Six Feet From Hell: Books 1 - 3

by Coley, Joseph

  * * *

  The train of ragtag survivors rumbled along its predetermined course along the tracks. Joe had been at the controls of the train for the last 12 hours, driving long into the night and into the next morning. The zombies that had unfortunately wandered in front of the 200 tons of steel became instant red sausage as it continued along. The early morning sunrise greeted them as the crew entered into Alabama. There had been no chatter on the portable radios between the engines, save for an hourly check-in that Joe had initiated once they had left their last unscheduled stop with the local southern Tennessee religious nuts of Abraham and Bobby. Joe really did not care to have to call the engine once an hour, but he wanted to try and keep an open line of communication between the now-divided groups. There was no consolation, however, as the once an hour check usually consisted of a “10-4” and nothing more. Balboa had taken up the job of trying to get any one on the SINCGARS, due to Ronnie’s death. It had also been a source of futility. Aside from the occasional crackle of static, there had been no indication that any kind of help was waiting once they got to the southern end of Mississippi. Kessler AFB had sent out no distress calls or any other military branch for that matter.

  Joe continued long into the day, nearing noon before finally giving up the controls to the train to Jamie. Joe had given him a quick crash course in how to keep the train moving and how to avoid going too fast down the steel rails. Jamie had taken to the controls as Ronnie had and learned the ins and outs of the massive locomotive with relative ease. Joe retired to the rear of the engine, walking past Lucy who was asleep on the floor on a sleeping bag. He finally neared the end of the train and pulled up real estate at the back of the cab with a sleeping bag himself. The steady thump thump thump of the train as it passed over the tracks had a soothing effect on him and he was asleep in minutes.

  A commotion of voices and excited talking woke Joe up shortly thereafter. Through the haze of sleep, he thought he could make out a voice crackling over the radio, although he could not tell whether it was from the SINCGARS or the two-way radio used between the engines. Joe rubbed his eyes and tried to knock off some of the fog of sleep. Before he could ascertain anything, Balboa came bounding down the corridor towards him with an excited look on his face.

  “We’ve got someone on the SINCGARS! He sounds legit, it’s a Marine Recon team that’s close by,” Balboa said, exasperated.

  Joe jumped up and bounded down to the front of the cab, eager to speak with the Marines. He got to the SINCGARS and grabbed the handset. He started to talk to the Marines, and then looked to Balboa. “Get the other engine on the horn and tell em to send someone up here, I don’t want to be accused of saying the wrong shit to these guys and they jump all over me. This way at least they know what is going down.”

  Balboa nodded and grabbed the handheld radio and told the other engine of the news. Within thirty seconds, Chris came down the walkway from the second engine to the cab of the first engine. Joe picked up the handset and tried to raise the Marines.

  “This is the survivors on the train, is the Marine who we spoke to still transmitting? Over.”

  Within a few seconds, the radio crackled to life. “This is Second Lieutenant Wyatt, First Battalion, Fifth Marines. It’s good to hear some friendly voices out here. Over.”

  “You bet it is Lieutenant! We passed through Tuscaloosa about an hour ago, what is your current location?”

  “Well I can’t tell you exactly where we are right now sir, but rest assured we are close to your position.”

  Joe was going for broke; he needed to know that his whole trip was not just some pipe dream. He needed to know that there were ships in the Gulf of Mexico. “Were you guys sent from the Gulf? Over.”

  “That’s affirmative. Is that where you were heading to? The Navy and Coast Guard have set up shop just offshore and are taking what few survivors they can back to the ships. Once you get a little closer to Gulfport, Mississippi, you should be able to reach them on the same channel that you have me on now. Judging by the fact that you know how to use this equipment I’m guessing that you are current or former military and shouldn’t have a problem communicating with them. Over.”

  Joe’s face lit up once he heard that indeed the Navy and Coast Guard had been waiting for them. The gamble will have soon paid off, and he would have reached safety. He was so enthralled with the possibility of getting some real honest-to-God help that he did not hear the next transmission from Lieutenant Wyatt.

