Pandora 2: Death is not an Option

by McCrohan, Richard

  He shaded his eyes. “It looks like a Chinook. It’s carrying something underneath. I can’t see what, though.”

  They stood and watched as the large bird came out of the horizon. A large, olive-drab vehicle was swaying underneath the undercarriage. It seemed to be heading a little north of their current position. Coming to within a few miles of them, it finally hovered over the throughway.

  “What’s going on?” asked Luke.

  “I don’t know,” Steve said, “but it’s definitely army.”

  “I think the cavalry has arrived,” said Max with a grin.

  When the Stryker touched down onto the roadway, DeVries and Niedermayer quickly dismounted and unhooked the vehicle from the massive helicopter above them. Sgt. O’Rourke was on the radio to the crew up above them.

  “Mama Bird. Meet you at the pickup point. Over.”

  “Copy, Stryker one. Don’t be late. Strike Force will be there regardless. Over.”

  “Copy that, Mama Bird. Over.”

  “Copy. Good hunting. Over.”

  Hanging up the mike, O’Rourke called out to his crew, “Okay men, mount up. Gary, get on the electronics. Start cranking up that infernal shit you call music, and let’s get this puppy moving.”

  “Roger that, Sarge,” Gary said, sliding in and flipping switches. “Time for me to rock their world.”

  “Just get that heavy-metal crap going.”

  “It’s not heavy metal, Sarge,” said Gary informatively. “It’s called death metal.”

  O’Rourke snorted. “That’s appropriate.”

  As the Chinook turned and headed away, the Stryker started up. The few zombies in the immediate area, aroused by all the commotion, were coming in for a look. All of a sudden, a couple of loud clicks came out of the large speakers on the combat vehicle. Then the screeching sound of electric guitars, the pounding of rapid drumbeats, and a gravelly, rasping voice roared across the turnpike, flooding the area for miles. Every zombie within earshot stopped dead. All milky eyes turned to find the source of the electronic din. It was as if a switch had been thrown. Undead everywhere turned and started moving to the Florida Turnpike, walking up the entrance and exit ramps near them. They sensed a human presence, and that meant food.

  “What the hell is that?” remarked Ana.

  “Since when did the zombie apocalypse come with a soundtrack?” Steve said, laughing.

  Dill and Rube looked at each other with growing apprehension.

  “We gotta get off this road,” said Dill warily.

  “What?” Max questioned. “Why?”

  “’Cause we’re standing in the middle of Ground Zero,” Dill answered.

  “What?” said Ana.

  Luke said, “We heard that the army is doing what the Aussies are doing down under. The music draws the zombies together, and then the planes come in and bomb the shit out of them.”

  “Soon,” continued Dill, “this road is going to be wall-to-wall zombies.”

  The six of them turned onto Route 75 and started running.

  The Stryker was making its way slowly down the turnpike. The pounding music was already drawing the undead from the city streets. The creatures were tramping up the ramps to enter the turnpike roadway. They were even gathering on the overpasses that spanned over the turnpike. Everything was working out just as the brass had planned. The only flaw was that they had miscalculated just how many undead were wandering around south Florida’s east coast. The eastern part of the states always had a much larger population base. No one realized how many people had been turned by the attacks from the undead.

  Sgt. O’Rourke was looking through the front window as he drove. “This road is starting to get real full, real fast,” he said through his headset.

  “I’m never seen it this bad,” Kyle DeVries said. They had driven two miles, and already the turnpike was massing with the undead. They were approaching an overpass that was teeming with undead figures scrambling toward the edge. As the Stryker neared, they started climbing the ledge and hurling themselves over the side. Dozens of bodies began dropping down and hitting the pavement. As the military RV passed slowly underneath, the armored skin of the vehicle began to clang loudly as the multitude of ghouls hit the top of the Stryker. O’Rourke hit the accelerator and increased the speed. This was starting to get out of control.

  “We’ve got company,” stated Tommy, looking over the hood of the SUV.

  “Mike?” asked Sean.

  “No,” answered Tommy, “I don’t recognize them.”

