Inception_The Bern Project

by M James Conway

  Russell walked outside and looked around. The sunlight was making its entrance, but night still dominated. The screaming had stopped, but fires still showed their presence along the entire shoreline and in the distance. He wondered how far east this had moved. Were they out of danger or would the zombies linger, looking for more victims?

  They couldn’t stay on this boat forever. The food would run out and the water would dry up. He noticed there was a small case of water that Kat had pulled out of one of the cupboards, but that would last for just a few days. He also remembered that they were very low on ammo.

  He heard a low chopping sound coming from above. He looked up and checked the entire sky and saw nothing. The noise grew in volume and pitch, and, as Russell angled his head and closed his eyes, he could tell it was coming from the west. Was this a military helicopter? He didn’t think so. The sound wasn’t right. It was quieter and didn’t have the choppy staccato of a military aircraft.

  As the noise grew louder, Russell saw it coming from the west and flying low. It cleared the trees and houses and came over the lake. Sims, Kat, and Christina came out and looked up at the helicopter.

  “Man, that is real low,” Sims said. He came out holding two cups full of brown liquid with small chunks. Russell gave Sims a questioning look. “Instant coffee. Cold water. Drink it.” Russell grabbed a cup and took a big drink.

  Sims was right. The helicopter was flying lower than it should and Russell saw why. He pointed up and said, “Look!”

  The helicopter was struggling to stay up as it alternated between hovering and jerking forward toward the east. The lake was still and the helicopter rotors were stirring up ripples in the water below. The noise seemed to have awakened those on the shore, and several zombies ran around the shoreline of the lake, with some of them jumping in and disappearing as they sank, trying to get to the helicopter.

  There were several figures hanging from the skids of the helicopter, each reaching up with one hand while holding on with the other. Russell couldn’t tell if they were normal people or if they were zombies. One person holding on let go and latched onto another and started biting. The one getting bitten let go and they both dropped about fifty feet into the water. The loss of their weight caused the helicopter to overcorrect, and it dropped lower as it moved right over the boat and continued to the south and west.

  “She’s going to crash,” Sims said.

  As predicted, the helicopter stopped moving, then started spinning in place. One of the zombies had reached the tail rotor and got caught inside and was torn to shreds. Unfortunately, one of the blades broke off, causing it to shake and vibrate in place, the rest of the rotor breaking off the tail. The helicopter was about twenty feet off the ground when it hurtled toward the surface of the lake, getting caught and swallowed by the surface and sending a cascade of water and debris outward.

  “Shit, we have to check on survivors!” Russell ran inside the cabin, started the boat and depressed the anchor button until it was all the way up.

  “No way the pilot survived that,” Sims said.

  “Still, we have to check.” Russell put a slight pressure on the throttles and steered toward the wreckage. He didn’t want to move too fast and end up driving over survivors, so he took it slowly.

  He looked out the pilot window with Sims standing next to him. There was a shiny sheen across the lake caused by the fuel from the helicopter. Several bodies and body parts were floating in the water, both zombie and normal, along with several chunks of debris. At the south end of the wreckage, Russell noticed a slight movement. He pointed and said, “There. See that?”

  Sims looked and said, “Yep! Be careful, though. It might be one of those zombies.”

  “I’m going to steer it around to the left.” Russell did, and, as he got closer, he saw a middle-aged man holding onto a piece of the helicopter. The man had some blood on his face and his eyes were wide in shock. He had a headset sitting askew on his head.

  “Looks like the pilot.” Sims walked to the stern deck and said, “I’ll guide you in!”

  Russell brought the boat around, steering to his right. He brought the throttles back to almost an idle, about fifty feet away from the man. He coasted straight and brought the boat as close to the man as he could without hitting him. The boat drifted past the man and almost came to a complete stop about twenty feet past him. Russell left the cabin, followed by Kat and Christina, who were both holding onto folded blankets.

  “Can you swim this way?” Sims yelled to the man.

