“Jesus, where is he going?” Renee shouted, her voice high with panic. She crouched beside Reese, eyes wide with terror behind her glasses.
“Hold on!” Plosser yelled, ducking down behind the cab.
The five-ton truck rammed a passenger car, slamming it out of the way. It continued on into an abandoned pickup, practically bending the smaller vehicle in half. The five-ton’s diesel engine roared, and black smoke shot out of its exhaust stack. Despite its power, the big rig began to slow as the pickup was shoved into another vehicle. Then the five-ton clattered to a stop, Reese grabbed the lip of the tailgate to keep from being flung forward. One of the other cops wasn’t so lucky, and she went bouncing up the length of the bed.
“Bates!” Reese shouted, trying to right himself as zombies crept toward the truck.
The diesel roared again, and the truck lurched backward. One of the stenches got a face full of tailgate and disappeared beneath the vehicle. The transmission switched gears as the air brakes hissed. The truck leaped forward again, plowing into the traffic, pushing everything out of its path. The five-ton rolled right over a small car, crushing it beneath its tires. Sheet metal crumpled and fiberglass shattered.
Suddenly, the truck was past. It had shoved through four lanes of traffic. Reese looked back and saw a wake of wreckage and twisted zombie bodies. Something bumped beneath the vehicle, and an instant later, a battered stench rolled into view. He had no idea how long it had been holding on to the undercarriage, but it had paid a price. It was missing most of its clothes, along with both legs. The corpse floundered about, turning its flayed, road-rash-ravaged face toward the truck. Even over the cackling diesel, Reese heard its hiss as it tried to crawl after the vehicle.
###
Bates tried to stick close to the course they had taken during their trip south because it made some tactical sense to return through areas where they had some idea of what to expect. But the landscape had changed. The neighborhoods were still and lifeless, the only stirrings of existence being abandoned dogs and cats that skulked between houses or darted across the road. The five-ton rumbled past a parked fire truck with extended hoses pointing toward a building that had already burned. Dried blood was spattered around the area, and body parts were scattered about. Swarms of flies drifted like pulsating clouds, feasting and breeding over rotting remains. Near the fire truck’s front bumper, a mostly disemboweled corpse wearing an LAFD jacket flailed weakly, its dull eyes fixed on the National Guard truck as it growled past.
As the five-ton rumbled up suburban city streets, Reese saw no signs of the living. Any people still left were likely hiding somewhere. The survivors, if there were any, had already learned a valuable lesson: don’t attract attention.
“Mister?”
Reese looked over at the young boy with sunken eyes. His dark hair contrasted with his alabaster skin. He clung to his mother, who appeared to be semi-conscious, the toll of limitless terror and exhaustion. The boy was reeling from it as well, but like most children, he had a higher tolerance and adaptability than adults.
“What’s up, pal?”
“Where are we going?” The boy’s wan voice was barely audible above the truck’s passage.
Reese inched closer. “We’re going to Santa Monica.”
“Why?”
“The officer driving the truck made arrangements for a boat to meet us.”
“Is it a big boat?”
“Oh, yeah. At least twice the size of this truck.”
The boy cocked his head and looked thoughtful. “I don’t think that’s going to be big enough.”
The truck slowed to make a turn. Reese looked up, half-rising in the bed. The street Bates had intended to take had been barricaded with cars and trucks and razor wire. The barrier looked pretty tough. Whoever had built it had some experience. Several corpses were hung up in the wire, twitching and squirming. Between the barricade and the truck, dozens of bodies lay in the middle of the street, a banquet for the flies and carrion birds feasting on them.
Bates cut the wheels and continued on their previous street. There was no use trying to get the truck through the barricade, and if any of its defenders were still alive, they would probably resist such an act.
Reese lowered himself down beside the boy. “Don’t worry, pal. The boat, it’ll be plenty big enough for all of us.”
“Where will we go?”
“Do you like islands?” Reese asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to an island before.”