  “Could you repeat that? Over.”

  “I said that you guys must not have had any problem killing the zeds with that train, but you have to be careful of the ones that aren’t goin’ down with a headshot. I assume that you’ve had run ins with them, haven’t you? Over.”

  Jamie started to open his mouth to explain the zombie that he swore moved after he had put a well-placed shot into its cranium, but decided against it. Jamie bit his lip without realizing what he was doing. He knew what the next thing that the lieutenant was going to say. It might as well be the Marine breaking the bad news as opposed to him doing it. He just wanted to be sure that he wasn’t crazy and that he did see the headshot walker move.

  Joe’s jaw dropped. Zombies that were not being killed by a good old-fashioned headshot were more than terrifying, they were going to be nearly impossible to identify from the rest. What was going to happen when a well-placed double tap to the head did not take down the zombies? Joe cleared his throat, now all of the sudden very dry and tight. “No, we haven’t had a run in with those yet. Why don’t they die from a headshot? Over.”

  Lieutenant Wyatt paused briefly before responding in a very sobering voice. “Because the goddamned things are already starting to mutate.”

  TO BE CONTINUED…IN SIX FEET FROM HELL: SALVATION

  SIX FEET FROM HELL: SALVATION

  BY JOSEPH A. COLEY

  © 2013 - JOSEPH A. COLEY

  CHAPTER 1

  Joe stared at the handset to the SINCGARS radio, an overwhelming fear slowly taking him over. His wide-eyed gaze looked around the cabin of the train at his group, now divided amongst each other. They had finally gotten a ray of hope after losing Ronnie in Southern Tennessee, but it now seemed all for naught. Joe hated losing Ronnie, a true friend and his stepson, a person that was made the way he was, that thought the way he did, and had his back no matter what. Losing him the way that they had was still a sore subject. The event had torn Joe’s wife away from him, blaming him for not only losing her oldest son, but also now she would hardly speak to him. The group was effectively split in two. Chris, Buffey, Ashleigh, and the kids were now split from Joe, Balboa, Jamie, and Lucy. The two factions had been separated for less than 12 hours, but it had felt like a lifetime for Joe. Being separated from his family forcefully was one thing, but having them less than fifty feet away and not being with them was another. He could not wrap his mind around the undead not going down with a headshot; skepticism ran around in his mind for a moment, as did most things, at a thousand miles an hour.

  “What the hell is he talking about? Every one of those goddamn things that we have killed has stayed down as near as I can tell,” said Chris, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  Jamie shuffled his feet uncomfortably and looked towards the floor. Chris sensed his agitation and looked at him accusingly. “Something you want to share, Jamie?”

  Jamie snapped his attention up as Chris as he realized the others were staring at him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he began his explanation.

  “When we left Rural Retreat I shot two zombies as we were leaving. I got on the train right after I shot ‘em and I swear that I saw one of ‘em get back up. I thought I was just tired or didn’t see it right, but it was moving.”

  “Son of a bitch, what the hell are we supposed to with zombies that don’t go down with a headshot? It kinda breaks all the rules for killin’ the damn things don’t you think?” Joe was right. Being the zombie aficionado that he was the zombie movi
es that he had seen - minus a few - the undead went down with a well-placed shot to the cranium. Now they would not be able to tell which ones were going to go down and which ones were not. The crew was not quite dry on ammo, but it was becoming a dwindling supply. 5.56mm rounds were not exactly scarce, but not something that they were going to find at the local Wal-Mart either.

  “Are you sure you hit ‘em in the head? Nothing aside from dead center takes em down instantly, just saying,” Balboa said, trying to provide constructive criticism to the situation.

  “I suppose the shots could have been off, but what the hell are we gonna do if they really aren’t goin’ down without it?” Jamie said, folding his arms in frustration.

