Rise of the Undead (Book 4): Apocalypse Z

by Higgins, Baileigh

  “Some of them, not all,” Nick pointed out.

  “Well, when I find out who it is, I’ll kill them with my bare hands,” Saul said with a growl. “I’ve made a list of everyone who was on guard duty last night.” He removed a piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Nick.

  Nick perused the list with a frown before pointing at three names. “We can scratch these off. They were the last people we visited before the incident occurred.”

  “Right. We were with them when the shots were fired, and we didn’t see any vehicles on our way to the house. Whichever way King and Bannock fled, it wasn’t in our direction,” Dylan said.

  “Whatever, but we need to interrogate the rest of them,” Saul said, taking the list back from Nick. “We have to make them talk.”

  “Whoa, easy there,” Nick said with one raised hand. “You can’t make them talk. Some of these men are innocent.”

  “And some of them aren’t,’ Saul said with rising frustration.

  “So what do you propose? Torture?” Nick asked. “You know we can’t do that.”

  Saul gritted his teeth, grabbing hold of his rising temper. “The only thing I know is that Tara is out there somewhere, and I’ll do whatever it takes to find her.”

  “Saul—”

  Saul slammed his fist on the hood of his truck. “Anything! You hear me?”

  Dylan laid a soothing hand on Saul’s arm. “Calm down. We’re all on the same team here.”

  Saul yanked his arm away. “Are we? Because it seems to me, I’m the only one doing anything to find them.”

  “That’s not fair,” Nick protested.

  “Isn’t it? What have you done so far to find them besides drink coffee and lounge about in hospital chairs?” Saul asked, pacing up and down.

  Dylan shook her head. “We’re here for our friend, Alex. You know that. I understand you’re hurting. We’re all hurting, but giving in to your rage isn’t the solution.”

  Saul didn’t answer at once, and he kept up his furious pace for several more seconds before he stopped at last. His shoulders drooped, and he sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just so angry since they took her. It’s messing with my head. Tara means everything to me.”

  “We miss her too, but we have to work together,” Dylan said. “That’s why you and Nick are going to question the guards to get some answers. I’ll wait here for Alex to come out of surgery. Divide and conquer.”

  “Alright, thanks,” Saul said with a faint smile.

  “Yeah, let’s go,” Nick added before pointing a stern finger at Dylan. “But you’d better behave yourself while I’m gone. No more strangling the nurses.”

  Dylan rolled her eyes. “I said, I’m sorry.”

  “You tried to strangle a nurse?” Saul asked with raised eyebrows as he packed his maps away. “And you’re telling me not to give in to my rage?”

  “I promise to behave, okay?” Dylan said. “Just don’t torture any innocent guards.”

  “We’ll see who’s innocent first,” Saul replied with a wicked grin, only half-meaning what he said.

  The pressure within his chest had lessened a little, and he felt more at ease as he slid behind the wheel. At least, they had a plan of action now. More than that, he still had people around him that he could call friends. No matter what.

  Chapter 11 - Amy

  Amy leaned against the rough bark of a tree, her breathing harsh and shallow. Behind her lay half a mile of rough forest terrain, its dark depths no longer as welcoming as before. The icy wind had sapped her strength, and her frosted skin felt raw to the touch. She’d long since stopped shivering, and she kept veering off in the wrong direction. Her injuries added to her misery. Every step was a battle, a fight against exposure, and exhaustion.

  If I could just lie down for one second.

  One second.

  I’m so tired.

  Her body sagged toward the ground, and her eyes drifted shut. It felt so good to do nothing, to give up the struggle, if only for a single moment. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. “What am I doing?”

  Prompting herself back to her feet, she scraped together the last of her courage. With the walking stick as her aide, she pushed onward. One, two, three, four, she counted beneath her breath. When she reached ten, she started over. One, two, three, four, five…

  Amy almost didn’t notice when she broke free from the trees and stumbled onto a tar road. When she did, hope exploded within her chest. The moon shone brightly above her head, illuminating the way ahead.

