Dead Tide Rising

by Stephen North

  The wind whips across the parking lot, and a newspaper flies past and lands in the blood. She stands up and backs away from the body. Grabs the pistol. Hears something wail.

  On the far side of the car, five people are shambling in her direction.

  Oh God, let these be the keys!

  She runs on her bare, bloody feet back to the car’s passenger side. The things are too close to try for the driver’s door. Which key? Has to be this one: a big silver key with a circle around three shields, and the word ‘Buick’ beneath.

  The key fits and she unlocks the door. She slides in, feeling the skirt ruck up, and pulls the door closed behind her. One of the things is close. Maybe ten feet away. Looks like a teen in a fast food outfit, maybe McDonald’s. He looks burned. The skin of his arms is all black and crackly looking. Face too! Pieces of him are flaking off as he opens his mouth, growling something.

  She slides behind the wheel, shifting the gun to her left hand, and keys to the right. Reaches down and puts the key in the ignition. The kid is reaching for her. She tries to aim, while turning the ignition. The engine turns over and starts. She floors the gas. The engine roars, but the car doesn’t move.

  Not going anywhere! Why?

  She pulls the trigger, and the kick of it causes her to drop the gun. It bounces off the door and down in-between the seat and door.

  The shot knocked the kid back a step, but he’s still coming.

  Why?

  The car isn’t in drive you idiot!

  Fingers brush her cheek.

  She grabs the lever, shifts into reverse and the car careens backwards across the parking lot. Remembers the brake just in time to miss a tree planter, and then shifts into drive. Steers straight for the exit out onto Tyrone Boulevard.

  Gotta go home! I’m coming Mom!

  Morgan

  How long do I have when the last pill is gone? The pain is bad.

  The bottle in his hands is almost empty, just three pills left. He palms one, while considering asking one of the soldiers for a drink to help swallow it.

  Trish is squeezed right up against him. Her shoulders are pressed back against the wall of the helicopter and her left breast is pressed hard against his arm. Looking down, he can see the smooth, flawless skin of her belly and her toned legs.

  He closes his eyes for a moment, picturing himself on his knees in front of her.

  “What’s that?” Trish asks, trying to shout over the engine noise and rotors. She is watching him screw the cap back on the bottle. Nosy bitch.

  He grins at her. “You really want to know?”

  She smiles back, “Yes Morgan, I really want to know.”

  “Vitamin, why?”

  Will she see the lie?

  “I noticed the bottle was almost empty. Just worried it might be something you need to stay healthy. Sorry if I’m being too nosy.”

  “I’m more tired than anything else. Wish I had something to jack me up. I haven’t slept in almost two days.”

  She puts her hand on his thigh and gives it a squeeze. “Hang in there. I think we are being taken to safety.”

  Is this what she calls just friends?

  Oh man, her fingers are so close, less than a hand’s width and she could own me.

  “Stop it!” he says out loud before he can stop himself.

  “Stop what, Morgan?”

  There is time to look deep in her eyes for a moment, time to linger at her lips and beautiful white teeth. She is smiling, and that might be a genuinely warm expression. First woman in a long time to even give a damn if I say something. Maybe I should be satisfied with that. With having a friend.

  “Nothing important, Trish, but thanks for asking. I think out loud sometimes.” I know you don’t really want to know.

  “Me too! Hope they have hot showers and food wherever they are taking us.”

  “I hope so, Trish.”

  Mills

  The tension is tearing him apart. Every nerve is screaming at him to bust down the door and get outside. None of them, except for Talaski, seem to have any clue how much danger they are in. He can already smell smoke, and the whole building could come down any moment.

  “You people need to hurry!” he shouts, looking back down the stairs as the slender figure of the clerk, Amy, steps into line behind the Suzy. “Where’s the others?” he asks, not looking at either woman, but behind them.

  Amy answers, “Don’t know where Mitch is, but Talaski was giving more weapons and stuff to Keller when I left. They should be right here soon.

  A moment later, Talaski appears, shrugging a backpack onto his shoulders over the gym bag already slung over his body. What looks like an assault rifle rests on top of the gym bag. Keller is right behind him, carrying a rifle similar to Talaski’s slung over shoulder and also carrying a slung gym bag, in addition to the pistol holstered at his waist.

