Malik leaned forward in his seat. Pointing in front of him, he said, “Hey, Jack. Look.”
“What?”
Still pointing, he leaned over farther. “Look at the back of Sean’s car. See? A trail of fluid is coming from under his chassis. See it?”
“Oh, yeah,” replied Jack, squinting. “It must be coming from his gas tank.”
Malik got very excited. “Jack, if any of those burning embers lands on that trail, it’ll ignite and go right up to his tank and explode! We have to warn him.”
Jack laid on the horn, frantically beeping it so Sean could hear. Carol was sitting so far forward she was almost on the console. “Keep honking!” she yelled.
Up in the car ahead, Sean was concentrating on the back of Mike’s GMC. With the wisps of smoke coming between them, he wanted to make sure he stayed on the path. He was so focused on that it that he didn’t notice his gas-gauge needle continuing to fall.
As Jamal swung the Humvee around the corner, heading for the compound, he struck a fat, goateed zombie in a bathing suit. The creature went flying in the air and landed butt first through the windshield of a parked car. Jamal drove on by and onto the side road to the entrance of Diamond Sea Estates. The zombie, arms and legs sticking up through the shattered glass, miraculously sustained no head damage. He frantically waved his four limbs around, trying fruitlessly to free himself.
As the pallet and trailer were pulled back, the vehicle quickly drove in. Tommy was out of the Humvee before it even stopped. He immediately yelled commands to his men.
“Get the Jacobi and Mills families out now. Bring them to the boat. Grab all your gear, and meet me outside the gate. Now! Move it!”
The compound was a frenzy of activity. Everyone ran in different directions to complete his assigned tasks.
Sergeant Ortega ran up to the rapidly gesticulating master sergeant. “What’s up?”
“You know that horde we’ve been watching?” said Tommy. “Well, they’re on their way here.”
“What?”
“You heard right. Some local jokers fucked up and got them riled up and heading this way.”
“How many?” inquired Manuel.
Tommy looked at his second-in-command gravely. “Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands.”
Sean glanced in his rearview mirror as Linda turned to look behind them.
“What does Jack want?” she said.
“I don’t know, but I’d better stop.”
Sean beeped his horn at Mike in front of him and saw his brake lights go on. After making sure there were no zombies nearby, he stepped out of his car. Jack jumped out, pointed at the gas trail, and shouted at him, “Sean, you’re leaking gas. Get out of the car now.”
Sean looked down at the gas and paled. He leaned inside the door and shouted to Linda, “Get the guns and your go bag. Run to Mike’s car.”
Sean grabbed the M15 and his bag and ran down to Jack.
“Here, take these,” he said. “I’m going to move my car to the side so you can get by.”
As Sean turned and took a step, a piece of flaming material landed in front of Jack’s Cherokee, directly on the trail of fuel. It instantly ignited, trailed back to the Nissan in a blue-orange line, and disappeared underneath. For a second nothing happened. Then, with a great whooshing sound, Sean’s car exploded.
Sean and Jack were knocked off their feet. After a few moments, they got up and looked at the burning hulk of Sean’s SUV. Sighting past it, Sean realized he couldn’t see Mike.
26
Corporal Richard Foley was calming down the two resident couples, Morris and Emma Jacobi and Robert and Margaret Mills. They were very upset, and he didn’t want anyone to suffer a heart attack. The preparation was all complete, and now all they had to do was wait and see how far the huge mass of undead would come. Tommy had sent two privates, John Ott and Walter Cziewski, to drive down and monitor the horde’s movements. He told them to head back when the lead element of the horde was approximately one mile away. Tommy knew they had a few hours before the zombies arrived. Going down his punch list for evacuation, he stopped and looked toward the north.
Jack, he thought. Man, I hope to God you get here before they do.
With everyone in the Cherokee now, Jack backed up twenty feet. He thought he saw a small opening off to his right. As he turned the wheel, maneuvering the SUV into the opening, a movement distracted him. A zombie, clothes and skin aflame, walked out into the space they had just vacated. Everyone in the car watched mesmerized as he hesitated then started walking toward them again, arms raised. As his steps became jerkier, he staggered then collapsed in a burning heap ten feet from the car.
