As we made our way slowly east through the wreckage of civilization, I marveled at how quickly devastation had set in to the country. Everywhere we went were burned buildings, destroyed vehicles, and, of course, the dead. Sometimes they were few in numbers, sometimes they were many.
The journey should only have taken less than a month, but in our fear we moved slowly and in nowhere near an efficient path. We knew we would have to cross a bridge into New Jersey at some point and that that would mean we would have to move through a populated area. As food became harder to find and what little ammunition we had for the few guns we carried dwindled, the townies began to lose hope that we would ever make it out of Pennsylvania, let alone to the New Jersey shore. They argued nearly every night as to whether the place to which we were headed still existed, or that it was the haven we hoped for, that it was infested with zombies or cannibals or that we would simply be stripped of our supplies and sent back the way we came. I did my best to keep them strong, but words will only carry so far when stomachs are empty and feet are blistered.
The desperation of our situation became readily apparent as we crossed into New Jersey and saw a swarm of the undead even larger than the one we fled on the other side of the bridge. I did my best, as always, to keep the morale of my flock up, but the task that grew harder with each setting of the sun became impossible as my own fortitude failed at the sight of an ocean of moaning corpses.
We continued along the overpass, making slow progress through the mass of twisted and burned metal. The occasional zombie lunged at us from behind the window of a car. After a while, we were numbed to this display and saw it more as a nuisance than something to inspire fear. Several miles down the road the overpass began to slope downward as the interstate met up the ground below it. Luckily, the undead below us had begun to thin out. Still, their numbers were sufficient enough to cause many in our group to talk about going back. Daniel wouldn’t hear of it. I myself entertained the thought briefly, but then had to admit that spending the rest of our lives on the overpass was no option. We would have to find a way through the throngs below if we could hope to move onward.
Daniel and I agreed to a rest stop while we planned our next move.
“There’s too damned many of them to just try to run for it.” Daniel said. I had to concur. While they were not as densely packed as they had been nearer the water, there were still more than we could possibly hope to fight through.
“Perhaps if we could somehow distract them,” I posited.
“What I wouldn’t give for a couple of frag grenades right now. That’d distract the fuckers. Blow a hole big for us to run through too.”
Richard, a quiet man on most days came forward with an idea. “What about one of these cars. If we blew one of them up, that might distract them long enough for us to get away.”
We mulled over the idea for a few minutes.
“I don’t know Richard,” I said, “With all of these cars, wouldn’t it cause a chain reaction that may kill us as well?”
Richard looked a little dejected, mirroring my own growing despair at the situation.
Daniel’s eyes flashed. “You’re a fucking genius Rick!” We both looked at Daniel quizzically. “We turn the cars into grenades!” He shot to his feet and took off toward the nearest intact vehicle. He popped open the gas cap and stuck his nose inside. His head jerked back and his face twisted as he waved a hand in front of his own face. “Perfect!” He ran back the way we had come yelling over his shoulder as he went. “We light ‘em and shove ‘em over the side! If we move back a half mile or so, the ones over here will move that way to check out the noise.”
It was a brilliant idea, I clapped Richard on the shoulder and got to my feet to help Daniel. We backtracked up the overpass to a point where the guardrail had been destroyed. Looking over the edge, I saw the remains of a large SUV below.
Daniel looked around. “Plenty of good candidates here. We can send them through that break in the walls.” He began to rummage through his pack and removed an old t-shirt. “We need fuses. And some gas.” I saw a jerry can lashed to the back a jeep that had rolled onto its side. I grabbed the can and shook it. The gas inside didn’t slosh as I expected, it seemed to have thickened. I told Daniel and he was delighted.
“Jellied. Perfect for we need.” He snatched the can out of my hand and began stuffing strips of t-shirt into the neck. He then turned to a sedan that was already angled toward the broken guardrail. The gas cap was locked in place so Daniel pried it off with a tire iron. He jammed several strips of gasoline-soaked rag into the neck of the gas tank and moved around to the driver’s door. A long dead body slumped against the steering wheel. It showed no signs of movement. Closer inspection revealed the gunshot wound at the right temple and the large hole in the back of the skull. The small bodies in the backseat bore similar wounds. Daniel smashed out the window with the tire iron, reached in and jerked the gear shift into neutral. He also used the tire iron to knock the corpse’s foot off of the brake.
“Alright everybody back up. I have no idea if this is even going to work, but I’m not taking the chance. We also don’t want any of those things down there to see food up here.” Those with us moved to the opposite side of the overpass as Daniel lit the fuse dangling from the gas tank and he and Richard pushed the vehicle to the edge of the road. They looked at each other once and with a final push, heaved the vehicle over. There was a loud crash followed by a commotion below as Daniel and Richard hurried over to us. We waited with bated breath for the explosion. Almost a full minute passed as we stared at each other. Just as Daniel began to slowly creep to the edge, it came. A tremendous fireball shot toward the sky and the overpass itself seemed to shake. A plume of black smoke billowed from forty feet below and the crackle of the fire mingled with the moans of the undead as they came to inspect this new stimuli. I risked a peek over the edge and saw the mangled bodies of around fifty zombies writhing on the ground around the charred remains of Daniel’s makeshift bomb.