The boy’s father, sitting on the other side of the mother, stirred. “Not so, little man. You’ve been to Hawaii.”
The boy looked at Reese. “Are we going to Hawaii?”
Reese snorted. “Well, unfortunately not. But we’ll be going to an island, just the same.”
“Is it nice there?”
Reese spread his hands. “Nicer than it is here.”
“Horde dead ahead,” Plosser said. “Get on your guns.”
The woman snapped awake. “Oh God, not again,” she moaned.
“Move to the center of the truck,” Reese said. “We need to keep the sides clear.”
They’d improvised during the initial run from the Hollywood Bowl with shooters on the sides, holding the dead at bay, and civilians or those without weapons in the center. The adults would help the defenders by reloading magazines and distributing them as needed. So far, the majority of the engagements had been short-lived so ammunition supply wasn’t an issue. But if the truck stalled or something like that, the civilians would be essential.
As the civvies took their positions, Reese got up and faced outward, his rifle shouldered. Ahead, a gaggle of several dozen stenches lurched toward the truck, drawn to it like bees to honey. Bates pushed down on the throttle, apparently eager to hasten the meeting. The five-ton truck obliged by accelerating toward the stenches. Even though they were facing down an object whose flight they hadn’t a chance in hell of altering, the zombies surged forward. The faster ones picked up the pace, hurrying to their own end.
The truck didn’t even slow when it hit the first wave, plowing right through the six or seven runners that charged the vehicle. When it hit the main body of the dead herd, it began to rock from side to side, not because of the mass of dead bodies braining themselves against the front bumper, but because of the squirming corpses being crushed beneath the tires. Reese had to hold on tight to keep from being hurled over the side.
“Oh my God,” Marsh moaned, then he vomited over the side of the railing.
“Crap, Detective!” Thanh said. “You gonna be like this on the boat?”
Marsh started to respond, but his reply was transformed into a gurgling roar as he vomited again.
“Attaboy, Marsh!” Plosser said. “Give them just what they’re looking for: a nice, hot lunch!”
The truck continued plowing through the undead sea, its heavy bumper and tall tires pulverizing bone, tearing flesh, and pulping internal organs. Driving through herds of the dead at night had frightened Reese terribly, but doing it during the day left him almost mortally horrified. The bright California sunshine revealed every detail, from the pallor of the dead’s mottled flesh to the almost blue hues of their tongues and gums. Their fingers and hands were stained dark with dried blood, and desiccated tissue hung to whatever remained of their clothing from when they last fed. The sight made his heart hammer and his lungs burn, as if he were on the verge of suffocation.
Finally, the truck crashed through the last line of zombies. The dead still gave chase, but they had no chance of catching the truck. Still, Reese couldn’t quite catch his breath, and he hung onto the side rail like a drunken man might try to hold onto a wall to prevent from falling.
Renee poked him. “Hey, Reese. You all right?”
“Yeah.” Reese’s voice was a croak. “It’s the zombie apocalypse and all, but yeah, I’m fine.”
“Clear the sides!” Plosser yelled.
An instant later, a rifle cracked.
Reese looked over the rail. No stenches were clinging to the side of the bed, but one was hanging onto the passenger-side mounting handle. The stench grabbed the mirror support and hauled itself onto the running board. Reese brought his rifle around and drilled it through the side of the face with a single shot. It wasn’t a fatal hit, but the impact was enough to make the zombie lose its grip, and it fell away from the truck.
As Reese settled back in his seat, the vehicle shuddered, a drawn-out paroxysm that lasted for several seconds. Something in the engine groaned at regular intervals as the truck rolled up the street. After several hours of almost nonstop abuse, including being used as a battering ram, the five-ton was finally showing some wear and tear.
“That doesn’t sound too good,” Renee said, looking around.
“I guess even military grade has its limits.” Reese tried to keep his tone nonchalant, but inside, he felt as though he might join Marsh in the puke parade. Without the truck, they were all dead. He put a hand on the floor of the rig’s bed. Hang in there, sweetheart.