From the backseat Sean nudged Jack. The macabre spell broken, Jack started through the jumble of cars. As they finally emerging from the vehicular maze, the smoke cleared enough for him to see Mike’s Yukon. Michael waved his arm out of his window as Jack pulled up, and the two vehicles again resumed their journey.
At last they drove beyond the edges of the burning city. Carol touched Sean’s arm and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yeahhh,” he said, drawing out the word in a frustrated breath. “Damn it. I liked that car.”
“Don’t worry, Sean,” she said with a grin. “You can have any damned car you want now. Hell, you can have a Lamborghini.”
“Come to think of it,” he intoned, starting to smile, “I’d look smoking good in a Lamborghini. Or a Bugatti for that matter.”
Shaking her head, Carol said facetiously, “Oh, God, and a monster is born.”
The highway up ahead seemed fairly clear, so they sped up, wanting to make up for lost time. Another couple of hours, and they should arrive at Diamond Sea Estates.
John Ott was standing outside the vehicle, smoking a cigarette. They had taken one of the cars from the empty homes instead of a military vehicle. They figured it would attract less attention parked in the street. Walter walked over to him, finishing his water and zipping his fly.
“No wonder you have to pee so much,” commented John.
Walter Cziewski smirked. “What? I’m staying hydrated. My body’s a temple, you know.”
“Oh, yeah?” John said with a laugh. “I’ve seen you on a weekend pass. Your body is a dive bar.”
Throwing the empty water bottle over his shoulder, Walter suggested to John, “Let’s get a little closer.”
Getting in and driving ten blocks closer, they got out, leaving the car idling in the middle of the road.
“I can see them,” Walter said, looking down the street.
“Christ,” gasped John, “I can’t believe how many Zs are coming our way.”
Standing there by the car, watching the horde slowly making its way up the street, they heard something crash inside the liquor store across the street. Turning to see what had caused the racket, they saw three men run out of the store, carrying bottles of liquor. The first one, a heavyset man with a shaved head and chin beard and wearing a white wife-beater, stopped short and yelled, “Oh, shit, ese!”
The man behind him, who was short, with a red bandana tied around his head, raised a MAC-10 and let loose a long burst.
The two soldiers jumped to each side of the Lexus they had procured and quickly scrambled behind it. Bullets tore into the automobile, rendering it a useless pile of junk.
A small Toyota screeched in from around the corner and braked in front of the store. The driver pulled out an automatic and fired wildly through the window at the rapidly deteriorating Lexus. John popped out from the one side just as Walter did from the other.
When the three vatos locos ran to get in the Toyota, John and Walt opened fire. The Toyota’s tires were flattened, and glass exploded as they raked the car back and forth. The driver flew back, blood spraying the interior of the car. The short banger and the third one were cut down as well. The heavyset man, who was crouching behind the fender, stood up, fired four shots at Walter, and ran back into the liquor store. As he did, John watched as
Walt fell onto his back. He crawled over and saw Walter’s eyes wide open and blank. He had a hole in his left cheek.
Lips pressed together in an angry and determined grimace, John stood and tossed a grenade through the shattered store window. The ensuing explosion blew out the rest of the glass.
Looking down the street, John saw that the zombies were much closer. Having heard the firefight, they had picked up their pace. He walked across the street to check the bodies; they all were dead. As he stepped onto the curb, a shot rang out from inside the store. The round tore through John’s kneecap, and he fell on his side, screaming. A large figure in a filthy, bloody wife-beater stumbled out; blood ran from his head. Staggering a bit, he looked at John.
Pointing his gun, he yelled, “Jodienda puta!”
John, lying there, raised the barrel of his M15 and pulled the trigger. Bloody holes stitched up the man’s body and knocked him back through the doorway.
After flipping himself over, John grabbed the Toyota’s bumper and pulled himself up with a scream. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the zombies only half a block away. Working his way to the end of the car, he tried to hop away. His leg immediately collapsed under him, and he fell onto his stomach. Panting with pain and desperation, he tried to crawl down the street.