  Amy paused, confused. “Which way do I go?” The North Star winked at her, and she smiled. “That way, I guess.”

  Of their own volition, her feet broke into a run. Hope kept her moving. The belief that she’d find a house, a farm, anywhere that she could take shelter from the weather and get warm. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be warm.

  She pictured a fire in her mind, crafting each yellow and orange flame with meticulous care. She imagined the heat radiating from the coals, caressing her skin with its golden glow. It was a magical thing.

  This mental picture kept her running long after she thought possible. Her circulation picked up, and life-giving blood streamed back to her frozen extremities. Her agility improved, though her back still ached with every step she took. The cut on her head had stopped bleeding, clogged with mud, but it throbbed with every beat of her heart. She’d probably develop a nasty headache soon.

  Still, it felt good to move. The exercise pushed back the cold and cleared her mind. Even so, she knew she couldn’t keep up the pace. Every step required precious energy, which she had no means of replacing. Sooner or later, she’d use up the last of her reserves. If that happened while she was still outside, she was as good as dead.

  The events of the night rushed back to plague her. Each moment was branded into her psyche with brutal clarity: The moment she was awakened in her bed by a stranger, and the moment a bullet punched into Alex’s chest. The moment King ordered Perez to make sure her brother was dead, and the sound of her screams ringing in her ears. The moment she was tossed into the van, and her subsequent escape. Even the dumb can of peaches flashed before her eyes.

  It all condensed into a final picture. Alex’s eyes on hers, and a million regrets all rolled into one. Why didn’t I tell how much I loved him while he was still alive? Why didn’t I spend more time with him when I had the chance. Now, I’ll never see him again, and it’s all my fault.

  Guilt and loss burned through her veins like acid. It sapped away the momentary burst of hope she’d felt upon finding the road, and she felt herself slowing. A run turned into a jog, and a jog became a walk. Why do I even bother?

  Every fiber in her being screamed at her to give up, and she longed to lie down. It wouldn’t hurt, she knew that. Freezing to death wasn’t that bad. She’d slip into a coma, and before she knew it, it’d all be over. But what about Tara? She needs me. She relies on me to make it back.

  The knowledge that Tara had entrusted her life to Amy gave her the energy she needed to keep going. Leaning heavily on her makeshift stick, she hobbled forward with dogged determination. With her eyes fixed ahead, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. For Tara’s sake, she had to try. Even if she failed to make it back to Fort Detrick, she had to try. I can’t give up. Not now, not ever.

  With this thought fixed firmly in her mind, Amy kept walking along the road. Even when she could go no further, she didn’t stop. Her inner fighter kept up a running monologue that managed to push her past her boundaries, past the moment when her reserves finally ran out.

  Just one more step.

  Come on.

  You can do it.

  There you go.

  Now, one more.

  In this fashion, Amy rounded a wide bend in the road until it headed in a north-easterly direction. Her gaze fell upon an object shrouded in gloom, and she frowned. Her thoughts, muddled by the cold, struggled to make sense of what she saw. As she drew closer, her eyes wi
dened, and fresh hope bloomed in her chest. “Is that a car?”

  She broke into a jog, her bare feet stinging from the cut of gravel and stone. At the last moment, caution set in, and she stopped abruptly. This was not her first encounter with a wreck or an abandoned vehicle. Often, they were occupied by zombies, the stupid creatures either trapped inside by locked doors or a seatbelt.

  With her stick held ready to strike, she edged closer. A beam of silver moonlight fell across the car, and she spotted the lights on top of the roof. They were dormant now, nothing but dull plastic. They did mean something, however. Something important. And the paint job of the vehicle corroborated her theory.

  It was a police car.

  Round holes punched into the driver’s door drew her attention, and she sucked in a deep breath — bullet holes.

  Through the window, she spotted the driver. He sat with his head tilted back, his eyes open and unseeing. Dead. Not undead. After a thorough check, she determined he was the only occupant and reached out to open the door. “Here goes nothing. You’d better not be a sleeping zombie. That would be a first.”