  “We will have to break out some melee weapons, for one thing. If we only take the shots that we know will kill ‘em then we should at least slow ‘em down. Jamie, you said that you took down the ones with a headshot and they just didn’t stay down, right?” Joe tried to look on the positive side of the situation.

  “Yeah, two to the head and it went down, it just didn’t stay down I guess.”

  “It sounds like they might be full of shit too. I mean, maybe they just didn’t hit em square in the head or just didn’t do enough damage,” Chris retorted.

  Joe tapped the receiver of the SINCGARS radio against his forehead as a crinkled, aggravated look came across his face. “Who gives a shit if they don’t go down with a headshot; we just start decapitating the fucking things instead. I have my tomahawk and I am sure that we can find some machetes or something to that effect. If we just stop and check…”

  “Fuck stopping again! Look what happened the last time we decided to make an unscheduled stop! Ronnie got bit and blew himself all to shit, or did you forget that?” Chris interrupted Joe before he could mount an effective comeback. Joe’s face went from aggravated to downright pissed off in a hurry. Joe was already blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong thus far, and did not need any further berating from his friends or otherwise about the situation.

  “Look, I don’t need any more goddamned prompting! If you have a better idea, then I’m all ears,” Joe raised an eyebrow and waited for a few seconds. “No? I didn’t think so,” Joe fumed. “I am doing the best I can with what I got, but if I can’t get then I can’t do. Understand?”

  Chris bit his lip, consciously or not, and his expression was not lost on Joe. Chris was going to question his every move from now on, especially after losing Ronnie. There was no easy way of convincing him that he could do the right thing, and the idea of it was lost on him anyway. Joe stared down Chris and neither spoke for several long, awkward seconds. The radio mercifully crackled back to life again, saving Joe from further uncomfortable conversation with Chris.

  “You still there, caller? Over.” Lieutenant Wyatt called out from the tinny speaker.

  Joe did not take his eyes off Chris as he picked up the handset and answered. “Yeah we’re still here Lieutenant. I know you can’t tell me what your mission is, but I sure would appreciate it if you would tell me what our best plan of action would be right now. Over.”

  “Well to be quite honest, we aren’t really on a mission right now. We have been doing Search and Rescue for a few days now and we lost commo with our Navy contacts. We have needed some help since yesterday. A swarm of the z’s jumped us and I lost some good Marines. There is only myself and three other Marines in my group left. If you would tell us your location then maybe we can work something out.”

  Joe paused as he contemplated the Marine’s offer. The chance of running into another group of crazies like those that they had before was an entirely likely possibility. The added protection of the Marines was an enticing offer. The thought in the back of his head that nagged him, however, was why if they could contact Joe and his people why he could not get hold of the naval command that had sent them out. Lieutenant Wyatt either had extremely bad luck or was blowing smoke up his ass. Either proposition was not particularly conducive to success in getting to the Gulf Coast. The thought of letting his group down, divided or not, was enough to scare the shit out of him. His current track record was not getting accomplished what he had planned once they set out on their journey. They had set out to be safe, secure, well fed and a good roof above their heads.

  As Joe considered the offer further, Chris’ expression did not change. He did not have an alternative to the idea of hooking up with the Marines. All together, the idea seemed sound to him, but he did not want to give up ground to Joe. His eyes did not wander from Joe as he held firmly onto the handset.

  Joe opened his mouth to answer the Lieutenant when the first unsettling sound that was not a zombie or the distinct sound of a .50 caliber machine gun started rattling through the cabin of the train. Everyone in the cabin braced themselves as the shuddering got worse and the train’s gauges began pegging out and alarming. Joe dove across the console and shoved the throttle back down, effectively stopping the engine. Smoke began billowing from behind them as the engine from the first locomotive died with an agonizing combination of metal grinding and clunking of busted parts. The telltale disintegration that led to the massive plume of smoke was the end of the train ride. Joe climbed off the console and got to his feet, and immediately wished that he had a witty comeback or some reasonable explanation for the unfortunate turn of events. His cohorts looked to him in disappointed amazement. Joe got behind the controls of the train, grabbed the brake for the cars and the engine, and eased them forward as the smoke billowed out from the engine. The smell of burnt oil and hot metal filled the air as the train came to a clattering halt.

