Dead Tide

by Stephen A. North

“I don’t agree,” Graham replies.

  Fugi’s shoulder twitches and the gun starts to swing around. Graham already has the rifle aimed center mass on Fugi’s chest. He pulls the trigger once, twice. Fugi’s gun goes off and clatters to the ground. Fugi himself seems to crumple inward, almost as if the sudden bright red blotches on his chest and stomach are pulling him backwards and downward. Two women are knocked to the ground as the bare-chested Kurt swears and throws a haymaker punch at Graham. Graham sidesteps the punch, and now up close to Kurt, swings the butt of the M-16 into the man’s face.

  Kurt goes down and without hesitation Graham fires three rounds into him.

  “Sweet Jesus,” mutters Louie.

  “Take Kurt’s knife, Louie. It’s there on his belt—See?”

  “Sure, whatever you say man.” Louie reaches down and pulls the blade free. “It’s a good one.” He holds it up. Probably a six to seven inch blade, all black with a non-slip handle.

  “Free the women,” Graham says.

  Louie looks at him strangely. “Why do you think they are tied up?”

  “You really don’t know? Fugi and Kurt were basically enslaving them.”

  “You think?” Louie asks, sounding genuinely puzzled.

  “Yeah.”

  230

  Louie steps up to the first woman. Most of them, although attractive, look shell-shocked. Horror, confusion and sadness. God knows what they’ve been through before Fugi and Kurt got to them. Louie starts cutting through the rope binding the first woman’s hands. The rest of the women are standing in a line, calm for the moment, but who can say what they’re thinking?

  “Louie and I will help all of you to the best of our ability,” Graham says, facing the women, but only really looking at one. She won’t look up and her features are in shadow.

  “We have a boat. We’ll take you with us if you want to go, or you can do what you want.”

  The first woman is free, but she seems preoccupied with the two dead men at her feet. She mumbles something that sounds like the word, “three.” Shakes her head. She is a tall, slender girl really, dark-haired with a thin face. Pretty, but too young. Her eyes look up into his, blazing with emotion, something pent up. “Three,” she says again, practically spitting the word out. Her eyes are bright with tears. “Three!”

  Must have been hit on the head or something. He looks past her. Louie has cut the next woman free. The third woman has an athletic look. She actually has enough presence of mind to smile at Louie, but there’s something wrong. A shiver rolls down his spine.

  “Hey,” says Louie, almost casually, “they didn’t tie this one up.”

  Graham fumbles with the rifle, almost paralyzed with horror. Hears the first woman shout, “There were three of them!” He sees the knife appear in the smiling woman’s hand, watches her smile mutate into a feral grin and witnesses the knife rise high and plunge. How many times does she manage to stab Louie? No telling. Only the memory of something sharp and glittery arcing up and down and Louie slowly folding down to his knees, head back, mouth open but speechless as his lifeblood mingled with the rain.

  At last she stops. Louie crumples forward the rest of the way and lies face down at her feet. “That was easier than I thought,” she says. “I’ve had old people fight harder than that.”

  Graham stares at her. There is a roaring in his ears. Someone is shouting, maybe a distant part of him is screaming, “Shoot her! Shoot her!” Something has broken within him, and he stands there. I’m gonna die.

  He actually closes his eyes, only a blink really, and the roaring increases. Something lifts him off his feet and the very air around him is rent with the passage of whizzing objects and explosions.

  231

  The killer seems to fly apart before his eyes, her scream lost in the fury of beating rotors and roaring engines. Long before he loses consciousness, he literally loses the ability to process for a time.

  Overload. Blackout.

  HADLEY STANDS ON THE FLYING BRIDGE, with Ramos at the wheel. “How fast we going, kid?” he asks. Ramos looks over at him, dark eyes angry, upper lip rising in a sneer. “Don’t call me that.”

  “You’ve been called worse, I bet,” says Hadley.

  “Maybe I have, Jefe, but never twice by the same person.”

  Hadley laughs.

  They aren’t going fast, but the yacht is big, and Ramos doesn’t quite seem to have steering down to well yet. Even at a slow speed, they have struck at least two or three other boats since leaving the canals behind. So far, Hadley has refrained from comment.