  With her heart in her throat, she gripped the handle and pulled. The door swung open with a loud creak, and she tensed in readiness. When nothing happened, she relaxed a bit. “Definitely dead then.”

  She leaned closer to examine him and noticed the dark splotches of blood on his uniform. The bullet holes in the door went right through, and she suspected they were the cause of death. The body was still in good shape, and she guessed his death was recent. Maybe not even a day old, though the cold could’ve helped to preserve him for longer. “Poor guy.”

  Amy felt sad for him, but she didn’t have time to waste. Her energy was spent, and she was freezing to death. Plus, Red was still out there with his two buddies, searching for her, and Tara was in danger. Time was of the essence. Whatever she decided to so, she had to do it fast.

  A quick search of the car revealed little of interest. Whoever shot the police officer had stripped his vehicle of all valuables. The trunk was empty except for a lone bottle of water meant for emergencies such as a leaking radiator. It sat in a cardboard box along with a dirty cloth, and a half-empty bottle of motor oil. The only other items were the spare wheel, a bottle-jack, and a tire iron.

  It was a disappointing find, but Amy was grateful for the water. Her parched tissues begged for mercy, and she grabbed the bottle with eager hands. The liquid was stale and tasted like plastic, but right then, she didn’t give a damn. After taking several deep swigs, she placed the rest aside.

  The back seats were empty, as well as the passenger side. Inside the glove box, she found nothing except a handful of receipts. Not even the floors or nooks and crannies held anything of use except for a few lost coins, which she tossed aside. Money was useless now.

  Amy slammed her hands on her thighs when she got up, her hopes dashed in an instant. “You’re kidding me, right? Not even a pack of gum?”

  That left only one more place to search. With a sigh of reluctance, she walked back toward the driver’s side. She’d left the corpse for last, not keen on touching its dead flesh with her own. With trembling fingers, she searched the cop’s pockets and belt, but to her immense frustration, she found nothing except his wallet. No weapon. Not even a baton or a taser.

  She reached out to check the ignition and found the keys were still there. If the engine worked, she might be able to drive to Fort Detrick. That was something, at least, and cheered her by no small measure. But first, she’d have to get rid of the body.

  Wrinkling her nose with distaste, she gripped the dead officer underneath his armpits and pulled with all her might. After several seconds, she’d only managed to shift him a few inches. The man was much heavier than she’d thought he’d be, and her strength was waning fast. “Come on. Move, please.”

  With one foot braced against the seat, she sucked in a deep breath and pulled again. Her muscles strained, and her back screamed with pain. Blood rushed to her face until she thought her eyeballs would pop.

  Little by little, the cop shifted sideways until he came tumbling out in a tangle of arms and legs. He flopped onto the tar with a dull thud, and Amy collapsed on the ground next to him. Her chest heaved as her lungs sought oxygen, and her vision swam, but she was triumphant. “Holy crap, I did it.”

  With a grin, Amy leaned forward. As much as she wanted to rest, it was too cold. Instead, she forced her shaking hands to strip off the man’s jacket. It was thick and would keep her warm. That was all that mattered. Most of the blood was caked onto his shirt and pants. His gloves were soaked through as well, and she left them behind.

  The boots and socks gave her pause. As much as she needed them, the thought of wearing something that had been close to a dead man’s skin was gross. In the end, practicality won out, and she stripped off the boots. It turned out they were too big, and she had to discard them anyway, but the socks were made of thick, durable wool.

  Once Amy was finished, she sat back on her heels and studied the police officer. His face was smooth in death, and he looked relatively young. Late-twenties, perhaps. His proud features and dark hair spoke of Native-American descent, and she wondered what he was doing out here all by himself. The apocalypse wasn’t kind to loners.