“Back up Rev, we’re going again” I heard Daniel exclaim from behind me. I turned and he was trying to maneuver another sedan toward the break. Several of the men had moved to help him. Again, Daniel stuffed rags into the gas tank, set the transmission into neutral, lit the fuse and pushed the car over the edge. Again came the crash and we moved to the opposite lane and ducked behind a van. Several minutes passed this time before the explosion and the fireball. This time the bridge actually did shake and several chunks of smoking, twisted metal were thrown up onto the overpass.
Daniel sent one of the quicker men back to the main group to let them know we were okay and that the plan was working. We decided to risk one more bomb, this time a large box van that took the five of us to move into position. Daniel told the men to begin moving back the group as soon as we pushed it over the side. He did not want to risk this section the road collapsing with us still on it.
Daniel stuffed the remaining rags into the neck of the truck’s gas tank and stuck his lighter to it. He nodded to the group and we heaved the vehicle over the edge. For a moment it teetered on the lip of the drop and threatened to rock back against us. Gravity got the best of it and over it went. We moved quickly down the slope of the interstate back toward the group. When the boom came, it was significantly louder than the first two and indeed the section of bridge that we had been standing on went crashing down, presumably onto the heads of the zombies that had gathered below.
We hastened back to the main group who seemed a little more positive, even elated. The explosions had indeed thinned the ranks of the undead below us. Daniel warned against getting too excited as the noise would draw other zombies from the surrounding area. He recommended we move quickly before they arrived and the ones already here lost interest with the burning wreckage. He also cautioned against firing any weapons until we were well out of the zone, opting for the hammers, baseball bats, and lengths of pipe most of us carried.
As we descended onto the ground level
we were able to dispatch the ghouls there quickly and quietly. Bolstered by the small win we had just experienced, we resumed our trek with a renewed sense of purpose. Later that evening as we set camp on the roof of a warehouse, the plume of black smoke from our afternoon’s work was still just visible behind us.
After our evening meal, I went to Daniel to congratulate him and to thank him for his earlier work. He was dismissive as usual, feigning humility at the genius of his idea.
“Saw it in a movie once,” was his only reply. He bent further over his can of stew and avoided eye contact.
“Still,” I retorted, “we would surely have died if not for your leadership.”
He bristled visibly at the word. “Don’t start that shit again, Rev. I don’t have the patience for this convo right now.”
“But, Daniel, how can you not see the divine interventions at work here?”
“Save the sermon for the Townies, Rev. I don’t need it. I’m out to save my own ass. You guys come along for the ride…” he shrugged, “call it a bonus.” With that, he rose to his feet and made his way to the edge of the low, squat building.
“The men did well,” I followed, not wanting to press the matter, but not wanting to let him entirely off the hook either. Again, he responded with a shrug. His lack of response infuriated me, but I could not let my emotion show. There were still many in the group that held a grudge against him for what he had done to me, even though it seemed so long ago, my face still bore some of the marks of his rage. I decided to press a little further. “Please, Daniel, consider what you bring to the group. These men and women need guidance.”
He turned on me, near furious, but not raising his voice. Apparently, he thought the same as I in regard to the sensitivity of his position. “I told you to save it. I ain’t a fucking leader. I’m never gonna be a leader. If I walked off now, you guys would keep going without me. Shit, you might even be better off. It just so happens we’re heading in the same fucking direction. That’s all.” He stomped off again, the evident anger in his footfalls drawing some attention. I watched as he moved to the far end of the roof, and, unable to put any more distance between the two of us, slumped to the ground. He cast his can over the edge and it clanked on the ground drawing a moan from some ghoul wandering below.
11
William
Ian told me he was going to go back to Virginia. Ian told me I must stay here in Batsto while he goes back to Virginia with Ken. He said he will be back in a few weeks. They are going to go back to the hospital where he stayed to find some papers. I told him there are papers all over the place here, but he says they need different ones. I asked him why I cannot go with him. He said I must stay here so that Mike can continue my training. Ian said I am becoming a good soldier. I like training. I do not like doing push-ups and running, but I like marksmanship. And I like Drill. Ian tells me “Left. Face!” and “Right. Face!” and “Port. Arms!” Exactly what I am supposed to do, and I do it. Ian and Mike also say I shoot very well. Mike gave me one of his badges. He said it is an expert marksmanship badge. I got it for shooting all forty targets at my test. He said that if I want to wear it on my shirt, there is a very specific way I have to put it on. He said it is not proper to put it on a t-shirt. It must be on a jacket, and only certain kinds of jackets. It must be on the left pocket in the exact center with the top exactly one eighth of an inch below the top of the flap. Mike said he was going to set the pin for me, but Ian said that might be a bad idea. Ian told me later that it might hurt me. I did not know what he meant.
Mike has also taught me hand to hand combat. He said it would not do any good against zombies, but if someone were ever to grab me again, Mike showed me how to stomp down on the top of their foot and to use the palm of my hand to strike them in the throat and to make my hand into a claw and hit them in the eyes. Ian does not know that Mike is teaching me these things. Mike says it is not a secret and that Ian would not be mad, these are things that every soldier knows. I do not think that Ian would be mad that Mike showed me how to use my elbows to break someone’s nose or to kick with the toe of my boot up under someone’s kneecap. Mike wanted to show me what he called “grappling” but I did not want to do that.