  “There is the cruise boat,” says Ramos. Sure enough, it is there, several hundred yards from the seawall below the Vinoy complex, and almost equi-distant from the Pier. Most of the buildings lining the waterfront are on fire and the reflected light bathes everything in a hellish yellow glare. Boats of various sizes are on the water everywhere. Four or five black-painted helicopters are circling overhead, also.

  “The helicopters aren’t good,” says Hadley.

  “No? What are they doing?”

  Hadley points. “Watch this, he’s about to strafe those people. We used to call it a gun run.” The Pier is packed with people. One of the helicopters is flying over the street leading to the Pier approach. The helicopter’s mini-guns are mounted on either side of its fuselage. Suddenly it’s like two miniature suns blinking, blazing death down in a luminous stream that literally rips the gathered people apart.

  232

  Out of the corner of Hadley’s eye he sees a flash. A missile darts from the helicopter and slams into the rear of the cruise ship. Hadley counts, “One thousand one, one thousand—” There is a tremendous explosion that throws both men to the deck. Burning debris rains down and swirls in a huge fireball.

  From a distance Hadley hears a voice. “What the hell happened Chief? Come on, wake up!” A hard slap stings his face and he opens his eyes. Lionel is kneeling down beside him, face shocked and afraid. “Marilee, come take the wheel!” he shouts over his shoulder.

  A female voice shouts something unintelligible in return. “I need your help, Chief. I don’t know what to do.”

  Hadley struggles to focus, his eyes watery and stinging. “Help me sit up,” Hadley wheezes.

  “Those helicopters are slaughtering everyone.”

  And we’re the second biggest naval target.

  Hadley snorts, choking back a painful laugh. Lionel wedges an arm

  beneath him and manages to shift him to a sitting position against the ladder railing. The yacht has swung broadside to the now burning collapsed ruin that was the Pier. “Tell me what to do!”

  Hadley takes Lionel’s hand, gives it a squeeze. “Look behind you.” Lionel throws a wild look over his shoulder. The metal, insectoid hide of a helicopter faces them across two hundred yards. There is a small flash, then a small fiery-tailed shape darts toward them.

  Lionel makes a mewling noise.

  “Marge…”

  Brilliant light flares, huge and all-knowing, searing into and through

  every dark little corner.

  233

  WHEN HE TRIPS AND ALMOST STUMBLES for a fourth time, Debbie once again saves him from a tumble back down the stairs. “Are you sure you’re up to being my hero?” she asks. Only the obvious warmth and concern for him in her voice and smile keep the remark from cutting deep.

  “I’ll be ready,” he says, but the pain from his burns and from the beating he endured suggest otherwise. He decides not to mention that. However, some hopeful little romantic part of him allows an unrelated thought to become word, “I might be guilty of enjoying your help.”

  She blushes. “Stop that, you’re embarrassing me. Besides, I got a boyfriend already.”

  Seemingly a thousand responses to that immediately flood through his mind, but something tells him to just let it pass.

  “This is our floor,” she says and pulls the door open for him.

  They step out into a tiled corridor running north a
nd south. The elevator is only ten feet away. “It’s the door just a few feet further down from the elevator.”

  North then.

  “I wonder if I should go in first without you. That way you could maybe be a surprise?”

  “If something really is wrong, they’ll know we’re coming,” he replies, reasoning that someone is still monitoring the cameras.

  “True,” she says, reaching for the door handle. The door opens inward before she can do anything. Blake sees a slender, twentysomething blonde woman standing there.

  “Come on in, quickly, both of you,” says the blonde.

  Debbie goes in and Blake follows. They enter a room full of TV monitors, computers, desks and chairs. Over toward the far side is a smaller room with an open door. Blake sees Dodd standing over near that doorway beside a guy in a wheelchair.

  234

  “So glad you both managed to escape the excitement downstairs,” Dodd says with a little halfsmile.

  “What’s going on?” Debbie asks in an angry tone. I wonder if she

  knows Dodd well enough to speak to him this way. Concern for her

  gives him a little jump-start.

