The first mass of zombies I saw was down by the 79th Street boat basin, and it was an enormous one. They easily numbered in the thousands and it reminded me of Times Square on New Year’s Eve. The sound of my engine definitely attracted attention, and the mob all turned my way—an unnerving sight to realize that I was the center of attention! I cut the engine about 150 feet from shore, as I had calculated that I could effectively launch my grenades from that distance. What I hadn’t calculated was trying to use a trebuchet on the deck of a ship that was rocking and rolling on choppy waters.
My first shot was released as the boat was tilted away from shore, and grenade went high into the air and came straight down about twenty feet from the boat. The next attempt was on an opposite roll and the jar plunged straight into the water. After two more unsuccessful attempts, it was clear that my meat grenade launcher was useless on a boat. In disgust, I tossed it overboard.
I eased the boat closer to the hungry mob, and gagged at the collective stench of decaying, soiled zombies. It was that same horrendous, foul odor of semi-rotting corpses and excrement as at the containment facility at Napanoch, only about a thousand times worse. I dropped anchor 40 feet from shore, which was as close as I dared to get, especially since there were some old pier pylons just under the surface.
I rotated and flexed my right arm a few times to warm it up. Then I grabbed a meat grenade and gave it my best Hail Mary throw. The jar fell into the sea of inhumanity, and although I didn’t hear it break, I saw a circle of zombies bending down and fighting one another. Encouraged, I continued to heave jar after jar until I thought my arm would fall off. I certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest of activity as hundreds of zombies fought and growled and scratched to get a morsel of fresh flesh. Perhaps I stirred them up just a bit too much. While the hundreds struggled for the meat, the thousands behind them surged forward like starving animals, which they were.
When I was a kid, we used to go to the Jersey shore and I was addicted to those arcade machines filled with quarters. If you dropped your quarter in and it fell just right, it would push the teetering mass of coins over the edge and your prize tickets would come streaming out. Well, that’s what it reminded me of when the surging zombies from behind began pushing row after row of zombies into the water.
At first, I wasn’t too concerned as they just sank to the bottom, but as hundreds and hundreds fell into the shallow water, it began filling up quickly. In a frighteningly short time, a veritable land bridge of zombie bodies was forming in my direction. I started the engine and ran back to raise the anchor. It was stuck on some sort of debris and wouldn’t budge.
As I struggled with the anchor, I saw that the mass of writhing zombies was spilling my way with incredible speed and every second counted. Pulling out my knife, I slashed the anchor line. When I turned to go back to the controls, I saw many hands grasping at the rails of my boat. So many, in fact, the boat wouldn’t move. Like armies of ants who run over the tops of one another, in a few more seconds the pile of zombies would be high enough that they would practically be able to crawl right on board.
I gunned the engine forward, knocking a few of them loose. Then I threw it into reverse and a few others slipped. I didn’t have time to try to go around the boat shooting everyone, and I couldn’t risk shooting a hole in the boat, so I kept up the forward and reverse over and over, like trying to rock your car out of a snow bank. Finally, the boat’s thrust overcame the zombie’s collective grasp and I lurched backward. I fell down, but jumped back to my feet and got as much distance as I could from the slithering island of zombies that had formed in just minutes.
As I raced back up river, I glanced at both sides of the boat and saw several zombies still hanging onto the rails on the port side, and a zombie in a business suit had managed to crawl onto the bow. Once aboard, he stood up and headed toward me. As scared as I was, I had to laugh because he was still clutching his briefcase and his Bluetooth was still in his ear! Even after death, these zombies couldn’t leave their work at the office. A tight, high speed circle succeeded in making Mr. Bluetooth fall overboard off the starboard side. In seconds he had slipped under, and the floating briefcase was the only marker for his watery grave.
It took a few rapid, zigzagging maneuvers to shake the rest of them loose. It took the entire trip back to Nyack to stop my heart from zigzagging in my chest.
As soon as I got home I called Cam.
“Good news! I’m packing tonight and heading up there tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful, Trues! There isn’t anything wrong, is there?”
“Wrong? What could possibly be wrong? I just finished earlier than I expected, that’s all.”
I wasn’t always the greatest liar, and I knew he saw right through me. But as long as I was okay, he probably thought he was better off not knowing what stupid thing I had done. But hey, if even a few zombies ate the infected meat and didn’t get pushed into the river, it could have a tremendous domino effect. As I drifted off to sleep that night, I imagined that someone in one of those apartment buildings had been watching me toss the grenades, and took some comfort in knowing that people were trying to help.
On the other hand, they might have just thought I was a lunatic who liked to feed zombies.
Home for the Holidays: It was a good thing I had decided to head up to the compound earlier than I had originally planned, because early morning flurries turned to a steady mid-day snow. Of course, it took more than a few inches of snow to slow down the Humvee—in fact, it would probably take a few feet—but I was still glad when I turned onto the road to the compound. I didn’t need any more drama.