Ian said I have to stay at Batsto because it will be dangerous were they are going. Ian also said that I am to listen to Mike and to follow orders. Ian said that Mike is my Commanding Officer. Mike does not speak to me as if I were stupid, which people sometimes do. I am not stupid, quite the contrary, I am very smart. I know this because Mother and Father used to point it out to people. “He’s such a bright boy,” they would say. I am smart enough to know that I am different, that my brain works differently than other peoples’, but that does not mean I am stupid. Mike talks to me in a way that I understand, just like Ian. They do not use words they don’t mean and then tell me it is a “figure of speech.” I do not understand figures of speech. Why don’t people just say the words that they mean, like Ian and Mike? When Ian and I were on the road coming to this place, we talked a lot. I do not normally like to talk to people. I did not really like talking to Ian at first. After we left the place where the man beat up Ian’s face and Ian started to teach me how to be a soldier, I talked more because Ian asked me lots of questions. It is rude to not answer someone’s questions. So Ian would ask me about baseball or television shows or astronomy and I would answer him. After a while, we just talked about anything. It was not as good as watching television, but I did not mind it too much.
The people here are nice, but they sometimes talk to me like I am stupid. They talk very slowly and over-enunciate their words. This frustrates me because it takes them even longer to tell me what they are trying to say. Ian and Mike just get straight to the point. They also use words that they do not mean, which confuses me. Then they think I am being stupid when I am just confused. One of the other soldiers patted me on the head one day. This made me very mad. The soldier laughed when I told him I was mad. I told him to stop laughing at me, that it was making me madder, but that only made him laugh harder. I stepped back into the fighting stance that Mike had shown me and raised my fists like I was trained to do. The soldier stopped laughing. He told me to put my dukes down. I did not know what ‘dukes’ were, and I guess my face got confused again so he started laughing again. I was so mad, but I knew that Ian would be mad at me if I ‘threw the first punch’. The soldier made a face I did not understand. It was a laughing-angry-hungry-mad face. Then he dropped into the same fighting stance I was in.
“Don’t try it, Retard. I’ll take you apart,” was what he said to me.
I have been called this name before. It always made other people madder than it made me. I remember once, I was with Mother at the grocery store. I was very young. Mother was helping me pick out some candy at the register because I had been a good boy, so I could have candy. They did not have any Mars bars. Cindy, the woman at the cash register who knew Mother and I well, was very apologetic because she knew that Mars bars were my favorite. I could not pick another candy bar and Mother was trying to help me. There were too many and I could not pick one. Mother was about to pick one for me, sometimes she had to do that if I could not choose for myself, like sometimes if we went to a new restaurant.
A man behind us in line told Mother to “Just grab a Snickers and shut that retard up!”
Everyone around us stopped what they were doing and looked over at the man. Their faces were very mad. I was not mad. I just wanted a Mars bar. Mother started yelling at the man explaining very loudly that I was not retarded. She told him that I was probably smarter than he was and that he better watch his mouth. This man laughed just like the soldier was doing now until a bigger man behind him tapped him on the shoulder. The man spun around fast, but when he saw how much bigger the other man was, he stopped laughing and looked scared.
The bigger man told the man to ‘apologize to this nice, young man and his mother.”
The man looked very scared. The bigger man was very big,
and he had a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man apologized to Mother and then to me. Mother stood there smiling at him. I do not understand why she was smiling. The man left his groceries in the cart and walked quickly out of the store. Mother thanked the bigger man and hugged him. I thought he was going to hug me too, but he just looked down at me and nodded his head slowly. I do not know what we were agreeing to, but I nodded my head the same way. He turned and went back to the back of the line. Someone started clapping and a few people patted him on the back. I did not know at the time, but later on, Mother explained it to me.
“Retard is a very bad word,” she told me, “Especially since it doesn’t apply to you. You must never let anyone get away with calling you that.”
When the soldier called that word, I thought back to Mother telling me to never let anyone get away with that. I stepped in to close the distance and to get inside his effective range like Mike taught me. I struck his ribs with my left fist and with my right, punched him in the solar plexus. He made a loud ‘OOOF’ sound and he tried to grab me. I could see his shoulders moving before his arms did so I dropped down low before he could get a hold of me. I rolled behind him and kicked at the back of his left knee. He dropped to one knee and tried to grab me again. I punched at the back of his hand and he drew it back with his face all scrunched up. I was about to kick him in the jaw. With him down on his knees, his head was in the perfect spot for this type of blow and it would have knocked him unconscious. I saw Mike and Ian running toward us so I did not kick the soldier. He made one last attempt to strike me with a hook punch, but he was very slow so I dodged out of the way and backed up two steps. Ian said that two steps is the universal sign for ‘don’t keep coming if you don’t want to get messed up.’
Aftershock Zombie Series (Book 2): Breakdown (A Collection of Survivors Tales) Page 6