The shuddering stopped after a few minutes then returned. When it faded again, Reese looked up at the exhaust stack. The effluvia seemed darker than normal, but he wasn’t sure. Reese had never been into the diesel craze, so he couldn’t tell.
“Yeah, it’s getting fucked up,” Plosser said grimly.
“Any idea what’s wrong?” Reese asked.
Plosser shrugged. “Could be anything. Don’t sweat it, though. We’ll be fine.”
“What’ll be fine?” Marsh asked.
Plosser cut his eyes over to the sallow-faced detective. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, Marsh. In a couple of hours, you’ll be on the boat with the rest of us.”
“Yeah? And what if Bates’s friends don’t come?”
“Then I’ll make sure the stenches get to you first.”
Marsh gaped at the rangy National Guardsman for a second then snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I don’t know, Marsh,” Thanh said. “He looks like he might mean it.”
Plosser turned and faced forward again. “Okay. More off to the left. Let’s see if we can’t thin them out a bit when we get closer.”
###
An hour later, they made it into Santa Monica. The busy seaside town was a lifeless derelict populated only by a small number of stenches. Reese recognized one of them as an old beach bum called Surfside Eddie, a thin-shouldered man with a patchy beard who had been gaunt even before he had become a zombie. He used to wear colorful floral shirts and a threadbare watch cap. The shirt was gone, probably torn away when Eddie had been attacked, bitten, and infected. The cap remained, though slightly askew, revealing a lank lock of blond-gray hair. His beard was crusty beneath a thick patina of dried blood. Eddie was a creature of habit, and even though he was a zombie, he still hung around the intersection of Pico Boulevard and Appian Way. It was his little slice of territory, and it was close to Crescent Bay Park, where he would retreat at night with whatever booze he could score during his daily bouts of begging and panhandling.
When Eddie spotted the truck, his face remained expressionless, his eyes even more vacant than they had been in life. But he charged forward, hurtling toward the truck from where he had stood on Ocean Front Walk just beyond the Casa del Mar hotel. The hotel was lifeless and still, and several windows had been shattered. Drapery fluttered in the breeze like streamers.
“Whoa! Eddie can run,” Thanh said, as the truck turned off Pico and onto Appian.
“That motherfucking lowlife!” Marsh snapped.
“More like a motherfucking no-life now,” Reese responded.
Eddie bore down on the truck. One foot was bare, while the other was still shod in a well-worn Nike athletic shoe. The truck’s creaking and shuddering had increased over the past few miles, and the diesel engine seemed to rattle more than cackle. It only needed to hold on a little longer, since the plan was to abandon it in the parking lot they were approaching and make for the beach.
Marsh snorted, suddenly transforming into a hard ass since help was on the way. “Well, he’s not going to do much all by himself.” He raised his rifle and sighted on the approaching zombie.
Before Marsh pulled the trigger, a hundred more boiled out of the Casa del Mar and joined Eddie in the chase.
Reese grabbed his ROVER handset. “Bates, forget the parking lot. Take us right out to the beach! Make sure your friends are where they said they’d be.”
In response, the truck’s diesel coughed and hiccupped as Bates stomped on the accelerator. The rig was slow to react, but it began speeding up. Marsh fired at Surfside Eddie, but he needed three shots to hit the zombie, and even then, the wound was in the lower chest. That did nothing to slow the stench.
“Save it for the beach, Marsh!” Reese shouted.
Engine thundering, the truck passed underneath an apartment building boardwalk that traversed the street. The parking lot was right on the other side, and it was surprisingly vacant. Bates cut the wheel and drove directly through the chain-link fence that surrounded it. Behind them, stenches crashed through the windows of the five-story apartment building and leaped out into the street. The falls shattered their legs, but that didn’t stop them from crawling after the truck, maws opened wide. The crippled ones were soon trampled by the horde that surged down the street, still led by Surfside Eddie.
Yeah, this isn’t looking so hot now.
