Bronte edged around the car, spotted another woman, the one who shot Tracks. She was calmly reloading a revolver from a handful of bullets in her hand. He aimed briefly and squeezed off another burst. The gun and bullets flew from her hands as she pivoted in a grotesque, bloody twirl before collapsing face-first onto the pavement.
He forced himself to focus. Don’t think about Tracks now. Look around. Two more women were sprawled on the nearby lawn—one still moving. Both bathed in blood. Tracks was sitting down now, wiping at what was probably a superficial cut on his forehead. His other hand clutched his stomach.
Bronte and Janicea were unharmed.
More shots echoed from the direction of the boats.
“Are you okay, Tracks?” Janicea asked.
“Bullet creased my ribs. Bleeding, but okay,” Tracks answered.
“What do we do, Bronte?” Janicea asked. He heard her voice, but it came from a distance. His heart was pounding, and he was breathing hard. Probably hyperventilating. Not so long ago there was hope, but now…he didn’t believe for a moment that Tracks’ ribs were creased. Blood pooled beneath him as they spoke.
Tracks said, voice hoarser than usual, “Save the kids!”
His eyes were pleading. The pool of blood was spreading on the asphalt. A trickle meandered into the gutter.
“Tracks, you lied!” Janicea sobbed.
Something clicked. He realized that Janicea had clicked her safety off on her rifle. She would have been dead if he hadn’t attempted that hip shot. Now, she was running—back to the house in front of the boats. He was still paralyzed, watching his one and only friend. Torn about what to do.
“Help her,” Tracks rasped. “Save those kids!”
Bronte nodded, but Tracks didn’t see.
Heart in his mouth, Bronte turned away and followed Janicea. She was almost out of sight, and he picked up his pace, running as if they were his own kids, desperate to save them.
And the woman he loved.
Tears ran like a river down his face as he grieved for his friend.
20. Johnny
The pill bottle they gave him was labeled: Flexeril.
He still had the bottle clutched in his hand. Some guy said that it would stop his back spasms. He knew what that meant; the medicine would only cover up the pain, not fix it. It would probably make it hard to concentrate, too. Johnny’s mind was far away, wondering what had happened to the people he worked with, and worrying that the decision to leave wasn’t the right one, if he should try to go back.
It wasn’t like there was anything for him here. The few friends he had were all back in St. Pete at work. At least if they were still alive that was. No one here would even think twice about him. He could feel himself losing patience. He had a plan now.
Nothing ever stopped him once his mind was made up. He just had to be patient and wait. The opportunity would arise.
“Stand over there, swabbie,” said the wiry older man with a gruff voice.
Johnny didn’t point out that he wasn’t in the Navy or a swabbie either, whatever that was.
As usual, he said nothing. It was easier to listen and obey than rebel and stand out.
Johnny joined the end of the line of people, dead last.
The man waited a moment with a sour look on his face and then said, “Listen up everybody! My name is Mr. Huff! You will address me with respect and do as I say, or you’ll find yourself in a bad place.”
Huff paused another second, as if waiting for that message to sink in.
“We’re going ashore to empty a warehouse of stuff we need. You all have been selected to load and unload. That may mean you are too dumb for another job, or maybe you just look strong. Whatever the reason, you will work hard, understand me?”
Several people near Johnny answered, “Yes, sir,” in a near chorus.
The man stepped in front of Johnny and had to look up. “Do you understand me?” Huff asked.
Johnny smiled and nodded. He knew he wouldn’t be lifting anything, but figured there was no point in trying to explain that to this guy.
Huff looked like he wanted to say more, but after the silence drew out and Johnny didn’t flinch away, he said, “Follow me.”
The line he and the other people were in dissolved, and in a ragtag bunch, all of them trailed along behind Huff, up a staircase to the next deck, and then through a door and outside. One of the big lifeboats was ready and waiting for them to board. Johnny noticed that it had an enclosed cabin and that there was an engine on the back.
“Find a seat, everybody!” Huff said.
Johnny squeezed in, trying not to scream in pain, beside an overweight black kid whose ass was hanging out of the back of his pants. The kid had a big, moon-shaped face and a sad smile.
“Hi, my name is Marcel,” he said, pushing nerdy, black-framed glasses back up his nose.
Johnny wondered if he was French or something with a name like that. He didn’t hear a French accent, though. He smiled back.
“Don’t you speak?” Marcel asked.
Johnny shook his head.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to. Your name is Johnny, right?” Marcel pointed at Johnny’s nametag.
Johnny smiled.
“Okay, Johnny, we’ll stick together, and I’ll look out for you. Just cover my back. Sound good?”
Johnny almost answered. Marcel was so nice that it was disarming.
“Pipe down, and listen up!” shouted Huff. The boat was nearly full, and Johnny could tell they were being lowered down to the water. “Just before we reach the docks, we are going to issue some of you weapons. Nothing special, just bats, knives and axes, but I expect them to be returned later! Don’t lose your weapon! Are we clear?”
Most the guys sitting around Johnny shouted out a “Yes,” including Marcel.
