The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll

by Hegarty, W. J.

  Bernie slammed both of his hands down hard on the car’s hood. “Pop it, man. Pop it!”

  Miller fiddled beneath the dash until he came across a set of levers. He pulled each one furiously until finally the hood unlatched. Bernie threw the cover open and began furiously rummaging. While Casandra held the hood aloft, Bernie dug deep behind the engine cavity. His face strained, his body twisted as he reached deeper into the maze of metal and wire.

  “I think I got it,” he said as he yanked a handful of wires from their housings. “Fuck.” A second handful of wires came free, and the ear-splitting whine ceased.

  Miller let out a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes as he let his head go forward to rest on the steering wheel. Raised voices from outside of the car jostled him from his all-too-brief moment of quiet. The upright hood of the car blocked his view of the commotion. Yet another issue requiring his attention—he was sure of it.

  “You fucking asshole!” Damon yelled before punching Elliot in the face. Off-balance, the already embarrassed man fell backward over a downed motorcycle, landing back-first on the curb. Damon continued his assault. As Elliot lay on the ground, Damon began kicking him in the ribs and stomach, all the while cursing his clumsiness. Lancaster slunk behind a nearby van, lest anyone take the opportunity to let out their frustrations on him again.

  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t do it on purpose,” Elliot pleaded while shielding his face from Damon’s unrelenting blitz. The pummeling continued long after Elliot felt a rib snap beneath Damon’s heavy boots.

  Radzinski laughed and turned his back on the beating as Miller passed en route to intervene. Miller knew Radzinski was an asshole, there was no denying it, but to let an innocent man take a beating like that was beyond even him, or so he thought.

  “Goddammit, that’s enough!” Miller grabbed Damon around the neck in a chokehold and pulled him backward, off of his victim, while Soraya dragged Elliot off the street and into a grassy patch near the sidewalk. By this point, the remainder of Miller’s unit and the Pepperbush survivors joined the scene.

  “Get the fuck off me!” Damon struggled against the soldier’s hold. He swung wildly. His fists occasionally landed harmlessly against Miller, who squeezed tighter and leaned into the man’s ear.

  “Calm down, and I’ll let you go,” Miller whispered.

  “Fuck you, man!” Damon yelled, struggling to free himself.

  Miller said no more. He gently applied more pressure, quickly cutting off Damon’s air supply. Within seconds, the man’s flailing arms began to slow, and Damon’s eyes rolled into the back of his head; he was unconscious.

  “Let me take a look at you.” Aiko bent down to examine the bloodied Elliot.

  “I’m fine,” Elliot said, shooing her away, more embarrassed than injured. “You people are fucking crazy. That guy’s gonna kill someone!” he shouted, waving his hands in Damon’s direction.

  “Hey, man.” Miller reached out in an attempt to calm Elliot.

  The battered man pulled away from the attempted compassion. “I said I’m fine. Just leave me alone,” he insisted as he limped into an adjacent building, one slightly less ruined than its neighbors.

  Aiko attempted to go after him, but Miller stopped her short.

  “Give him some space. He’ll be fine,” he said as they watched Elliot disappear into the structure.

  Elliot’s face was dotted with blood. It blurred his vision as he entered the burnt-out building. The contrast from light to darkness inside didn’t help matters. A large portion of the ceiling had collapsed into the first-floor lobby, cutting off access to the nearest restroom. He made his way, stumbling through the debris, into the kitchen; it was in complete disarray, much like everything else they came across in this town. Enough light made its way into the wreckage for him to find a large washbasin still filled with dirty dishes and rotting food scraps. A hole in the ceiling allowed some light in, but in reality, all it accomplished was preventing Elliot’s eyes from properly adjusting to the darkness.

  He felt around the sink for a faucet and opened the valves. They were dry. Of course they are, he thought. Turning on the faucet released built-up pressure, causing a stirring in the pipes behind the wall. They moaned and creaked in the darkness, rattling some dishes loose from their perch above Elliot’s head. The plates and saucers crashed down into the sink, clanging and shattering against unseen pots and pans.

  “Motherfucker!” Elliot yelled.

