by Joe Augustyn
The thought of taking a boat out in the storm didn’t thrill him, but Bronski had worked on a few fishing boats during his college summer breaks, and he wasn’t adverse to the risk. The situation was bigger than they were. Thousands of lives might depend on it. If there was even a small chance of getting help, he had to take it.
“Let’s do it then,” agreed Ryan. “At the very least we might find shelter there. Wildwood’s on a coastal island. It floods at high tide in a storm and the marina’s pretty secluded. If we get there the flood waters might keep us safe from those walkers. At least it’ll slow them down.”
“What’s the quickest way there?”
“There’s only one way in right now, the others are blocked. Turn right at the next corner.”
Bronski turned down the road to North Wildwood, the same road Ryan had driven a few hours earlier. The boy sat silently as they neared Route 9, mesmerized by the zombie chaos on the streets. Revealed in the headlights of the SUV and occasional flashes of lightning, the mayhem had grown considerably broader and more intense since he last passed by. There were hundreds more wandering corpses. More bloodstained shirts and tattered dresses. More hands and chins dripping gore. More glossy-eyed faces missing soft flesh.
He thought of his cousin Tim and wondered if the mini-mart was still under siege. Still safely defended. He almost asked Bronski to detour to check it out, but on second thought decided it was better to stick to the plan and seek help. They needed reinforcements or the entire state would be lost. The bridges and tunnels to New York and Pennsylvania would need to be sealed to protect the nation.
He turned to Bronski. The trooper projected an aura of experience beyond his years. “Do you think this is it?” he asked solemnly.
“Is what?” asked Bronski.
“The end.”
“The end? Maybe,” Bronski replied in a quiet voice. “Or maybe it’s just the beginning.”
41
Sheriff Leeds regretted tossing the pickup truck’s keys into the woods. With the truck wedged close to his vehicle, it took him several minutes to extract his SUV from the roadblock and get it back on the road. He carefully repositioned the spike strips on either side of the disabled pickup and scattered leaves over them, a camouflaged trap for any vehicle trying to slip around the unmanned barricade. It was far from an ideal solution, but was all he had to work with.
He cursed Deputy Hayes as he drove past his abandoned cruiser and continued toward Cape May Courthouse. Clearly Hayes had screwed up royally, letting himself be taken out by a bunch of civilians. Kids, no less. If he isn’t dead, he deserves to be.
He scanned the streets and driveways for any sign of the trooper’s SUV. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The teens had obviously ditched the cruiser and hooked up with them. There are too many loose ends now. Those damned troopers must know the whole story. It’s a search and destroy mission now. No other option left on the table.
He knew it was only a matter of time before he had them in his sights. They won’t last long if they don’t get to safety. And now that I’ve blocked them in, there’s only one logical place for them to go. The state police post in the marina.
42
Bronski drove slowly, straining to see through the waterlogged windshield. The rain was incessant, drumming on the roof of the SUV like a thousand manic fingers. The road was barely visible through the slashing sheets of water, despite the vehicle’s spotlights and high beams. “How’d you get hold of that cruiser anyway?” he asked, shooting Ryan a curious look.
“It belonged to that Sheriff’s deputy. He was about to shoot the girls and I… I took him down. I had no choice.”
Took him down? Bronski almost asked how, but decided against it. Better to let sleeping dogs lie. Not to mention dead ones. “Is that his Glock in your pocket?”
“Yeah,” Ryan lied, surprised that the eagle-eyed trooper had spotted the gun. He figured it was easier than explaining how he really got the gun. From yet another dying lawman. “We took his shotgun too.” He thought back to the deputy lying in that bloody puddle. Ryan hadn’t even thought about taking his handgun. Hadn’t even looked for it. As far as he knew, it was probably embedded in the scumbag’s pulverized pelvis.
“You guys are dangerous,” teased Bronski.
“Got this too.” Ryan held up the Colt revolver. “It was my mom’s. A family heirloom. My great-uncle Ed was a cop.”
