The Wilsons' Saga (Book 1): The Journey Home

by Gibb, Lew

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  If Jerry wanted to build a zombie-proof sanctuary, he couldn’t have done a much better job than the architect who’d designed his downtown apartment building—or most of the buildings downtown, now that he thought about it. The same features that made a place tough for burglars or vandals to enter—first-floor parking garages with rolling steel doors and steel mesh instead of windows; concrete walls; steel entry doors that opened out, making them impossible to kick in—worked as well or better at repelling zombies. The entry vestibule doors, being made entirely of glass, were a weak point, but since the elevators wouldn’t work without electricity, there was no way for zombies to access the rest of the building from there.

  Jerry’s building was one of four that formed a courtyard on Fifteenth Street, with a moat of sorts formed where the adjacent roadway passed under the train tracks. Then there was the ten-foot concrete wall that had been put in to try and mitigate the sound of trains rumbling through town twenty-four-seven. All someone would need to do to close off the whole area would be to block off the access road through to his courtyard. Then there were the ten-foot-tall flood-control walls of Cherry Creek that ran along a third side.

  Alberto backed the MRAP between the Fifteenth Street railing and Jerry’s building, making an effective blockade that would keep zombies from sneaking up on them while they made their way to the corner where the stairs dumped out into the rear courtyard.

  The trip from the stadium had taken much less time than Jerry had expected. After so many hours spinning their wheels trying to find a way across the car blockade, the MRAP had made the trip almost easy. He could understand why Holly’s brothers had been so enamored by the massive armored truck. Since it was designed to keep troops safe from mines and IEDs, it had no trouble running over any zombies that came their way with barely a stutter. The flat-proof tires and armor plating made him feel safer than he had since the start of the whole mess, and having Alberto drive was doing wonders for the tension in his shoulders. His chances of meeting up with Bob were looking better and better.

  When Alberto lowered the rear door, Jerry led the group along the elevated sidewalk beside his building. Thirty feet below, the street angled under the train tracks. Several zombies, no doubt drawn by the MRAP’s noisy passage through the city, passed by without looking up. Jerry backed slowly away from the edge and continued, hugging the building and looking through the steel mesh windows into the parking garage. Rachel’s van wasn’t there. Even though he’d prepared himself for it, the knowledge that she wasn’t home drained his will to continue like a plug had been pulled out from somewhere in his soul. He knew there was no logical reason for her to be there waiting; they had agreed on a couple of days, and it was now well past that. But his heart had been hoping he would find her. He decided he would get the group settled and then head out, maybe tomorrow.

  Jerry looked at the rest of the garage. There were only five cars in a space that could hold sixty-five. His neighbors must have tried to get out of town with everyone else.

  A pair of zombies ambled out of the darkest corner at the end farthest from them.

  “They won’t be a problem,” Jerry whispered over his shoulder to Alberto. More of the building’s great security: even if someone snuck into the garage with an entering car, they still needed a key to access the stairs or the entry vestibule. “There’s no way out of there without a key.”

  As soon as he spoke, the closest zombie’s head snapped around, and her gaze locked on the group. It was Nichole Barnes, the building’s resident gardener. Her usually impeccable slacks and flowing blouse were stained and splattered with blood from a gaping wound that covered half her neck. Jerry thought he noticed a flash of recognition in her eyes, or possibly just hunger, before her scream reverberated off the concrete walls.

  “What was that you said,” Alberto deadpanned, “about them not being a problem?”

  The garage’s concrete construction amplified Nichole’s piercing wail as well as the answering screams from out in the street. Jerry’s chest pounded like a rock drummer was doing a solo in his chest. What really freaked him out, though, was the way the tone and pitch changed constantly, a contrast to the monotone screeches he had almost grown used to. The sounds they made now almost seemed like words.

  “We need to get inside,” Jerry said, digging in his pocket for his keys and moving toward the rear of his building.

  A zombie popped around the corner. He was a big man running fast and already close enough that Jerry could read the name Bob printed on the breast of his bloodstained, retro bowling shirt.