  “What the hell is going on with this damn thing? What did you do to it?” Chris blurted out as the smoke bellowed forth from the engine; it rattled and belched oil as it stopped.

  Joe, angered by Chris accusations that he had done something to affect the train sat fuming. “Does it look like I am a fucking train engineer? We took a risk taking this damn thing not knowing exactly how to operate it. Don’t fucking blame me,” Joe screamed over the noise of the dying engine.

  The fumes from the broken engine swirled around them, blinding anything from their view. Joe exasperatedly tossed the handset of the SINCGARS back on the dash of the train. His crew sensed the immediate dread and the decision that was going to come with it and began firing off ideas almost immediately after the train came to its untimely demise.

  “We can just unhook the engine from the second locomotive and use it,” Balboa suggested.

  “We can’t do that, the only way we would go is backwards, we can’t get any further along by doin’ that,” Jamie reminded him.

  “Well, maybe we should start going back. It’s not too late and we have plenty of fuel,” chimed in Chris.

  “And what happens when that engine craps out on us? What the hell are we going to do halfway there and halfway home? We would be fucked!” Jamie added.

  “I don’t think we have much choice at this point. We need to just unhook and go home. We could find somewhere to fortify and just lay low for a while if we needed to, we need to try and sort some shit out while we are at it,” Chris said, turning to face Jamie as he did.

  Joe sat in the corner with his head in his hands, desperately trying to figure out what he needed to do to keep his group going forward. Jamie, Chris, and Balboa bickered back and forth between one another for several seconds before they figured out that Joe was noticeably absent from the conversation. The ideas being thrown around were not the best plans conceivable, the constant arguing back and forth between the three men came to a fever pitch as Chris stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Balboa’s chest to try to make his point the most viable. Balboa smacked his hand away and stepped forward to confront him. Joe bolted up and grabbed both of his comrades, trying to stave off another altercation between them.

  “Both of you stop this goddamned arguing! We are not going anywhere or doing anything right now so everybody just shut the fuck up for five seconds and let me think about this!
” Joe screamed at his friends.

  “There is nothing to think about. Chris is right. We unhook the other train from this one and we go the hell home,” Buffey said, entering the cabin of the first train. She walked into the cabin as Chris and Balboa were arguing and stood back to watch the mess unfold. The bickering and in fact, all conversation stopped once Buffey stepped into the room. All five people standing in the cab of the locomotive all exchanged glances nervously as they tried to size each other up. Joe released his grip from both Balboa and Chris and acknowledged his wife’s presence in the room.

  “We are not turning back no matter what! We gather up whatever we can carry, get in the Humvee and we press on until we can find us some decent shelter. We are NOT running off into God knows where with God knows what coming after us,” Joe paused and looked to Buffey. “There is a Marine lieutenant on the radio that is saying that there are some zombies that are not going down with a headshot. We are guessing that you have to decapitate the damn things to make sure, but it is pretty hard to tell whether or not he is full of shit. I don’t know what to make of it honestly.” Buffey’s eyes widened as Joe spoke about the Marines nearby and the fact that maybe there were some damn-near invincible zombies out there to contend with now as well. The mixture of hope and dismay left an odd look on her face as Joe continued to try to reunite his people.

  “When everybody is done bitching about what we should do, we can start working on what we are going to do. If you don’t like it, then tough shit. If you want to live to see tomorrow then you will start listening to what I have to say. All of you know that I would never do anything to hurt this group or any of you. So from now on, I am in charge. There will be no more of this bullshit bickering back and forth. If you don’t like it,” Joe pointed towards the entrance to the cab, “then right there is the door.”