Everyone was quiet. Johnny looked at their faces. He saw a lot of downcast expressions but more hopeful eyes than he suspected.
“There’s a fresh water lake, actually more than one, about a half mile from here,” Ike said, “and there is all the land we need over on the golf course. So we have fresh water, land for crops, and plenty of houses to loot for supplies.”
“Assuming we don’t have competition from the island group,” Anna said.
“Let’s worry about that later,” Ike replied. “For now, let’s find a place to rest up in one of these condos. Why don’t you lead the way, Johnny?”
Johnny nodded, and waved his hand for people to follow. There was the dock itself, a stretch of good grass, and then the condominiums, each of which had three foot high, dark-brown fences around their back porches. Johnny led them to a corner unit. There was a patio door, a short concrete pad with an outdoor table and two chairs, and inside the fence there was a small sandy area. This particular house had tomato plants and rows of what looked like cabbage.
“I’m scared, Johnny, but I’m trying not to let anyone know,” Marcel said in Johnny’s ear.
“You’re safe, Marcel,” Johnny said and tried the patio door. It slid open a couple feet and jerked to a stop.
“Probably off the track or something,” Marcel told Johnny.
“You two, go in there and make sure it’s safe. We’ll wait out here,” Ike said.
The sound of a boat engine stopped everyone. It drew closer, and they spotted a fancy motorboat approaching. It had two white uniformed people in the front, one driving, and one facing backwards.
Johnny realized that the one who wasn’t driving was holding a gun on the people in the back of the boat. Three of those people were black, and one was white. The boat steered in against the dock that their boat was tied to.
“Where’s Huff?” the boat’s driver shouted.
Johnny shook his head.
The driver shrugged. “Never liked the bastard anyway. Here’s four more people for your group.”
The four people left the boat and stood huddled together on the dock. One of them was a tall black man. He detached himself from the others, and approached Johnny without fear.
“I’m Bronte,” he said, and offered his hand.
Johnny smiled, nodded, and shook hands. He was glad to have the people that Gretchen’s group rejected. He saw a mixture of emotions on their faces: sadness; anger; despair; but sensed their desire to survive. That would make a difference.
“Pleased to meet you,” Johnny said. “I’m Johnny, this is Marcel, and…”
93. Clive
Clive grimaced, knowing he had to pull the trigger but wishing that there was an alternative. Porlock was only following an order, he was sure, but it was an unlawful order. Only an unscrupulous person sure of success would do it.
“Listen, Major, you and I know what’s right, and killing the Speaker isn’t.”
“This isn’t about what’s right,” the soldier said. “It’s about what’s best. General Kyler is. Not some stupid broad who does her best work on her knees.”
Clive lost it on that one and pistol-whipped the other man.
Porlock recovered quickly, and before Clive could stop him, he chopped the gun out of his hand and followed up with a jab to the ribs. Clive stumbled backwards, off-balance and struggling to breathe. Another blow grazed his cheek before he could back up and defend himself.
Porlock attacked with the long, lanky-armed swiftness of a praying mantis. Clive blocked each blow, but wished he still had the gun so he could end it with one shot. That was a joke. Porlock was going to kill him within moments if he didn’t find a way to turn the tables.
There was a shot and Porlock paused, fists ready to continue the beating.
The door opened behind Porlock and he spun on his heels. His mouth dropped. Candace stood there holding a gun and looking like a Bond girl.
“You picked the workhorse, Major,” she said, and aimed carefully. Porlock moaned in terror. Candace shot him once in the right arm, but she missed with the second and third shots. The fourth bullet got him in the throat, and the fifth struck him in the chest, leaving a snail’s trail of blood on the wall behind him as he slid to the floor.
“Powell tried to kill me, Mathers, and Ritchie,” Candace said. She seemed entranced by the blood pooling around Porlock’s body.
“Kyler’s orders,” Clive said. “They were supposed to kill all of us.”
“Won’t he be surprised when he finds out they failed,” Mathers said as he entered the room.
“I’m thinking he’ll be more disappointed than anything,” Clive added.
Ritchie was rolling the dead officer over. He produced a knife with a flick of his wrist and shoved the blade into the man’s eye. “Just to be sure,” he said, and then he proceeded to strip the man of his gun, gun belt, and anything in his pockets.
Clive must have had a shocked look on his face. Ritchie said, “No different than gutting a trout, man. Only difference is sometimes I enjoy doing humans.”
94. Hicks
Hicks knocked the man to the ground and stepped on his chest. He felt ribs snap beneath his boots before he managed to spring away. He sprinted surefootedly through the darkness alongside the highway. Of course, he was living on the edge, playing a life or death game. He couldn’t see the ground well enough to know where a hole was, or spot anything that might trip him. After ten feet or so, he lost his nerve and changed course. He was running on the highway now, and that seemed safer.