  Dodd calmly raises a pistol and points it in her face. “Shut your piehole, bitch. Play your cards right and I’m sure your boyfriend will take

  you with us.”

  “Larry’s a part of this?” she asks, sounding shaken. “Why didn’t you

  just give us a chance to help willingly?”

  Dodd looks smug, like he has all the answers. “Not my game. Guy

  named Mitch is running this. Maybe it’s just a question of how much

  are you worth? Let’s be reasonable. What do any of you have to offer?” Blake watches the faces, the expressions of these people Dodd is so

  easily dismissing as useless. All of them, presumably good people, good

  at their jobs. Useful people.

  Blake takes two or three steps toward Dodd. “I’ll tell you what we

  have to offer, although it should be obvious.” He stops only when Dodd

  points the gun at him. Still, way too far away. There must be a way

  out of this.

  “What’s that, little man?”

  Always the focus on the negative. He can readily understand Dodd’s

  viewpoint, just in the way he labels people: Debbie’s fat; the guy in the

  wheelchair’s handicapped; the blonde is weak; and I’m small. Surprise!

  Sometimes God compensates. Sometimes he smiles on the oppressed. “You going to answer me?” Dodd says, raising his voice. I irritated him just by being silent.

  “We have trust, Officer Dodd. People with character do the right

  thing. Do these friends of yours have any character? What are they doing

  while you stand guard up here?”

  “Shut up!” shouts Dodd. He lowers the gun, and reaches up with

  his free hand to run fingers through his hair. He sits down in a rolling

  chair next to the guy in the wheelchair and actually crosses his legs. “That was clever of you, Maintenance Man. You almost made me

  lose my cool, but you see, I’ve been on the street for a while now. I can’t

  say that I have any idea what you hoped to accomplish, but you were

  playing with me.”

  The guy in the wheelchair stiffens. Something on one of the cameras

  must be intriguing him. “James,” he says.

  “What now, Anton?”

  235

  “There’s a black helicopter outside. Oh Jesus!”

  “What?!” shouts Dodd. Whatever else he might have been about to say gets drowned out by several tremendous explosions. Then there are some curious buzzsaw roars. Blake realizes the Government must be attacking the zombies outside.

  “This is great! Look at that! They’re cutting them to pieces!” Anton’s voice is jubilant. “I’ll see if I can pick up the channel they’re using if you want me to?”

  “Go ahead,” says Dodd, “but don’t say anything unless I tell you to. And all the rest of you can just come over here and have a seat. I’m sure you know what will happen if I can’t trust you.” He gives a hoarse laugh. “Like that one, Janitor Boy? Trust—Get it?”

  Blake nods with obvious resignation and takes a seat nearby.

  Now, I might be close enough.

  THROUGH THE SECOND FLOOR WINDOW, there is a wonderful view of Tropicana Field. Or was it called a Stadium? As of now, she would call it a smoldering ruin. She takes a deep breath; the place still smells of fresh paint. All of the furniture is new. This room is a loft or something. Whoever lived here used it is as a family room. There is a TV, a couple of couches and a plush carpet on the floor.

  “Did you hear me?” the guy asks. His name is Adam. Must remember.

  In her mind, Trish is having trouble processing what just happened, but she is tired, after all. It happened so fast after the helicopter flew over. She says, “There were at least two explosions and then that buzzsaw sound. Can you imagine the screaming if those were real people?”

  “Oh, I’m just thanking God that I didn’t drive us into the middle of that,” he answers.

  “Yeah, it’s good you pulled over.”

  “I hated to leave the engine, but until we know what’s going on, I think we’re safer here.”

  The other woman, Kathy seems to be waking up but is still dazed. She is lying down on a couch.

  “Did you check all the doors and windows downstairs?” Trish asks him.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t too hard, this being a condo and all,” he answers. “I think they built them for the diehard baseball fans, hoping…”

  He is standing near the window, but watching her every move. She isn’t sure how interested he really is, and wouldn’t give a damn anyway. Men have been looking at her like this for a long time. I am lonely but not miserable. This Kathy would be miserable if she didn’t have company. What about him? It would be nice to know in case there is a chance. A quick look at him right now would reveal his level of interest, I bet.