The boat struck the water hard enough to jostle everyone. And make Johnny scream.
21. Clive
Both of them were breathing hard once he finally allowed them to stop and rest.
“Who are you?” Candace asked him, as they crouched behind an immense pile of boxes. Clive paused a moment and read the label. Saw the acronym: MRE. Meals Ready To Eat. He was well familiar with these meals, but his memory of them was from the late eighties. It seemed like a long time ago. Most likely these weren’t that old. At least he hoped not. They were probably still good, even then, though.
“I’m Clive. Secret Service.”
“I thought I recognized you but wasn’t sure if you were a diplomat, or an agent,” Candace replied, giving him a warm smile. “Thanks for rescuing me back there. I’m pretty sure I’d be lunch right now otherwise.”
“Part of the job, ma’am.”
“I think you’ve earned the right to call me Candace.”
The suggestion puzzled him, then he remembered shouting at her to kick her shoes off.
“Ah, I remember now. Very well, Candace. Do you want to stay here while I try to locate the president?”
“Absolutely not! Please take me with you!”
“Just wanted to give you the choice. I’m glad you want to come along. I’m not handling this very well. Are you?”
“Not really, Clive. What I’d like to do is find a place to hide, and just stay there. Every time we go through a door, I keep expecting something awful to happen. Tell me that you have a lot of bullets left!”
“I do, Candace, but I’m not sure that there’ll be enough. If we get into a gunfight with our own people, I could use up what I have quickly.”
She blinked her eyes slowly, mouth set in a grim line, eyes big and a bit shiny. He hoped she wasn’t about to cry.
“I can’t believe we can turn against one another in this type of situation. People are shocking me now that the lights are going out. It’s like there was just a paper-thin veneer of civilization covering caveman savagery. All ripped away now…”
“I think it was always this way, Candace. We’ve just been living in a Disney Land. Our real world w
as never real.”
She looked blank but nodded.
He stood up and pulled her up with him. An air conditioner return was rattling nearby, but that was all he heard.
“Follow me, then,” he said, then blushed a bit when she didn’t let go of his hand.
“Do you mind, Clive?”
It was his injured hand, but it was more comforting than painful. “Not at all, Candace. Don’t let go.”
He thought she was blushing, but he couldn’t be sure. His stomach certainly was buzzing, and when they stepped back into the corridor, he could feel a goofy grin on his face.
“Are you amused by something, Clive?” she asked.
He shrugged. “No, not amused. Grateful, I think, not to be alone, and that it’s with someone like you.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”
22. Natalie
Dawn was breaking, chasing away the darkness.
Natalie gestured with the gun. “Step away from my car!” she snarled.
The sneer on the girl’s face didn’t waver. “What are you gonna do— shoot me?”
Natalie smiled. “Probably not, but I could call those guys who are chasing you…”
The sneer faded to something verging on pathetic. “Please,” she said. “Please don’t! Take me with you. I won’t cause trouble.”
“Why should I? If I’d left the keys in the car, I’d be standing here alone right now.”
“I’m just scared. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Natalie looked away, thinking it over. Do I really need this? The girl looked sincere. Having a friend would be nice…I wouldn’t be alone.
Natalie reached into her pocket, fished out the keys, and came around to the driver’s side. “Once I’m in, you can get in the passenger seat,” she told her, then opened the driver’s door and slid in. She quickly put the keys in the ignition and placed the gun in her lap. She turned the key as the girl opened the passenger door and sat down next to her. The sound of their doors slamming was loud, and Natalie wasted no time turning the engine and headlights on. She shifted into drive and steered around the Banyan and north toward 22nd Avenue.
“What’s your name?” Natalie asked her.
“I’m Nella,” the girl answered.
At the edge of the park, over near 5th Street, Natalie saw one of the girl’s pursuers running in their direction. He wasn’t even close when she gave the pedal some gas and careened into a right turn onto 22nd. She could tell that he was shouting something, but couldn’t make out what.
In a moment, he was a shadow diminishing in the distance, and they rocketed toward the intersection of 4th Street. There were a bunch of cars locked together in the middle of the intersection, so Natalie broke hard and steered to the left onto 4th at close to forty miles per hour.
They clipped the side of a red Hyundai and sent it flying with a loud bang. Natalie barely kept control, and only narrowly missed hitting a Land Rover. They were also travelling north in the southbound lanes, but Natalie wasn’t overly concerned. They were the only moving car on the road.
At the intersection of 30th Avenue North, Natalie slowed down because an ambulance, a tow truck and two police cars were still parked in and across part of the southbound and northbound lanes. One wrecked car was up on the tow truck ramp and another was still wrapped around a light pole in the median. Glass and debris littered the road. Only one lane, the outside, was clear on either side, and orange cones were lined up along both sides.
The dead were everywhere, and most of them were still walking around. Several noticed the sound of the approaching car and turned their way. Natalie spotted at least one police uniform among them.
The car’s speed was down to twenty when several of the dead walked into the clear lane on the southbound side. Natalie was considering whether to just run them over when Nella suggested, “Drive up on the sidewalk!”
