“The boss is keeping tabs on everything now,” Klaff said. “Looks like you’re not the only ‘documentarian’ after all.”
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Reese and the others waited inside the office building. The air conditioning had kicked in as the heat of the day mounted, and they still had running water. Everyone clustered together on the second floor was comfortable and, for the moment, safe. On the first floor, they heard the occasional sound as the zombies that had penetrated into the office suite below tried but failed to gain access to the lobby itself, held back by the thick plate glass windows that formed the office’s front façade. To know that things as simple as rubber door stops had defeated them was encouraging. Reese helped himself to a bag of peanut M&Ms. They had several packages of MREs with them, but Plosser indicated those would be eaten later; right now, the more perishable—and arguably tastier—foods would be consumed instead. Reese was happy enough to comply.
Outside, the situation hadn’t changed very much. Zombies still staggered across Manchester Avenue, harassing those few remaining citizens trapped inside vehicles that had long ago run out of fuel. They were probably baking to death inside their metal and glass prisons; even though it was late October, the ambient temperature was approaching eighty degrees. Inside a car or truck, it might be twenty to thirty degrees warmer. Dying from dehydration and heat stroke wasn’t an enviable death, but it was definitely preferable to being eaten alive by reanimated corpses.
Reese checked the parking lot, specifically the area around the parked five ton truck. Zombies shambled around it, and one or two even peered at it with short-lived interest, but by and large the vehicle was ignored. Some zombies drifted toward the building, but they weren’t massing at the doors. For the moment, they were mostly unaware of the survivors sitting only twelve feet above them.
Smoke still wafted through the air. The neighborhood to the south of the building was slowly being burned up, and from his vantage point on the second floor, Reese could see the occasional flicker of flame at the base of thick columns of gray and black smoke. Zombies tottered in and out of the smokescreen, apparently unbothered by it. Nothing mattered to the walking corpses, other than finding something to feed on.
Reese turned away from the window and regarded the desk behind him. He contemplated clearing it off and stretching out on it, but figured the floor might be a better bet. Carpet, even crusty old office carpet, was likely more comfortable than a hard desk—
Behind him, light flared.
Reese turned back to the window in time to see a gigantic yellow fireball claw its way into the sky, churning almost like some sort of liquid as it darkened at the top. Black smoke shot away from it as burning fragments of debris fell away, tumbling in the air as they arced back toward the earth. It was an awesome sight, at once beautiful and terrifying. Reese had to narrow his eyes at the blast’s intense brightness. A wave of dust hurtled outward from the epicenter, racing toward the building.
Shock wave, he told himself.
“Get away from the windows!” Reese shouted, obeying his own command. He ducked down as the shock wave slammed into the building, bringing with it the sound of thunder and death.
SINGLE TREE, CALIFORNIA
“Hey, how’s your dad doing?”
Danielle stopped in her tracks and turned to find Gary Norton walking up behind her, a warm smile on his face. They were leaving the firearms compound after another day of uncrating, disassembling, servicing, and reassembling rifles and pistols. Danielle had been able to spend a couple of hours on the range, actually test firing some of the rifles and working with Corbett’s men—all former Marines, just like her—on the upcoming lesson plans. It had been a frantic day, and the pace was only increasing. Already, fences were going up in various parts of town, and construction had already begun on the steel walls that would eventually encircle it. In a couple of weeks, Single Tree would no longer be a simple desert retreat for those in Los Angeles looking for a winter holiday. It would be a full-on fortress. Over the next few days, they would finish up the loose ends as far as getting the range ready, then they’d start training the people of Single Tree on how to use the weapons Corbett intended to give them. It would take weeks of work to ensure everyone was ready for whatever the future would hold, but it was an exciting time, nevertheless.
“My dad?” Danielle asked. She didn’t know what it was about Gary Norton that threw her off. Every time he was around, she felt like she had golf balls in her mouth whenever they talked. She wasn’t an easy woman to intimidate, but there was something about Norton that did it to her. And not in a bad way.
“Well, yeah … he took some pretty hard knocks from that guy who broke into your house,” Norton said.
“Oh. Oh, he’s fine. Really. Thanks for asking, though.” Danielle smiled, and it felt like her face was going to break off her skull and shatter when it hit the ground.
Norton laughed. “Is there something wrong? You look like you’re about to stroke out.”
Danielle felt caught between excitement and embarrassment. She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just a little out of it.”
“Yeah, the zombie apocalypse can do that to you,” Norton said. “You have any family outside of Single Tree?”
“No. No one. Just my dad.”
“Good. That’s got to be a weight off your shoulders.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“No family. Friends, yeah, but no family.” He paused. “I don’t consider my ex-wives as family. Is that wrong?”
Danielle laughed. “I guess not. So does the zompoc mean you get out of paying alimony?”
“I took the lump sum route. Monthly payments are such a bore,” Norton said. “Too bad I didn’t know it was coming down the pike, though. I definitely would have reconsidered the installment plan option.”
Danielle grinned at that. “Sour grapes that the world is coming to an end, Mister Norton?”
“Shouldn’t everyone feel that way?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
Norton shrugged. “Well, anyway. Glad to hear your pop is doing all right. You need a ride home?”