  “Hoping for what?” she asks, looking right into his eyes.

  His face flushes through his tan. “A lot of people thought we’d fill the stadium every night.”

  He’s interested.

  “Oh. Guess they were disappointed.”

  His eyes are closed now. “I enjoy going to a game, although I never was a baseball player. I was always afraid of the ball.”

  “My interest went as far as men in uniforms. I also liked eating Cracker Jacks and stealing sips of my Dad’s beer.”

  He laughs.

  The window is open and a gentle breeze is blowing through the fronds of a palm tree out in the front yard. She can still smell the rain.

  Voices on the wind. She looks down.

  She puts a hand out, touches his arm. “Listen.”

  The fire light reveals them, not that they appear to be making any special effort to be silent. Three men in bulky black outfits carrying rifles.

  Adam pulls her down, so they are both crouching now, but they can still see.

  The leader uses a hand gesture. All three turn to their left, spreading out until each is at least ten feet from his neighbor.

  A liquor store is across the street. She notices that there’s light coming through the windows. This is what these black men are reacting to. A light means living people. The dead people are dumb, surely too dumb to use a light of any type.

  An amplified voice echoes off the buildings nearby: “Federal authorities! Looting is a crime. You have exactly one minute to exit the liquor store. Come out the front door, with hands on your head.”

  237

  The light in the building goes out, but no one appears. The minute isn’t quite over when she hears two shotgun blasts. Someone screams.

  “Sounds like that came from the back of the store. There must be at least one more of them that we didn’t see,” she whispers.

  “They aren’t here
to help us,” Adam whispers in her ear. “I’m really worried that they have heat sensing night vision gear. If they do, we’re next.”

  “Last chance for the rest of you to come out,” says the voice.

  “Don’t shoot!” someone screams. “We’re unarmed! We’re coming out!”

  A moment later three people stumble through the front door and out onto the store’s parking lot. Two of them might be women. The flickering quality of the light makes it hard to be sure.

  “Booth, Hicks, clear the building!” says one of the men, apparently the leader. Two of the men in black enter the liquor store while the others wait. Only the leader is still outside with the three people.

  The male captive speaks up. “So, are you here to help us or murder us?”

  The leader appears to shrug. “You have been caught red-handed stealing from a liquor store. That makes you a looter in my eyes.”

  “So we’re going to jail?” the man asks.

  “The sad truth is you could have been picking up garbage, sir. The end result would still be the same. This is a no-life zone. I’m sorry.”

  The man splutters, “What does that mean? Just take us to jail.”

  “What do you think it means? It means I have to kill you and your friends.”

  One of the women steps forward, “Please sir, I didn’t even have a drink in there.”

  “Don’t you listen lady? I just told you this is a no-life zone. We can’t take a chance on you living to spread the disease to others.”

  The woman shrieks, “You can’t mean that! None of us even have a scratch!”

  Trish takes a deep breath and tries not to hold it. I will not panic. Adam reaches for her hand and she lets him.

  The scene continues to unfold in front of them as the other four soldiers reappear from the shadows. One of the soldiers speaks up. “You sure are a cold fuck, Jacobs. Why wouldn’t you just do them, and get it over with?”

  The leader, apparently named Jacobs, rounds on his subordinate. “Don’t tell me what to do, Booth. The whole world’s coming apart, but we are going to do this one thing right. Do you hear me?” “Sure we do, Sergeant,” says Booth.

  “Okay, Booth. Good answer. Now I want you to shoot them. Now!”

  Booth stands there, facing the other man, but his back is to them. If anything else is said, they don’t hear it. Suddenly, the three captives split up and run in different directions. The man and one of the women are cut down immediately. Two quick bursts from an M-16. But the second woman eludes the shots fired at her somehow. She runs around a pickup truck and runs straight toward them. More shots follow and then the window in front of them explodes. Trish falls to the floor and drags the dumbfounded Adam with her. Several shots pass overhead, then a shouted command.