I had made a couple of stops before hitting the road that morning. I had a musical snow globe of children ice skating that I got when I was a kid, and I wrapped it up in a box to bring over to Yvonne for a Christmas present. I also wanted to drop off some more Eradazole and other medications, and to let her know I would be away until spring. In return, she gave me a big hug, and a picture she had colored of me and her in a field of flowers with a bright, happy sun. I told her I would hang it next to my bed.
The other stop I had to make was at a store downtown that had beautiful, handcrafted gifts. No one had yet bothered to break into this place, as there wasn’t anything of practical value. But during the summer, I had seen something in the window that I wanted to get Cam for Christmas. It seemed to be a shame to break the big front window, so I just broke a small pane in the door, right next to the lock.
There were all kinds of cool things in the shop, but I was there specifically for one of their walnut and brass kaleidoscopes. Cam always kidded me that I was fascinated by bright, shiny objects, but who wasn’t? And these things were beautiful. I guess I could have taken all of them, but I didn’t want to be greedy. However, since I was stealing after all, I might as well steal the best one they had. That one was on its own brass tripod and instead of little bits of broken glass or plastic shapes, it actually had semi-precious stones. I don’t know, maybe I was getting it more for me, but I knew Cam would appreciate the craftsmanship.
Anyway, when I got to the compound, everyone was in their cabins and the smell of wood smoke filled the air. Cam came out to help me bring in my stuff, but as I had the Humvee stuffed with instruments, analyzers, and assorted medical equipment, I told him just to leave it for later—especially since I had no idea where I was going to put it all. He said we would worry about it after Christmas, and that we should just relax and try to enjoy ourselves until then.
I was apprehensive, as I really didn’t know the meaning of the word relax, but my body and brain were giving me signs that I had been pushing too hard for too long. Cam promised one of his amazing massages every day if I was a good girl and didn’t touch any test tubes, and that was an offer I couldn’t refuse. And with the rest and massages, came some fun activity for a change, like snow shoeing, cross country skiing, and a horse-drawn sleigh ride! We even all pitched in to decorate a big pine tree in the middle
of the compound, which had lights powered by solar panels. It was an extravagant use of precious battery power, but no one protested the twinkling reminders of home and family.
Every Christmas Eve, I always watched the Alastair Sim version of “A Christmas Carol,” and was upset I hadn’t brought the videotape from my house. Instead, we were treated (or should I say subjected?) to a production put on by all the kids. I guess it wasn’t that bad, but the heavy tow chains they draped over the little boy playing Marley’s ghost made him unable to walk on his own, so he had to be carried on and off the stage. And their Scrooge kept saying, “Bah, Hamburg,” which I took as a lack of reading skills rather than an indictment on the German city.
I guess it was kind of cute, after all, and it did put me in the Christmas spirit. I can’t say I had visions of sugarplums dancing in my head when I went to bed that night, but I did feel a little like a kid again. I was anxious to give Cam my pilfered present (I would have bought it if the world hadn’t gone to shit) and I was wondering if got me anything.
I woke up Christmas morning to the sound of Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” over the PA system. And we did already have a foot of snow on the ground, so it was kind of festive. Cam wanted to sleep later, but I was something of a brat and made him get up so I could give him his present. My giftwrapping skills were about as good as my cooking skills, but he just smiled at the crooked paper and said it was the thought that counted. I was relieved to see that he genuinely liked the kaleidoscope and admired the craftsmanship.
However, I was disappointed when he didn’t seem to have anything to give me. My bottom lip tends to stick out when I’m disappointed, but he used his index finger to push my lip back and said not to worry, that he had something for me, but I didn’t see a box anywhere.
“This wouldn’t happen to be something in your pants, would it?” I asked with a frown and my arms folded.
“Hey, every woman should be so lucky,” he replied with a wink. “But no. Remarkably, it’s something even bigger than that.”
He told me I would have to get dressed because it was outside. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what it was as I threw on my clothes and boots. And when he made me put on a blindfold, I was completely in the dark, literally and figuratively.
He took my hand when we got outside and we began walking on the deep, crunchy snow. I expected any minute to stop and have my gift revealed, but we just kept walking. He assured me it wasn’t a joke. Finally, after walking for several minutes, we stopped.
“Okay,” he said, with unmistakable excitement in his voice, “Since you’ve been a good girl, me and the boys—and some of Santa’s elves, of course—made something for you.”
He pulled off the blindfold and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the light. I blinked several times and still couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Next to the pond, was a freshly painted, long, sturdy wooden structure with a sign that read, “Truesdale Clinic II.” I didn’t know what to say as he brought me inside and showed me my lab on one side of the building, and some beds in the “infirmary” on the other side. They had brought a lot of furniture and equipment from the hospital in Ellenville, and had more stuff stored in some sheds if I needed it. There was a satellite dish and solar panels on the roof, and generators in a shed behind the building. He also explained that they had built the structure away from all the others, since some of the people were a little uncomfortable about having ZIPs in the compound, but I assured him the location and privacy were both ideal.
“Cam, I..I just don’t know what to say!”
“I know you can’t live without your work, Trues. Merry Christmas.”
What could I say? I just cried and gave him a big hug.