  They were at the start of Alligator Alley. Already having killed the several zombies that were wandering there, they were waiting at the rendezvous point for Mike, Jack, and the rest.

  Sean laid his rifle over the roof. The rest got into position in case there was a problem. Linda turned to Sean and said, “Think it’s trouble?”

  They all heard the headbanger music blaring out from the turnpike. They had no idea what was responsible for that but knew it couldn’t be good. They watched as the six figures ran toward them.

  Dill and Rube were in the lead. Dill put his hand up in a fist and tucked down behind the car. Rube was right next to him. Steve, Luke, Ana, and Max, though momentarily confused, quickly jumped behind another vehicle. Dill peered around the bumper. Cocking his head back, he pointed to his eyes and held up seven fingers. Rube crab walked over to him.

  “All armed,” Dill spoke in a clipped tone. “Two women. I count three military.”

  “Don’t mean nothing nowadays,” Rube commented.

  “Yeah,” Dill said under his breath. He knew what Rube was alluding to. About a month ago, they came across a contingent of National Guard out in Wellington. They were apparently on their own and had taken over a pub in the small strip mall. It was a little out of the way, so there were no zombies around.

  The pub had an open area with seating on the outside. It was a little chilly for Florida that night, so they had set up two tall propane space heaters. There were ten guardsmen sitting around, and all were obviously stinking drunk. There were also two naked and very dead women tied up and draped across two tables. The guard captain, who had been in charge, had apparently stood in front of the pub door to stop his men from going in. His men must have won the argument because they left him gut-shot by the door. There was blood there and then a long, streaked trail. He must have dragged himself along the sidewalk and halfway across the street where his body now lay in a pool of blood. The drunken men were laughing and cursing. One got up clumsily and staggered over to one of the dead women. He poured a bottle of liquor on her, getting cheers from the rest of the murderers. As he started to undo his pants, Rube and Dill, under cover across the street, put two bullets into the propane tanks and blew the ten renegade guardsmen into pieces. So much for God and country.

  Meanwhile, fifty feet away, Tommy turned to Manny and said, “Six people, one woman, one old guy. The two on point looked highly trained.”

  “I noticed,” replied Manny. “What you think?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Tommy stood and shouted over to the group in front of him, “Hey, who are you and what do you want?”

  Dill called out, “Just a few survivors. We’re trying not to get eaten by the zombie horde that’s going to be coming through here.”

  “What do you mean?” Tommy called back.

  Dill looked back at Rube and shrugged. “Cover me,” he said. “If he looks the least bit trigger-happy, take him out.”

  “I’m coming out!” Dill yelled.

  Standing straight up, Dill let his rifle hang down from the shoulder strap within easy reach. He put his palms up and took a few steps away from cover. Tommy did the same. The two walked out and met in the middle.

  Both sized each other up as they came close. Dill put his hand out to shake. This was not so much a friendly gesture as it was a way of controlling the situation. If Tommy tried anything, at least he had one hand trapped and could take him out easier.

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nbsp; “Hi,” said Tommy, warily taking his extended hand. “I’m Tommy.”

  “Dill. You army?”

  “I am,” Tommy replied. “You?”

  “No,” Dill said vaguely.

  “But you are military?” Tommy insisted.

  “Ex.”

  Tommy stood staring into his eyes. Dill knew that he’d have to give more than that. “SEALs. Rube, that’s the other guy behind the car, him and I were operators with the teams.”

  Tommy smiled. “I knew it.”

  “How about your guys…and gals?” asked Dill.

  “Oh,” said Tommy, “a mix of civilians and what’s left of my squad.”

  “I hear you,” answered Dill. “We picked up a couple of stragglers too.”

  “What’s this about a zombie horde?” Tommy asked. “And where the hell’s that music coming from?”

  “That’s the problem,” explained Dill. “The army has been using sound trucks to lure the undead to confined areas. When they’re all massed in one place, they send in the Harrier aircraft to incinerate the entire bunch. We saw one being dropped off, and from the increased sound, I’d say it’s heading our way. My guess is they’ll lead all the zombies up Alligator Alley, away from the city proper, and then destroy them all there.”