  He was incensed over the lack of even the most basic of needs. Much like the pipes releasing pressure, his built-up frustration over the afternoon’s events boiled to the surface. He threw pans and plates in all directions, cursing his luck and circumstance as they bounced away into the darkened kitchen. Calming, he backed from the sink and tripped over a pile of rubble. The misstep put him flat on his back on the filthy floor. As he lay there motionless, his gaze caught a sliver of sunlight tearing through the roof. All the while he tried to distance himself from his predicament. The cold floor offered no comfort as tears of frustration streamed down his face. He kicked the sink. A cathartic release of sorts, it helped, if only slightly. He kicked it again and jarred more dishes loose. His outlet appeared to create a domino effect. Though he could barely see it, he could certainly hear and feel more dishes raining down into the sink and onto his legs. By this point, he couldn’t help but laugh, and for a moment, he relaxed. It was almost peaceful, he thought, being alone in the darkness and lying atop unseen filth. Aside from the constant rattle in the wall, it was quiet, too.

  He began to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. It seemed unreal even now, and a smile finally overcame him, if only for a fleeting moment as clawing hands from beneath a nearby counter scratched at his face. Those things were in here the whole time, he realized, watching him from the shadows. Two more leaped upon his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. Within seconds, more than a half dozen previously unseen infected were on him, clawing and biting at any piece of exposed flesh they could find. Elliot began to scream as another clamped its jaws down tightly over his mouth, nearly severing his lips and breaking a few of his teeth. Muffled moans were all that escaped the kitchen as Elliot was crushed under the weight of his attackers. To no avail, he swung wildly at the one attached to his face, his flailing arm a tempting lure for yet another ghoul, who immediately began rending the flesh from Elliot’s fingers. The young man kicked wildly as all trace of him was covered by an ever-growing swarm of undead.

  Radzinski’s increased lack of discipline and outright contempt for Miller’s command had become a problem that threatened to tear the group apart. Weeks on the road had only reinforced what Takashi warned Miller about nearly two months ago. Dissension in the ranks in the midst of a volatile situation like this must be dealt with swiftly and harshly. Doubt had the potential to spread like a cancer, infecting otherwise loyal subordinates or placing doubt in the minds of those you were protecting.

  Miller handed his rifle and sidearm to Soraya and took off in a sprint after Radzinski. This had gone on long enough. The lingering stares from the civilians every time Radzinski piped up and questioned orders or flat-out refused them and the constant undermining of every little detail of Miller’s leadership would end here and now. One way or the other, they would settle this.

  “Miller, wait,” Jeremiah protested. He was ever the voice of reason, but it was too late. Miller was on top of Radzinski before Jeremiah could finish his thought.

  Miller lunged to shoulder the larger man in the small of his back. It knocked the wind from Radzinski, and he stumbled but stayed on his feet. He turned and in one fluid motion elbowed Miller in the spine, sending him to the ground.

  Radzinski threw down his weapons and stripped off his gear to square up against Miller. “You must have lost your fucking mind, boy.” Radzinski snorted as he reached down and grabbed Miller by the back of his shirt. Radzinski’s other hand firmly clenched Miller’s belt. He used the momentum to slam Miller face-first into the side of the
abandoned car.

  Winded, Miller crawled to his knees as Radzinski pulled back his leg for a kick. Miller deflected the blow, throwing his attacker off-balance, and punched the man in the side of the knee. The ground went out from beneath Radzinski as he fell hard to the pavement. Miller didn’t give him time to recover and was on top of him the second he hit the pavement, landing several blows to the man’s face.

  Sam stepped forward with every intention of putting a stop to the brawl. “We need to end this now!” he demanded, but Jeremiah held out his arm as a barricade.

  “No,” Jeremiah interceded. “This has been a long time coming. They have to sort this out now before we go any farther.” Jeremiah stood by his assertion but watched the bout closely. If it got out of hand, he wouldn’t hesitate to break it up.

  Sam saw the logic in Jeremiah’s opinion, although he wasn’t comfortable letting them fight like this. He would remain a spectator as well.

  Miller forced Radzinski’s back against the car, prepared to continue the beating.

