Dead Tide

by Stephen A. North

  Bronte steps back toward his window and the carnage it reveals. He looks and sees Janicea running toward the door to the shop. “We should have left the moment this all started,” he says, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Tracks to hear.

  “Too late then, Bronte. Too late now.” Janicea runs right up to the door and looks in. The glass is tinted. He stands still and looks back at her, and hopes she will just turn away. She is gasping for breath, eyes wide with panic and are just as beautiful; facial features just as perfect as when they first met. He watches her lips mouth a word, “Bronte?”

  He nods.

  She shouts, “Let me in Bronte! They’re going to kill me. Please…” “Open the door Tracks.”

  Tracks opens the locks and lets her in. Three or four of the

  creatures—Zombies or whatever they are, begin to bang on the door and windows moments later. Tracks finishes re-locking the door only just in time.

  Janicea turns around, looking back at the dead faces. “Oh God, I don’t know what happened to Torenz. Those things are everywhere, and they’re killing everybody!”

  “Look there,” says Tracks and points. He waits patiently for her to look. She spots a green floppy hat.

  “That his hat. It fell off when he ran like a bitch.”

  “He wouldn’t leave me,” she starts to say.

  “That what he did, bitch,” says Tracks. “That what hate get you. A big man with a twisted little heart like a piece of rotted fruit. He screamed and ran.”

  106

  “He did, didn’t he?” she asks, and Bronte knows she is asking him. “Yeah, he did, Janice.”

  He watches her look over Tracks. Looking for a weakness, maybe? The pounding continues. It really is impossible to concentrate and

  won’t the noise attract more of them? “You think noise attracts them?” Bronte asks, not waiting for another question from Janicea. “More are coming,” says Tracks.

  “Please don’t leave me again Bronte,” says Janicea.

  Bronte turns to face her as she walks deeper into the store. She is

  still struggling to catch her breath. He wants to curse her, tell her to go to Hell, but at just that moment, Daric appears next to her. Can’t do it. “You can go with us, Janice,” he says. Over her shoulder, he watches Tracks’ face shut down. Almost like he slapped him. He’ll forgive me. “The longer we wait, the harder it will be to leave,” says Tracks.

  “If we try to leave now, we’ll have to leave most of the supplies,” Bronte replies, nodding towards the piles they have made.

  Janicea shakes her head. “I probably shouldn’t have any say, but here goes: There is always the chance we can get more food later. Right now, we are in trouble. I say we take what we can and run.”

  “You’re right, Janice,” says Bronte. “We’re going to leave very soon. I want you and Daric to carry as many bags as you can. Tracks and I will protect you. If there isn’t too many of those things, we’ll pull the truck around front and load the truck bed to the brim. All of us will squeeze into the cab for safety. If there are too many of them, we’ll just pile into the truck and leave. Any questions?”

  Daric is clutching his Teddy Bear and a handful of comics. Janicea gives a weak smile. “My gun’s empty. Can I have more bullets?”

  107

  P OLICE CHIEF HADLEY takes a puff on his cigar and lets the smoke curl from his nostrils. Most people would describe him as portly; a big man gone to fat. He’s wearing a wrinkled blue suit with a white shirt and a red and blue striped tie. The tie isn’t tied but is hanging like a snake around his neck, and his jowls are a steely gray with a day old beard. The chief clamps the cigar into the side of his mouth and reaches into his jacket. Talaski sits perfectly still and watches while the chief pulls his service pistol from beneath his arm: a chrome.357 revolver with a four inch barrel.

  The engine is running now and most of the convoy has pulled away. Only Corporal Ramos’ Humvee and Keller’s cruiser still wait behind them.

  “I’m not real sure of you Talaski. I know you’re a smart guy, but there’s smart and there’s too smart. We could use a guy like you, but…”

  “I’m listening,” Talaski says.

  A hand touches his shoulder and Talaski half turns toward the back of the car.

  “We’re not going to the Pier,” says the mayor. “It might be a trap. We plan to take as many people as we can. We’ll leave the smaller craft for those we can’t make room for.”

  Talaski’s face is a perfect poker mask. He even manages a smile. “The perfect plan. I shouldn’t be surprised you guys cooked this up so quickly…”

  The mayor smiles, flashing his mouthful of white teeth. “You always need to be a couple steps ahead, Nick. Do you mind if I call you that? It is Nick, right?”