“I usually walk, if I can.” She slapped her right leg. “It helps keep me in shape, now that I’m a peg leg.”
Norton frowned slightly. “Well, there’s a word for it. I hear you lost it in Iraq?”
“Yeah.”
“Tough break, kid.”
Danielle shrugged. “Didn’t mean much, in the end. I was coming back to Single Tree one way or the other, and I’d still have the same job I had before I left. Either that, or work for dad at the gas station.”
“Must be more to life than that?”
“Some of us have more options than others, Mister Norton,” she said, smiling.
It didn’t look like Norton knew how to handle that off the bat, and Danielle cursed herself for even bringing it up. In societal pecking order, Norton was about as high up as a guy could get—millions of dollars, his own jet, Hollywood starlets throwing themselves in his lap. True, Corbett was even higher up the food chain, being one of the very few apex predators out there, but Norton wasn’t really all that far behind. Reminding him of his privilege probably wasn’t a very wise move on her part.
He smiled then and cocked his head, looking at her through narrowed eyes. “Well, you have a choice today. Want a ride home? I offer you the most elegant of conveyances, a 1970s-vintage Jeep.”
“If I accept, will you grope me?” Danielle said, smiling impishly.
Norton’s mouth fell open. “Will I—what?”
“I get the idea from Barry that he thinks you’re some kind of Hollywood grope artist. Is it true? Will you grope me?”
Norton blinked, taken aback. “Corbett thinks I’m a groper?”
Danielle laughed at his expression and held up her hands, trying to placate him. “Barry’s a little out there, you know. He thinks everyone’s out to do something to somebody. He never said you specifical
ly were a groper, but that’s how he looks at a lot of people.”
“I assure you, I’m not a groper,” Norton said. He then cocked a brow and added, “But I am willing to learn.”
“Really? Even with a one-legged girl?”
“You keep bringing that up,” Norton said. “You know, eventually, I’m going to think you lack confidence in your charms.”
“I have charms?” Danielle shook her head. “Wow. Who knew?”
“Don’t sell yourself short, kid.”
“Okay. I guess I shouldn’t, given that the zombie apocalypse is coming down the pike.”
Norton nodded. “Hell, yes. Especially because I’ve seen you shoot. When the zombies come to town, I’m definitely hiding behind you!”
“I don’t know how to respond to that. How gentlemanly of you?”
“Hey, at least I’m offering you a ride home,” Norton said.
Danielle regarded him for a moment. He was extremely good-looking, in that dignified, older way. And despite being about twenty years older than she was, Norton was still accessible—he didn’t talk down to her, and he didn’t try to make himself any bigger than he was. She realized then that when you were rich enough to own your own jet, you probably didn’t have a lot left to prove.
“How about a ride to your house, instead?” she asked.
Norton looked at her for a long moment, and Danielle felt that she’d overplayed her hand. Had she really been so bold as to think Norton was interested in her, of all people?
He surprised her by saying, “Okay, you’re on. But if you have a curfew, I’m not responsible for making sure you stick to it.”
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
The blast had been a certifiable doozy, and its shock wave had been strong enough to rattle the office building’s windows even though they were more than five miles from Long Beach Harbor. Reese figured the liquid natural gas tanker ship’s cargo had discharged with the same ferocity as a small nuclear weapon. The south and west, he saw almost nothing but a gigantic curtain of flame and smoke. The destruction south of LAX was probably nothing short of staggering, and he doubted anyone was going to be making it out of the conflagration alive. Some of the most expensive real estate in the Los Angeles area was rapidly being turned into a pile of cinders, and with the offshore breeze pushing the flames along, the destruction would only continue to grow. As he and the others watched, they saw blooming secondary explosions, as filling stations and other hazardous sites were overrun by the uncontrolled fires.
This would be a nightmare even with the fire department still active, he thought.
“Okay.” Plosser’s voice was rough and suddenly loud when it filled the awe-inspired silence that had followed the momentary panic the blast had caused on the second floor. “Okay, this is a major game changer.”
“What do you mean?” Renee asked.
“I mean it might be the break we’re looking for,” Plosser said.
“What, this was a break?” Marsh said. “The entire fucking harbor is gone, man!”
“We don’t need the harbor,” Plosser said. He looked over at Bates. “Am I right?”
Bates shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. It’s off the table, regardless. Don’t know how you think this is our big break though, First Sergeant.”
Plosser walked toward the windows. Reese held up a hand to stop him—he didn’t want the zombies to catch sight of the tall National Guardsman. Plosser slapped it away with enough force to hurt. Reese felt a surge of anger, but if Plosser was even remotely worried about pissing him off, it didn’t show. He pointed toward the parking lot outside, and the street beyond.
“Take a look, people,” he said.
Reese edged closer to the window. The zombies in the parking lot were shambling toward the street, and those that had been clustered around the cars stuck on Manchester were finally moving, as well. He didn’t know what to make of it—the stenches were heading back into the neighborhood on the other side of the street, plodding into the smoke. Not all of them, of course. But most of them were on the move now.
Heading southwest.