  The man yelled back but they couldn’t make any words out. Seeing rescue about a hand’s reach away, he found some hidden strength and let go of the debris he was holding onto. He paddled with fury, creating large splashes as he made his way toward the boat.

  “Take your time, you’re almost there!” shouted Russell. He and Sims were both half hanging over the side. The man was about three feet away, fear in his eyes.

  Russell and Sims both latched onto an arm and pulled the man aboard. He collapsed onto the bench seat, dripping wet. Kat and Christina unfolded the blankets and covered him with them.

  “Are you okay?” Russell was rubbing the blankets on the man, trying to create as much friction as possible to try and warm the guy up.

  The man tried to speak but couldn’t, so he nodded his head. Finally, he found the energy to utter a slight “Thank you.”

  They led the man into the cabin. Russell pointed to the front room and said, “Why don’t you go inside and get undressed? Here.” He opened the drawers and took out a T-shirt, a pair of pants and some socks. “This guy is about your size. They should fit. Go change and wrap those blankets around yourself.”

  The man did and came out wearing the clothes that Russell had given him. Everyone started laughing and Sims said, “Nice shirt.”

  The man looked down and let out a small laugh. “It’s dry, though. I’ll take it.”

  The shirt showed a picture of a small dog’s head with a halo above it and the words, “Holy Shih Tzu” written below it. The blue jeans seemed to fit but were a size too short, almost like capri pants. His socks were blue argyle.

  The man looked down at his shoes and shrugged. “Beats going barefoot, I guess.” He took the socks off, put the wet tennis shoes on and looked up. “Thank you, guys. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s no problem. You buzzed right over us and we figured you were one of the normal ones. I can’t picture any zombie flying a helicopter,” Russell said.

  The man seemed to ponder that. “Zombies, huh? You’re not the first person to say that. Flying above the shit in Seattle, it looked like more than a riot. It was more like…” he searched for the right words, “…like an attack on people than it was an attack on property. I’ve seen riots from above and this was no riot. It didn’t look right. Something was off. Besides, it started at Pot Luck then worked its way east, real fast.”

  “We’ve seen it first-hand. These people aren’t normal. They don’t just attack each other, they ravage each other. Biting, tearing of limbs and all that.”

  “Sims had to beat one to death on this boat!” Christina said, as she pointed out the cabin.

  The man looked toward the back and said, “Is that what that blood was from?”

  Sims, still staring at Christina, who shrank back, turned back to the man and said, “I had to.”

  The man held his hands up. “I’m not judging. At all. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

  He looked around and focused on the table. “Say, is it okay if I…?” He pointed to the boxes of food on the table.

  Russell nodded and said, “Sure, help yourself.”

  “Here’s some water, too.” Kat handed the man a bottle of water.

  He sat down and tore into a box of cheese crackers with an almost murderous intent. In between bites he said, “Thanks,” then continued shoving in cheese crackers by the handful, followed by gulps of water.

  “Hungry?”

  The man nodded and slow
ed down. “I’m more thirsty than hungry. Besides, cheese crackers are my vice. I love these things. I could tongue this entire box.”

  “Well, you can have the rest of them. None of us like ‘em,” Sims said.

  The man nodded his thanks.

  Russell sat down on the other couch and faced the group. “Okay. Let’s not waste any time. We don’t have enough food to last us too long, and the water, with all five of us, will be gone before tomorrow. We have to come up with a plan. Or something. We can’t stay here.”

  The man they had rescued said, “I’ve been flying all night with a few refills. The last one is when I caught the zombies. From what I’ve seen, the fires seem to be everywhere. I mean, it started in Seattle but has worked its way both north and south. As far as I could see, it seemed like it had reached north almost in Everett and about halfway south to Tacoma. The east,” he nodded in that direction, “seems to be doing fine, but everyone who was able to escape has taken to the freeways. I heard over the radio that there was some sort of traffic accident – a major one – just over the pass that was causing a backup in both directions. Some bus fire or something.”

