Siren Songs: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 2

by E. E. Isherwood

  “Umm Phil. Maybe we should be going?”

  “Yeah, I want to be gone by the time they get here. Don't worry about that. We have to try to help while we can.”

  With less than thirty minutes, and tens of thousands of refugees on the road below, Liam saw no hope in anything they could do. He looked at Mark, trying to engage in conversation to hide his nervousness. “Do you live around here? I live over hill in that direction, in the Dearborne Acres subdivision. Well, my parents live there. I'm trying to get Grandma back to them.”

  “You got her out of the city huh? That's pretty impressive for a—,” he hesitated. “Um, did you walk out?”

  “Well, we started out in a car, did a lot of walking, and ended up on a coal train. I left a few things out, but those are the basics,” he laughed.

  “Hmm. No, I live over in the next valley, up Seckman Road.” He was pointing in the direction west of the interchange. It was near his own subdivision, but on the opposite side of a low ridge. “It's a fair piece from here, but we rode our bikes. We—”

  Liam heard groans coming from the people on the bridge nearby. Many of those serving water were looking past Liam and Mark; pointing at something. Liam turned in the same direction and groaned as well.

  Several police cars were turning from a side road, approaching the bridge. Liam saw a dozen different color patterns on the cars as they filed along the road. Several dark vans were part of the same convoy as well as a rag tag assortment of other vehicles—dump trucks, fire engines, big rigs pulling large container trailers, armored vans, and others. It looked like a parade. A parade of government departments.

  Liam took a few steps back. Phil turned to him and said, “We have to get off this bridge. Go!”

  Liam walked backward, but couldn't take his eyes off the unfurling procession. He couldn't see the end of it from his vantage point—only the ominous beginning. The lead silver police cars were recognizable; they were driven by the Missouri Highway Patrol. He immediately thought of Captain Osborne, a Missouri Highway Patrolman who had led a group of survivors out of the tunnels underneath the Gateway Arch. He wished Osborne was in one of those cars, but knew that was impossible. Osborne died saving him and many others.

  Still, he hoped someone like Osborne would get out of those cars. Otherwise—

  He looked down on the packed highway below. Those people were too low to see the trouble arriving on the road above them yet. The water buckets were being pulled up one last time, as the workers began moving off the bridge. That would get their attention. He imagined himself down there in the throngs. What would he do if someone told him he could go no further?

  He and Mark were the last two off the bridge. They ran to join Phil and the others on a nearby hill. He was happy to see Victoria running up from the far side.

  “Liam! I saw all those police cars in the distance and wanted to warn you before they got here. I was too slow, I had to make sure Grandma was comfortable before I left her back in the car.”

  “That's OK. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. I'm glad you're here though.”

  “You seem to have a knack for getting into trouble.” She was grinning, though her face was bruising badly from her ordeal fighting the gang members up in the Arch.

  “Maybe it's you? My life was smooth sailing until you came along.” He was trying to be funny to dial back his fear at what was about to happen on the interchange below them.

  “Nope, that was the old Victoria. From now on, only good things are going to happen.” She crouched next to him on the reverse slope of the hilltop with all the others. They watched as the police line started to creep onto the deck of the bridge, like gasoline washing toward the spark.

  Chapter 3: Interchange

  “Liam, do you think it's a good idea to stick around and watch this?” Victoria was fidgeting on the ground next to him, as they both watched what was happening on the highway overpass below their hilltop perch. “It looks like things are going to be violent.”

  He couldn't argue with her. She'd been right to be wary back at Phil's house. Things had been “getting” violent for days now. Whatever was going to happen down there wasn't going to surprise him. When he didn't respond in a timely fashion, Victoria seemed to take offense.

  “Liam? We have to do something. Are we going to leave or try to help those people.”

  Liam still hadn't made up his mind when Mark spoke up. “Help the people. We have to try to stop the police from turning these people back.” He paused for a moment and introduced himself to Victoria while Liam continued to ponder.

  Leave or stay?

  Leaving looked pretty good. His loyalties were to Grandma and Victoria, and to a degree his new friend Phil. While he felt sympathy for the people down on the highway, he didn't know how he or those around him could possibly interfere with the police presence without getting hurt or even killed. The police had already battled with refugees like this on bridges miles back up the highway—and lost. Were they ready to fight harder here?

  He took another look at those down on the highway. He noticed people carrying mattresses over their heads, looted from one of the ubiquitous mattress stores in town. Two guys were pushing a heavy chipper-shredder in the breakdown lane; it was bathed in the heavy orange of the home improvement store where it was liberated. He could see survivors carrying flat-screen televisions, dragging kiddy pools filled with clothes, and wheelbarrows full of DVDs and video games. He even saw one group of teens rolling a giant metal chicken ahead of them—Liam thought it belonged to one of the chain restaurants up in town.