Relaxing was nice, in small doses, but what I needed to do was work. I knew I would be stuck at the compound until the snows melted, but now I didn’t care. Now I could set up my lab, compare notes over the Internet with any labs still functioning, and plan the spring offensive of my anti-zombie campaign.
Could Santa have given me a better gift?
Chapter 15
Phase 15: The Winter of My Discontent: A typical New Year’s Eve would find me working a double shift at the hospital to earn some extra money. The night would be filled with dealing with drunks and car accidents, so I would usually ring in the new year with people vomiting on my shoes.
Not much was different as 2012 turned to 2013, except there weren’t any car accidents. (Although one idiot drove a tractor into a tree and claimed the tree had run out in front of him.) Needless to say, liquor was flowing freely at the compound, and men, women, and even some of the older children were downing enormous quantities of booze.
I was not in much of a partying mood. First of all, I had no intention of ever getting drunk again—especially since The Monk was just itching to give me more tattoos. Secondly—and I don’t mean to be a snob—a lot of these people were high school dropouts with criminal records. They were great to have on your side in a fight, but not the kind of people with whom I was accustomed to socializing. (Then again, I was always working such longs hours I was never accustomed to socializing much with anyone.) And I missed my parents terribly. I know everyone lost family and friends and was feeling sentimental, but if I heard anyone sing Auld Lang Syne just one more time, I was going to break out my .50 cal machine gun.
Cam was so tanked I don’t know if he even noticed when I slipped away from the party to go to my lab. I was much more comfortable there alone with my instruments, and I set up a few tests while listening to the Voice of the Hudson (or Voth, as we called the mysterious man) giving his year-end broadcast.
He began by summing up all the major events of the zombie apocalypse. I thought back to those innocent days of June when we first heard that a bad strain of the flu was going around. My god, was that only six months ago? It seemed like six years. What a different person I had been then!
Then Voth reminded us of all the lies our government had told, and he said not to believe their latest announcements, either. To be honest, I didn’t even know there was any government left, and I certainly didn’t know they were still making announcements. But in his broadcast, Voth reported that some remnants of the federal government were safe and sound in huge, plush, underground bunkers, and they were nice enough to release the occasional ZAP statement telling Americans to hang in there, because they we in the process of “taking back our country.” Then he played a few of the government broadcasts, and they really got me steamed.
Really? Our government was going to take our country back? And how were they doing that when no one had seen a soldier, tank, or airplane in months? And if they were taking back our country, how come it was up to crazy people like me to toss poisoned meat grenades at the unchecked hordes of zombies in New York City? And why was the army at West Point staying hunkered down behind their defenses, leaving the people of the Hudson Valley defenseless?
A few minutes later, Voth corrected himself. Indeed, our government was doing something. In several of the southern cities where temperatures were still mild and the zombies were very active, they were releasing nerve agents. A new Z-class of organophosphates had been developed (there were previously only the G and V classes, which included Sarin and VX), and artillery shells filled with the new deadly chemicals were being lobbed into heavily infested urban zombie populations with devastating effects.
It was encouraging news, but as Voth reminded us, there was one little problem—the Z-Class nerve gas was equally fatal to living people. Clearly, the crisis had reached the point where “collateral damage,” by way of the lives of countless survivors, was now acceptable. Of course, while you’re sipping champagne in the Jacuzzi of your bunker, such decisions probably didn’t seem too unreasonable.
After the broadcast, I made the rounds of my Internet contacts with labs and physicians across the globe. I learned that many other countries were much worse off than we were. While the U.S. had experienced a slow, but
steady rise of infections, densely populated, third-world cities had suffered virtual zombie explosions. The inhabitants had no time to prepare and were quickly overrun. The sudden millions of these zombies then swept through the outlying towns and villages.
An institute in Switzerland, which had become something of a repository for all zombie-related statistics, confidently stated that the indigenous populations of many countries had essentially ceased to exist. If anyone before had doubted that this was indeed an apocalypse, the news of virtual extinctions of entire populations was really the final nail in the coffin.
As billions of zombies now roamed the globe, some places in the northern latitudes went relatively unscathed. When one group of Russian survivors trekked to an isolated village in Siberia, the inhabitants looked at them with puzzled expressions and asked, “What are zombies?” Infection rates were below one percent in areas north of the Arctic Circle, and those few cases were most likely the result of people who had been infected elsewhere, and then traveled north.
I’m sure many people heard about the zombie-free arctic regions and were determined to reach them, but for me, trying to live in a frozen wasteland was not living at all. I was miserable enough with the frequent sub-zero temperatures and incessant snows in the Hudson Valley that winter. I hated being cold, and it seemed that even when I sat right next to the woodstove, which I did at every opportunity, I couldn’t drive away the chill in my bones.
The first week of January brought us epic cold temperatures with wind chills approaching minus forty. I didn’t even leave our cabin that week. The winter continued to be so brutal that we were literally burning through our supplies of firewood, gasoline, kerosene, and propane much faster than we had anticipated. We would make it through until spring, but then there would have to be a lot of work scrounging for fuel.
HVZA (Book 1): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse Page 25