  While Jerry was busy reading the zombie’s clothing, Holly floated past, her sword held high over her shoulder and closed the distance in three long steps. The rapier's blade hissed down in a diagonal slash that opened a massive gash across the zombie’s throat. Without stopping to admire the jet of bright red that arced out as the head tilted back like a Pez dispenser, Holly shuffled sideways to meet a gangly teen girl in a one-piece swimsuit. Jerry and the Vigils were so focused on watching the second zombie fall with another gaping wound in her neck and another jet of blood, they missed the approach of the garage zombies until Isabella’s piercing scream caught their attention. Nichole’s arm protruded through the mesh to the shoulder. The gardening zombie had her hand around Isabella’s ankle. The little girl shrieked and kicked without effect as her tiny body was dragged toward the already gaping zombie mouth. The girl’s foot would fit easily through the four-inch openings in the mesh.

  Maria screamed something in Spanish that Jerry didn’t understand and lunged forward, stabbing Nichole through the eye just like they’d practiced in the ambulance. At the same moment, Alberto’s axe severed Nichole’s arm at the elbow. The zombie had been straining against Isabella’s near-futile efforts, pushing against the mesh with her free arm, and she flew backward when the resistance was removed. Maria slashed at the other garage zombie’s grasping hand and two fingers dropped to the gravel pathway.

  Jerry’s blinked and dug in his pocket, jerked the keys free and turned to run for the back door. Holly killed another zombie and disappeared around the corner. The the number of bodies piling up in the little alley were starting to remind Jerry of the stadium but he was relieved to see the area between the building and the railroad fence was clear. Holly followed and stood with her back to the door, eyes sweeping the area, sword at the ready as he unlocked the door. Another pair of zombies rounded the corner.

  “Let’s go, Jerry yelled as he yanked the door open. He held it while the Vigils hustled through.

  It looked like Holly was thinking about taking them on. Jerry yelled, “Come on, Holly!” as the Vigils slipped past him into the stairwell.

  Holly took a step forward and slashed the first zombie across the throat. The second one tripped over the first’s body, and Holly backed through the door without taking her eyes off the struggling man. Blood dripped from her sword point as Jerry guided her past him and pulled the door closed with a bang that reverberated through the concrete stairwell. The pounding began seconds later. Jerry jumped and gripped the push bar so hard he could feel the tendons popping on his neck and back. Then he realized there was no way in without a key. He forced his grip to relax and turned to find the group all looking at him.

  The Vigils were waiting on the next landing halfway to the second floor, and Holly was looking through the small square window in the door that led to the garage. He remembered Rachel’s spot was empty, and it seemed like his limbs became much heavier. His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes, thinking about what she must be going through. If he was having trouble adjusting to the new reality, he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for her.

  Holly rested a hand on his shoulder. “Just because her van isn’t here, doesn’t mean she didn’t make it.”

  Jerry opened his eyes and nodded halfheartedly. Everyone was looking at him. He realized they were waiting for him to lead them to his apartment, so he put the
negative thoughts out of his mind and focused on getting his group to safety.

  “Our place is on the fifth floor,” he said, starting up the stairs.

  A balding zombie in plaid golf pants attacked them on the third floor. While Jerry tried to think of the guy’s name, Alberto killed him with two swings of his axe, first chopping a leg out from under him and then caving in his skull in as he lay on the landing reaching for Alberto’s legs. They sidestepped around the body and continued to the fifth floor. Holly cleared the final three floors of stairwell and returned in less than a minute.

  “The rest is clear,” she said when she returned.

  It was all Jerry could do to check the hall for zombies as he rushed to his door. The piece of paper taped over the spy hole pulled him up short. With trembling hands, he grabbed the note and read.

  Rachel and Jerry.

  Wasn’t sure when, or if, you were ever coming home. So I used my key to get in. I have Kodi and Mandy with me.

  Come over if you can.

  Tina

  Holly was reading over his shoulder. “Who’s Tina?”