Leaving a trail of blood from his mangled leg, John crawled about ten feet before looking behind him. The lead zombies were almost on top of him. He turned on his elbow and drew his firearm. Holding it out behind him, he kept firing at the approaching figures. The first few had fallen by the time his gun had clicked empty. Grimacing, John reached back and threw the gun at the nearest zombie. As they came up to him and dropped down, he pulled the pin on his last grenade.
Tommy had half his men stand down. Two hours later he would have the other half do the same. He wanted everyone ready and rested. All the prep work was done, and he didn’t want to make any more noise. Tommy had knives lashed to pool-cleaning poles, and any zombies that came to the barricade at the side entrance were speared in the head. It was quieter that way. All was going well. He needed only for his brother to call him and for the patrol to return with the zombies’ position. There was nothing to do now but wait.
27
For once the group’s timing was perfect. They were passing through West Palm Beach when they stopped to siphon gas again. The tanks were down to fumes. Checking all the vehicles scattered along I-95, they found that most of them had been left running and were bone dry.
“There’s not enough gas for the two SUVs,” complained Jack.
“No,” replied Mike. “We’re going to have to take mine. It’s bigger.”
“Are you saying yours is bigger than mine?” asked Jack.
Laughing and pushing Jack away, Mike retorted, “Waaay bigger. Now let’s put as much stuff as we can into the back of mine.”
Sean had walked over to the edge of the highway. Looking out, he grinned and walked back. “We finally lucked out, guys,” he stated. “There’s a big crowd of zombies starting to come up the ramp. Five minutes later, and we would have run smack into them. And with no gas.”
“It’s about time our luck changed,” Sue declared.
In short order they had the Yukon packed and everyone aboard. Sean and Linda sat next to each other, reunited at last. As the first zombies reached the freeway, the Yukon started up and sped away.
Tommy was worried. With the gas generators in the complex, all his men had been able to charge their cell phones and encrypted radios. John and Walt had a way to communicate back with him, yet there was silence. Tommy had just called them, wondering exactly where the zombies were right now. The two soldiers hadn’t answered his call, which wasn’t like them. He wanted to send someone else out to check on them, but not knowing specifically where they were, he couldn’t chance it. If there was a problem, he didn’t want to lose more men by having them drive around aimlessly.
Jake came up and was telling Tommy about the nautical charts he was consulting.
Suddenly Tommy put his hand up. “Hold up,” he said. He scrunched up his face and tilted his head to the side. He stood like a statue, concentrating, his finger up and his head skewed.
“What—” started Jake.
Tommy waved his finger and tightened his face even more. “Do you hear that?” he asked.
“I don’t hear anything,” replied Jake.
“That droning sound?”
“Sorry, no.”
As Tommy, still listening, stepped away, he noticed Paul Chen doing the same thing. “You hear that too?” Tommy called over.
“Yeah, Sarge,” Paul answered. “It’s kind of like a wavering drone.”
Tommy called the patrol again but still couldn’t get through. Something’s wrong, he thought. “Open the gate,” he yelled. “I’m taking one of the Humvees out.”
In five minutes, Tommy Di Meola was driving to Route 1. After reaching the intersection and turning left, he drove two more blocks then slammed on the brakes. There, about two miles down Federal Highway, were thousands of the walking dead. They stretched completely across the road. A few were in the lead and seemed to be moving faster, but most of them were following right behind.
“Aww, shit,” he groaned.
That droning noise was the combined moans of the undead. The eerie lamentation was the most unnerving thing he’d ever heard. Tommy turned around and rapidly drove back to the compound. You’d better get here quick, Jack, he thought.
Back on I-95, the remaining SUV rolled into Boca Raton. A little after the Glades Road exit, it stopped. After getting out of the car, the surviving members of the group looked on in awe.
A large commercial airliner had tried to land in the middle of the highway.
The pilots must have been desperate, and this was their last resort. The plane lay in three pieces, and the entire swath of the crash site was a blackened, charred area of devastation. Burnt-out hulks of cars and trucks were strewn about like a child’s discarded toys. Sad, burnt bodies lay in twisted death struggles.
