by bret Wellman
The wall of shields seemed to tower over them, casting them into their shadow.
Carl joined the pack, pushing a zombie out of the way to get to the shields. Dan had to face backwards, swinging his sword, frantically trying to kill every zombie that approached them from behind.
There was so many that he barely had time to think. Slash, stab, kick, shove, his brain was working on overdrive. He felt like he was trying to hold back the tide of the ocean.
A hand grabbed the back of his collar and yanked, sending Dan's heart into his throat. He thought that he was done. He braced for the pain of being bitten. It wasn't until the shields closed in front of him and he was staring at the backs of the riot police that he realized he was not about to die.
“Randy!” Zoey screamed. Dan looked at her and could see her eyes were wet. “We have to go back, we have to go save him!”
She made a move for the front line but Dan held her back.
“He’s gone, Zoey.”
“No!” She tried to get away but he held her tighter. “We just left him.”
“We had no choice.”
“He was alive and we ran away. We killed him.”
Dan shook his head. “There were too many zombies, if we had stopped we would all be dead right now.”
She turned and buried her face in his chest. He could feel her tears soaking his shirt, but he could not hear her cry. She held it in, pulling away and wiping her eyes.
"We got four healthy in Hell’s Kitchen," said a man decked out in SWAT gear, into a walkie-talkie.
Dan could see three other SWAT guys standing inside the safety of the riot police's wall. They each carried a military grade assault rifle. He could also see another line of riot police, boxing them in between the buildings. They seemed to be inching their way down the road. The SWAT guys picked off any zombie that dared come at them from the buildings to their sides.
"We are going to get you out of here alright."
Dan turned at the sound of the SWAT guy’s voice. "What are you guys trying to do?"
"We are spread across the city, attempting to kill enough of these things to thin them out."
"Is it working?" asked Zoey, her voice hoarse.
"I'm afraid not. We don't have the right weapons and there are way too many of them. We have yet to make a dent and our guys are already tiring out."
"How do you plan to get us out of here?" asked Dan.
"Look alive," said the SWAT guy. He fired three rounds, dropping three zombies that were coming out of a building to their right. Dan’s ears rang from the percussion.
"We are using the city's snow plow trucks to get around, one is coming to pick you up as we speak."
"Den we be on our way out of da city!" cheered Barns.
"I'm afraid not. The roads are so backed up that we can't get any vehicles through. The only way would be to walk and, with all the zombies, that has proved to be an impossible task. I'll tell you what we do have though, a two block safe zone around the New York public library."
Dan ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "When is this going to be over?"
The SWAT guy looked amused. "Not until the military gets things under control on the outside. Unfortunately, by the sounds of any contact we have made, things are far from under control."
Chapter 21
The plow truck barreled down the road, parting zombies with its plow. Blood was smeared all across its entire front, dripping off the grill and headlights. The only spot there wasn't any blood was where the windshield wipers had been cleaning it off.
When the truck got close enough, the wall of riot police parted and the four SWAT members killed enough zombies that it could make it through without too much trouble.
Once it was in the middle of everyone, it hissed to a stop and the driver stuck his arm out through the window and slapped the side impatiently. "Let's go!"
He appeared to immediately regret touching the outside of his truck, as he tried to wipe the blood off of his hand, on the edge of the window.
One of the SWAT guys popped a latch on the back gate and let it swing open.
"We have been transporting people in the back. Make sure you hold on tight or it will throw you around," he said and turned to the truck driver. "I think you will be coming back here pretty quick. This was a bad idea, the boys are already tired. We won't hold out for long like this."
The truck driver spat brown onto the ground. "Shit, well, you guys better make your minds up. The roads are only growing thicker with these things, I'm not sure how much longer I will be able to keep making this trip."
The SWAT guy nodded, "Do what you can."
Dan inspected the back of the truck with skepticism. It looked rusty and unforgiving with two long bench seats that had been hastily welded to the sides. At least there was enough room, it was ten feet long and could fit their entire group with plenty of extra room.
Dan turned to thank the SWAT guy after they had climbed in, but he was already slamming the gate shut and locking it. These guys are in a hurry, he thought, and for a good reason.
"Sit down," said Zoey when she saw that he was still standing.
The engine revved and the truck lurched forward, knocking Dan off of his feet. He felt a tight pain in the side of his arm as he hit the floor. This guy isn’t wasting any time, he thought as he laid there.
When his body had caught up with the inertia, he sat up holding his shoulder. It ached but he didn't think it was anything too serious.
"This is so sketchy!" He said.
Dan had once hit a raccoon when he was sixteen. He had just gotten his license and wasn't paying any attention when the creature had stepped out in front of him. The car had hit hard and bounced into the air on collision. He would have never guessed that such a small creature could have had that much of an impact, and wondered if the tire was going to fall off. It was a strange and troubling sensation, a sensation he was now having for the second time in his life.
