Rotter World

by Scott M. Baker

Rashid spun around and headed back for the door, tripping over the rotter with the broken legs. He fell on top of it and quickly kicked himself off, but in the process moved closer to the front tires and away from the door. Leaning against the axle, Rashid raised his Magnum, aimed at the back of the rotter’s head, and fired. Its head disintegrated.

  “Take that, mother—”

  A rotter reached over the tires. Grabbing Rashid by the neck, it dragged him out into the street where four more of the living dead descended on him. The kid didn’t stand a chance. He had just enough time to fire off a single round into the face of the rotter that had grabbed him, but before he could move the other four sunk their teeth into his flesh, tearing off chunks of meat. Rashid raised the Magnum, trying to aim for his head. Before he could do so, a fifth rotter grabbed his wrist and bit into his forearm. Rashid dropped the gun and screamed, his death cry drowned out by the carnage taking place around him.

  Inside the school bus, Daytona watched helplessly as the zombies tore Rashid apart. He closed the door and bowed his head.

  “Go with God, buddy.”

  * * *

  By now, Robson and Tibor had lowered Thompson into the bus and joined the others. Natalie and Compton had placed the colonel in one of the seats on the right side of the bus.

  Robson turned to Daytona, brushing away the flies swarming around his face. “Let’s haul ass.”

  “No need to tell me twice.” Daytona shifted into Drive and pressed his foot down on the accelerator. The bus did not move. He tried again, applying more gas until the engine roared, but the bus still would not budge.

  Robson stepped up behind him. “Why aren’t we moving?”

  “I don’t know.” Daytona swatted away some flies that had landed on the gear indicator. “The damn thing’s in Drive.”

  A rotter in police riot gear clawed at the door beside Daytona, grabbing hold of the handle and pulling. Daytona glanced over at it, his eyes also falling on the side mirror. He saw the rotter corpses piled up alongside the school bus. The converging horde had pushed some of the bodies underneath and around the wheels, not allowing him enough traction to move. Shifting into Reverse, Daytona tried to back up, hoping to give himself some more room. The bus moved only a few feet before the front wheels became jammed against more bodies.

  “Shit!”

  “What’s up?” asked Robson.

  “The wheels are blocked by rotter corpses. They’ve wedged the tires in place.”

  Daytona shifted into Drive and gunned the engine. The school bus shot forward, and then jerked to a stop. The rear wheels dug into the bodies, trying to get enough traction to roll over them, but there were far too many. He tried shifting into Reverse again, but did not move much farther than before.

  “Is it going to work?” asked Robson.

  Daytona shook his head. “There’s too many for me to get over.”

  “So what now?”

  “Someone has to go out there and pull those bodies from around the tires.”

  Robson looked at him aghast. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

  “Yes. I’m sending someone out there to get killed.” Fear crackled in Daytona’s voice. “But if someone doesn’t clear the bodies from around those tires, none of us are getting out of here.”

  Tibor stepped up to Robson. “I’ll do it.”

  “No,” said Robson. “I can’t spare you.”

  “You can’t spare anyone. But I’m stronger than you humans. I stand a better chance than any of you.”

  “Let him do it,” groaned Dravko.

  The argument was interrupted when Mad Dog’s voice came over the radio. “Daytona, hold on and get ready for the ride of your life.”

  The four stared at the radio, not understanding. Daytona went to pick up the microphone when he happened to see in his rear view mirror the Ryder racing up behind the school bus, the front grill growing larger.

  Daytona swung around in his seat, grabbing on to the steering wheel and bracing himself for impact. He yelled over his shoulder, “Everybody, hang on tight.”

  * * *

  Mad Dog continued his slow retreat down the street, his attention switching between what was behind him and the rescue attempt. Even from this distance and in the dark, he could see the battle around the school bus growing increasingly intense. The flash of rifle fire remained continuous, and the spray of gore and dislocated flies hung around the vehicle like a cloud. Mad Dog watched Tibor’s rescue, thankful to see Robson and the others being pulled from the wrecked armored car. But the mass of rotters swarming the bus made him uneasy.

  Thankfully, most of them were attracted by the noise generated by the melee around the school bus and lumbered off in that direction, ignoring him. Only a handful of the living dead came after the Ryder, not enough to be of any concern.

  Tatyana leaned forward to stare at Mad Dog. “Shouldn’t we do something to help?”

  “Not much we can do. If we get too close, we’ll be in the line of fire.”

  “We could at least offer a distraction.”

  “Trust me, honey,” Mad Dog winked at the vampire. “They’ll be glad I hung back this far.”

  As the three watched, Tibor and the others climbed back into the bus. However, the school bus still sat there.

  “Why don’t they get out of there?” asked Jennifer.

  “There’re too many dead rotters around the wheels. They can’t go anywhere.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  Mad Dog grinned. “We give them a push.”

  He stopped the Ryder, shifted into second gear, and headed toward the melee. As he approached the crash site, he veered the truck right, and then sharply left, coming in directly behind the bus. When about two hundred feet away, he picked up his radio and keyed the microphone.

  “Daytona, hold on and get ready for the ride of your life.”