  The police arrived and fanned out up on the overpass. Would the transients below ever survive if they were still operating in a world where pushing giant chickens passed as a survival instinct? It made him less enthusiastic about the future, both at this bridge and whatever would come later. Ever since he'd walked out his door with Grandma he'd only seen remnants of humanity, always on the run. Here he was looking at the biggest group of living humans he'd seen in a long time, and the word that popped in his head was “lemmings.” Lemmings that would keep walking down this highway until they dropped dead.

  He imagined himself down there. With Grandma. With his parents. How would he feel if he made it this far only to be turned around by “the authorities.” The same authorities who had done nothing to protect him or advise him how to survive when the sirens first sounded.

  “I'm going out there.” Liam was getting up, brushing off the dust and grass from his pants.

  “What?” He heard several people ask that question.

  “I have to go out there and try to save those people down there. What if it were us? What if Grandma were down there?” He was looking at Victoria, but talking to everyone. “We can't let anything happen to them.”

  Mark was the first to respond, standing up as well. “He's right. We've been trying to help those people. We shouldn't abandon them now.”

  Victoria and Phil joined them. Victoria asked, “I'm with you, but what are we going to do? I don't think they'll be too anxious to listen to a couple kids and an ex-Arnold police officer.”

  Mark came up with a plan on the spot. Liam figured he must be military or something because he was so methodical. Liam didn't like his part in the outline, but he knew it was the best way to help given the resources they had available.

  Mark and Phil ran off to do their thing.

  The kids walked toward the bridge, ready to do theirs.

  2

  Liam felt the eyes of the law enforcement people immediately as he entered their “jurisdiction” up on the overpass. They walked by several dump trucks placed across one of the exit ramps—though no cars were on the road. They had put the heavier equipment out on the edges of their roadblock, and kept their own police cars and supplies closer to the middle. A couple of small surveillance drones were humming high above.

  To Liam's untrained eye he saw many tactical faults. They didn't control the high ground adjacent to the interchange. His fr
iends controlled that. Liam noted they had no men on the back side of the bridge. What if someone paid them a visit from their 6 o'clock? Is that where Mark and Phil were going? And finally, being on the bridge now, he could see much of this force was made up of civilian government bureaucrats such as water department officials, park service employees, and some out-and-out civilians.

  “I need to talk to the person in charge!” He was walking hand-in-hand with Victoria, trying to project anything but the fear he felt in his stomach. He didn't know what he expected, but was surprised when they ignored him outright. He could tell who was in charge though. There in the middle was a pudgy guy ordering people around. He was standing right by the truck with the huge loudspeakers.

  “Excuse me! I need to talk to the guy in charge.” Liam was walking right up to the man. Amazingly, none of the cops made any move to stop him all across the bridge.

  I'd say that is another pretty big tactical fault!

  After introducing himself in his most polite voice, Liam immediately laid into him, letting him know everything wrong with the proposition of halting this crowd. He was not very eloquent. The stress of everything made his already poor social skills degrade to the equivalent of slipping on a banana peel.

  Fortunately, Victoria jumped in. “I think what my friend here is trying to say is that you can't enforce a blockade if there's no viable escape for those trapped by it. This crowd can't simply turn around and go home. Their homes have been overrun. If you block these good people from continuing down this highway, there's going to be a lot of bloodshed. Even a seventeen-year-old can see that.” Then she turned quiet. “We've been seeing it ever since we left downtown St. Louis.”

  Liam noticed the man was sweating profusely, either suffering because of the heat or was agitated by his obligations here—or both. He seemed to cringe when Victoria held out her hand to shake his.

  “You two are from St. Louis? You shouldn't even be here.” He seemed to make an effort to put part of the truck between himself and the two kids so as to avoid shaking hands. “My name is Jack Crosby. I'm a councilman up in Arnold, but you're right—we have to prevent further bloodshed.” His hand was twitching intensely.

  Whoa, this guy is baked!

  Liam asked, “Why this bridge?”

  Jack explained. “After the crowds swept over the bridges into Arnold and tore the place apart, people down south got scared. They made calls for help. Then I got a phone call from...” he paused for a long time. “I got my orders from...” He seemed unable to decide. “They gave me a hundred reasons why this roadblock made sense. Why the rioters couldn't be allowed to pass out into the rest of the state of Missouri. Now if you'll excuse me—”

  Liam could see the sweat beading up on his forehead.

  Victoria continued. “Sir, you realize what you're doing here is completely without hope don't you? Just look at all the people who have already walked under this bridge.” She pointed further down the highway. “A thousand men with machine guns couldn't turn this entire crowd around. Not without killing them all. That's not what you want to do here today, is it?”

  His pause was a heartbeat too long for Liam's taste, but the man conceded cold-blooded murder was not why he was there.

  “I do have orders though. I have to try.”

  “Orders from whom?”

  Jack ignored Liam, fidgeting with the controls of the sound system.

  “Orders from whom!”

  The speakers went live as Jack turned toward the crowd.

  3

  “ATTENTION FELLOW CITIZENS!”

  Liam and many nearby officers flinched. Jack reduced the volume to a more tolerable level. Still loud enough to hear it well down the highway. The crowd was standing still and quieting down. A minor miracle.