  “Go ahead,” the bigger man whispered.

  Miller paused, his bloody fist held aloft while Radzinski spoke through red-rimmed teeth.

  “Go ahead and beat me down. It won’t change the fact that you’re incompetent.” Radzinski pushed Miller off of him and rose to his feet. “Look around you.” He gestured to the ruined city and the ragtag group surrounding them. “None of this shit matters anymore. If Damon beats the shit out of Elliot or Marisol tries to kill Lancaster on a daily basis, so fucking what?” He spat a mouthful of blood onto the curb. “They’re all dead anyway. All of us are, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.” Radzinski unsheathed his knife and pressed it hard against his throat. “All you gotta do is pull this fucker. Go ahead. Do me a favor. You want me gone so bad? Do it right here, right now.”

  The stubborn men stood eye to eye, each waiting for the other to make the next move. Miller turned his back on Radzinski.

  “That’s what I thought,” Radzinski said as he put his knife away and began collecting his gear. “The road is going to kill every one of us eventually. You really think I give a shit if it’s here and now at your hands instead of by one of those things when I finally slip up?”

  Miller wiped blood from his busted lip. He rolled the fluid around his fingers with his thumb until it became sticky and began to dry. Radzinski wasn’t completely off the mark, and once again, doubt crept in. Did he just make things worse within the group? If they had doubts, did this little scene help to dispel them or exacerbate them? “Save the self-righteous act, Radzinski. You’re not fooling anyone.” He turned to gather his own gear but paused mid-stride to confront Radzinski once more. “You will fall in line, and you will help me get these people to safety. Like it or not, we are still following command structure,” Miller stated with finality. “If you don’t like it, I’ll leave your ass here. You want to die? Fine. I really don’t care anymore, but you die alone. Otherwise, you are going to help me.”

  “You’re gonna get us all killed,” Radzinski added.

  “You might be right. Things certainly don’t look good for us, now do they?” Miller calmed. “We very well may all die out here long before we find somewhere safe, but until that happens, I’m not giving up on these people. They need us. So if you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, get your shit together. We’re Oscar Mike in five.”

  The crowd of onlookers was silent. If that was any indication of their stance on Miller’s actions, he couldn’t tell one way or the other. He would have to press on and hope for the best.

  • • •

  “Miller, you better take a look at this!” Rachel shouted from her perch atop a wrecked bus, urgency in her voice. She remained at her post as a lookout while the others busied themselves with drama. Her attention was fixed on something she was viewing through the binoculars. Rachel frantically waved her arms and pointed back in the direction they’d come from. “We’ve got movement,” she said as Miller sprinted to the bus and joined her on its roof.

  “Let me see those,” said Miller as Rachel handed off the binoculars. “Shit, they must have heard us.” Miller squinted against the midday sun. Though partially blinded from the glare, he could make out hundreds of infected closing in.

  “Do you think they’ve been watching us?”

  “Doubt it. I don’t know if they even watch anything. I was afraid of this. Whatever they were doing, all this noise we’re making has got their attention now.” Miller jumped back to the ground. He pointed west, farther down the main stretch of the road opposite the encroaching mass.

  Around him, the group frantically gathered up its belongings; some had already begun a fast-walk in the direction he’d signaled.

  “That way. The big one in the distance.” He singled out a tall hotel about thirty blocks away. It was easily the largest on this portion of the strip and towered over the horizon. “Let’s go, people. Only take what you need. We are leaving!”

  A pair of gunshots followed by three more rang out from the nearby building. Noise from crashing debris and steady footfalls grew closer to the street. Another short burst of gunfire preceded Soraya tumbling from the darkened building. She dove out of it and fell into a combat roll, then rose to her feet and ran toward the group, looking over her shoulder most of the way. “Elliot is gone,” she said, out of breath. “Many inside. We must go.”

  Miller helped steady Soraya. He brushed some debris from off her back as the pair began running in the direction of the hotel. “We’re gone, people. Move it!” he yelled. As he picked up the pace, the group followed suit and quickly left the little building behind.

