Jacobs looked past him and back at the people gathered around the trucks. “How many of you are there, boys and girls?”
“There’s thirteen guys about my age, or a little younger. I’m a senior at Northeast High. And there’s…ten girls, one mom and six little kids. We only have two guns so far. None of us are good shots. That’s why we’re mostly using bats and shovels.”
“Where were you headed?”
“Somebody told us they were evacuating the city and that we could get on a boat to get out of here.”
Jacobs shook his head. “I think that’s over now. Those ships will be leaving soon. Probably be better to find an apartment building you can secure.”
The kid’s eyes were wide, and apparently he was taking him seriously.
“Guess you are right, sir.”
Jacobs realized something. “You are the leader, aren’t you? Not Kyle.”
Leo laughed. “Yeah, he’s my best friend, but I’m the boss.”
“Am I going to have a problem with your people listening to me, Leo? Are you going to listen and obey me without question?”
“Yes, sir! You have my word!”
Jacobs smiled, for what felt like the first time in days. “Then get your people out of those trucks, and come help me find some keys.”
Leo’s smile was a mile wide. “Thank you, so much, sir! Right away!”
16. Julie
She was miserable. This was hardly the way she was accustomed to flying. Being packed in with a bunch of sweaty soldiers wasn’t something Julie ever imagined could happen in her life.
Hell, she hadn’t even flown in anything less than first class in the last ten years. And when was the last time she had driven a car? She was completely dependent on these people.
Those thoughts shamed her into keeping silent about any discomfort, but she was fidgety. She glanced around the cabin and noticed that soldier named Hicks picking his nose. She wasn’t sure if it was filth or camouflage paint masking his face. Probably filth. There was a crust around his nostrils…
The realization that these men may not have been able to get a shower before being asked to help her again was hard to take. Humbling.
Well, it was too late now. Anyway, she told herself, it was their job. She closed her eyes briefly, then focused on the flight chief. What she needed was something to take the edge off. Something to distance things, so to speak.
“Excuse me, Chief…Lassiter is it?”
The older man leaned over and said, “Yes ma’am?”
“Do we have anything to drink?”
“I have some water.”
She smiled faintly, feeling her patience ebbing. “I meant anything alcoholic, Chief.”
“I have something, ma’am,” said the other soldier. She had the presence of mind to look at his name tag. It was the same name as Lincoln’s killer—Booth.
He held up a six pack of beer. The chief started to speak, and his face was reddening when Booth held up his free hand.
“Care for a beer, First Lady?” he asked.
She couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t mind if I do…is it Sergeant Booth?”
He smiled back. A very nice smile. The thought went further, and she imagined what those lips would feel like on her skin, then blinked the thought away. Where did that come from? He was everything that other soldier was not; even everything that her husband was not.
Stop it Julie!
“Call me whatever you want, ma’am, and I’ll answer.”
He held her gaze. Earlier she’d thought him cold and distant. Was he looking at her as a woman now, not the first lady? Whatever the case, his smile seemed warm and genuine now.
“Are they cold, Sergeant Booth?”
“They sure are,” he answered and handed her one. “And very smooth. Goes down real easy.”
Was he using innuendo or just plain speaking? she wondered. She decided not to think too much and read the beer’s label: Yuengling. She’d never heard of it. At least it was cold. There was even a chunk of ice near the pull tab. She popped it open, brought the can to her lips and tilted the contents into her mouth. Her first beer since…well, since she and Burt were dating. She’d only had mixed drinks or wine for years now. She’d almost forgotten what beer tasted like.
The soldier was staring, lips wearing a little smile. He raised an eyebrow when she noticed.
She guzzled the rest of the beer down, then handed the empty can back.
There were a lot of things she’d almost forgotten about…one of them would be the attention of a capable, younger man. Burt’s well publicized indiscretions were never far from her mind. She’d resisted temptation for so long. Why was that? What had she missed?
