Dead Tide Surge

by Stephen A. North

  The booze kept him relatively mellow until he made it to the back of a big restaurant. His eyes were adjusted to the darkness at that point, and the light of the moon was overhead. Even so, it was dark behind the building where he crouched behind a hedge and listened, hoping that sense would help him more. What he really needed were some night vision goggles.

  Something made a thumping noise somewhere not far from him. His imagination conjured all kinds of things, but he clamped down, cleared his mind, and took a deep breath. Patience and observation would see him through this. There was no further noise, but long moments passed before his blood stopped racing.

  The sound of shuffling feet cost him another five minutes, but he put the delay to good use by using camouflage paint on his face, neck and hands from a small tin that reminded him of finger paint. Technically, he supposed, that’s what it was, just thicker and heavier.

  The shuffling feet were going somewhere, because he couldn’t hear them anymore. Or did that mean that the thing stopped? He smiled to himself and stood up.

  A hundred feet away, moonlight gleamed in the distance. He couldn’t say for sure that it was from cars. Doubt was beginning to creep in. No matter how good he was, he was nearly blind in this level of darkness. Of course, that meant the dead things were blind too. He forced himself into motion and stepped out into the parking lot. He unclipped his flashlight from his combat harness and held his finger ready on the button in case he needed light. He also had a small headlamp, but didn’t feel like taking the time to dig it out of the right cargo pocket on his pants leg.

  He increased his pace, eyes straining, and tried to alternate his focus between smelling and hearing. He passed a parked car, but couldn’t make out enough detail to identify it, stepped up and over a curb, trampled a flower bed, and stepped back onto another parking lot. He saw the dim outline of an overpass looming not too far away to his left, and he knew it was the one coming from Clearwater, toward Tampa or St. Pete. He wondered how bad it was up there. He knew from their flyby earlier yesterday that there were a lot of cars up there. He couldn’t remember how many of the walking dead he had seen, though.

  Off to his right was a single-storied building that he remembered held several businesses, one of them a Chinese restaurant, and maybe a craft store of some kind, he wasn’t sure.

  He felt the hair on his neck and arms rise. Dead people were walking all around him! One brushed his arm. He could smell old sweat and rot. The thing didn’t seem to realize he was there.

  Hicks froze in place. His pulse rate was out of control again, and every nerve screamed at him to run. He had to control his fear or he wasn’t going to make it through this. He’d snap, and that would be it.

  The rancid smell strengthened. Hicks didn’t wait to see if the thing was coming back, and resumed his fast walk. He angled himself on a parallel path with the storefronts.

  He let the rifle dangle from its strap and pulled his knife from its sheath. It was a curved Kukri blade, over twelve inches long. Hicks knew the British Gurka soldiers used them, and he was always curious himself whether it was a good choice.

  With unlit flashlight in hand, his knife in the other, Hicks kept walking. He made it halfway across the lot when someone grabbed his shoulder and tried to bite his neck. Hicks flicked the flashlight on and spun, breaking the hold, and sliced the hand right off. He ran full bore out onto the highway and saw that hundreds of zombies were coming toward him from seemingly everywhere except the overpass.

  It was as good a place to go as any, he figured.

  Shrieks and moans rose up as if these things could tell that he was different now. Somehow they knew he wasn’t one of them. But how? What did he do to reveal himself? He felt fingers grasp at him from two sets of hands. Hicks turned, and replayed his violent twist move with his torso, using his arms to break the hold. With two slashes of the knife’s curved blade, he freed himself.

  He ran, stiff-arming several of the dead, shambling things, running as if he had the ball and was on a football field again with the end zone in sight. The only problem was that there wasn’t a safe zone anywhere nearby, and these players were playing for keeps. Get tackled here, and he’d lose more than the ball.

