by M. D. Massey
As he got closer, he got a better impression of what was going on inside the pit. The cars were parked around a spiral road, which descended until it reached the bottom. He still couldn't see that bottom, but he could guess people were down there trying to hold off the zombies who were following the spiral behind them. The jam went back toward the highway. It seemed everyone mistook this for a road to safety. Once inside the gravity well of the pit, they had no choice but to continue down because the rim was already awash in zombies and there was no backing up. How far could they drive into the rocky tunnels?
So many mysteries here.
The second-level loop around the mine had a second access ramp that allowed some people to escape on foot back to ground level before they got too far down the hole. He saw people using that ramp, running out both directions around the rim of the mine. Some were coming toward the train. Others were heading into the woods or back toward the highway.
The largest group headed for the train—toward rescue. They were up against an area thick with zombies waiting on the edge. Some members of their group were using weapons to try to clear a path. He judged there was no way those people could get through so many undead without help from this side.
The engineer gave a long blast on the air horn. The train slowed down to an even slower crawl, but not a full stop.
“What the hell? Is she going to try to save those people?” Victoria wondered.
“It sure looks like it. But who is going to save us?”
As they watched, the right side of the train was engulfed front to back by plague victims, each trying to gain purchase on a car. He looked back—and wasn't surprised to see a large group of zombies coming from the direction of the train tracks behind them. The followers had never stopped following ...
They only had a few minutes before zombies would be surrounding them from almost every angle. There was essentially nothing he could do to change the outcome of this battle against so many attackers.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to try.
* * *
5
Liam looked at his options, briefly hoping someone else would suggest a plan.
“I think we should do something,” he told her. “No one else is helping.”
“If you've got a plan, let's hear it,” she countered.
He could try to organize some kind of rescue mission with police and gang members forging out into the crowd of zombies to try to meet up with the incoming group of people—but he was pretty sure that would fail based on the sheer size of the rising horde. And they'd waste a lot of ammo; ammo had to be running low for most of the police.
He looked over his shoulder to the river side of the complex. Several big dump trucks sat there. His first thought upon seeing them came from one of his zombie books. He couldn't remember the name, but in it, huge dump trucks were used by evil men to deposit large buckets of zombies on the good guys. He doubted that could happen here in real life. No evil men were lurking by the trucks.
“I think if we get into one of those dump trucks, we can use it to push through the thickest part of this crowd of zombies and help those people cross over to the train.”
She looked at where the trucks were parked, how fast the train was crawling along, and the status of the people in the group moving in their direction.
“It's going to be close.”
“Good enough for me.”
Though the quarry side was clogged with infected, the other side of the train was almost free of them. The massive crowd behind was uncomfortably close, but still a few minutes back. Once they caught up to the train, all sides would be consumed. There was little time.
He felt stupid saying it, but he yelled to Jones and Victoria as he went down the short ladder.
“Cover me!”
Jones said something he couldn't hear, but Victoria yelled, “Go for it!” as if he were part of a sporting event.
He dodged around a couple of walkers who happened to be in his way as he ran the fifty yards to the trucks. He had his pistol, but speed was more important than killing any one or two random z's.
It was large, but he was glad to see it wasn't the truly enormous dump truck he’d seen on National Geographic specials. It was just a normal-sized dump truck.
He had no trouble scaling the side but was stymied at the door. It was locked. He hadn't even considered what he'd do once he got into the cab. Now he wasn't even going to make it inside.
He took out his pistol and readied it to shoot out the glass. At the last second, he realized he was about to do something stupid. He engaged the safety and then used the gun as a hammer to break the window. In seconds he was inside. He found a lone key in the ignition. He figured these trucks never left the premises and thus never needed their keys removed. If someone got in at night they could joyride around the quarry—the teen boy in him imagined what a fun night that would be—, but the big gates in the front would keep anyone from leaving the property.
With a turn of the key, the big rig started to turn over, then sputtered to a stop. He steadied himself as he looked out the window, ready to try again.
This is going to be a piece of cake!
The train was moving slowly down the track from his right to his left. The engine was now coming in line with the southernmost part of the open pit and was at a point closest to the people trying to get out of the mine. The back of the train was starting to be enveloped by those infected already lurking at the mine, while the group of trailing zombies was still a couple of hundred yards behind but closing quickly.
It's now or never.
A second turn of the key did no better. The truck started for a moment, then died. Only then did he look down and realize it was a stick shift.
Are you kidding me?
He looked down at the extra foot pedal on the floor. Purpose unknown. He had never learned to drive a stick. His parents had two cars with automatic transmissions.
On an ordinary day with plenty of time, he knew he could figure it out. When zombies were pushing in from multiple directions and people's lives depended on the results—he decided not to risk it.