“Like another one?” Booth asked, holding another can out to her.
Her fingers brushed his when she took it. She felt her cheeks flush. “I’m just getting started, soldier.”
17. Daric
Sinclair, the friendly red-haired woman, handed the pistol back to him.
“All clean and oiled. Do you feel comfortable on how to reload it, now, Daric?”
“Yes ma’am,” he answered, head down and eyes on the gun.
“You have ten more bullets left in here,” she said, handing him the almost empty ammo box and a full magazine. “Aim carefully. You may need every shot you have.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Will you help me keep an eye on Beth when we reach the island?” she asked after he had reloaded the gun.
“I will.”
The ship captain, Ralls, was steering their boat. The other two boats were ahead of them, and tying up on docks jutting out from the island’s concrete seawall.
He could see Bronte loading a rifle, and Tracks wrapping ammo belts over his chest, then hefting the machine gun. Janicea was off the dock, standing near the left side of the house with a pistol in her hand.
“Are they making us stay behind?” Daric asked.
Sinclair nodded. “Yeah, that’s why I need you to help me protect Beth.”
He looked at her directly. “We’d be safer if we all stuck together.”
“That may be true, Daric, but Beth’s been through a lot. She needs her rest, and won’t get it if we’re running around with the others. We’re going to stay in the house with the dock. That way we can run back to the boats quickly, if we have to.”
“What about the captain? Does he get to go? He’s hurt.”
“I think he’s staying with us.”
The boat drew steadily closer, and a moment later, Sinclair went forward and helped Ralls tie their boat to a dock behind the neighboring house to the right. When they finished, Beth stepped up beside him and asked what was going on.
“We’re at the other island,” he answered.
Sinclair waved at them. “Come on kids!” she said.
Daric slipped the little gun into his front pocket and Beth took his hand in hers. Ralls was opening a gate between the yards. When all four of them were together, they joined Bronte, Tracks, and Janicea beside the pool of the other house.
Bronte squatted down in front of them. “Listen kids, we’re gonna go out and make sure this place is safe. There’s a possibility we’ll be gone all day. I don’t want you to give Lieutenant Sinclair any trouble. Can I count on you?”
Beth answered yes, and Daric nodded.
“If something bad happens, just listen to her, and do as she says.”
He looked them both in the eye and gave them a hug. Tracks smiled at them.
Daric noticed that Janicea seemed distracted. She didn’t smile, or even look at them.
“What about Captain Ralls?” Daric asked. “Is he staying with us?
Bronte looked up and over at Ralls without saying anything.
“I assumed I was coming with you,” Ralls said.
Bronte nodded. “I’d like that, but it’d be better to have two adults here with the kids. You’re hampered by your arm, anyway.”
Ralls grimaced, but said, “I’l
l stay.”
Bronte stood up. “We’ll be back soon.”
Daric watched them go around the side of the house. Sinclair followed them, and was gone for a couple of minutes. When she returned, she said to Ralls, “I waited till I saw them round the corner. I think it’s okay to go now.”
“Alrighty then! Come on, kids, we’re going in the house,” Ralls said.”They went around the house in case someone sees them, people won’t realize we’re here.”
Ralls opened the patio door and was stepping inside when there was a tremendous boom. Daric saw blood and gore explode through his shirt as an apparent shotgun blast threw him onto his back on the patio tile.
All three of them—Sinclair, Beth, and Daric—stood still for a moment in shock. Ralls body spasmed, his feet kicked, and he blinked his eyes a few times with his mouth opened wide. The hole in his chest was so big…Daric knew Ralls was dying.
Somewhere far away, Beth screamed. It seemed to go on and on, and Daric was paralyzed.
Sinclair grabbed them both by the hands and pulled them along as she sprinted toward the still open gate between the houses. Behind them, a stranger’s voice shouted. There was no time to look back.
Another shot, this one sharper, more of a bark.