“What is that, a thirty-eight?” Bronski was happy to have a bit of distracting conversation, to keep their minds off the situation, even for one merciful minute.
“Thirty-two. But it’s almost empty. You have any extra ammo?”
“Thirty-two Smith & Wesson?” Bronski chuckled. “No. I think you’d have to hit an antique store for that.”
Ryan looked puzzled.
“I’m joking,” Bronski said. “But no, the state police stopped carrying thirty-twos back in the Depression. Got plenty of nine millimeter rounds for your Glock though. Grab a box from my tac bag.” He nodded to the canvas bag at Ryan’s feet.
“Cool. Thanks.” Ryan reached into the bag and pulled out a box of ammo. For such a small package it was surprisingly heavy.
“I’d hang on to that Colt though,” said Bronski. “It’s worth a pretty penny.”
“Yeah,” said Ryan doubtfully. “If there’s anyone left to buy it.”
Bronski started to say something reassuring, but realized it was pointless. The kid seemed to have his head on tight. Nothing he could say would change their situation. And he had no crystal ball to give them hope. They were in an extremely dicey corner of hell and the odds were stacked against them. He glanced in the rearview at Kerri and Cat in the back. “How’s my partner doing back there?”
“She’s doing great,” answered Kerri. “The bullet passed cleanly through her arm. She’s lucky it just grazed the muscle. But she won’t be doing push-ups any time soon.”
“You obviously don’t know Cat,” Bronski said with a knowing grin. “She still has one good arm.” He tilted the rearview to check on Emma, who was huddled in the seat behind Ryan. “How’re you doing back there… Emma, right? Feeling a little better?”
Emma forced a trace of a smile. She was still a nervous wreck, but was trying to show a brave front. The presence of the troopers gave her a little hope but she said nothing. Too scared to speak.
“Just hang in there,” Bronski said. Have to baby this one, she’s a mess. “As long as we stick together we’ll be fine. There’s safety in numbers.”
Ryan gazed out the windshield at the thick throngs of corpses on the road ahead. “Speaking of numbers, you’d better turn out your lights,” he suggested. “Those things are drawn to it. They’ll block the road.”
Bronski didn’t argue. He cut the spotlights and turned the headlights off as well, leaving only the amber fog lights on to illuminate their immediate surroundings. It was impossible to drive any distance without hitting one of the unholy wanderers, but he did his best to weave around them when he could.
The roads were more deeply flooded after they crossed Route 9. The steady rumbling of water on the underside of the vehicle, thrown up by the SUV’s tires, was a soothing counterpoint to the rain beating down on the roof. There seemed to be fewer zombies the further they drove, which was a hopeful sign.
Bronski slowed down as they neared the entrance to the Parkway. Ryan saw him checking out the sign. “What’s that sign say? Is that the Parkway?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Ryan said firmly. “It’s a deathtrap, I already tried it. Go straight.”
Bronski drove forward. As they neared the lengthy overpass leading to the Beach Creek Bridge, Ryan wondered if the grumpy red-nosed policeman would still be there, reborn as a zombie. But with all the streetlights out on the normally brightly lit overpass, he knew it would be tough to tell one walking corpse from another.
The SUV splashed through a foot deep puddle and started up the incline to the overpass—but B
ronski noticed a flurry of shadowy movement ahead and suddenly braked. He turned on the spotlights and Ryan gasped out loud.
The overpass was blocked by a huge herd of the dead, swaying on their feet, milling about in a stupor. There had to be hundreds of them. Wall-to-wall cadavers.
“Jesus,” Bronski exclaimed. “What the hell are they doing?”
Ryan thought about it for a moment. “They’ve gone to higher ground. Out of the flooded streets.”
“That means they can think,” Bronski suggested.
“No, I don’t think so,” Ryan countered. “I think they’re just following what’s left of their survival instincts. Even an animal knows to get out of rising water.”
