to ask the man’s name. Petting the panting dog, he pulls away from the compound.

  “You seem happy. Groomed. Well-fed. I bet you’ll wish you’d stayed.” Mike keeps one eye on the side mirror. Even at ten miles an hour, no one follows. “Then again, they might feed you to the alligators. That place was a trip down the rabbit hole.”

  The dog barks as if agreeing.

  “We’ll need to locate another vehicle in case they low-jacked us. We drive northwest for as long as we have gas. Those vampires desired more than our blood.”

  SERENA DRIVES THE flat end of a crowbar into the seam of a crate. She bears down with her weight, popping free a nail from wood. Five new rifles rest in cradles. She hands the rifles to Ethan. He places them in the back of a Chevrolet Tahoe.

  “Can’t we make Theo do some work?” Serena tosses the empty crate. She jabs her crowbar into the next box.

  Ethan glances at the man seated on a bench across from where they load, wrists bound by plastic cuffs. He picks at the bandage around his calf.

  “It’s only a flesh wound, if you leave it alone,” Ethan scolds him. “He stays over there.”

  “We’d get packed faster.”

  “You want him to have a gun? Unstable as he is?”

  “Aren’t we all unstable?” Serena opens another crate. “Won’t all these guns weigh down the boat?”

  “I though you could pilot the other one. We fill them both. Load this truck, and we’ve enough guns and ammo to get us north.”

  “You know, I noticed you’re a little vague about where your camp is, other than north.”

  “You’re observant. I don’t share the location. Don’t need uninvited guests.”

  “I doubt any group is strong enough to challenge yours.” She drags a crate from inside the door.

  “If your people—”

  “They aren’t my people,” she snaps.

  “If the knights had guns, they could challenge, and some of my people would be killed. A few attacks like that, and our numbers would dwindle, weakening us until an outside group could take over.”

  Ethan sides ammo boxes through the side door. “We pack this truck full, and we’re gold.”

  “No rations?”

  “Maybe we could strap some boxes on the top. Ideally, we should make five trips, but it takes a lot of gas to get across the river.”

  “Can I drive the forklift and bring out another pallet?” she asks.

  “We’d like to thank you for loading all these supplies for us.”

  Ethan pushes Serena between him and the Tahoe before facing the voice.

  “Get your own supplies,” Serena snaps.

  Four.

  Ethan calculates—

  The four men point shotguns.

  Shotguns spray a wide pattern.

  “I’m going to make this simple. There are dozens of rifles and ammo crates left. Plenty of MREs. We don’t have to do this,” Ethan says.

  “You know, you’re right. But your fire’s going to draw the undead and maybe other scavengers. And we want to be gone.” The second tallest man cocks his head toward the pool building.

  Puffs of black smoke release from the ceiling.

  “I don’t know what you wasted grenades on in there, but you should have saved them for the undead.”

  “Grenades are a maiming weapon,” Theo mutters.

  One of the men swings his shotgun.

  Three on me. Shitty odds. Rifles or pistols and I’d end this. Ethan gives his best Clint Eastwood glare. “You know, it’s not going to be your lucky day.”

  “Killing the living does no one any good.”

  He seems reasonable. “How about this.” Ethan flexes his gun hand. “We’re preparing for a trip to my camp in the north. I’ve got walls and plenty of food. How about you load a second truck and join me?”

  “I won’t get a better offer.” He lowers his shotgun.

  “You want to bring these guys along?” Serena whispers.

  “We haven’t seen a woman in months. Does your little ginger belong to you or do you share?”

  “I belong to no one!” Serena screams.

  The man on the far left shifts his shotgun.

  Why did they have to go there? Ethan’s hand grips his Magnum, lifting it in the holster, but he doesn’t remove it.

  “Fuck me, you’re fast.”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone today,” Ethan says.

  “We get it. The girl’s not property. We respect that.”

  “As soon as you turn your back, they’re going to pop you,” Serena whispers.

  She’s not wrong. Even as an endangered species, we still kill each other over trinkets. Fuck it. Ethan puts one shot in each chest of the three men, leaving the leader standing.

  “Don’t!”

  He raises his free hand but maintains his grip on the shotgun.

  Serena hunches down behind Ethan, her fingers in her ears.

  Theo scoots himself under the bench.

  “You and the other two should go,” Ethan commands.

  “Two?”

  “I’m offering you your life. Once we go, you and your remaining two friends get to live.”

  “You killed my people.”

  “I killed half of you.” Ethan hears footsteps behind him, but he can’t tell where the target stands.

  “You think we’re going to walk away after you killed our people?” He raises the shotgun.