  “Feel free, sir,” Talaski replies. He notices that the mayor doesn’t offer him a less formal name to address him by.

  “So Nick, are you in?” asks the mayor.

  “Yeah, count me in boys,” Talaski answers and grins at the chief, who raises an eyebrow in response. “But I do need someone to tell me where we’re going.”

  108

  “Take Beach Drive over to Snell Isle to start. You made the right choice.” Giving credence to this statement is a small, relieved-looking grin on the chief’s face.

  “You won’t be sorry to trust me, Chief,” says Talaski. At least not right away.

  “Then let’s get started, Ski.”

  Talaski puts the car in gear and they pull out onto Central Avenue

  going east. “Who are the people in the other cruiser?” he asks casually. The mayor is in the middle of whispering something to his secretary, but holds up a hand to her and answers, “Friends Nick. We need to take care of them. One of them, a guy named Lionel, owns the yacht we are going to board. The soldiers are just an added bonus to make sure we get where we want to go.”

  Most of the north side of the next block is burning. No sign of the Fire Department. “Let’s try 4th Street…” says Hadley. Talaski calculates, roughly three more stoplights.

  We’ll be traveling against traffic. What traffic? Talaski spots a hobo about a block up carrying a TV on his shoulder. The hobo ducks into a warehouse doorway when he spots the cruiser. I can’t shut off, he thinks. Guess it’s a good thing I can’t. Might save my life, yet.

  “I’m sorta surprised we are the point vehicle, sir,” Talaski says. Let’s see what kind of guy the mayor really is.

  In the rear view mirror, Talaski watches the mayor plant a kiss on the woman’s throat. Her eyes are half-closed and she leans into him. Maybe she is pretending he’s someone else? The detective, Pitts, is asleep with his head against the glass of the window.

  “Were you talking to me, Ski? Why do I give a shit?” says Hadley. “I was walking point in Nam when your parents were still wiping your ass.”

  Nice one. “Just a thought, Chief, seeing as we are transporting the VIP.”

  “You some kind of chicken-shit, Ski? I didn’t have you pegged as one.”

  Talaski feels a warm flush in his cheeks. Anger simmering in his veins, not that it’s ever very far from the surface. He laughs briefly, despite himself.

  Hadley doesn’t understand. “What are you laughing at boy? You got this one chance to earn your place. Piss me off and it’ll vanish before your eyes.” He blows another cloud of smoke out his partially open window.

  109

  Just ahead, someone has left a car in the middle of the street. The driver’s side door is still open. It’s a Honda, something with two doors. I should know this. Shattered glass lies all around the car and one single jagged piece masks the driver’s side. The tires are all flat. Something moves at the corner of his eye. Hadley is staring open-mouthed and slack-jawed at the car wreck and just beyond his beaklike nose and double chin, Talaski sees someone enter a doorway and pull the door closed behind them.

  “Chief, somebody just went inside the house to your right. I think it was a man.�
�

  Hadley turns toward him. “I didn’t see anything.”

  The mayor leans forward, face close to the mesh. “You think it’s an ambush, Nick?”

  “Well, did you notice that cars are parked on both sides of the street and that car is completely blocking the road, both lanes?”

  “Yes, and so?” There is an edge to the mayor’s voice.

  “I’d suggest we find another way.”

  Hadley explodes, “Like hell! Either go around it, or plow your way through.”

  “Now, Jubal, let’s don’t be so hasty,” says the mayor. “You haven’t been a patrol officer in years.”

  Jubal. That name always kills me. Named after a mediocre rebel general. Talaski barely suppresses a smile.

  “With all due respect, Richard, you need to shut the fuck up. This is my game here. I get you to the boat and you take over the politics after that.” Hadley isn’t careful about his delivery when he speaks. Both the mayor, Richard, and his secretary, Marilee, blink more than once from particles of spit blown from the near berserk Hadley. Marilee actually complains: “Jesus, he spit on me, Ritchie.”

  Richard ‘Ritchie’ Mayes, man of the people.

  “Have it your way, then,” says the mayor. He reaches into his coat and hands Marilee a handkerchief.