  “She lives next door.” Tears flowed from Jerry’s eyes as he opened the door to his house. “She takes care of the dogs for us when we need it.” He let everyone in. “Why don’t you guys make yourselves at home, and I’ll go get the dogs?”

  Jerry hurried next door and knocked softly.

  The peephole darkened for a second before the door was thrown open. Tina flew out and engulfed him in a bear hug. Her petite five-foot-five frame drove him across the hall and into the opposite wall. Kodi and Mandy bounded out, letting out little yips of excitement. Jerry was trying to hug Tina and pat the dogs at the same time when he lost his balance. He and tina tumbled to the carpet and rolled around laughing as the dogs leapt over and around them, licking his face and barking. Tears of relief that at least part of his family was safe were mixed with those of grief at not finding Rachel.

  Jerry stood and helped Tina up while the dogs sprinted up and down the hall, wrestling and yipping with joy.

  “Thanks for taking care of these guys,” he said.

  Kodi nearly knocked Jerry down again when he put his paws on Jerry’s chest.

  “No problem,” Tina laughed and patted Kodi. “Thank you for still being alive. Is Rachel with you?”

  “No.” Jerry sobered. “I guess you haven’t heard from her either?”

  “No. I haven’t been out for five days. I hope you don’t mind, but I broke into your water stash. I had a case of my own, but even without washing dishes and clothes or showering, it takes a lot to just get through one day.”

  Jerry noticed how Tina’s short blonde hair—Rachel called it sassy—was a little less full than usual. He shook his head. “What’s ours is yours. Plus, I know how much these guys can drink.” The dogs had settled down enough to stand still on either side of Jerry while he scratched them each behind the ears. “Come meet the rest of the group,” he said and turned to head back to his place.

  When Jerry and Tina walked in, Zach and Tracy were arguing about the quarantine.

  “Martial law was doomed from the beginning,” Zach said. “Most of the patrols weren’t well-organized, and a lot of the guys were more interested in looking like they were following orders than actually tracking down infected people.”

  “Yeah?” Tracy said, standing up from her crouched position beside Mandy, who was obviously in love with her new friend. Jerry wished everyone could be that accepting of newcomers. “You guys seemed pretty motivated when you got me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Zach’s eyes were pleading. “We were scared. That colonel was bat-shit crazy. He threatened to put anyone who didn’t do their duty in the stadium with the infected.”

  Tracy snorted, then crossed her arms and turned away. She stared out the windows. Her jaw was tense, and there were tears in her eyes. “Whatever,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It’s easy to say that now.”

  The rest of the group shared their stories while Jerry thought about his inability to react quickly to zombie attacks. Holly seemed at least two steps ahead of him every time, and it required conscious thought to get his mind to engage. He was used to thinking on his feet and acting in stressful situations; he did it all the time on the ambulance, in fact. Granted, most of the time he wasn’t being attacked by ravenous zombies. He remembered something his teacher had said in paramedic school about the nervous system’s fight-or-flight response. When you’re scared or angry, your primitive brain takes over and your logical brain shuts down, he’d said. Which was why it was a bad idea to get emotionally worked up on calls where you needed to be able to think. Maybe Jerry was so used to keeping his emotions in check, he wasn’t giving his primitive brain room to operate when it was time to actually fight. He’d done fine with Picke when he’d kept his fight-or-flight system from kicking in. There had to be a way to do that when the zombies came.

  “I think we are all hungry,” Maria said. “Zach, why don’t you help me with some dinner? You too, Jerry.”

  Jerry followed Maria to the kitchen. He hoped Rachel was able to find another person or group that would keep her safe and help her on her way back to him. He wasn’t the least bit hungry, but he knew he needed something to take his mind off of whether or not his wife was all right. The only thing he wanted, wanted like nothing else, was to go out searching for her. But without knowing where to look, the effort would be futile—and most likely suicidal.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Can you figure out where we are?” Rachel had to yell to make herself heard over the epic racket the car was making. The tire had finally let go about a mile after they had plowed onto the greenbelt, which actually made it a little easier to steer. Unfortunately, it also made the noise of their passing louder. She looked in the rearview. The sparks thrown out by the wheel rim on the concrete path seemed to have started a fire in their wake. Maybe the fire would slow down the trailing horde of screeching zombies that closed in every time they slowed down. Rachel’s forearms and shoulders ached with the effort of keeping the battered wagon on the path.