  “My name is Jack Crosby. I work for the city government. I know y'all are tired and thirsty and are looking for help—”

  Victoria whispered to Liam, remarking that ol' Jack neglected to say which city he was from. She gave Liam a wink. An Arnold city official would not be popular right now.

  “—but by decree from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department I order you to return to your homes and await further instructions.”

  No surprise that the crowd erupted in screaming and shouting. He was still talking, but no one was listening. If there had been cars on the highway the crowd would have already turned them over and set them alight. They were in riot mode, though still not willing to give the roadblock a go head-on. Liam looked around at the men and women on the bridge, and saw them eying their rifles.

  Jack dropped the microphone and walked away. He appeared to be rubbing his hands—was he literally washing his hands of this? Liam and Victoria were left standing there.

  Should I pick up the microphone and say something to these people? What would I say?

  The question hung heavy on Liam. Could he insert himself between these people and a government politely requesting they go home and die? What would he be authorized to say? Come to my place. I have chips? The responsibility of touching that microphone was huge. He had a new respect—sort of—for the sweaty politician currently fading into the background of this scene.

  His answer would have to wait. A black van slowly moved from the assembly area and glided into position just behind the speaker-truck. It had no markings of any kind, not even manufacturer badges. Three men emerged from the back door.

  Government men.

  It was obvious two of the men were working security for the third. The two large men on the flanks wore equally large black rifles with oversized scopes, slings of ammo, bulky vests, dark sunglasses, and ear pieces. Liam saw their type in numerous action movies. They moved with that cat-like grace big men carry when they are true professionals at their craft. Probably ex-military. The guy they were protecting was dressed exactly as you'd expect from a G-man type. Black slacks. White shirt. Sport jacket over the shoulder. Smart tie around his neck. Mirror shades. The only incongruity was the brown cowboy boots. Maybe that's how they did it in the corn fields of Missouri?

  Mirror man walked directly up to the microphone, picked it up, and pinged it one time for a mic check. He had slicked back jet-black hair, was clean shaven, and looked to be about fifty. His face was otherwise average, but his gray eyes revealed a man who was supremely focused on his task. Not once did he look at Liam, Victoria, or anyone else on the bridge.

  “Hello.” He spoke into the microphone. “Hello,” he calmly repeated.

  If he didn't see it happen Liam wouldn't have believed the crowd could actually be “talked down” from the foam-in-the-mouth fury they expressed minutes earlier. Slowly the crowd stepped back from the edge of chaos. Merciful silence was returned.

  “I'm Special Agent In Charge Duchesne. I'm with the Department of Homeland Security.”

  The two security men happened to be standing precisely where Liam could see both of them at the same time. He thought he noticed the slightest glance to their leader from both of them.

  “My job here today is to help protect you citizens in this time of crisis. I know you're scared.” He paused to let that sink in. “I know many of you have walked through some ugly situations—including roadblocks set up by idiots like Jack back there.” He was pointing over his shoulder. Jack was probably running for his life now. “I'm here as part of the Federal effort to ensure our citizens get the best care their federal family can provide. We're all in this together.”

  The agent went on; a very accomplished speaker taking control of the situation. The crowd heard what they wanted to hear. Someone in charge who was going to tell them what to do. Agent Duchesne began listing facts and figures about survival rates in the city, locations of FEMA hospitals, and even said the US Army had a brigade of troops moving up this very highway from their base in Arkansas to help protect them. He then began listing resources they had set up for food disbursement throughout Jefferson County. Liam wanted to believe it. The government was here to help right?


  “And we're working on the vaccine for the sickness. That will be given out at the FEMA centers. You just have to turn around.”

  Victoria looked at Liam, apparently studying what she saw on his face. “You don't believe him do you? What he's saying is horse hockey. You know that right? We didn't pass any food distribution centers and we've been all over the place. Have you heard of a vaccine?”

  No, but I want to believe.

  Liam looked down at the crowd while he was digesting. Something amazing had happened. They were all standing there talking to each other, as if they were discussing the weather. Did they believe what the agent had told them? Stuck between false hope and hopelessness they seemed to be selecting false hope. They had to know it was all a long shot. An impossible shot.

  Don't get involved. This is for the adults to handle.

  He found himself wishing his dad was there. He'd know just what to say to make this situation resolve itself satisfactorily. He desperately wanted to avoid being the one making the decisions.

  Get involved. You can't let this happen.

  He thought of the teens pushing the chicken. Who would speak for them? He looked down into the crowd and saw women, children, the elderly. Would they really turn around because this guy said it was the right thing to do?

  Yes, but don't get involved. Someone else will save the day.

  The agent carried on with more soothing words. All lies.

  Why is no one stepping up? I can't be the only one seeing this? Where is Mark? Phil?

  He knew they were somewhere below, but he had no idea what they were actually doing down there. He was supposed to be the diversion for them, but they didn't seem to be doing anything to divert.

  Don't do it. Don't get involved.

  Do it. These people need someone giving them the honest truth.