  In pursuit, undead poured from the structure, quickly filling the streets in the group’s wake. They came from every darkened corner and burnt-out building. Two or three at a time quickly escalated into dozens, hundreds, and possibly thousands of undead shuffling down the main drag of Poseidon’s Rest. Above all of it, the large hotel loomed in the distance.

  Isabelle casually strolled down the center of the street as the gap between her and the rest of the group widened. Throngs of undead closed in, barely slower than the woman’s nonchalant stride.

  “What the hell are you doing, woman?” Miller picked off a carrier just behind Isabelle’s left shoulder. Soraya took out another to her right as a third carrier’s knee was blown out a second before its head exploded.

  “Mom!” Lillian screamed.

  Vanessa grabbed her by the belt and shirt, turning her in the direction the group was running. “Keep moving, goddammit!” Vanessa yelled, pushing her along. She fired off a few shots of her own, mostly for Lillian’s benefit.

  A carrier closing in on Isabelle took the brunt of Vanessa’s impromptu attack, showering the woman with gore.

  “Miller, we must go. We have no choice!” Soraya ceased her covering fire of Isabelle and yanked on Miller’s arm. “It will be her or all of us. I am sorry. We must leave her!”

  “Fuck.” Miller turned his rifle to infected converging on him and Soraya. “Go!”

  Isabelle wandered across the street and out onto the beach. She stood at its edge for a moment and wiggled her toes in the warm sand. She looked back at Lillian as the group became smaller in the distance. If her daughter could have seen her, she would have noticed that for the first time since Tobias and Tommy were killed, her mother looked happy. A creature lunged at her, but unsure footing in the sand hindered its progress. Another tried for the assumed easy target. Isabelle grabbed onto its shirt and used the beast’s momentum to tumble over the sand, knocking down a few more of its grisly brethren. She was on her feet in a flash, slowly backing toward the sea. The beach in either direction was swarming with undead. Back on the road, her companions had grown to nothing more than indeterminate specks against the backdrop of a ruined city and hundreds of undead pursuers. She grinned before she turned and dove beneath the surf.

  Isabelle slowly swam backward, out beyond the breaking waves, until the sandy bottom was
far below her. She kept only her nose and eyes above water, not too dissimilar to how she observed her campmates from a distance back on Deertongue Banks. Waves crashed in front of her, disorienting or knocking down any infected that approached, then washing them away. Lillian and the rest of the group were barely more than silhouettes blending in with the detritus of the once happy resort. From their vantage point, Isabelle went completely unnoticed. As far as any of them could surmise, she had been swallowed up on the beach.

  Isabelle let the current take her, only ever gently fighting its pull if she felt unseen hands grasping from the depths. She was in a riptide. Any infected that tried to claim her were powerless against its strength. The bottom was where the creatures dwelled; farther out was where she swam. Her dress was tangling, suffocating. She slid out of it in a single swift movement, and for a moment, the dress still held Isabelle’s shape, high above her before the tide sucked it away. She was free to swim as she had countless hours before. When she finally surfaced, Isabelle was blocks away, her road-mates gone. She smiled before disappearing again beneath the ocean’s cold inky surface.

  For the most part, the strongest of the group picked up the slack for the weaker ones. After Isabelle wandered off, no one was left behind. Even so, they still managed to keep a steady pace. The hotel was quickly within reach. Its giant neon sign bore the remnants of a decadent era when gaudy was the rule of the day. It still hung proudly atop the building. The Blue Oasis would be their stronghold. The unfamiliar building would have to do, as their strength was fading. Even the strongest of the group was finally succumbing to fatigue. There was no choice; they had to rest.

  The twenty-minute run to the hotel put a considerable distance between them and their pursuers, but if Pepperbush had taught them anything, it was that the undead would be here fast and in far greater numbers than when they last saw them. Eighteen blocks behind them, the legion of undead grew. The larger the mob became, the more bodies it attracted to its mass until not a square foot of asphalt could be seen beneath their crushing numbers. Countless undead resembled an army of ants descending upon a wounded animal. Soon it would encircle its prize and move in for the kill. Their sheer numbers easily rivaled the mob that attacked Pepperbush nearly two months prior.