He kicked open the door, scampered down the side, and ran back toward the train. On his right, the zombies were uncomfortably close. Again he dodged the few random infected between the trucks and the train. He would only have time to return to the truck one more time before the larger group was upon him. It all depended on finding someone who could drive a stick.
Fortunately, he had a large fan base watching him, including Victoria and Jones—both had moved to the front ladder of the flatcar.
“Can anyone drive a stick?” he yelled, out of breath.
He looked at Victoria—it just seemed like that was how it would go—but he was surprised when Jones jumped down.
“Let's go, man.”
He gave Victoria a smile, then turned around with his big friend and started back.
The man was big indeed, but fit for his size. After all, he was a police officer. But even with their combined speed, they made it to the truck just ahead of the leading zombies in the rear. Jones had to push one of them over to give himself room to climb.
Once in the cab, Jones started the truck like a pro and pulled forward.
“Look, kid, I got this. When we get up to the train, I'm going to pull up next to the rear car, and you're going to jump back on.”
“I can help you!”
“No doubt. But those people are going to need all the firepower they can get on the train. You have to hold them off,” he said while pointing to the arriving crowd of undead. “Once you do that, maybe you can clear as many of the zombies as possible between the survivors and the train. Wow, I can see the whole thing now that I'm in this seat.”
Liam shared his perspective. It was obvious what had to be done. It involved running over a lot of sick, bloody, ruined people to save the healthy ones beyond.
He wanted to stay with Jones because he felt it was his idea to use the truck,
but he quashed his ego and acquiesced to the request to return to the train.
Jones pulled out his radio as they neared the train.
“This is Jonesy. I need you guys to coordinate some shooters to help clear a path for those people—and kill any zombies I miss when I drive through. Good luck. Out.
“Good luck, kid. Get ready to jump.” Jones expertly maneuvered the truck alongside the flatcar, and he was able to step out of the cab while holding the door, and jump the couple feet over to the crowded platform. Many hands helped pull him in.
Once he was safe, Jones slowed so the train would pass him on his right, then he turned to cross the tracks and accelerated along the right side of the train. It was all physics from that point.
The train was about halfway off the property of the pit mine. The engineer stopped the train just as Jones turned toward the mine. She sounded the horn over and over for extra emphasis, drawing in friend and foe.
Jones also laid into his horn as he started crushing zombies. The dump bed was empty, but the vehicle was so massive it had no problem handling the ever-greater number of infected it was pushing aside—and under. It was making a path as Liam had intended.
The big dump truck started turning along the outermost ring of the spiral around the top of the mine. It moved almost directly away from the rail line and directly toward the mass of people pushing for the salvation of the train.
He couldn't see exactly what was happening with the truck once it started moving away, but the bloody trail of downed zombies behind it told him enough.
“Aw, man. We should have gotten several of those dump trucks working, and we could have cleaned up this mess!” Victoria said, as if realizing something important.
He looked at the remaining bank of trucks with longing, but the trailing zombies were catching up to his car.
He and Victoria moved as best they could through all the people huddled in the middle. Grandma was safely ensconced under the truck's axle, so they didn't have to worry about her. That was the only good news.
Did they all follow us?
With so many zombies converging on the back of the train, they would have to shoot to stay alive, no doubt about that. But all that shooting would lead to the dead stacking up under foot—which was how they almost climbed onto the flatcar the last time.
What they needed was for the train to start moving again. That would have to wait until the people were rescued. In the meantime, everyone was in danger.
The zombies arrived like the pull of a blanket over their heads.
The shooting arrived with them.
* * *
6
As he suspected, there were a lot of new guns on the back of the train. Many of the people who came out of the coal cars had weapons, and they were anxious to get in on the action. As soon as the zombies shambled up to the back of the train, they plugged away at them. Before he could shout any warnings, it became impossibly noisy.
He and Victoria tried to use their weapons from where they stood, but they were dismayed to realize there were too many bodies standing in front of them to even consider using a gun. The outside row recoiled inward from the tide of plague-driven zombies washing up at their feet. It was mere moments before the first victims were snatched off the car and into the sea of hands, inciting panic among the remaining passengers as they pushed, pulled, punched, and clawed their way into the middle of the train car. Some tossed strangers off the edge to stay alive—it was a stampede smothered inside a murder-suicide.
What was once going to be a heroic defense of the rear car, turned swiftly into a debacle of fratricide. Fearing they'd be tossed out, he grabbed Victoria's hand and pulled her back on top of him as he fell beneath the tractor-trailer near Grandma. She was packed in like a sardine in her section. He wondered if she was being hurt by all the struggling people.
The most effective shooters, the ones inflicting the most damage, were at the rear. They had the most room, and because they grouped together in anticipation of the trailing zombies, they had plenty of time to prepare.