  The base of the overpass’s ramp was right in front of him. The overturned bulk of a large SUV blocked all but the edges of the exit, but Hicks was able to squeeze between the back tires and the wall. He hoped that would slow down his pursuers. What concerned him more, however, was the strong smell of gasoline all around him as he ran upwards, past seemingly unending coils of cars, all locked together like some metallic-snake. He flicked off the flashlight.

  Lightning forked across the sky almost directly overhead, followed within seconds by a big rumble. For a moment, everything was lit up like day.

  A wall of people were coming toward him, some only feet away. Then the light faded. He plunged back into darkness and doubt. How long could he push forward through that before they brought him down? What about if he turned around? Right now, if he jumped over the side wall, he’d fall ten to fifteen feet. No telling what was down there.

  He might be able to run over the tops of the cars…if it was broad daylight, but he was no James Bond. Something bad was about to happen to him, no matter what choice he made. He knew it and spent a moment longer factoring the odds, and then he took three steps to his right, lifted one leg, then the other, over the overpass wall and jumped.

  He landed in a soggy, marshy mess but wasn’t hurt. He crouched in the darkness, tried to control his breathing and calm down. That brief moment of indecision worked him up, and blood was pounding in his ears. He forced himself to listen before moving. He thought he heard a distant moan from the overpass above him but nothing more.

  Then, rain began to patter down. He stood and kept moving forward, paralleling the feeder road below the overpass, his boots splashing in knee deep water now.

  Two adult and two child-sized zombies passed him not ten feet away, trudging in the muddy grass on the verge of the road above him. They didn’t seem to know he was there. He saw that the road was choked with vehicles nose to bumper.

  He knew the airport wasn’t much further up on his right, and there were some large warehouse businesses on the left. His boots finally crossed over onto firm ground, and he increased his pace to a jog, still keeping the flashlight in one hand and the kukri knife in the other.

  The far side of the overpass sloped down and ended in a long line of safety barrier poles on his left, then a wide, grassy median. The road was still clogged with vehicles in both directions. Dead people were everywhere, and the stench was becoming overpowering enough to make Hicks consider turning back.

  It was funny how that, more than the danger, was dissuading him. Perhaps he had reached his limit. The truth was he fed on adrenaline. Sudden death or narrow escape, the possibility of either made him feel more alive than anything else. Most of his squad mates were of the same ilk— thrill seekers. He’d rappelled headfirst as soon as they’d let him. He’d done far worse things than confidence courses as a kid, many involving the risk of death or severe bodily harm. It was better, he thought, to go into risky situations with confidence, and onward he went.

  83. Keller/Amy

  For the moment, nothing was moving.

  Keller paused to exchange an empty pistol for a loaded one with Amy when they both heard the sound of a fire engine siren not far away. It had to be Trish and Mills. If they kept the siren on, he and Amy could find them that way.

  So would every dead thing within miles.

  “You think it’s Trish and Adam?” Amy asked. He hadn’t had time to look at her, but now he could see the sorrow and hopelessness that gripped her also.

  “I think it is, Amy.”

  She put a hand on his chest. “Get me out of here then, Matt. Let’s go!”

  He took her hand in his and resumed walking. They’d nearly made it to the back porch and were literally walking on bodies.

  How many had h
e killed? His stomach was empty and his throat burned from vomit and stomach acid. He’d thrown up more than once, but now all he could do was dry heave. There was nothing left. The problem was that the dry heaves doubled him over. A couple of times Amy had to save him because he’d been nearly incapacitated. Blood, brains and gore were splashed everywhere. He figured that it must be a few thousand pounds of dead human flesh littering the halls and rooms of this house.

  They stepped carefully over the broken glass scattered across the kitchen floor and the back porch. Outside, it was clear. No sign of any moving dead.

  The siren noise came from somewhere not far from the direction they’d traveled. Maybe a block east of where they were now.

  Amy paused a moment, let go of his hand, and reloaded the pistol she held. The shotgun was slung over his chest and another full magazine for it was shoved in his shirt, held in place by the pistol belt and harness he wore.