  “Guess not.” Ethan pops two in the leader’s chest. He twirls around and hunts with the barrel for a new target.

  Two
figures dart behind a building. Wood splinters fly from the edge of the frame. The two men race back, shotguns raised. “You’ve had your—”

  Thunder booms. The fifth man falls. The sixth takes off running. Ethan destroys his hip. The man skitters across the ground, his shotgun flipping out of reach.

  He holsters his Magnum, drawing the Berretta, marching to the last man. “Know your weapon won’t be a lesson serving you. It had an eight-shot cylinder.” Ethan puts a bullet in his brain. “Get their shotguns. And anything else you want.”

  “You not going to end them?” Serena asks.

  Ethan pockets the brass from his Taurus. “You have a crowbar. Go for it. But I don’t have the ammo, and I don’t plan to be on this side of the river again to have to deal with five more biters.”

  More smoke escapes from the pool building.

  Ethan reaches under the bench and drags Theo out. He flips open a knife and cuts the plastic bond. “Time for you to earn your keep, or I’ll leave you here with these vagrants. Touch a gun wrong, and I end you.”

  The ground quivers.

  “I want to go,” Serena says.

  “The aftershocks will attract undead,” Theo says. The man gets to his feet.

  “We’ve got weapons. Let’s get back across the river,” Serena says.

  “What happened to your balls, girl?” Ethan asks.

  “Something about this place has shriveled them.”

  Theo bolts. He hobble-runs for the main gate. Ethan puts his hand on his Magnum and decides the man isn’t worth a bullet.

  “You going to let him go?”

  “He’s scared and harmless.” Ethan pats the truck. He eyes the roof rack. “We’ve room, maybe we find a warehouse of MREs.”

  “Food would be great, but if you bring too much back, some people will want to stay and make do instead of leaving. You said four hundred miles. We’ll need everyone to make it alive,” Serena says.

  “Food would help. Most people get hurt or bit while scavenging. They get busy with gathering and forget to pay attention for biters.”

  “I want to leave before we join these ghosts,” Serena says.

  He ignores how her fear slips through her bravado. “You don’t get a vote. Guard the guns, Serena. I’m going to sweep the building one more time. If Theo comes back, shoot him or shoot at him to drive him off.”

  “I’d rather go with you. We both know the safest place in this world is next to you. They said you were facing down a bridge of biters.”

  “I had forty-three rounds left before the knights in shining armor arrived.”

  “Moving these weapons in a crate would be much easier.” Serena carries an armload of rifles to the boat.

  Ethan shifts a third box of MREs from the roof of the truck onto his shoulder. He takes each step in the muck with care, but the extra weight gives him no problem. “I agree, but loose, we could stack more rifles in the Chevy. I can’t do the same with ammo.” He places the crates into the boat.

  “Would you have brought those men along?” Serena trudges back to the truck. The water covering the ground splashes up her legs.

  Ethan notices how the river deepened two inches since they docked. “I was considering the usefulness of experienced survivors. I would have to have killed their leader, no matter what, to keep them in line.”

  His remark turns in the pit of her stomach.

  Ethan knows the hot-head near-adult badgers him out of fear. What bothers him is the distinct lack of women near the camp. There were no female soldiers. Theo and those vagrants both mentioned it. Amanda was a test subject. Why test only on women? “Don’t find some moral high ground. I’ll shoot anyone who will get me killed. It’s the way of the world. It’s why some people are lucky to be behind Acheron walls. They wouldn’t last without protection.”

  “You spared Theo.”

  “I shouldn’t have. But he was a confused man. Likely, if I brought him along, his fear would have gotten someone killed.”

  She places more rifles in the boat. Her shoes slosh with river water. Pausing, she catches a shape moving at a distance in the trees.

  “Those people have lasted because their inaptitude has gotten others killed, allowing them to escape.” Ethan notices Serena’s blank stare. He selects a rifle, pops in a magazine from his belt and locks the stock against his shoulder. He lines his right eye to peer down the sight. Swinging the weapon commando style, he seeks what she spotted. “Living or dead?” he whispers.

  “Dead…I think.”

  Putrid, water-logged, rotter’s skin hangs off the bones. Soaked from the river, its clothes weigh it down. It sloshes and slogs with each step. Greenish, runny ooze pours from it, mixed with dead blood. Its distended stomach reveals bloat from swallowing river water.

  Ethan’s finger slips around the trigger.

  “Wait. I know you’re Quick-draw McGraw, but it’s only one, and we don’t need the noise.” Serena picks up her crowbar.

  “There’ll be more.”

  “All the more reason to do this one quiet, old man.” She marches through the muck. “I wonder how it escaped the current?”