“Crap, we only needed to go one more exit,” cried Jack.
“What now?” Sean asked, turning to him.
Jack looked behind him then turned to Mike. “Mike,” he said, “let me drive the rest of the way. It’ll be faster having me behind the wheel, rather than giving directions to you. Especially if we have to make some quick decisions.”
“Okay, it’s all yours,” said Mike, handing over the keys.
They all got in, and Jack backed the Yukon up to the exit. Then he climbed the ramp to Glades Road.
At the top of the ramp, he was stunned to see the number of vehicles sitting on the road. Turning left and weaving and pushing his way through, Jack looked over and saw he couldn’t travel down and continue going south on the northbound lanes; one of the airliner’s wings was lying across all lanes. That side was a blackened disaster as well.
After slowly making his way eastward, he turned off at the first cross street. He zigzagged his way toward Palmetto Drive. Finally getting close, Jack stopped and called his brother.
“Hey, Jack,” said Tommy when he picked up.
“We’re about ten minutes out,” stated Jack.
“Great! Listen, you bett—” The phone went dead.
“Tommy?” he called. Jack looked at his phone and saw that the battery finally had died. Turning to the others, he said, “Battery’s dead. No matter. We’re almost there.”
He came to Palmetto Drive, turned left, and drove on.
28
“Great!” said Tommy. “Listen, you’d better get here fast. There’s a huge horde of Zs about ten minutes out. You should just make it. Okay, Jack? Jack? Jack?” He looked at his phone and said, “Shit!”
Everyone was boarding Jake’s yacht. The only people not on board were Tommy and three privates, Edward Lewis, James Williams, and Travis Cassidy. They were manning the side-entrance barricade. Tommy had them pull most of the large obstacles back so just a car-size space was
open. Barbed wire was stretched across that, and the soldiers were guarding that opening with their makeshift spears.
Ten minutes later Jack arrived at the intersection with Route 1. After stopping the Yukon fifteen yards away from the corner, he put it into park and said, “A few zombies are making their way north on the main road. There’s no sense attracting attention. Let’s just wait here till they all pass.”
All seven souls settled in their seats to wait.
Tommy, meanwhile, saw that he had miscalculated. He assumed the un-dead were only coming up the one road.
But they weren’t. As the vast mass of zombies started north from Fort Lauderdale, they wound up drawing recruits from the entire city. A large number who saw their ilk turning and walking did so too. But they just faced north and kept on whichever road they were on.
The activity around the marina had drawn some zombies. But, as Tommy noted to his shock, they were filtering in from all the streets, not just the one a couple of blocks away. Because these zombies were closer, the struggle at the barricade was starting to draw them in.
Tommy ran over. Grabbing one of the homemade spears, he joined the three soldiers who were frantically stabbing the intruders.
Sean leaned over to Jack. “Their numbers don’t seem to be dwindling. As a matter of fact, I think the crowd is getting thicker.”
Jack nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Pointing ahead, Sean told Jack to slowly roll forward so they could see down the road. As the car gradually advanced, they were able to see the mass of undead lurching up the street.
“Oh, my God!” cried Naomi, putting her hands to her face.
Slapping Jack’s shoulder, Mike shouted, “Go now! Smash through them before there are too many, and we get stuck.”
Jack took his foot off the brake and stomped on the gas pedal. The large Yukon shot forward and plowed into the walking parade of the dead. Bodies flew in all directions as he kept the pedal to the floor. Some zombies that had stopped fell and slipped under the wheels. As the vehicle barreled through, the gore-covered tires started to lose their traction, and the rear end fishtailed. As they reached the other side of the intersection, the rear end swung out to the left, and the rear panel smashed into a streetlight. Surging ahead again, the SUV swung back and sideswiped a row of automobiles to their right. Jack fought the wheel as the SUV swayed back and forth down the street. The pushed-in fender was scraping against the tire, and when they neared the end of the block, the tire blew.
Pandora: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 14