  Russell nodded and said, “So that means foot traffic is moving east. People walking on foot. If they’re desperate.”

  “Like us?” Sims asked.

  “Yeah, basically.”

  “People abandoning their vehicles after listening to the radio, hearing the mayhem and special reports, word that it’s moving east,” Sims said.

  The man was vigorously shaking his head. “No. There’s radio silence. Right before nightfall all radio stations went to the emergency broadcast system. Right as the riots…or whatever it’s called…started getting the attention of the radio media, they sent out special reports. About thirty minutes later, local emergency information started happening. Then thirty minutes after that, it was statewide emergency information. I haven’t heard anything since, but then again, I stopped listening last night. Who knows what’s on there now?”

  “You didn’t hear anything about a military or National Guard response?”

  “Nope. But then again, I wouldn’t expect much. Especially after seeing the response for Katrina. Besides, our governor is a slow-blinking mouth-breather and has zero initiative or drive. What I’m saying is, don’t expect much.”

  “Too bad we don’t have a radio,” Sims said.

  “You spoke too soon.” Christina exited the sleeping quarters, holding a small portable AM/FM radio. She turned it on and nothing but static was heard. Russell saw the look of disappointment on her face.

  “Try AM.”

  Christina nodded and turned the dial, the static changing in pitch with each turn. A few seconds later, they heard a very faint voice, “…tional…gency…” that repeated itself every twenty seconds or so.

  “That the best we can find on there, Christina? We can barely hear it.”

  Christina was shaking her head. “This is about the best we can get. I think it’s saying ‘national emergency,’ but it’s clipped.”

  “Turn that off, Christina,” Russell said. She did.

  “Christ, it’s nationwide. Not just here. This isn’t any local riot,” Sims said.

  “Nowhere is safe!” Christina started breaking down.

  Everyone seemed to be in shock, all staring at the radio that had been turned off. “We need to head east,” Russell said.

  “It’s nationwide, Dad. Even if we head east, it’s still going to reach us.”

  “Maybe. Eventually. Point is, we can’t stay on the boat. We have to move, and if we’re going to move, we need to do it now before it gets worse.” To the helicopter pilot, he said, “You said the east looked pretty good, right?” The pilot nodded, so Russell continued, “Good. We’ll move east. Walk either on or along the freeway. We might find others walking as well that will give us strength in numbers.”

  “Yes, but who is going there? From where? We haven’t seen any military aircraft or vehicles or anything,” Sims said. “We barely have any ammo, food or water. We don’t have a car. I mean, we could walk, but odds are slim we’d get anywhere unnoticed by the zombies. Or even people that are willing to do anything because they’re desperate.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t see any military convoys or vehicles anywhere when I was flying. Nothing. No jets. Nothing. If they’re mobilizing, they sure are being slow about it. Honestly, I think this hit so fast and hard that mobilization is impossible.”

  “Where’s the freeway?” Sims asked.

  “We’re in luck. The freeway is just over there.” Kat pointed to the south. “That grassy area right there is Lake Sammamish Park. It’s large, wide open, and we could see our immediate surroundings pretty easily. I say we take it, head to the freeway and start walking toward the pass. Who knows, we may run into other people heading in the same direction. Strength in numbers, right, Dad?”

  Russell nodded. He started up the boat and drove it toward the dock at the park. The sun had come up from the east and it was clear skies, minus the smoke to the west. So far, the park appeared to be deserted, but with trees occupying the vast majority of the area, it was hard to tell.

  Russell drove the boat as close to the dock as he could get it. Sims walked out and leaned over the side, grabbed the cleat and pulled the boat closer to the dock. He secured the rope, tied it around the deck cleat, and secured the other end of the rope on the boat cleat. He walked back in and said, “Okay. We’re tied up. We ready for this?”

  Everyone said they were.