  A few seconds later, Mad Dog rear-ended the bus at about ten miles per hour. The windows in the rear door shattered, and those not holding on were tossed about like dolls. Seven rotters trying to claw their way into the back of the bus were crushed between the bumpers, spurting blood and decayed body parts up onto the truck’s hood. Thankfully, the blow did little substantial damage to either vehicle, although it did provide enough momentum to force the bus’ tires over the pile of rotter bodies. Once free, the tires got the traction they needed. The bus lurched forward and pulled away from the Ryder. Mad Dog gave it enough time to put some distance between them before shifting into fourth gear and heading off down Market Street.

  * * *

  Inside the school bus, the force of the blow seemed amplified, throwing everyone and everything forward. O’Bannon placed himself against the two fifty-five-gallon drums at the rear of the vehicle and pressed into them; the bump jostled the drums around and knocked O’Bannon to the floor, but neither container moved more than a few inches. Natalie and Compton leaned against Thompson, holding him firmly in his seat. The Angels were not so lucky. Most were too engaged in battle to hear Daytona’s warnings, and so were thrown about the cabin. A couple of shots went wild, one of them going through the roof just behind Daytona’s head. Bethany grabbed on to one of the seats as she toppled over backwards, snapping her wrist in the fall. Most of the other girls suffered strained muscles or scrapes from bouncing off the seats.

  Daytona was oblivious to all that. Just before the Ryder bumped into him, he shifted into first gear and slammed his foot on the accelerator, feeling the rear wheels spinning futilely in the blood and gore as if it were mud. Then the truck collided with him, shoving the bus over the pile of corpses. Daytona felt the rear tires spin for another few seconds before finally gaining ground. The bus lurched forward. He let off of the gas just long enough to shift into second gear and floored it again, thankful to feel it picking up speed. Surging forward, the bus pushed aside the horde of rotters and broke into the open road, rapidly gaining speed.

  Daytona took a quick glance in the side mirror. Gore covered
the front of the Ryder, with a rotter arm dangling from the grill. The right headlight and most of the floodlights were busted, but it followed close behind. From the driver’s seat, Mad Dog gave him a thumbs-up.

  Rotters filled the road ahead of them, but there were nowhere near as many as on the main road. Daytona easily maneuvered around the larger groups. The stray ones that got in his way were easily disposed of by the plow blades, their bodies rupturing with a sickening thud.

  “How much farther?” he asked without taking his eyes off of the road.

  Robson stepped up beside him, massaging a bruised shoulder. “It’s about a mile to the river. After that, we should be home free.”

  The number of living dead became fewer the farther they traveled along Market Street until Daytona could drive right through them without swerving around or hitting them. After nearly a minute, the headlights shone off the bridge abutments.

  “There it is,” called out Robson.

  Daytona increased speed. A burned out SUV blocked the right lane, with a naked rotter trudging along in the left. It turned around at the sound of the bus, revealing an empty abdomen. It had taken a step toward them when the bus slammed into it with enough force to throw it to one side. The rotter somersaulted in the air and disappeared over the side of the bridge.

  Less than a mile later, Route 15 appeared on their right. Daytona slowed and made the turn, leaving the rotter nightmare behind them.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Robson waited until the convoy entered the farmland along Route 15. Once he was certain they were safe, at least for the moment, he strolled back through the bus to check on the others. He made his way first to Thompson, who still slumped back against the seat, unconscious. Natalie stood behind the seat, her hands on the colonel’s shoulders and holding him in place, occasionally brushing the flies off his face. Compton knelt before his friend, running his hands across the colonel’s legs.

  Robson knelt in the seat in front of Thompson. “How is he?”

  Compton stood up and patted down his ruffled hair. “I think he has a concussion. I won’t know for sure until I get him back to Site R and can examine him.”

  “If it is a concussion, will he be all right?”

  “With proper medical care and some rest, yes.” Compton swiped his hand in front of his face, shooing away flies. “We’ll all be better off once we clear away these damn insects.”

  “And the stench,” added Natalie.

  “Hopefully keeping the windows open will take care of that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for him.”

  Compton nodded.

  Robson continued down the aisle, stopping in front of the seat where Dravko sat. “How are you doing?”

  Dravko massaged the shoulder above his broken arm. “Hurts like hell, but it’ll heal quickly. By tomorrow I won’t feel a thing.”

  “Good.” Robson leaned closer so only Dravko could hear. “I have a feeling I’m going to need you and the others at a hundred percent in the next few days.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Dravko nodded in Thompson’s direction. “What about him?”

  “He’s banged up pretty badly, but he ought to be okay in a few days.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t regret saving him.”

  * * *

  The next few hours passed by uneventfully, especially in comparison to the hell they had just left. The next city was Lewisburg, approximately twenty miles to the west. Rotters roamed the streets, but nowhere near the numbers as in Kenmar-Faxon. Daytona and Mad Dog maneuvered around them, avoiding the main concentrations and making it through the city in a matter of minutes.