  Hadley points with his hand close to Talaski’s face. Turn into that driveway to your left Ski. It’ll take us around the wreck and we’ll just drive on some grass in the next yard. You see?”

  Talaski nods, puts the car in gear and steers onto the driveway. The house covers at least three lots, has a pillared entryway and a lot of lush landscaping. The driveway encircles a bronze statue of a rearing horse. Near the street he turns left again partially onto a sidewalk and the grass. He spots Keller’s cruiser in his rearview mirror following them. So far, Corporal Ramos’ Humvee isn’t moving, but he can see someone sitting up in the roof turret manning the M-60 machine gun.

  Just a few feet further he steers over the curb and back into the street. Coffeepot Boulevard and the waters of Coffeepot Bayou are only a half block away. Keller pulls behind him and they both stop at the stop sign. The road looks clear. A left turn will take them to a bridge to Snell Isle and a right will take them back to the downtown waterfront of Tampa Bay. The mansions of Snell Isle are visible from here. Two and three story homes, many with Spanish tile roofs, and very sizeable, immaculate lawns. No one is ever in a hurry around here, unless they are jogging.

  The Humvee’s engine roars as it picks up speed and slams the immobilized car out of the way. The wreck fails to do more than slow it down momentarily. The front bumper might be scratched. Talaski can’t really tell from here. It is an impressive piece of machinery without a doubt.

  “What are—”

  Talaski cuts Hadley off in mid-sentence by turning left. The little convoy proceeds along the slightly curving road with houses on the left side, and the bayou and boat docks on the right. Except for the total absence of people, everything looks normal. Palm trees are blowing in a light breeze, the sky is blue for the moment, but there is a dark line of possible storm clouds looming ominously over Tampa. The wind is blowing west. We may be in for some rain. The car rounds the curve and there just ahead of them is the bridge, a white stone affair with fluted supports and one-lane each way. There is a four-way stop in front of the bridge. Talaski is already looking ahead. Involuntarily he eases his foot off the gas.

  “What is it?” snorts Hadley.

  “Look at the bridge,” says Talaski. “It’s blocked and guarded. Maybe we won’t be going there after all, eh?”

  “Bullshit!” exclaims the mayor. “Lionel and I live there. We have a membership at the Golf Course. There shouldn’t be any problem.”

  Someone steps away from the barricade in front of the bridge and strolls toward them.

  “TRISH, ARE YOU OKAY?” A male voice. Not familiar. The same person repeats her name a few times and she realizes this same person is shaking her. She cracks an eyelid. A younger, slightly better looking version of Hank Wellman is cradling her in his arms and looking down her top. Just by feel, she can tell a lot of her tanned flesh is exposed and one breast is about to pop free. Oh yeah, it has a scoop neck. He looks harmless and she is tempted to let herself slip back away.

  He pauses a moment to push his glasses back up his nose. He has short stubby fingers with dirt under the nails, but smells faintly of a lemonish aftershave. She can see a few spots he missed when he shaved.

  “Where are we?” she asks and sees him give a guilty start. She knows they are in the bed of a truck and she can see a light pole overhead, the type you see lining roads. Several sea gulls are perched on it, screaming and squawking in complaining voices.

  “You’re awake? Did you—”

  “Yes, I know you’ve been getting an eyefull. Now, help me up.” His face goes a beet red, but he helps her to sit up. She’s in the bed

  of one of the pickups that were in front of the Halfway Tavern. Jerry and Hank are nearby talking to a couple of middle-aged people. “What’s your name?” she asks.

  He can’t meet her gaze. “Bud Wellman, ma’am, and I’m sorry for…”

  She decides right then that he must be all of sixteen. He’s a little on the heavy side, another of his father’s traits, but its only by twenty pounds or so. “Don’t be sorry, Bud. A lotta guys would have done more than you did. I guess I passed out, huh?”

  “Yeah, you’ve been sleeping. It’s been an hour or so since the explosion.”

  “What was going on in the store? Was there a dead guy in there?”

  “I’m not sure. The guy that was standing guard on the SUVs got killed by a chunk of metal from the explosion, though. His family was inside ransacking the store. Everythings cool now. They asked to join us and Mr. Jebus, my Dad’s friend said okay.”