  “Hold on.” The man they had rescued opened the drawer and took out some more clothes. “Just in case.” He threw on another T-shirt over the one he was wearing. He grabbed a hat that was resting on the top of the drawer and put it on. He grabbed some more socks, shirts, and pants and threw them into a backpack he found lying next to the couch. He held it up and said, “You never know. We can fit some more stuff in here, but not much.”

  Russell pointed to the table. “Grab them bottles of water.”

  The pilot took the last six bottles and stuffed them into the backpack.

  Russell took the nine-millimeter ammo out of the magazines for the two Kahr handguns they had found, refilled his Sig Sauer, and pocketed the rest. He tossed the two empty handguns into the backpack and was about to throw the bag of cocaine over the side when the helicopter pilot grabbed his wrist.

  “Don’t!”

  Russell looked at him. “We’re not taking cocaine with us. It’s illegal.” He realized halfway through saying it how stupid it sounded.

  “Well, maybe they’ll put you in jail. You know, since nothing else is going on?” the pilot said sarcastically. He nodded at the bag. “We can use small amounts of it as a topical numbing agent.”

  Russell just stared at him.

  The pilot sighed, then said, “Remember now…it was a legit medicine before Freud lived off the stuff and ruined it for everyone.”

  He shrugged and gave the pilot the bag. “Okay. Here we go.”

  Russell stepped onto the dock and waited for everyone to get off the boat. Once done, they all took small tentative steps, trying to see or hear anything out of the ordinary. The park was deserted. Not a person was to be seen, nor was there any abnormal sound.

  “Remember, we have one bottle of water each,” said Russell. “They’re going to have to last us as long as they can.” With a lack of threats seen, he picked up the pace a bit. “The way I see it, once we get to the freeway, if we walk about a twenty-minute mile pace, we could go thirty miles in ten hours. I don’t know how far the pass is, but I’m assuming there are some towns in between. We should be able to find something by nightfall. Hopefully.”

  The pilot took up pace right behind Russell. “Sounds good.” He thought for a second then said, “So, what’s everyone’s name?”

  Russell looked over his shoulder to the pilot. “I’m Russell. That big clumsy oaf there is Reggie Sims. This is Kat, my daughter, and her friend Christina.”

  The pil
ot nodded to everyone as they were introduced. “Nice to meet you all. My name is Steve.”

  Chapter 22

  John and Morgan had reached the top of Mount Si in just under ninety minutes, carrying their backpacks, some water, and the AR-15s.

  For a trek that normally took about an hour, they had taken their time, not knowing what was around each corner of the steep and winding trail. Every sound had forced them to stop and take up position for the inevitable fight that never came. Not one person or animal came across their path.

  They had the mountain to themselves.

  They worked their way up to the fifty-foot high haystack, a large rock outcropping resting on top of the mountain. They sat down at the top, their AR-15s unslung and resting at their sides. John used his binoculars to survey the landscape.

  The view was one of the most beautiful around the immediate area, as it allowed one to see Seattle and the entire eastside from four thousand feet up. The clear blue sky was muddled with smoke the further west you looked.

  “Christ, look at that, Morg. Nothing but smoke and flames. All of Seattle. North of it. South of it. Looks like it’s reached Bellevue and Sammamish. It’ll be here before we know it.”

  The top halves of the skyscrapers of Seattle were visible as they protruded up over the eastside hills, which had house fires raging on them as well. To the east of Seattle, John followed the Interstate 90 eastbound, seeing bare pavement turning to a parking lot the further east he went. He remembered Boogie having to drive on the shoulder to get to their exit due to some sort of accident. It looked like with the events of the last twenty-four hours, people had either given up hope and ditched their cars or they were still being patient and sitting inside.

  “Yep.” Morgan pointed towards Seattle and continued, “Every skyscraper has smoke and flames coming from it. I don’t even see the Space Needle. That piece of shit probably toppled. Maybe. Hopefully.”