  “Which means,” Tommy interjected, “that everything is now headed right for us.”

  Smiling grimly, Dill said, “The man wins a kewpie doll.”

  “We have a car,” Tommy said, pointing behind him, “but to accommodate your people also, we’ll need to get another.”

  “Let’s see what we can find,” Dill said. He looked behind him, gave the all-clear sign, and beckoned his group over.

  “I’ve got to tell you,” Tommy mentioned to Dill, “we’re waiting for another group to meet us here. We all got separated in the city, and they’re the last group in.”

  “I don’t know,” said Dill, “pretty soon this whole highway is going to be crawling with some extremely riled up zombies. You may not have a choice.”

  Tommy looked at Dill intently. “My brother’s with that last group, so yeah, I don’t have a choice. I’m waiting.”

  O’Rourke and his men were shaken by the sheer number of zombies that hit their vehicle as they passed under the overpass. Once they cleared that and came around a bend in the road, they were truly rocked to their core. The turnpike was a mass of zombies already.

  “This ain’t good,” the sergeant gasped. “Gary, get up on the fifty cal. and see if you can thin this herd out some. We’re gonna have to plow our way through this mass if we want to get out of here. The fewer climbing up on us the better.”

  “Roger that, Sarge,” Gary said. Making sure the electronics were set, he reached up and unlatched the hatch that led up to the roof and the machine-gun turret.

  “It’s zombie-killing time!” he shouted with a little too much glee.

  The taxi swerved around a beer truck that had jumped the curb and struck a lamppost. There were cases of beer bottles lying shattered all over the street. They were two blocks from the entrance ramp to the turnpike. As Jack veered around the truck, he heard a loud bang as a front tire blew.

  He started to slow down, and Mike yelled from the passenger-side seat, “Don’t stop! Keep going.” He pointed toward a very large contingent of undead also heading for the ramp. “We have to make it up there ahead of them or we’ll never get up the ramp.”

  Jack floored the gas on the taxicab. Its rear started to fishtail a bit.

  Throwing open the hatch, Pvt. Gary Niedermayer stuck his head and shoulders out and grabbed ahold of the frame to pull up the rest of him. As his upper body rose, he was grabbed by a zombie. The ghoul, a twenty-year-old man with a buzz cut and a goatee, had crushed most of his ribs when he landed on the truck, and the broken ends were sticking through his abraded cotton shirt. Grabbing the private from behind in a bear hug, he sunk his jagged teeth into the back of Gary’s neck. As he struggled out to shake the creature off him, Gary was grabbed by a second zombie. This one was a heavyset Hispanic woman in blood-soaked spandex and no nose or lips. They were two of the six zombies that had fallen from the overpass and stayed on the Stryker. As she hit Gary from the front, the three of them tumbled over the side. One of Gary’s legs was caught up in the hatch opening and snapped at the shin. Hanging off the side, he was flailing and screaming, trying to pull himself up. The tumble had dislodged the woman, who had fallen headfirst to the pavement only to be pulled under the large tires and crushed. The other zombie, though, was hanging on to him, still gnawing at the back of his neck.

  Cpl. Kyle DeVries crawled to the open hatch to help. As he got there and started to reach up, a third zombie stuck his head down into the Stryker’s interior, hissing and snarling. Kyle gave a little scream and pulled back. Then he stuck his .45 automatic into the zombie’s gaping maw and fired. This blew the back of the zombie’s head off, knocking it back and off the vehicle. Climbing carefully up, he stuck his head out of the hatch. He could see Gary, screaming, kicking his good leg, and thrashing his arms about helplessly.

  Kyle reached out and shot another zombie that was crawling up the roof toward him. He grabbed the cargo pocket of Gary’s fatigue pants and started to pull him up. This change in pressure only succeeded in freeing the twisted leg. With a loud rip, the pocket separated from the body of the uniform leg, and, still entwined, Gary and the male zombie went tumbling off the roof and bouncing down the street after the accelerating vehicle. At least Gary had stopped screaming.