The cars were still packed together and it was far worse now than it ever got at rush hour. A traffic jam to end all pileups. He wasn’t able to run consistently on the ground or the highway. There were too many vehicles. Lightning flashed, arcing jaggedly across the sky, and he saw a horde of the dead advancing toward him between the cars.
There were at least three paths he could take, and each was being used by the dead coming his way. They were behind him as well.
Hicks clipped his flashlight back onto the right strap of his harness and left it on, fished in his pocket for the headlamp, turned it on, and then fitted it over his head. Next, he sheathed the knife and settled his rifle into his shoulder. A voice inside was screaming at him that he was going too slow, but he closed his mind to it, took a deep breath, and held it for five seconds.
He expelled the air loudly, and then took another breath while flicking on the rifle’s laser sight. He set the rifle’s selector switch to single shot, and settled the red dot on the forehead of the nearest abomination. Squeezed the trigger. The sound was loud, but he still heard the expended brass tinkle when it struck the road. He shifted aim, even before the man he’d shot sank to the ground. The rain still fell. He squeezed off another shot and saw a child-sized shape slump forward. Then he watched the lumbering form of a big blocky woman trample over the corpse.
Hicks cursed softly, angry with himself over the momentary distraction, and took aim at the big woman, missing when she stumbled forward while trampling the child. He got her right between the eyes on the second shot. Her corpse fell and wedged itself between two cars, closing off that avenue of approach. He panned left and saw a hand reach for him. Hick’s fired instinctively, while throwing himself backwards. He couldn’t see whether the bullet hit anything, but he managed stand without falling. He glimpsed the thing as it grabbed his rifle’s barrel and pulled. Now, he found himself wrestling for possession of the rifle with an immense bearded man who had arms like tree trunks. Hicks knew he’d have to let go of the rifle, but the strap was around his neck. His hand was still wrapped around the pistol grip, and his finger was on the trigger, but he couldn’t get the barrel aimed at the man’s face. With a tremendous yank, Hicks was lifted off his feet as the man got a grip on his shirt. Hicks fumbled to draw the knife while his shirt began to rip. The man shook him like a doll.
Hicks could barely think, and he knew more of the things were coming. With his thumb, he managed to fl
ick the rifle’s selector switch to burst and pulled the trigger. There was no noticeable result, but for lack of any other option, he held the trigger down, and suddenly he and the dead thing were falling. The two of them collapsed on the road with Hicks on top. He had some freedom of movement now and he pulled the sling over his head, letting the giant have the damn rifle. He threw himself backwards, keeping his feet as his shoulders slammed against the rear doors of a delivery truck. Dozens of the creatures were almost on him.
He contemplated hopping on top of cars and leaving the rifle, but he needed it. He drew his pistol, flicked the safety off, aimed, and shot the zombie on the ground through the head. He walked toward the nearest group of the dead standing in the light of the headlamp and shot each one, using another four shots. He turned back and shot two more who were trying to climb over a Mercury Sable. Many more were coming, but he had time to retrieve his rifle now. He was glad that he hadn’t panicked. Losing the rifle would have been bad.
He paused long enough to reload both weapons, and then slithered over the hood of the Sable. The rain was starting to come down harder, and the sound of it pounding on all the cars was loud enough to drown out anything short of gunfire. He slid to the road on the other side of the station wagon, and seeing that he was alone for the moment, he switched off both flashlights.
There was room for one or two people for quite a distance between the cars around him, and he took off, crouched over at a fast walk with his feet splashing in ankle deep water. He slipped the rifle’s sling over his head again, and carried the kukri knife in his right hand, pistol in the other.
More lightning painted the sky, and for a moment it looked as if the fabric of heaven was being rent apart.
Hicks ran. For better than a half hour he was forced to dodge across cars and cross from one side of the road to the other, but at last, he reached the turnoff he was seeking: Roosevelt Boulevard. The unending ribbon of stalled cars continued on and split, one mass of metal going up the ramp that was the approach to the Bayside Bridge, and the other onto Roosevelt. He took the latter and passed under a large overpass, and an off ramp. A block or so down on the right, on the north side of the road, was a large copse of woods and a two-lane road called Lightwave Drive. He knew that there was a business of some sort at the end of Lightwave, and then a huge trailer park. If he went through the woods, he’d have to cut through a large subdivision before reaching his uncle’s house.
He slowed to a walk and considered which path to take. Either way, he might be facing a lot of zombies.
He chose the woods. Near the road, there was a lot of undergrowth, and the going was slow. It was also hot. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate energy bar, devoured it in a few bites, and then took a long draught from his canteen. The chocolate made him wish for a large glass of milk, but he had to settle for warm water.
He began to relax and even slowed his pace. The rain still fell, but under the trees it was a soft patter that he could barely hear after all the gunfire. He wished he knew whether he’d made the right choice.