  Keller looked around once more, and decided the alley would be the best way to go for now. He shifted the pistol to his left hand, took Amy’s hand in his right, and walked toward the alley. There was an opening in the backyard wall, and they took it. The alley was dirt and full of potholes and weeds. Every couple of houses, there was a huge black plastic trashcan. Almost every house’s yard was fenced.

  They were running now. At the end of the alley, he pulled up short, and with Amy trailing him, edged around the corner. The next street was full of the dead, far too many to shoot. Hundreds, maybe more, and all of them heading in the direction of what had to be Mills’ fire truck. He could see it now, emergency lights beaconing, a block down to the right. The truck was stalled or stopped near the end of a dead end street, quickly being surrounding by a crowd.

  None of the zombies were looking their way, so he motioned Amy forward so she could see.

  “Call them on the walkie-talkie,” Amy said and handed the radio to him.

  Keller took it, and keyed the mic. “Trish, or Adam?” he said. “We can see the truck.”

  A couple of seconds passed, the siren quieted, and the lights shut off. They heard Trish’s voice.

  “Oh thank God! They’re all around us and Adam passed out or something. He might be infected.”

  Keller’s mind was racing. What could they do to help? The dead were pressed up against the truck several bodies deep now. Not evenly on all the sides, though. The truck would still move.

  “Is the engine still running, Trish?” Keller asked.

  “Yes, the engine is still on, but the fuel gauge is almost on empty,” Trish answered worriedly.

  “Can you wake up Mills?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Dead air, then…”He’s awake but seems delirious.”

  “Well you guys have to do something. Amy and I can’t get to you. See if you can get him to get that thing moving and reverse out of there.”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” Trish answered.

  They waited, but Trish didn’t say anything more. With the siren off, the dead that were further away from the truck were beginning to wander aimlessly. Thinking that they might be spotted at any moment, Keller backed up and pulled Amy into a crouch beside him. Their backs were against a wood fence. Her face was very close to his and she was looking directly into his eyes.

  “We’ll find a way to do this,” he said, loving the look she was giving him. This was a strong person beside him. She wasn’t a quitter. Amy smiled and put her hand on his face. The smile was contagious, and he found himself smiling back.

  “And when we find somewhere safe, we’ll get drunk, right?” she asked

  He laughed and blushed a little, thinking about what they might do together if they were ever alone and safe in a less conflicted time.

  “We’ll get drunk, screw ourselves silly, and hide away from all this, sweetheart,” he replied. “I promise.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she said, “I’m gonna hold you to that, mister!”

  The fire truck engine revved, then roared. Keller looked back around the corner of the fence and saw several people go down beneath the wheels as the truck accelerated backwards and knocked down a wooden power pole.

  The people surrounding the truck surged like a fleshy tide across the momentarily empty space and then the truck turned hard to the right. Several went airborne when the truck’s bumper struck them, and then the truck was picking up speed, coming in their direction.

  “Where are you?” Trish’s voice said from the radio. “We’re coming!”

  “Look to your left,” Keller said, holding the walkie-talkie near his mouth. “We’re coming out now!”

  Keller stood, pulled Amy up beside him, and they both ran out into the street. The closest monsters were about fifteen feet away and not so concentrated together as they were near the truck. The two of them ran, dodging through the gaps, trying not to stop. Then the truck was there, and Keller boosted Amy up to the rear left door of the raised cab. He scrambled up after her, and Mills floored the accelerator before Keller could finish shutting the door.

  “We’re on E!” Mills shouted, and turned a hard left onto the next cross street.

  Trish gave them a brief smile from the front seat. “Be ready! We have no idea when the engine will die!”

  Amy squeezed Keller’s hand. For the moment, they were safe.

  “No idea where we’re going…any suggestions?”

  Keller thought about it while Mills drove them back onto 34th Street South and turned right.

  “It was bad north of here,” Mills said, offering a partial explanation for the right turn.