Toward the blooming firestorm around Long Beach.
“They’re leaving,” Reese said.
“Yeah. Attracted to the sound of the explosion,” Plosser said. “Wherever there’s sound, they think there’s food. They’re not smart enough to know that’s not the case in this circumstance, but they’re not so dumb they won’t eventually figure it out. We need to book out of here now, before they turn around and come back.”
“Hey, there’s still plenty of daylight out there,” Marsh said. “We wouldn’t get three blocks before we got overrun. And where the hell are we going to run to, anyway?”
Reese looked over at Bates. “Your friends are expecting us at Santa Monica,” he said. “When can the boat be there?”
Bates held up the satellite phone. “I call them, they’ll be in the area when we need them.”
“So call them,” Plosser said.
Bates smiled at him sardonically. “Taking over, First Sergeant?”
“Were you ever in charge, Bates?” Plosser shot back. He jerked a thumb at Reese. “I think he’s the designated adult providing supervision, here.”
Reese sighed. “Plosser, are you suggesting we bail out now?”
Plosser nodded. “Get our shit together, bust out a window, and get to the truck.”
Reese considered this for a long moment. He already knew the zombies would be coming into the area, and in force. But he hadn’t expected the din of the explosion to act as an attractant. That the zombies were being drawn away was an unexpected bonus. It would be stupid not to take advantage of it, even though the dangers hadn’t necessarily been reduced. It would still be a life and death struggle.
“Okay. Let’s do it. Bates, get a hold of your pals on the boat. Tell them we’re on our way.”
“You got it.”
###
There wasn’t an elegant way to go about it, so they just shattered the window that led them out to the overhang. Bates was first out, and he darted down the structure’s length. He paused at the end, looked around at the truck below, then half-turned toward the window as Plosser cleared away the remaining shards in its frame.
“This thing’s pretty strong, but I’d keep it to two at a time—we don’t want it collapsing under the weight,” he said. Then he stepped off the lip and into the bed of the truck below. That was one great thing about the five-ton truck. It was as big as a small house, literally.
“I’ll take security by the cab, keep him covered,” Plosser said. “One of you who knows how to shoot come after me and keep watch on the rear. We need to keep them away from the truck long enough to get everyone aboard.” With that, the big National Guardsman was on his way, sprinting down the length of the overhang.
On the street, zombies noticed the activity. They turned away from the boiling morass of fire that was inching closer on the horizon as it consumed the neighborhoods to the west like some sort of blazing cancer. Reese knew that when Bates fired up the truck, it would be like ringing the dinner bell. They had to get the hell out of here, because if the stenches massed, no one was going anywhere.
“Renee, make sure everyone gets out,” he said, then pushed through the window after Plosser. Shattered glass cracked beneath his feet. Taking care not to slip and fall, he ran to the end and looked down. The truck looked farther away than he’d thought it would, and for a moment, he dithered at the overhang’s terminus. Then he heard running footsteps behind him, and he remembered what Bates had said about keeping a lot of weight off the overhang. Already, he could feel it trembling beneath him. Reese sucked in a breath and stepped off.
He crashed into the bed of the truck and managed not to fall on his ass. Plosser was already oriented toward the front of the vehicle, rifle shouldered and pointed over the cab. Reese scuttled to the rear and crouched behind the tail gate. A zombie that had been walking through the parking lot saw him and, with a dry, rattling his
s, altered its course. It headed right toward him, hands outstretched, fingers curled into claws. Its black tongue wagged from side to side, as if in parody of some obscene gesture. Reese raised his rifle and sighted on the stench’s head.
“Not yet,” he heard Plosser say from behind him. “Wait until we get more shooters aboard.” As he spoke, someone else landed in the bed.
“Where do you guys want me?” Reese heard Thanh say.
“Up here with me. Cover the passenger side,” Plosser responded.
Reese kept his sights on the approaching zombie. Another had joined it, and fifteen feet behind, a third fell into a loose formation with the others. This one was in better shape. It moved faster, almost in a loping run as opposed to the tottering, stumbling shuffle of the other two.
Someone else landed in the truck. Then another. One of the cops joined Reese at the rear, and Plosser repeated his order not to fire.
“That’s going to be a tall order in just a little bit,” Reese murmured.
“I know. Just try and hold off as long as you can.”
More people made their way into the truck, and the additional noise served to attract even more zombies. The faster-moving zombie made it to the rear of the truck and began climbing up the bumper, hissing as it did so. The cop squatting in the corner opposite of Reese looked over at him, concerned.
“Yeah, I think we’ve waited as long as we can,” Reese said, then shot the stench through the head. Its body flopped back to the pavement.
More shots rang out, and the truck’s diesel engine cackled to life. Zombies hit the ground as living people tumbled into the back of the truck. Expended cartridges rolled around, and someone slipped and fell because of one. Reese tuned it all out. He concentrated on just moving his sights from target to target and pulling the trigger on his M4. The noise certainly did the trick; in the beginning, there were relatively few zombies to shoot. Within seconds, scores had turned into almost two hundred stenches, all converging on the idling five-ton from almost every direction.
The Last Town (Book 5): Fleeing the Dead Page 9