In under a minute—much faster than his smaller group had done earlier—they had created enough carnage to stack the dead directly behind them. Like before, the zombies used their fallen comrades as a biological ramp to crawl up to the survivors. Hands grabbed at passengers’ legs. One shooter fell, then another. Then more.
Within minutes, and despite the withering gunfire, the zombies were up on the flatcar, tearing through the rear contingent and moving forward. He looked at Victoria and saw the fear in her eyes.
The tractor-trailer was parked so the legs holding it up were near the back of the rail car. That put about 80 feet, and 50 or so adults—only some with weapons—between them and the incoming wave.
He caught sight of Grandma who was watching the whole thing unfold. She gave him a weak smile as she huddled with everyone else under the truck. Escape was impossible for her.
“Liam,” Victoria shouted over the gunshots and screams, “can you call the engineer? We have to move this train, or we're going to be swamped.”
“I don't know if she has a police radio up there. But I'll try.” He repeatedly tried to raise someone up in the front of the train. No one answered.
He tried to get a look over to Jones and his effort with the dump truck, but there were too many faces staring back at him, blocking most of his view.
“Liam, we have to do it ourselves. We can jump on the car in front of us and keep going until we reach the engine.”
He thought it sounded crazy, but he couldn't think of a better plan. Grandma was in some serious trouble if they didn't make something happen for her. He could stay and fire round after round from his gun, but more zombies were surrounding the train than he could realistically dispatch, even if he used all 1,000 rounds from his backpack.
He trusted Victoria.
“Grandma, Victoria and I—”
“Yes, dear. Please hurry!”
He did something he had never done in his entire life. He gave Grandma a kiss on the cheek.
“I'll save you. I promise,” he shouted, hoping her hearing aid would pick it up.
He and Victoria slithered through the mass of people and made their way to the front of the rear car so they could jump the small gap to the next car—an open-topped coal hopper. A couple of zombies milled about in the gap, but it was an easy jump for both. A quick climb and then over the lip of the car.
There were several people in that coal car, but only a pair of men were hanging over the edges to shoot at the zombies. The walls of the hopper were too high to effectively wield a weapon. The high, metal walls made the people inside very secure—unless there was an impossibly large pile of zombies outside—but it took them out of the fight as well.
They ran along the interior, avoiding women and children sitting inside. With a quick jump and pull to the top of the far wall, he was able to straddle it. He planted his foot on the ladder up the outside of the car and extended his hand to help Victoria up and out. He could tell she wanted to do it on her own, but she was still wearing a black dress and flats with broken heels. Not exactly the best outfit for running, jumping, and climbing.
The next car was a big, enclosed, freight car. They hurriedly clambered on top and ran forward among a few of the people who sat up there. The engine was about twenty cars ahead.
From the high vantage point, he turned to his right and was able to take in the action playing out as Jones reached the group of survivors next to the mine. He had forced the truck through to the cheering men and women. The number of zombies had been reduced, perhaps by as much as half along the roadway. It might be enough.
It looked like Jones was going to turn the truck around and push more dead out of the way on his way back, but Liam had to keep moving and wasn’t able to watch any more.
They worked their way up the train cars. Some were simple up-and-overs like the freight car. Many were challenging, such as dropping into and climbing out of the coal cars.
One unique coal car was particularly difficult because it had sloped panels in the front and rear, making it slippery as grease to get out. Victoria's shoes were incredibly slick on the coal dust, and when she finally dragged herself high enough where he could grab her, it looked like she had black stockings on her legs. Her arms and face weren't much better, but he did enjoy holding her hands, however briefly.
They passed many of the remaining cops and gang members, both frantically firing into the core of the zombies swarming between them and the arriving survivors. He hoped they wouldn't accidentally hit anyone that wasn't already infected.
They were only a few cars from the front when they heard desperate wailing coming from the group of survivors out in the action. He didn't see the dump truck anywhere. There was nowhere it could have gone in that short of time. Except—
“Oh, no.” He could guess what had happened. Jones had driven off the edge of the pit mine. How far down was the next level? He couldn't see below the lip of the mine.
Victoria was speechless. She gave him a slight nudge in the back as if to say they had to keep moving.
There was no time for mourning. The group from the pit seemed enraged at the loss. They kept coming, killing zombies as they got in their way.
A few minutes later, and he and Victoria boarded the walking platform surrounding the engine. They ran inside the side door and found the engineer on the right side of the compartment, watching the action unfold from her window.
“You have to move the train! Even a hundred feet will help,” he shouted at her.
The engineer jumped, obviously startled. “Good god, you scared me!”
“Oh, sorry,” he said in a less frightening voice.
She pointed outside. “Shouldn't we wait for them to get here? They aren't far now. I stopped so we could save those poor people.”