The truck ripped across the parking lot and slammed through the fence on the other side. The beach looked mostly deserted, with the exception of more stenches, all of which turned toward the truck as it zoomed toward the shoreline. Most were too far away to be an immediate threat, but Reese knew how relentless they were.
Renee rose into a half-crouch, trying to look past the cab. “Is it here? The boat, is it here?”
“Roger that!” Plosser said. “It’s about a hundred meters out! Aluminum hulled catamaran, and they have a rubber-hulled tender in the water!”
“Thank God,” Renee said, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Reese felt like crying himself. Not because the Port Police were on station, but because they were more than three hundred feet out in the water, and the horde that was pursuing them was at least a couple of hundred in number and growing.
The five-ton’s broad tires left deep furrows in the loose sand. Its engine was practically screaming, and the smoke from its exhaust stack was a sooty gray. It sounded as if the truck’s powerplant was burning itself up in a final act of acceleration.
Bates’s voice came over the ROVERs. “I’m taking us into the water. You all need to get ready for it!”
Reese picked up his handset. “Bates, are you really driving into the water?”
“You could use a bath, Reese,” Bates responded.
“Brace yourselves!” Reese shouted as he grabbed a hold of the tailgate.
The truck rocked from side to side, its suspension creaking and groaning, until it had left the soft sand behind. Once it was on the harder pack inside the tidal line, the five-ton began accelerating. Reese leaned to the right and was able catch glimpses of the Port Police boat.
The truck rolled into the surf, causing an explosion of spray. The motor picked up as Bates hammered it one last time, forcing the big rig deeper into the water. At first, nothing much happened. The truck just seemed to be driving along as normal, albeit canted downward at the nose. Then a splash of water rounded the cab, showering the people cowering in the bed. The splash was followed by an all-out wave, then cold Pacific water flooded the bed and threatened to wash away anything that wasn’t tied down.
Reese looked back at the shore. They were about forty feet into the ocean. The dead amassed on the beach. Several, like Surfside Eddie, leapt into the water, but the majority of the mob slipped and slid, the loose sand slowing their progress.
As waves broke over the hood, the five-ton finally began to wallow in the surf. The bed was half-flooded, and several cops were busily picking up as much ammunitio
n as they could carry so none would be lost to the sea. Reese wondered how Bates was faring, as he had to be sitting in water up to his waist. Then, the diesel engine came to its rattling, waterlogged end, coughing out one last gout of gray-white smoke before falling silent. The rear of the truck bobbed lightly in the surf before enough water filled the bed to weigh it down.
Reese shouldered his rifle and started firing. He sent a round through Surfside Eddie’s face, and the reanimated zombie bum disappeared beneath the waves. He sighted on another runner and blew away its jaw, which didn’t stop it. His follow-up shot took care of it. A bleach-blond bimbo zombie in a pink bikini was next, and when it fell, its bottle-prepared tresses spread out across the water like a straw-colored mat. Renee joined him at the tailgate and added her own rifle fire to the fray. More stenches tumbled, collapsing into the water.
On the shore, the leading edge of the horde finally made it to the waterline. It shuffled into the sea as if of one mind.
“Come on! Let’s go!” Thanh shouted.
Reese looked over and saw the rubber-hulled tender from the dive boat had pulled up alongside the truck. One of the two men standing in the vessel had used a boat hook to grab the truck’s side rail. The tender’s outboard motor rumbled, barely audible above the roar of the waves.
“Get the civilians in first!” Reese yelled then returned to his business of shooting.
Most of the frontrunners were dead, floating in the water and leaking tendrils of black ichor. As Renee took out the last one, Reese shifted his fire toward the main body of the zombie advance. Icy-cold water swirled around his boots. He fired, taking down stench after stench, but for every one he took out, another would step into its place, pallid face leering, mouth open, eyes dim and stupid. Even the Pacific couldn’t hold them back. The zombie horde was the unstoppable tide, not the world’s biggest ocean.
The Last Town Page 40