  They next encountered Selingrove along the Susquehanna River. By skirting the city to the east, the convoy avoided most of the living dead. Just south of the city, an abandoned military roadblock barricaded their path. A line of abandoned cars and SUVs sat on the grass to the left. The scattered weapons and pools of dried blood on the road and grass attested to what happened to those who had manned it and were detained here. Thankfully, the roadblock had been designed to stop lone vehicles that violated martial law, so Daytona and Mad Dog drove around the barricade.

  After that, it was mostly open road through farmland for the next hundred miles. The convoy followed country roads that ran far to the west of Harrisburg, taking them through small towns almost completely devoid of the living dead. Liverpool. Duncannon. Marysville. Landsburg. A few rotters blocked the overpass that marked the interchange with Interstate 76, but Daytona easily pushed them out of the way as the convoy raced by. Near Chambersburg, farmland gave way to woods. The convoy continued on until it picked up Route 30 east.

  They had traveled only a few miles down this road when Daytona leaned his head back. “Hey, boss. You’ll want to see this.”

  Robson stood up from his seat and stepped to the front of the bus, resting his left arm on the driver’s seat. “What’s up?”

  “That.” Daytona pointed to the side of the road ahead of them.

  A sign stood off to the side of the road. It read: ENTERING GETTYSBURG.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Compton stood in the middle of the small access road that led up the hill, half a mile from the intersection with Harbaugh Valley Road. Around him were Robson, O’Bannon, and Dravko. All of them except for Dravko wore night vision goggles. Natalie stood directly behind Robson, her gaze alternating between the access road and the five Angels she had posted in a semi-circle around the group.

  “Site R is just up there,” Compton said, pointing toward the top of the incline.

  Robson strained to see the last half mile to the chain link security fence that blocked the road, noticing the mass that shambled around on the opposite side of the access gate. He spoke softly so as not to attract their attention. “It looks like we have a welcoming committee.”

  “The fucking place is swarming with rotters,” O’Bannon noted.

  “There has to be a couple of hundred of them,” added Dravko.

  “Almost four hundred, to be exact.” Compton seemed unfazed by his comment.

  The others stared at the doctor in stunned silence.

  “How do you know that?” asked O’Bannon.

  “Two chain link fences form a security perimeter around the facility. About fifty yards on either side of this road, interlocking fences connect the two outer fences, forming a security cage around the entrance.” Compton lowered the goggles and looked at O’Bannon. “Just before we left, we opened the outer gate, lured all the rotters into the cage, and then closed it behind them. Once they were trapped inside, Thompson counted them from one of the security cameras on the roof of the guard house.”

  “Why would you want to trap them?” asked Robson.

  “To clear our escape route, of course.”

  Natalie moved closer to the group so she could speak quietly and still be heard. “They’re so… docile.”

  “That’s because they’ve been left there for several weeks without food.” Compton turned to face the others. “They’re mindless creatures that accept their environment. They’ll stroll around that cage like guppies in a fishbowl until their bodies rot away. Or until something excites them.”

  Dravko sneered. “In other words, us?”

  Compton nodded. Robson felt himself shudder.

  “Don’t worry,” said Compton. “Those fences are heavily reinforced to keep out any crowds that tried to force their way into the compound. Those things aren’t getting in unless someone lets them.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” said O’Bannon.

  “One question, doc.” Robson removed his night vision goggles, not wanting to look at the seething mass of living dead any longer. “If they’re blocking the main entrance, how do we get inside?”

  “The same way we got out. Through the back entrance.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The convoy emerged from the tree-lined street into the small residential cul-de-sac along the compound’s perimeter fence. Nine t
hree-bedroom homes stood on either side of the street, each as dark and quiet as the surrounding neighborhood. There were signs that rotters once roamed this area. An abandoned Suburban sat in the driveway of the third house on the right, its doors and hatch wide open. Rust-colored spots began by the driver’s door and ran across the driveway to the front door of the house, which sat ajar. A Honda Civic sat at an angle in front of the middle house on the left, its front wheels up on the sidewalk, its side windows shattered with streaks of dried blood running down the doors.

  Everyone kept an eye out for rotters roaming along the edge of the woods, but no one saw any activity.

  Daytona came to a halt in front of a ten-foot-tall chain link fence at the far end of the cul-de-sac. Mad Dog stopped a few yards to his rear. Thankfully, the gate was still closed. The few remaining floodlights lit up the digital keypad mounted on the reinforced fence support just to the right of the gate. A length of chain wound several times between the support and the outer rim of the electronic gate, with a combination padlock holding the two ends together.

  “Real hi-tech for a secret government installation,” chuckled Daytona when he saw the chain.

  Compton, who stood behind him, did not register the sarcasm. “We put that on when we left the compound in case the emergency generators failed and tripped the electronic lock. We didn’t want rotters getting inside and wandering around.”

  “I hope you have the combination?” asked Robson.

  “Of course.” The doctor turned to Robson. “Shall we?”

  “Yeah. But let’s make it quick.”

  Daytona opened the door, allowing Robson and Compton to get out. Four Angels followed behind the men, deploying to the corners of the convoy to keep watch.

  As they approached the gate, Robson noticed the digital display on the lock flashed the word ERROR.