  Ethan keeps aim at the sweet spot below the nose. It takes both his hands to keep the M16 steady. His normal Dirty Harry style of shooting is well-practiced and not the same as firing an automatic rifle. He has time to be 100 percent with his aim.

  Serena’s next stride tumbles her into the bog as her left shoe gets caught and won’t release from the mud. Ethan wastes no time waiting for her to recover. He pops the biter. Its head detonates in a shower of dirty river water.

  “I think I twisted my ankle,” she calls out.

  Ethan marches after her. His massive frame sinks in the sludgy, wet shoreline. He notes the fresh mud. The river course has changed. He slings the rifle on his shoulder and scoops Serena up as if she were a freckle-covered china doll. She wraps her arms around his neck, scared he’ll drop her. As she realizes she weighs nothing in his arms, she traces the outline of his bicep, her warm breath on his ear.

  “Don’t! That tickles.” Ethan fights back a schoolgirl giggle.

  “For an old man, you’ve strong arms.”

  “For such a nimble little girl, you sure got stuck easy. How bad’s your ankle?”

  “I heard a pop, but,” she wiggles her foot, “I can move it.”

  “It needs to be iced.” He places her in the driver’s seat of the boat. “Keep off it for a few. I’ll get the rest of the guns.”

  “That biter was a fluke. I doubt there will be more.” She rubs her ankle.

  “I figure we’ll see a flood of them. Most will remain trapped in the current. But the seismic waves attracting them is a strong draw. Strong enough they’ll march straight into the water, and the military knocked out the bridges. They’ll stumble right off the edge and fall into the Mississippi.”

  “You’re talking thousands of undead.”

  “So many it could create a cadaver logjam. Let’s get across the river.” Ethan loads his left arm up with seven rifles.

  Serena slips off her sock. A red line surrounds the top of her foot. “I think it’s going to bruise.”

  “Leave the shoe on. Your foot will swell, and you won’t able to get it back on.” After he places the armload of weapons in the boat, he hands her the rifle he fired. “It’s loaded. Stand guard.”

  She grips the handle, pointing it in the air to understand the weight. “Does it kick?”

  “I don’t think so. But I never think many guns have a kick.”

  “You wouldn’t with that cannon you carry.” She faces upriver, her foot propped in the opposite chair, turning to cover Ethan.

  “It might be louder than you’re used to. I threw a bottle of soft, disposable ear plugs in the Tahoe.” Ethan grabs them, along with the last ammo box.

  He tosses Serena the bottle. “Put one in the ear closest to the gun. I need your other ear clear.”

  “You talk too much already, old man.” She smiles.

 
Ethan digs his heels against the rocks, pushing with all his strength to move the boat into the water.

  Serena misses with her first two shots.

  “Steady. Take your time.” Ethan spins. Undead move through the trees. He grunts with his next shove. The weight of the guns and ammo prevent the boat from sliding into the water.

  More bloated undead shamble forth.

  Ethan thrusts his full weight with a barbaric yelp as he presses the bow up and then shoves back. The boat moves a foot. The current laps at the stern.

  “You moved it!” She squeals with excitement.

  “Just…keep…shooting.” Ethan accepts he isn’t strong enough to move the boat. He throws his weight one more time.

  A thump echoes.

  Ethan peeks around the boat. The current flings a biter against the boat hull.

  “Where are they all coming from?” Serena panics.

  The aftershock, gravitated them north. Ethan reaches into his pocket and removes a grenade. “I was saving this.” He pulls the pin and chucks it into the open hatch of the Tahoe. “Fire in the hole.” He crouches, covering his neck and face.

  BOOM.

  Flickering, crackling flames from the burning truck attract the undead.

  Despite the danger of fire, the biters reach for the orange death. They ignore the flame consuming their clothes.

  Ethan grabs the towline from the first boat, tossing it to Serena. “Tie that off.” He pushes off the first boat. It slides into the river. It floats downstream. He leaps. The fish flop landing dangles his feet in the water, washing the mud from his boots. He wiggle-flops more of his frame onto the bow.

  “Damn!” Ethan flops himself across the bow to grab the wheel.

  The boat jars as the rope line tightens. Pulling the boat keys from his jeans pocket, he rolls to his back, huffing for breath. You need to start the engine.

  Serena giggles. She knows she shouldn’t. From his picking her up, she knows Ethan could twist her like a pretzel. She pops another biter.

  “Directions, old man.” She stores the rifle behind the seat.

  “I’ll pull you into the river. Don’t give it too much gas. It steers close to a car.”

  She turns the key. “Ethan!” Her engine purrs as she grabs her rifle, pointing it at undead bobbing in the water.