  “Where’s Mitch, Keller? You were with him last.”

  “He didn’t make it.”

  “What do you mean, he didn’t make it?” shouts Suzy.

  Mills can see the emotion on Keller’s face, raw and ugly. “He tried to kill me. Shot me in the chest. Bullet ricocheted off my harness and I broke his fucking neck.”

  Suzy screams, and launches herself toward Keller.

  At that moment, Talaski does something completely unexpected. He lashes out with the back of his right fist and connects with Suzy’s jaw. She drops like a lead weight.

  “Had to,” Talaski says. “Take this.”

  Mills reaches out and takes the rifle, as Talaski kneels down and lifts the woman over his left shoulder. Mills looks closer. The rifle is a goddamned street sweeper! When the woman is secure on his shoulder, Talaski takes the shotgun back. “I’ll take the rear,” he says.

  “Ok Amy,” Mills says to the petite woman right behind him, “When I open this door, you are taking a left, going through one more door and then you are in the lobby. Not sure how many of those things are still out there. No one is to stop. You ready?”

  Amy nods.

  Mills opens the door and steps into a hallway. There are snarls, and grunts from both directions, but he turns to the right. Feels Amy brush past him, going the other way. The hallway is jammed with ghouls. He fires his shotgun from the hip at a tall, spidery man in a bloody Escape the Fate t-shirt. The blast throws the guy backwards a step or two, and blows a big, gory hole in his chest. A tattered-looking bum is next, and he tries to step around the still staggering first guy. Mills pumps the action, aims, and blows the bum’s head clean off. The torso doesn’t fall, but is propped up by those behind him. The press pushes the body forward and down, causing several more in the front to fall and begin crawling toward him. Mills pumps and shoots as fast as he can aim, painting the walls and floor with gouts of flesh, bone and blood. Behind him, he hears gunfire and shouts. His last shot drops a fat guy whose bulk, when added to the others, seriously blocks the way.

  Reload or switch weapons?

  He pulls the axe out from the loops of the backpack.

  Amy shouts, “Come on Adam! We’re clear!”

  Then Talaski is pushing him. “Go! Go!”

  Jacobs

  Act, don’t react.

  Expecting the worst, Jacobs spins free of the hand on his shoulder, and stops with his back to the wall. He raises his pistol to shoulder height as his back comes to rest against a window. A beautiful young brunette dressed in a blue t-shirt is standing there and reaching for him again. Twenty-five tops, I bet.

  The woman’s eyes get real wide at the sight of a gun against her nose. “What are…” Her voice trails off, and she looks down. At first, he stares stupidly, wondering why she’s looking at her legs. They are long, shapely and nicely-tanned.

  Then he notices a wet stain at the front of the shirt.

  He lowers the gun from the woman’s face. “Sorry about that lady. You should’ve said something first before grabbing me. I could’ve killed you.”

  “What are you doing here?”<
br />
  “I’m hunting some murderers.”

  “Here?” she asks. “That’s a job for the police–You’re a soldier.”

  “Some looters killed one of my men. I’m hunting them down.”

  “Why are you on your lonesome?”

  “Enough with the questions, lady. Just stay out of my way.”

  “You can’t just barge in here and boss me around. I own this place! The whole building!”

  He looks at her, square in the eyes. Really?

  “I don’t have time for this. Now step aside or I may have to hurt you, ma’am.”

  The young woman tries to stare him down, but after only a second or two, her eyes slide to the side. A moment later, she steps out of the way, also.

  Jacobs puts the pistol back into its holster and pulls his M-4 from over his shoulder. He steps up to a window that faces west. A pall of smoke obscures any view he might have had of the neighboring police station. “Damn it!” he exclaims.

  “No point in shooting at anything from here,” the woman says. “That fire is making a lot of smoke.”

  “I noticed.”

  “What are you gonna do now?”

  Jacobs manages a grin, “Get out of your hair.”