  Jack sped toward the entrance ramp. Pieces of the right front tire kept flying out. The taxi entered the feeder lane and swung onto the ramp just seconds before the undead. In fact, they clipped the leading zombie as they skidded onto the entrance. The gray-haired ghoul was sent flying in the air, where he slammed against the Turnpike Entrance North sign. Fighting hard against the increasingly unresponsive steering wheel, Jack managed to enter the highway and speed toward Route 75. Fortunately, the cutoff was right ahead of them. Unfortunately, the area was already starting to swarm with the agitated undead.

  “Buckle up and brace yourselves,” Jack shouted to his passengers. “We’re going to have to go right through them.”

  Jack floored the gas pedal and turned the reluctant wheel onto Route 75. The tire had lost all of its rubber, and the back right tire had been slowly going flat too.

  Jesus, he thought, didn’t this just happen when we first got to Boca? Now again?

  The front of the taxi tore through the crowd of zombies that had now turned to grab the oncoming cab. With a sickening crunch, he smashed through them, scattering the creatures like so many bowling pins. The bodies bounced off the hood of the car, smashing the windshield. Trying to see through the sagging, spider-webbed safety glass, Jack steered straight through them.

  Kyle DeVries had manned the .50 cal. machine gun and took out the last of the zombies on the roof. Spinning the turret around, he started firing at the grasping mass of undead in front of them. Sgt. O’Rourke had picked up speed now, and the constant jarring of running over dozens of bodies was throwing Kyle’s aim off. A dissident movement caught his attention, and he looked over their heads. He caught sight of a taxi ramming through the crowd and onto 75.

  “Hey, Sarge,” Kyle yelled. “Did you see that?”

  “I saw something,” he yelled up to Kyle.

  “I think we have some live survivors,” the corporal replied. They just turned onto 75.”

  O’Rourke just nodded his head, grimly trying to move forward and not get bogged down by the constantly multiplying undead masses.

  The two groups in Alligator Alley proper looked up at the added commotion. They could see that a car had just turned onto 75 and was coming straight ahead. It was about a half a mile away. They could see the zombies crowding the beginning of Route 75.

  “That your friends?” Dill asked Tommy.

  “I hope so,” he replied.

  So far, they hadn’t found a vehicle that was dr
ivable. Most were abandoned with their batteries dead. The vast majority of people who had tried to take this highway to the other side of the state had gotten out of their cars when they could no longer drive them and continued ahead on foot. That number inevitably included the already infected. The resulting increase of undead along Alligator Alley added to the mass confusion. The undead nearest the group could hear the music, although it was a couple of miles away, and started walking back the way they had come. As each subsequent ghoul saw the others turn around, they did the same. Soon the entire contingent of undead along Alligator Alley was heading back toward the east coast again.

  Mike looked back at Carol and Jamal. “We’re almost through,” he shouted.

  Jack was hunched over the wheel, his teeth grinding in intense concentration. He knew they were about to break through the wall of zombies in front of them. What he didn’t know was that because of one flat tire and one completely bare rim driving over all the mangled corpses, they were already hydroplaning at top speed. Seeing a small car looming up ahead, Jack tried to steer around it. The wheel turned freely but no longer steered the vehicle.

  “Oh my God,” he screamed, “the car won’t steer. I’ve lost control.”

  Seconds later, the left bumper hit and glanced off the stalled car. This spun the taxi broadside. Now the right side of the vehicle was moving straight ahead like a battering ram. Both the front and rear passenger-side windows shattered as the car hurled itself into the massed bodies of the undead.

  As the cab broadsided through, one zombie came through the shattered window and practically landed in Mike’s lap. Mike found himself face to face with a skinny, male zombie with white hair and no shirt. There were old wounds and festering sores on his rank body. Mike had pushed his bony face up against the splintered front windshield to keep its snapping jaws away from him. One of the zombie’s arms was pinned behind him because his shoulder dislocated as he was thrown through the window. Mike had the other arm pinned against the car’s side pillar.