“Animals can think,” said Emma meekly.
Bronski scanned the ghoulish mob for an opening but they formed a near solid roadblock. “Jesus. I’m not sure about this. You sure there’s not another road we can take?”
“No. There’s one other turn-off up ahead on the overpass. But it’s way too long and narrow and wouldn’t take us where we need to go,” said Ryan. “Drive through them. When we get to the other side we should be okay.”
“What makes you so sure? Look at them all. The entire island could be infested.”
“I don’t think so,” Ryan said. “If they fled to higher ground to get out of the rising water, they won’t cross down the other side. The streets of Wildwood flood even worse than the streets we just came from. The back channel washes in every time there’s a nor’easter. Something about the wind and the currents.”
“That’s a big if,” said Bronski. “I hope you’re right.”
“I hope so too… because we don’t have another option.”
Bronski grimaced and drove forward into the mass of bodies, crushing them back against each other. He drove slowly, working the steering wheel gently from side to side, doing his best to nudge their falling bodies off to the side of the vehicle. It wasn’t out of concern for their safety—Bronski had accepted the fact that whatever these lumbering bodies were, they were clearly beyond rehabilitation—but for fear that the SUV would get hung up on a pile of corpses.
It soon became clear that it was impossible to move forward without having to drive right over them. The SUV bounced at a turtle’s pace over the fallen carcasses. Its tires rose and fell as ribcages and skulls collapsed under the weight. Soon their treads were slippery with blood and crushed organs and brain matter.
Emma started sobbing again, her terror rekindled as throngs of agitated corpses pressed their monstrous faces to the windows and smacked the glass with their hideous hands, smearing it with blood and pus and slimy trails of froth. The nauseating aroma of death crept in through the vents and Bronski quickly closed them. The vehicle started to rock from side to side, but he kept it moving forward.
Ryan leaned across the back of his seat and whispered gentle words of encouragement to Emma. “It’s okay, we’re safe now.” He took her trembling hands in his, remembering how much that simple gesture had soothed him whenever his mother did it for him. “They can’t break the windows, it’s safety glass. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Emma leaned forward, burying her face against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her pretty head and stroked her hair. It felt like spun silk. Closing his eyes he breathed in the lingering scent of her shampoo. The faint mix of lemon and apricot was a blessing, covering the stench of decay seeping in through the crevices.
Kerri stole a glance at the lifeless faces pressing against the windows and instantly regretted her decision. It was a medley of nightmare images. Empty eye sockets. Half-naked skulls. Flesh torn and chewed. Mouths without lips. She turned away and focused her attention on Cat, trying to block out the horror. “How are you doing, hon’?”
“Okay, I guess,” Cat said, forcing a weak smile. “All things considered.” She shifted her torso and winced. “I could really use a painkiller. What do you have in your little black bag?”
“Sorry, Cat. I need you to stay alert, you know that. I can’t give you anything strong right now. And aspirin would only aggravate the bleeding.”
Cat sighed. “Just shoot me.”
Kerri chuckled. “I know you’re tougher than that. As soon as we get someplace safe I’ll give you something strong, I promise.”
Cat smiled weakly. “Promises, shmomises.”
***
On the road behind them, Sheriff Leeds drove up in his SUV just in time to see the troopers’ vehicle crest the top of the overpass and disappear from view. He uttered a curse at the swarm of corpses blocking his path, and realized he had no choice but to brave it through. He started up the overpass, hoping to make up time and catch up to his prey by driving faster than they were. But he quickly realized that wasn’t a viable option.
His SUV ground to a crawl as the restless cadavers squeezed in around it, longingly groping at the windows. The darkness outside was a mercy, shading their macabre features—but flashes of lightning revealed them in all their dark glory: a pastiche of rotted flesh and ravaged muscles, gaping wounds, dead eyes, missing noses.