Daric stumbled in the gateway, but Sinclair pulled him up and practically yanked him through before he could regain his footing. Sinclair urged them to run faster.
“We have to hurry!” she said, voice panicked.
Daric wanted to run faster. He knew he’d been shot. He wasn’t sure that Sinclair knew, though. His right leg was on fire, and he wanted to kill whoever had shot Ralls. He could hear Beth sobbing as they ran. Sinclair stopped briefly when they went through the gate. He figured she was probably debating whether to go into the house or around it to get away. But that didn’t make sense. Her hesitation was brief, and a moment later they were running toward another chain link gate.
In truth, Sinclair and Beth were running, and he was being carried.
A bullet whizzed by Daric’s head.
Someone shouted. The big gun boomed again, and a tree behind them exploded, throwing splinters everywhere.
“Take Beth and keep running,” Sinclair said in his ear, and pushed him onward. She dropped to a knee and leveled her rifle at the gate. “Go!” she shouted, looking back at him with the tenderness of a mother.
Daric limped, giving his best, but now he was the one pulling Beth along with him.
18. Talaski
He was hungry. It almost always happened when he was around the dead. Something about being grateful to still be alive, he thought. Trips to the medical examiner, no matter how much cutting was involved, would always leave him ravenous. It wasn’t something he’d ever share with just anyone, but the truth was often stark.
Mills was driving again, and taking the turn back onto the Interstate a little too quickly for his taste.
“Ease up a bit,” he said.
The other man lifted the side of his lip in a sneer, and otherwise ignored the remark.
Keller and Amy were in the back seat. He purposely didn’t look back there. Amy was still upset. They were so quiet now he thought they both may be sleeping. It was probably for the best.
“So, Nick,” Mills asked, “where we headed? Any suggestions?”
Talaski was quiet a moment, thinking it over.
Mills didn’t wait for an answer, and asked, “What do you think of the beaches? Tierra Verde?”
“Any particular reason you’re suggesting that area aside from it being an island?”
Mills shrugged. “Not really. Just figured if we banded together with other survivors, it’d be easier to defend.”
“I guess it’s as good as any. Isn’t there a Publix on Thirty-Fourth Street, not far from the next off ramp? We could see about getting supplies there first.”
“I know where it is. Not too far away, either.”
Mills clipped a light truck and a few compact cars on the way back up the ramp. Several zombies also fell beneath the roaring engine’s wheels.
“You hungry or something?” he asked.
Talaski could tell the guy was actually trying to be friendly. He nodded.
“I knew it!” Mills said. “I am too. Makes me feel like one of those ghouls, but I can’t help it. I always get this way around the dead. Not sure why.”
“Trips to the ME would always affect me that way,” Talaski replied. “This isn’t all that different.”
“Undead cannibals are a lot different to me, Nick. You have any theories on what’s making these things get back up after death?”
“All I know is what puts them back down.”
Talaski was facing forward, and his headache wasn’t getting any better. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him. He wondered what was making him so chatty all of a sudden. He wasn’t up to conversation right now.
Mills grunted.
Did I say that out loud?
“All you had to say, man,” Mills said, replying to what Talaski thought was only a mental response.
“I will go this far,” Talaski said. “I think we created them—the zombies. It’s something we did.”
“Not some divine judgment?” Mills asked.
“No, and not voodoo either. This is something from a lab that got out of hand, or was a weapon that was used on us.”
Mills waved his right hand in the air. “Maybe so, Nick. Any particular reason you feel that way?”
“I quit believing in God long ago.”
Mills shook his head. “I agree that this disaster is probably manmade, but I still believe in God. I can’t accept that this is all there is.”
At that moment, Amy’s head appeared between the seats. “Did I hear you guys mention food?”
“Yes we did,” Talaski answered.
Her grin was impish. “Well, can we pick up the pace a bit, then?”