The snow plow collided with something and the truck bounced as that thing fell under its wheels. Dan was about to voice his concern when it happened again, and again. It was the zombies.
Zoey’s knuckles were white as she clung to her seat. "Wow, that is violent. I'm surprised this truck can keep going."
"That is why I would rather be cummin than stroking," said Carl.
"Excuse me?"
"Cummins diesel, it's a joke."
"You will have to explain it to me later," she said, looking pale-faced at the floor.
"Get on a seat, Dan," said Barns. "You gone get hurt down there."
They could feel every impact the zombies made, hear every splatter.
Dan climbed up onto the bench and stood up, using the lip of the truck bed for support. With his feet on the bench, everything above his chest was sticking out. The truck wasn't going very fast, maybe ten or fifteen miles an hour; it seemed a whole lot faster with obstacles blocking the street. Smoke billowed from the exhaust stacks above the cab.
The truck driver avoided any cars in the street but made no exception for the zombies. It was a good thing that they were so spaced out. Dan wondered how many could bunch together before the truck would be brought to a standstill.
"Are you crazy?" asked Zoey. "Sit down!"
Dan took one last look at the zombies, there were around ten for every twenty or thirty feet of road. He observed them being parted by the truck; most were successfully batted away from the plow but a few fell under the tires. He watched for a moment longer before reluctantly sitting down.
Judging by the dejected look on Zoey’s face, her thoughts were still on Randy. Dan thought about saying something but kept it to himself.
Barns pulled the liquor from his back pocket and drank the rest of the bottle. When he was done he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I should a got two bottles."
“This feels more like a, drink water situation,” Dan said with a smirk.
Barns wrinkled his nose and shook his hea
d in protest. This made Carl’s boy laugh.
Looking up, Dan spotted a fighter jet passing low over the city, the roar of its jet engines hitting him a few seconds later.
Before anybody could protest he hopped back onto the bench; this time Zoey hopped up with him.
"Where do you think it is going?" she asked.
As they passed an intersection, Dan could see down the street and out across the Harlem River. Two cloudy missile streaks shot out from the belly of the plane, heading towards a very tall and black building on the other side. They went through the intersection before he could see the impact, but he could hear it. The city rumbled with the sound of a distant explosion. A four on the Richter scale, his old uncle would have said.
When they passed the next intersection he could see the buildings turning into skeletons of their former selves and then vanishing into the flames. A giant mushroom of orange and yellow danced into the sky. The fire was so big he could feel the warmth from the flames on his face.
Some of the buildings outside of the initial blast began to fall, their structure unable to take the force. The Harlem River was a blanket of fire, the mushroom cloud reflecting against its surface. The ripples and waves arced away from the blast.
"They are burning Jersey City to the ground..."
As if it were there to solidify Dan's words, a second jet made a pass of destruction on the city.
He felt Zoey place a hand on his shoulder. "You don't think they would do that here, do you?"
He placed his hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. "No, there are too many survivors here."
As the words escaped his mouth, he wondered if they were true. Had there been any survivors in Jersey City? Had they bombed it anyway? Would Manhattan be next?
He found himself feeling slightly relieved when the plow truck turned and started heading deeper into Manhattan. Watching Jersey City being destroyed was making him uneasy.
He sat back down on the bench for a while, feeling the shudders as they mowed down zombie after zombie. He tried to rest his head against the wall, but every time the truck hit a zombie it would bump him. Eventually he gave up and sat forward.
"How much farther, Dad?" asked Carl's son.
“I don’t know,” said Carl.
It wasn’t much longer after that when the horn started blowing on the truck.
Dan hopped up onto the bench and looked out. There was a police car parked sideways a block up the road. It had sandbags piled up on either side of it and people, living people, firing guns over its hood at the zombies.
The police cruiser backed up in time for them to go right through where it had been parked. Dan was thankful the car had moved; he wasn’t so sure the truck driver would have even slowed down if they hadn’t.
The people standing around the car were a mix of camouflaged National Guardsmen and cops. They waved to them before turning back to their duties, taking on the zombies.
Past the barricade, the street was suddenly calm. The truck no longer jerked and bounced from the impact of hitting walking corpses. There were no moaning creatures, no mobs, just the truck, rolling down a shadowy street. Now that things were calmer, Dan noticed that one of the tires had developed a squeak. It chirped every time the tire made a rotation.
“It sure be more relaxing on dis road,” said Barns.
Dan nodded. “Yeah, no shit.”
Dan looked up at a street sign that read 5th avenue. The road they were on dead-ended at fifth, as they approached what he knew to be the New York Public Library.
The building was shorter than the others in the city. It made it seem as if the place held power, like it was too important to knock down. The entire building was white with gigantic archways that towered over pillars. It looked like some ancient Greek temple. The steps leading to the front entrance were long and grand, running the length of the building.
Dan was so caught up in watching the place that he almost fell on the floor when the truck driver hit the brakes. He bumped shoulders with Zoey and Barns had to steady them both.