  “Well, it’s either a left or a right on Fifty Fourth Avenue South, or head back for the Skyway,” Amy said. “The Skyway is out for me.”

  “I say we take the right on Fifty Fourth,” Mills said. “The beaches are out that way, and we can swim if we have to.”

  The intersection of Thirty Fourth and Fifty Fourth was coming up quick. Mills turned right and cut across a parking lot to avoid the pileup of cars that was there. The engine chugged once and died in the parking lot. They were coasting past some sort of multi-storied office building, and were close to a CVS.

  “I passed this way not long ago,” Trish said, as they drifted to a stop. “We would have had to walk anyway a few blocks down.”

  When they climbed down from the truck, Keller noticed how pale Mills was, but he decided not to comment on it. There were people walking around over at the intersection, but incredibly none of them were nearby. They might actually be able to find a hiding place without being observed.

  Mills said, “Why don’t we try that CVS?”

  “We could get something for your ear there,” Trish said to Mills.

  “Grab anything you think we need,” Keller said.

  Trish led the way, moving at a brisk pace. There were a few cars scattered around in between the office building and the store, none occupied. In front of the store was another matter. Keller counted at least twenty cars parked near the entrance and a lot of motionless bodies on the ground.

  They were ten feet from the entrance when a bunch of teenage kids poured out of the front doors. The kids were loaded down with bags and beer. One scrawny boy wearing jeans and an overlarge white t-shirt was even chugging his beer.

  Both groups stopped and stared at each other.

  Trish spoke first. “You’re those kids I saw over in Maximo not long ago, aren’t you?”

  A slender brunette girl answered with a sneer, “Yeah, and you were going to put out a fire somewhere, right?”

  Trish frowned.

  “I’m the one who flicked you off,” the girl added.

  “I remember,” Trish said.

  “You guys sure have a lot of guns,” the boy drinking the beer interjected. Keller noticed that although he was scrawny, the kid had some big arms. His hair was buzzed so short it left only a black shadow on his head.

  Trish shrugged. “We have guns, and I’ll bet you guys have cars,” she said.

  The
brunette’s sneer faltered a bit. “That mean you’re gonna take them from us?”

  “No,” Trish answered, “it means maybe we can help one another.”

  “No thanks, lady,” the brunette said. “We’ve had enough of old people bossing us around.”

  Keller spoke up, “We’re not looking to boss you around.”

  “What do you want then, mister?” a medium-sized black kid said. “All adults do is boss us around. We’re on our own now, and we don’t need you!”

  “So what’s your plan then?” Trish wanted to know.

  “We have some friends that called us,” the brunette said. “We’re heading for north St. Pete to some place called the Alamo. It’s really just a house with a wall around it, but my friend says it’s like a little fort.”

  “Maybe we can help you get there?” Mills suggested.

  “We got our own guns, mister,” the brunette said.

  “Not many, though, Doreen,” said the black kid.

  “Shut up, Lester!” Doreen snapped, obviously irritated.

  “I say they come with us,” said the kid with the beer.

  “You going to boss us around?” Doreen asked, giving Trish what she probably thought was a hard look.

  “No, we won’t,” Keller said, knowing he was lying, but not overly concerned about it right now.

  “Okay, then,” Doreen said. “You guys can ride with Ben, since he seems to like you so much.”

  Keller noticed that most of the kids at one point or another were looking at the blood on Mill’s head and neck. It was hard not to notice that he was missing an ear. None of them commented on it, though. Ben was looking at Mill’s head when he grinned, and said, “I have that Volvo station wagon over there. Maybe one of you should drive though. I’m a bit intoxicated.”

  “Let’s go then,” Trish said. “I’ll drive.”

  “You sure we want to throw in with a bunch of teenagers?” Mills said to Trish, but Keller overheard. He wondered if Ben heard the question too.

  Trish wasn’t amused, judging by the scathing look she gave the firefighter. “They have somewhere to go, and the means to get there. I’m fresh out of alternative ideas. You have a better idea, I’m listening.”