“Right away, ma’am,” Mills answered. Talaski rolled his window down and let the breeze blow across his face. For the moment, the morning appeared to be the beginning of a nice day. But there were still lingering smudges of smoke rising in the sky in various parts of town that revealed the truth: there weren’t going to be any more nice days. The numerous corpses wandering everywhere also dispelled hope.
The grass in the wide median between the north and south bound lanes looked even higher since yesterday, but he knew that it wasn’t. He noted that it already looked unkempt.
As they drew even with the spot where that Amadeo guy and his group abandoned them, Mills slowed down. The off ramp was coming up on the right, along with the checkpoint. For the moment, not many zombies were near, but there was a stench, faint at first, but growing stronger as they pulled even with the sandbags.
“Jesus,” Talaski muttered.
“Wonder if we made a mistake not waiting for that boat to come get us?” Keller asked.
Mills shook his head. “If we’d done that, we’d just be part of a group, and have to answer to people who think they know what’s best for everyone.”
“He’s right,” Amy said. “We’re better off on our own.”
Mills slowed down even more to negotiate the ramp down from the interstate.
“Can we ever run far enough away from a bureaucracy?” he asked.
19. Bronte
The growing humidity and heat were almost liquid on his skin. Just walking around almost felt like swimming.
Almost.
Bronte caught himself thinking about Janicea— something he couldn’t stop doing lately. He wondered specifically what kind of happiness they would be able to have in this new, savage world. The one thing he was sure of was that, with her, happiness might still be possible.
It was hard to believe that they’d wasted so many years on meaningless hate. She was consumed by bigotry, and he with revenge. Too bad they didn’t find a way to realize and hold onto what was most important: their mutual affection for each other.
He couldn’t help pondering what
could have been. Children of their own? The only consolation was that there was something now, even if the world was dying around them.
And there was Daric and Beth.
He closed his eyes briefly, and allowed himself the luxury of imagining what might yet be. All he needed was in her eyes, her smile. Maybe right here, on this island, they could make a safe haven.
With little effort, he managed to shift focus, and his thoughts wandered back to patrolling in Iraq. There was no humidity to speak of there, but the heat could bake you all the same. He’d also had to contend with the sand by wearing goggles and a scarf over the mouth and nose. And watch out for IUDs. Get careless walking along and your life could be over just like that. He had to stay vigilant.
Very faint and far away, he heard a scream and several gunshots. Janicea’s eyes met his. She looked concerned. Bronte shook his head, and she visibly relaxed.
Tracks was walking about twenty feet ahead, on the other side of the street, when he heard a shotgun blast somewhere nearby. Someone shouted, followed by a smaller gunshot. Janicea stood frozen, bent over from the waist, tying her shoe, her rifle on the street. Bronte realized the sound came from back where they came from…where the kids were!
Tracks ran back toward him.
Janicea stood up, rifle in her hands.
A sallow-faced woman with long, wavy brown hair stepped up from behind a hedge and pointed a pistol at Janicea. Before Bronte could react, the woman pulled the trigger.
The shot must have missed. Recoil jerked the woman’s aim skyward. In seeming slow motion, the woman lowered the gun, aiming again, face contorted with rage and determination.
Janicea’s rifle barrel was pointed at the woman’s stomach. She seemed paralyzed, whether by the close call, or simple shock, it was hard to say.
Unfortunately, the woman’s pistol was pointed at her face.
Bronte fired from the hip, squeezing off a short burst from his rifle. The woman jerked spastically as the bullets struck, fell backward, and didn’t move.
Janicea looked sick. Her head slowly swiveled in his direction, and her eyes widened.
“Watch out!” she shouted.
Gunfire erupted close by, and Bronte dove for the ground, rolling behind a car. Bullets ricocheted off the road and nearby cars. Tracks was slow and got caught in the open. He was firing back, but he was struck at least once, bad enough to make him drop the machine gun, and fall to his knees.
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