  It wasn’t difficult to figure out what had happened to him. He’d run into the wrong crowd, plain and simple. They shot at him and scored a couple of hits. Wounded, he’d tried to escape but died of his wounds beside the road. Whoever killed him followed and stripped the car of supplies. At least, they’d left the car behind, a small mercy that might save her life now. If it still runs.

  She thought it would, though. The cop hadn’t been dead for long, and the engine should still work unless a stray bullet had damaged it. Either way, she’d find out soon enough.

  With a sigh, Amy got to her feet and pulled on the jacket. As expected, it was too big, hanging down to her knees, but that didn’t matter. She rolled up the sleeves and put on the hood. The relief was instantaneous, and it felt even better when she tugged on the socks. With the jacket zipped up to her chin, she slid behind the wheel.

  Praying it would start, she turned the key. The engine coughed a couple of times before it died. She tried again, hopeful she could get it going. The battery hadn’t had time to run flat, and the tank was half-full. It had to work…and it did. After another couple of tries, the engine caught on and roared to life.

  Amy crowed with delight and slammed both hands on the wheel. Finally, something was going her way. After idling the car for a short while, she cranked up the heat and basked in the warm air that flowed across her shivering form.

  Within minutes, her body temperature had reverted to normal, and the threat of hypothermia receded into the nightmarish past. Hot blood flushed her cheeks, and she could feel her fingers and toes again. After taking a few more sips of water, she drove off into the darkness.

  Because Red was still after her, she’d decided not to switch on the lights. Instead, she navigated by the light of the moon and kept her speed low. It was far better to be safe than sorry, and people like King and Red could not be underestimated.

  A thought occurred to her, and she wondered if the policeman had run into King and his men. It made sense. They were holed up nearby, and wouldn’t hesitate to murder innocent people for their belongings. Bunch of murderous thugs.

  A sense of horror and regret filled her at his senseless death, and she felt terrible for leaving him by the side of the road to rot. There was nothing she could do for him, however. Not in her current state. All she could do, was offer thanks to his spirit. “Thank you, Sir. Whoever you are, you saved my life, and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.”

  Chapter 12 - Tara

  Another half hour passed before Red and his two soldiers buddies returned from their search. Tara watched the truck approach, its yellow lights bobbing up and down before it parked next to them.

  A livid Red disembarked, both hands curled in
to fists. The soldiers followed, their faces grim and defeated, and she surmised Red’s attitude had a role to play in their demeanor.

  Maybe the other side of the fence isn’t quite as green as you thought? she thought with a smirk. Those barracks are looking better and better now, aren’t they?

  “Did you find her?” Perez asked, though it was pretty obvious they had not.

  “No, we didn’t. The little bitch got away,” Red answered, his face flushed with anger. “She’s smarter than I thought.”

  “King’s not going to be happy to hear that,” Perez answered in a low voice.

  “I’ll bet he isn’t,” one of the soldiers mumbled.

  Red rounded on the unfortunate man. “Have you got something to say, Thomas?”

  “No, Red,” Thomas replied, shaking his head.

  “Are you sure?” Red shouted, one hand raised in a ready punch. “Or, has the cold addled your brain?”

  “No, Red,” the soldier replied, his head hanging low.

  “And you West? Have you got something to say?” Red asked the other soldier.

  “No, Red,” West hastened to reply, and Tara filed their names away in her memory bank. West and Thomas. Traitors…both of them.

  “Good. Make sure it stays that way.” Red turned away with a brisk nod and followed Perez to King’s side.

  King still lounged inside the van with his bad knee propped up on the dashboard. Bannock had wrapped a bandage around the injured limb, the only first-aid they had available to them on the road.

  Tara patted her pocket full of painkillers with a self-satisfied smile. They didn’t know about the little pills, and she wasn’t about to share that knowledge either. Finders, keepers. Losers, weepers.

  King got out of the seat with a grunt of pain, his leg lifted off the ground. He stared at Perez and Red as they approached, his expression anything but friendly. “Where is she?”

  Red shrugged. “She gave us the slip, Lieutenant.”

  “Gave you the slip?” the Lieutenant asked.