  112

  She sits for a moment without saying anything.

  “Are you hungry or thirsty? I can get you something,” he says, while rising to his feet. He climbs out of the truck bed. When the silence draws out, he continues to chatter. I probably scared him. “My mom and sister are helping pack up stuff from the store. A State Trooper stopped by a little while ago and said people are gathering at the Wal-Mart. It has everything we need and it’s a safe house or something.”

  “That sounds good… Did you say your name is Bud? I’m hungry and thirsty.”

  He gives her a nervous grin. “Well, actually my name is Marvin, but I prefer Bud. You won’t call me Marvin, will you?”

  “Not if you weren’t teasing me about the food and drink…”

  “I’ll be right back, ma’am.” He runs away toward the tavern entrance.

  She stands up, straightening her clothes. I wonder if his parents even knew where he was or what he was doing?

  “Hey Trish, I want you to meet someone,” says Hank, waving her over. She nods, and steps onto the truck’s rear bumper and jumps off, landing neatly on the hard packed dirt of the parking lot.

  The two people standing with Jerry and Hank are both middle-aged, one man and one woman. The woman’s face is haggard with big blue eyes red from crying, and her grayish-brown hair is done up in a messy bun that is about to come undone. Her sleeveless, khaki blouse is bloody and the right leg of her jeans is torn out. The man has a medium build and is wearing a red Buccaneers t-shirt and jeans. Whitish circles of salt ring the shirt beneath his arms and around his collar. He has a high forehead, a mane of grey-streaked brown hair and a pure white goatee that somehow reminds her of one of the three musketeers.

  Hank puts a hand on Trish’s shoulder. “Patricia Reed, this is Marco and Lani.”

  “Call me Trish,” she says and holds out her hand to both people in turn.

  Marco says, “Pleased to meet you,” with a faint, unidentifiable accent, and Lani nods.

  Hank squeezes her shoulder. “Did Bud tell you we are discussing going to Wal-Mart?”

  “Yes, it sounds good. I worked there part-time
last Christmas and made some friends. Maybe we’ll have someone on the inside.”

  113

  THEY RUN FROM THE MALL STUMBLING LIKE DRUNKS into the humid heat and bright sunshine. If only we were truly escaping the horror, I might feel like celebrating, but we’ve just exchanged milieus. Kathy looks around. I wish I still had my purse, but what does it matter? My car is on the other side of the mall. She wrinkles her nose and tries to breathe through her mouth only. There is a smell, however faint for the moment, from the bodies lying scattered and from those still upright.

  “Where’s your car, Sam?” Natalie asks.

  “This way!” They run between a minivan and a Cadillac, Kathy hating every moment spent in her uncomfortable soaking wet clothes. They pass a small group of slashed bodies whose insides decorate the concrete all around them in flowery spray patterns of drying blood.

  “Here is where I met the firefighter,” says Sam. “And this is my car.” He points toward a spotlessly clean, white four-door Acura. Sam and the girl, Natalie, slide into the front seat, while Kathy sits in the back, throwing frequent looks over her shoulder. Thank God we got out of there.

  “Do you think she’s all right, Nat?” asks Sam. He has his keys out, but not in the ignition. Kathy can tell he is looking forward and not at Natalie who is clinging to his arm. The girl consequently does little to mask her feelings. It’s hard to read her precise emotion from her profile, but anger and jealousy are a good guess. “I hate to say it Sam…” Natalie says.

  Yeah, right!

  “You think she’s dead, really?” Sam turns and grabs Natalie by her shoulders with both hands. The bat is somewhere on the floor up front.

  “She panicked, Sam. I couldn’t stop her.”

  Kathy leans forward, over the seat. “Let’s talk about this later. We have to get out of here!” She looks around. Sure enough, a group of people are emerging through the mall’s exit near Sears. At least two of them appear injured and are limping.

  Sam turns her way by sliding his ass around and putting a leg on the seat. His eyes have a feverish intensity, and his short brown hair is plastered to his forehead. “Listen Kathy, I care about Liz. If she’s dead…” He grabs a handful of his hair. “If she’s dead, I don’t know what I’ll do. Here I am babysitting one of Liz’s friends and some woman who should be able to take care of herself and—”