***
The overpass seemed to go on forever. Ryan was amazed by how many zombies were up there. He found it hard to reconcile their numbers with the timeline of Emma’s story. He remembered Kerri saying it was a fast acting pathogen. Could it really be that fast and that contagious? If so, how could they possibly hope to contain it?
He thought of the earlier masses of zombies on Route Nine and realized that many were probably residents of Wildwood who’d dashed out at the last minute to grab more supplies for the storm. How many had given their lives for an extra box of candles or some Hershey bars?
After what seemed an eternity the SUV crossed Beach Creek Bridge. Bronski plowed through the tail end of the grisly gathering and started the slow descent towards the streets of North Wildwood. The crowd of ghouls thinned as they descended and just as Ryan had predicted there were no zombies at all beyond the bottom of the bridge. The street was flooded with seawater.
“Jesus kid, you weren’t kidding about the island flooding, were you?” Bronski said.
“It’s like clockwork with every nor’easter,” replied Ryan. “The wind pushes seawater into the creek and it floods back in on the west side of the island.”
“And it hasn’t occurred to anyone to build floodgates?”
“Sure it has. Every time there’s a mayoral election. Every candidate promises to fix the problem. But they never do. It’s a running joke at this point.”
“Some joke,” Bronski said uneasily, gazing at the floodwater before them. A slow-moving stream flowed through the streets, with large debris floating on the surface.
“Can’t you just drive through it?” Ryan asked. “It doesn’t look that deep.”
“I can try. But we’re in an SUV, not an amphibious vehicle. I’m not sure how far we’ll get without stalling… or floating away. It all depends on how deep it gets and how strong that current is.”
Ryan thought for a minute and pointed through the windshield. “Turn up that street, right there on the left. It’ll take us around the island, along the ocean side. There’ll be less flooding there.”
“Less flooding near the ocean?” asked Bronski doubtfully.
“I told you,” Ryan snapped, as zombies started pounding on the back of their vehicle. “The water comes in from the creek side of the island. Just go, frcrissakes.”
“Okay, okay.” Bronski smiled. The kid had moxie. He liked that. They needed all the fire they could muster to get through this insane night. He drove forward into the salty drink and made the suggested turn. After just a short distance they reached the ocean-side road running parallel to the beach. Bronski was relieved to find the water level manageable.
“Which way?” he asked, more trusting now.
“Just keep following this road ‘til it ends.”
“Ten four.”
“You guys really talk like that?”
Bronski just smile
d.
***
Back on the bridge, about to start his descent, Sheriff Leeds caught sight of the trooper’s vehicle just before it turned out of sight. He stepped on the gas, blasting through the zombies, who were clomping down the incline towards the island.
Behind him, more bodies lurched over the bridge, following his SUV.
The floodwater just an inconvenience. The lure of a feast was irresistible.
43
Bronski hit the brakes as they turned a corner and the water rose sharply, well over three feet deep. They had gone several blocks with no problem, but the floodplain was deeper here. The SUV slid to a halt and dipped upward for a moment. The storm winds created a powerful current, a rushing river that tugged at the SUV, threatening to carry it away. They were a block from the ocean, having detoured into the city streets to reach the main police station. They found it closed for the storm, with a note posted on the door directing anyone seeking emergency help to the marine unit boathouse on the creek.
Bronski eyed the surging floodwater uneasily. Big metal oil drums floated by, bobbing on the surface like rubber ducks in a bathtub. He was starting to suspect they’d made a fatal error coming to the island.
Ryan noticed his indecision. “If you want my vote I say go for it. It doesn’t make any sense to turn back now.”
Bronski turned his head to check on the others, considering what would happen if they had to abandon the vehicle in the middle of a raging flood. “How’s my super-trooper doing back there?” he asked.
“I feel like shit warmed over,” Cat answered. “But I’m not dead yet. I’m afraid you’re still stuck with me.”
“Can you swim if you have to?” he asked.
“Swim?” Cat laughed dryly. “I’ll fly if I have to, to get away from those friggin’ things out there.”