"I have never been inside," said Zoey. She was standing next to him with the same look of awe on her face.
Barns hopped up on the bench to look out, "I used to live here."
"You did?" asked Dan.
"Yea right dere under dat pillar. Made it almost a whole day before dey kicked me out."
Dan laughed, he couldn't help it. "Well let’s hope you break your record this time around.”
The gate swung open behind them and the truck driver stood there, waiting. He was a husky old man who looked like he was in need of a shave.
"Come on, get on out of there. I can't have you hanging out in here all day."
Carl and his boy got up first so everybody else followed them out, single file. Dan turned back and helped Zoey to the ground. He had to ignore the awful stench coming from the tires and undercarriage of the truck. Grade A cooked and rotting meat.
"Why, thank you kind sir," said Zoey as she let go of him.
"I think they want you guys to head around to the back of the building, they have all the people gathered in Bryant Park," said the truck driver.
"Thank you," said Dan, turning towards the library.
Fifth Avenue had been turned into a giant parking lot. There were all kinds of service vehicles lining the street. Dan counted four fire engines, thirteen ambulances, ten decked out military jeeps, eight plow trucks and countless police cruisers. There were people hanging out all around them too. Firemen, EMTs, cops, soldiers, the only people Dan didn't see were the ones in street clothes. They laughed and joked with each other, some looking tired, some looking fresh. If Dan didn't know any better, he would have suspected it was just another day on the job.
He watched them apprehensively before turning to his group. "I think we have left the land of the dead and entered the land of the living."
Chapter 22
The sun reflected off of a large glass building, causing the light to make patterns at their feet. The city had gone quiet, there was a little noise from the people still around, but it was nothing compared to how Manhattan usually is.
Dan led his group down a side road to get around the library where they came upon the large, crowded park. The lawn was a rectangular shape, with trees separating it from the street. The trees were seasonally bare, their branches looking like long skeletal fingers reaching for the grass. There were people scattered everywhere on the lawn; at least a thousand. They looked scared and overcome with enervation. There were National Guardsmen standing under the trees every so often, creating a protective shield around the park. Some firemen walked around with boxes of water bottles, handing them out to people who needed them.
Dan froze as three cops spotted them and came running up. They didn't look very happy to see them. In fact, one pulled out his gun.
"Whoa, what the hell do you think you are doing?” asked the lead cop, gun in hand.
Carl stepped up. "Is there a problem officer?"
"You can't be bringing weapons here."
"But we need these to survive," said Dan.
"No you don't, this is a civilian area."
Zoey frowned, "You cannot be serious.”
"Oh, I am dead serious, ma'am. Now I am going to have to ask you to hand them over."
Dan placed a hand protectively against the hilt of his sword. The cop responded by lifting his pistol.
"Put your hands in the air where I can see them!"
"Are you kidding me?" asked Dan.
The other cops were all drawing their own pistols. They aimed them at Barns as he stepped forward, holding out his baseball bat for them to take.
"Here, he don't mean nothin’ by it. Please don't let us be in trouble."
"Set it on the ground," said the lead cop.
Barns complied.
"Alright, now the rest of you do the same."
As everybody else bent to set down their weapons, Dan didn't budge. He just scowled, thinking there was no way
a donut eating, fat, piece of shit was going to disarm him in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
"We need these weapons," he said.
"Set down the sword!"
"No way, you are going to have to pry it from my cold dead hands, fuck face."
"I'm giving you one last warning. If you do not set down that sword I will shoot you."
Dan slowly moved his hand down and gripped the hilt of his sword. "Well, then you better hope your first shot kills me."
Dan had had enough, he had come too far and fought too much to give up his only line of defense. If this cop was going to kill him, he planned to take the guy along for the ride before he went.
The cop stood there, clearly debating whether he should shoot or not.
"What's going on here?" another cop said, walking up.
When Dan looked he was surprised to see Dicky, the cop he had met the day before.
"These guys are trying to bring weapons in where all the other civilians are," said the lead cop.
Dicky's eyes had dark rings around them and, to go by his overall appearance, he hadn't stopped working since they had last seen him. He still managed to smile when he saw people he recognized.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the two troublemakers," he said, walking in front of the lead cop’s gun to slap Dan on the shoulder. "I thought I told you to find a way off the island."
"You did," said Dan. "Unfortunately that was easier said than done."
"Well either way, I'm glad to see you walk up here with a heartbeat."
"What the hell, Chief?" said the lead cop.
"Chief?" asked Dan.
"My boss hopped in one of the department’s helicopters as soon as he figured out how bad things were getting. The boys have been calling me Chief ever since."
"You can't just let these guys go in there, Chief,” said the lead cop.
"It's alright, Bill," Dicky said. "He's right, though, you can't just go waving around a weapon in a park full of people."
Dan shook his head. "Dicky, you can't make me give up my sword. I have to be able to defend myself with something. What the hell do you expect me to do if I get attacked by a zombie?"