  “Oh good. I thought you were here to rescue me and my daughter. You leave now, maybe I won’t have to worry about it.”

  “I’ll be on my way, then, lady. You take it easy.”

  The woman grins, showing off her white teeth, “Guess you didn’t hear me, huh Hero? Yeah, you take it easy too, soldier boy. The exit’s just out in the hallway here.”

  “I can find my way.”

  “I insist.”

  Jacobs follows her back through the apartment and out into the hall. He catches himself looking at the hem of her shirt. It isn’t long enough to hide her ass cheeks. Is she swaying her hips deliberately? She’s pretty calm for a girl who just pissed her panties; if she’s even wearing panties. Have to get my mind off this! It’s been too long, and I have needs. Maybe she wants me?

  Right.

  He forces himself to say something, but can’t get his mind off the possibilities.

  “It’s an easy choice lady. The elevator’s not working, so the other door must be the way down.”

  “Elevator is working, just doesn’t go all the way down. The stairway behind the other door does go all the way.”

  “You got a generator, eh?”

  The girl’s eyes are hooded. Why tell me something like that, then clam up? Bitch’s hiding something. Or maybe she’s just got dementia.

  “I think I’ll try the stairs, then.”

  Was that a faint smile on the girl’s lips? Think so.

  Whatever she’s thinking, she’s friendly enough. She opens the door and steps to the side to let Jacobs enter. The door is one of those heavy duty steel doors, and is even painted steel gray. What does she need a metal security door for? Must be paranoid about her neighbors.

  “First door through is the stairwell. Second is the Clements place.”

  Something sweeps over him. “You sure you want me to leave?”

  He watches her eyes. “I asked you to help my daughter and me,” she answers, and runs the tip of her tongue across her lips. Her back is up against the wall, and her chest…

  Steps close to her, feels the soft, yet firm press of her breasts against him. Lifts a hand to her face, and she flinches a little, closes her eyes. Her cheek is soft. His lips are close to hers, when she says, very softly, “No.”

  “Really?” he asks.

  “Please go.”

  Jacobs steps over the threshold, sees mostly darkness, a short passage and two doors. He takes a step or two, then turns, “Are you sure…” he starts to ask. The girl shuts the door. And locks it.

  “Won’t be going back that way, I guess,” he says to himself.

  Trish

  She can feel their eyes on her. Every man in the back of the chopper is staring, except for Anton. Openly whenever they think she isn’t looking. My nipples must be hard. That always makes them crazy. She’s caught more than one glare from the other woman. What’s her name? Debbie? Was that it? Poor thing. Why do people judge me? She’s pretty in her own way, just heavy. I just want to be comfortable in the heat, and who cares if men look. Never minded them looking. Natural thing. Wonder what most of them look like under those masks? Funny how that sergeant didn’t wear one, but they still are.

  The man they call Lassiter looks annoyed. He’s holding a hand to his headphones. In the past moment, his face has gone beet red. He shouts into his microphone, “You shitting me, sir? We can’t do that! Five more minutes and we could be putting them down safely!”

  The conversation goes on for another thirty seconds, before Lassiter looks around and says, “Everybody get ready to land. Make sure you are holding onto anything you care about.”

  Morgan leans toward her, nose in her hair, and shouts in her ear, “This is about to get bad. I didn’t like the sound of his side of the conversation.” Did his lips touch my ear? Why am I all of a sudden so squeamish? It must be fear. I could always go home before. Shifts over, no more ass grabbing, no more free show!

  Sorry Morgan, for you it never would have been free.

  The chopper slowly spirals as it settles toward a strip store building on the west side of U.S. 19, or 34th Street South as the locals call it. She can see people walking around down there, 68 and a mound of burning wrecks not far away at the intersection of 19 and 54th Avenue South. She can also see the overpasses that lead to either the beaches and Fort Desoto, or to the Skyway Bridge.

  Lassiter turns toward her and Morgan. Anton is sprawled on the floor at their feet. He probably can’t hear anything. Debbie’s on Lassiter’s other side and definitely can’t hear anything. Lassiter shouts, “You folks are going to have to get off here. The Captain says we’ll come back for you if we can, but we’ve just been given a high priority mission. You aren’t real far from the bridge. We were taking you to a refugee area set up near the Skyway. If you can get there, I think you should. If you can just make it to the Skyway toll booths you’ll be home free.”