About a hundred feet farther, the undergrowth became serious as palmetto bushes cropped up. Fatigue overcame him and his pace slowed even more. There was plenty of time for regret, but he was able to push that away easier than the fatigue.
Hicks spotted two camouflaged tents about fifty feet to his right, but he couldn’t detect any signs of life. He didn’t want to meet anyone anyway. This journey was private and not meant to be shared.
Twenty minutes later, he saw the subdivision. It wasn’t how he remembered it. Backyard fences were down. Some houses were burned or appeared vandalized. One car protruded from the front wall of another house. Trash was everywhere. Corpses too, mobile and immobile.
Hicks had to use the knife on two of the dead. He didn’t bother to kill them. He just cut down on their mobility, so to speak. Both would have to crawl on their bellies now to move.
No one appeared to be following him. He managed to walk the rest of the way without seeing anyone, and he found the chain still up across his uncle’s secluded driveway. Just the thought that the house hadn’t been discovered lifted his spirits. It was crazy to hope, but everything was crazy now.
He stepped over the chain and walked up the single lane concrete drive. There were cracks, but no sign of weeds. Trees grew close together along either side of the driveway. Even though the light of dawn was only minutes below the horizon, it was growing darker under the trees.
The driveway went around two curves, both built around immense oaks that his uncle hadn’t been willing to cut down, and then ran a short distance to a detached garage and carport.
A convertible Mercedes was parked under the carport, and both of the garage doors were closed. The house was connected to the garage by a beautiful tiled pathway, and a branch of the pathway went to the bay and a dock that was barely visible from here. The house itself had two stories.
The flickering light of a solar-powered lamppost illuminated a small statue of Buddha crouched beside the pathway near the front door. The house’s walls were salmon pink and the front door was wood with beautifully etched glass panels. Not the most secure house, he thought. That opinion was reinforced when the first potted plant Hicks checked contained the front door key.
He sheathed his knife, took the key in his left hand, and kept the pistol in his right. He opened the door and stepped into a short tiled foyer.
“Hello! Anybody home?”
No answer.
“Hello! Hello!” he called out.
A living room was to his right, and he decided to go that way. There was a lot of bulky furniture draped in shadows. The house felt dead. Hicks crossed the room and was about to enter the dining room when something made him look to his right to a high-backed couch facing a big screen TV. Lying on that couch was the nude, pale, lovely body of a woman. She had long black hair and looked like she was sleeping.
Hicks was more than a little freaked out. The ambience in the room was off. The woman had to be dead or sleeping. He touched her cheek, which was dimly limned by the moon through the curtains. Her hair looked jet black, and her face was beyond compare. Stunning, even. She wasn’t warm though, and something coated his finger when he ran it along her cheek.
Dried makeup? He was curious enough to turn on his head lamp.
He frowned. Dust. There was more of it on the end table next to the couch. A light dust coated everything.
In the harsh light of the lamp he realized two things: she wasn’t alive, and never had she been…
He was looking at a lifelike love doll.
Hicks smiled in the darkness.
To be continued…
Table of Contents
In Memory Of…
Prologue
1. Mathers
2. Clive
3. Johnny
4. Trish
5. Jacobs
6. Julie
7. Daric
8. Talaski
9. Ray
10. Foster
11. Natalie
12. Janicea
13. Booth
14. Trish
15. Jacobs
16. Julie
17. Daric
18. Talaski
19. Bronte
20. Johnny
21. Clive
22. Natalie
23. Booth
24. Janicea
25. Jacobs
26. Julie
27. Daric
28. Keller
29. Bronte
30. Kincaid
31. Johnny
32. Clive
33. Natalie
34. Tracks
35. Booth
36. Mills
37. Trish
38. Jacobs
39. Julie
40. Janicea
41. Keller
42. Johnny
43. Clive
44. Booth
45. Talaski
46. Jacobs
47. Fo
ster
48. Julie
49. Janicea
50. Natalie
51. Johnny
52. Clive
53. Booth
54. Talaski
55. Trish
56. Jacobs
57. Kincaid
58. Foster
59. Julie
60. Bronte
61. Johnny
62. Clive
63. Lassiter
64. Talaski
65. Jacobs
66. Kincaid
67. Julie / Booth
68. Bronte Daric Janicea
69. Johnny
70. Clive
71. Hicks
72. Julie
73. Sid
74. Keller
75. Trish
76. Kincaid
77. Lassiter
78. Bronte
79. Natalie
80. Johnny
81. Clive
82. Hicks
83. Keller / Amy
84. Jacobs
85. Bronte / Kincaid
86. Natalie
87. Clive
88. Julie / Lassiter / Booth
89. Jacobs / Natalie / Troy
90. Trish / Mills Keller Amy / Ben
91. Bronte / Janicea Daric Beth
92. Johnny Marcel Anna / Ike
93. Clive
94. Hicks
Dead Tide Surge Page 29