  Brent stuck his finger on the map. “We’re on West Forty-Third Avenue.”

  Rachel had to whip the wheel to the left to avoid a jam up of cars and bodies half a block ahead, and they screamed around a corner. When they straightened out, Brent was half out of his seat with his head and shoulders hanging out the window.

  He dropped down and looked at the map. “Sweet. We just turned onto Garland Drive. There’s a bridge coming up.”

  The wagon shot beneath an underpass. The sound of the rim reverberating off the concrete above them was like a thousand zombie screams.

  Brent looked up from the map. “Oh. Okay. Now it’s only a little bit until we have to turn left. There’s only two streets with bridges.”

  Rachel gnawed her lower lip but kept her eyes on the road. “Which one’s first?”

  “Ford.”

  The road was completely blocked with abandoned cars and trucks. One truck looked like it had tried to crash its way through and gone over the edge and the front end rested in the river while the back wheels perched on the edge of the roadway.

  At the next bridge, Rachel felt like crying when she saw the devastation at their last chance to cross the river. She tapped the brakes, and the wagon ground to a stop. Beyond a pair of army trucks blocking the road, bodies littered the open spaces between cars. The bridge wasn’t as tightly packed as the other one had been, but that was because it looked like there had been more collisions on the bridge. Even if the trucks hadn’t been there, Rachel doubted they could have gotten across in the wagon. When she looked at Brent, he was looking beyond the bridge. “Any suggestions?” she asked him.

  Brent popped his door and got out, then walked toward the side of the road. “My scout troop went tubing here last month. The river’s only, like, knee-deep so we could walk across. Then the house is just, like, two blocks that way.” He pointed west, toward the mountains.
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  Rachel couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought about that. She knew the river too, had been tubing on it as well. She’d been so focused on getting as much as she could out of the car she didn’t think outside the box. She was a little hesitant to abandon the protection of the little wagon but didn’t think the Subaru was going to hang on much longer. They might as well abandon it now. A chorus of zombie screams made the decision for her. The horde that had been trailing them was a hundred yards back and still running. “Let’s do it,” she said, shouldering her own door open. Once she was out, she looked back at Cindy. The woman hadn’t moved. Rachel stuck her head back in and yelled, “Cindy! Let’s go!”

  Cindy’s head snapped around, and she reminded Rachel of a zombie as she shoved against her door. It was stuck, and Brent had to help her open it, causing a massive squeal that would have had Rachel looking for zombies to arrive if a mob hadn’t been coming for them already.

  Brent led them down the riverbank and waded into the water with Rachel bringing up the rear, prodding Cindy along and shaking her head. The woman still had her purse dangling from her arm like she was out buying dinner.

  The water was shallow enough for them to walk across it easily, just like Brent had said. The ten or so bodies half submerged in the water looked like they could have died falling off the bridge, except for the large bullet holes that perforated every one of them. The weird thing was, Rachel didn’t see any bite wounds. The soldiers must have been shooting anything that moved.

  Once across the river, the streets of downtown Golden were relatively uncluttered and zombie-free. The pursuing horde seemed to have lost sight of them at the crossing, and they only had to avoid the odd loner. If they couldn’t be avoided, Rachel killed them with a quick slash of her knife, like when they came upon a young woman sleeping in the shade of a truck a block from the river. Rachel had seen her just in time and cut her throat before she was halfway standing. That was the only killing she had to do until they reached the street where Cindy’s husband was supposed to be, just west of the main street, in a small residential area wedged in between the river and the campus of the Colorado School of Mines. Rachel saw why Cindy’s husband had said they couldn’t miss it. She crouched behind a car and motioned for Brent and Cindy to join her.