With about five seconds to make a decision, Natalie drove up over the curb, knocked over a sign that read “Truman List for Mayor” and ran over more debris from the wrecked cars. Both girls winced even though the wheels took the obstructions with no apparent trouble. Natalie goosed their speed up to thirty and blew right past five zombies as they were tripping over the curb. There was a thump as the back right wheel ran over one of them, and then Natalie took them back onto the road. They were past the emergency vehicles and for several blocks it appeared that both sides of the road were clear.
A block or so short of the intersection of 38th Avenue North and 4th Street North, Natalie hit the brake and fought the wheel, trying to prevent a roll, or worse…
She pulled to a stop and sighed. The whole intersection was a mass of fallen power poles, and the twisted, burned wrecks of cars. It was obvious that several people had tried to plow their way through the wreckage with big SUVs only to fail and become part of what must have been an inferno. The smell of burned flesh was still strong.
She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her head on the steering wheel.
Nella placed her hand on her shoulder, and gave her a shake. “Come on, we have to go! We don’t have time for giving up!”
“If you knew what I’ve been through, you’d understand, but I guess we’ve all been through a lot,” Natalie said, while looking around. The dead were approaching from all directions.
“Which way are we going to go?” Nella asked nervously.
“This way.” Natalie floored the gas pedal while turning sharply to the left—west—in between a line of store fronts. A crowd was closing in on them from every direction except that way.
The avenue they turned onto was narrow due to an almost solid line of cars parked along the right side of the road against the curb. Most of these houses didn’t have a driveway, or even a car pad.
A tall, beefy guy in a grimy t-shirt and cut-off shorts was in the middle of the road, standing beside an immense pick-up truck. His white, hairy, overlarge belly peeked from beneath a green t-shirt. He lunged toward the car as they passed him, and was unable to hold on. Natalie grimaced when he stumbled and the car rolled right over him. She didn’t allow herself to think about it or be distracted.
“Was he one of them?” Nella asked.
Natalie shrugged. “Beats me. I didn’t want to stop and get to know him.”
Nella burst out laughing. “That’s harsh!”
There was a cross street up ahead. Probably 5th Street. On the other side, the road was paved with brick cobbles. Natalie knew they’d left the creatures behind them, but still kept her speed up. The ride got rough, enough so that she was forced to slow down or shake every tooth in their heads loose.
A line of garbage cans were overturned into the street and their path was full of trash. Several bags had burst and they were going slow enough to smell the stench.
The houses were much nicer here. The yards were well maintained and watered. Lots of trees. Many of the houses were two-story. That first block, the houses were mostly small, probably two bedrooms on small parcels. Here, they were sometimes on more than one lot.
“Where to now?” Natalie asked.
“We need to hide,” Nella replied. “We keep driving around like this, we’ll probably run into more of them.”
“How about here?”
They were close to Martin Luther King Street. There was a beautiful park and a creek on their left, and the line of houses continued to their right. Natalie pointed at a mansion on their right. She steered onto the house’s driveway and parked right in front of a short, wide flight of stairs to the front door. She exited the car quickly with the gun in hand. Nella joined her, and grabbed her by the arm.
“Keep going around to the back,” she said.
The house had a six foot wooden fence surrounding the backyard. The gate was hanging open.
“God, I hope the house is empty,” Nella said.
Around back, the door to the attached two car garage was also open. With a sigh, she hefted the pistol. “Might be better to have low exp
ectations.”
23. Booth
Although he could feel her eyes upon him, Booth forced himself not to acknowledge or meet her gaze. What was she hoping for? Or what was he? He was part of a group of people who were trying to get her back to her husband. Basically, a servant.
There was no room for anything else. He told himself that maybe he’d read her wrong. He sure didn’t need any entanglements, especially those that include children.
The pilot, Duncan, said over the headphones, “We’ll be landing in just a couple minutes.”
Booth checked his rifle once more. The safety was off, and there was a round in the chamber. The airport was coming up on their right.
The child, George, asked Lassiter something. Booth heard him answer, “About twelve hundred feet up, son.”
Booth leaned over, and looked out. Ulmerton Road was below them, cluttered with cars all along its length and verges. At this height people were visible, but were only obvious when clustered in groups. There were several groups, but none of them appeared to be of the still living variety.
Just north of the road were some woods. Booth saw, what was probably, a bike trail and a bright red rectangle that might be someone’s tent and then a big, barren area of burned, uprooted trees and scattered wreckage. Shortly after, they passed over the airport’s perimeter and off to the right a runway marked with a big numeral four. The helicopter banked to the left, following the path of the road. The airport’s cluster of terminal buildings were next, but their airspeed and altitude was dropping off. Booth noticed that their course was taking them close to the control tower. They were about three hundred feet above the ground when they drew even and hovered about fifty feet away from the slender structure.
Hicks remarked, “Must be checking the tower before touching down.”
Booth nodded. He was sure that was what Duncan and Lot were doing. He just didn’t understand why. There was nothing to see. The tower’s windows were solar-coated and reflected like mirrors. Several moments passed, then they resumed the northerly heading.
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