  He looks down at Anton, then back to Trish.

  “I’m sorry ma’am.”

  “What is this shit?” asks Morgan. “We can’t go anywhere lugging a paraplegic around!”

  “You may have to make a hard decision, sir. Now everyone out! Help them, Booth, Lepski!”

  The two soldiers heft Anton, holding his legs and shoulders, lift him out of the chopper and settle him to the pebbled surface of the roof. I think we’re on top of a grocery store. Trish steps out, followed by Morgan and Debbie.

  Can’t believe they are actually going to do this.

  She watches the two soldiers climb back aboard and sit down. The whole time, the crew chief, Lassiter, sits there, eyes tragic, but saying nothing.

  As they lift off, he waves.

  She doesn’t wave back.

 
  Daric

  Beth doesn’t stir, even when the sound of shots echoes out over the water. The little dog is looking at him, but it seems content to lie next to her.

  The death of her brother right after the death of her parents had to be tough.

  I know. At least her parents didn’t end up trying to eat people. They didn’t try to eat their own son. Can’t believe my own dad… The pain of the thought was much worse than the reality of what happened. Even Tracks doesn’t want to know, or believe… but the truth is there. Still doesn’t hurt, but every now and then, he can smell something. Something that might be hidden, but is nasty. Like a dead rat rotting in your attic.

  Even now, hours later, it still doesn’t hurt. He wants to touch the spot on his leg, but he can’t. Knows what it looks like though. Looks like a puncture wound. Like the hole a nail would make if your not so good friend, Warren, hit you on the back of the calf with a board that still had nails embedded in it. Not a bite like that Doctor thought. I wonder if it’s worse? Tracks never looke
d. Couldn’t be worse.

  Just an infection. That’s what my mom said. Just as soon as I feel better baby, I’ll take you to the clinic. For now we’ll just put some alcohol and antiseptic on it.

  The little white dog squirms free of her arms, and bounds toward him. He stops short and whines, sniffing the air. Across the small cabin, Beth watches his every move, but says nothing. Maybe she wasn’t asleep, just like she’s half dead or something. I didn’t mean for your brother to die. You know that. Can’t say that again. She either believes me or she doesn’t.

  Tears glisten in her eyes. Such beautiful, long lashes.

  He crosses over to a desk, and opens a drawer that Tracks closed not long ago. Pulls out a pistol. Frank’s pistol. Beth’s brother.

  “You can’t Daric! It’ll be just like Frank!” Beth shrieks.

  He slides the gun into his pocket and rushes over to her. Takes her hand. “Quiet, Beth, please! Ozzie and Janicea won’t help Tracks, but I will. I heard some shooting not long ago. What if they need me?”

  She looks at him. “You’re a little kid, Daric. Just like me. What are you gonna do?”

  “I know Karate,” he says, “and I know how to use this.” He points at the bulge the gun makes in his front pocket. “I shot guns before.”

  “You have?” she asks.

  “Bunch a times with my friends. Just never shot one at somebody.”

  “You better stay here. They’ll all be mad if you go. Bronte, Tracks, the Chief, even Janice, I bet.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, yet. Just want to be ready.”

  The dog yaps, and nips at Daric’s shoelaces. Someone opens the door to the cabin. Janicea’s voice asks, “You kids hungry? There’s donuts…”

  Trish

  She closes her eyes for a moment and just stands there, analyzing what her senses tell her. The sound of the helicopter rotors faded over ten minutes ago. A dog barks somewhere far away, but close up all she can hear is the wavery metallic-sounding hum of insects. Funny how that sound was almost always there, but so easily blocked out. Some kind of grasshopper, Cicadas maybe, pretty sure that’s what you call them.

  What else? A small breeze plays over her skin, but not cool enough to counter the sweat breaking out all over. The sun is blazing hot already. Got to get everyone off this roof soon. Takes a deep breath, smells something bad: Gas Station restroom bad.