The Apocalypse Crusade 3: War of the Undead Day 3

by Peter Meredith

  Only she couldn’t. She had to go on. It was survival of the fittest now, and in spite of her two broken fingers, her slowly healing burns, her many cuts and her multi-layered bruises, she vowed to be one of the survivors in all of this.

  “This is all Thuy’s fault,” she mumbled. She was so tired it felt as though she had been drugged. It was hard to keep her eyes open and hard to care where they were going. Across from her was a map of the New York City transit system. Just at the moment, it was mostly a blur.

  She squinted at it trying to makes sense of the colored lines and the little letters and numbers that stood for the different trains. If she hadn’t spent two years in the city after graduating from Cornel, she would have been hopelessly lost. As it was, she had to trace the red line on the map that represented the “1” train as it plodded south along Manhattan’s west side. It was going to Brooklyn where they hoped against all odds to find a boat.

  The subway car held Anna’s group: Eng, Bob and Alan, as well as the three dispatchers, all of whom were suffering from an advanced case of Stockholm Syndrome. They had been threatened repeatedly by Anna and Eng, and still they had begged not to be left behind. They were idiots.

  Besides the hostages, there were seventy-six other people crammed shoulder to shoulder in the car. Earlier it had been even worse, the trains had been outrageously stuffed with people, each with their one allotted suitcase. Those who couldn’t find a spot on one of the many trains were forced to walk. During that long day, upwards of two million people had crossed over one of the four bridges that connected Manhattan to Long Island. Now, Manhattan, a hundred feet over Anna’s head, was freakishly empty, at least the center of it was.

  All along the near side of the Hudson River were grim-faced marines in camouflage, pale sailors in dungarees, nervous airmen who were gently holding rifles as if they were made out of bread, and a mishmash of scraped together army units. With some states practically in open rebellion, refusing to let even federal troops cross their borders and other states holding back their best units, General Phillips had to use what he could.

  His orders were to fortify New York City and he had. He was doing it with the rear echelon: men and women from the laundry services and oral hygienists, and mechanics who had never been out of the motor pool. He had pencil-pushers, cooks, computer analysts and glorified flight attendants.

  They were a frightened lot, standing shoulder to shoulder with New York City police officers and firemen and a few thousand civilians who all seemed to be carrying what looked to everyone to be absolutely tiny and useless pistols.

  The east bank of the Hudson River along Manhattan was a fourteen mile strip, guarded by nearly ten thousand men and women. Ten thousand wasn’t many, making it just another of the very thin lines expected to hold back the hordes.

  If it wasn’t for the width of the Hudson River, the line would’ve caved long ago. The water was calm and black, drifting gently past, lit only by the dying fires that raged throughout New Jersey.

  With the dark, the zombies could hardly be seen until they got close to shore, and even then, they were mere formless lumps in the shadows, usually indistinguishable from the regular corpses that floated downstream. Thousands of precious rounds were wasted on bodies that were already bullet-ridden.

  Still there were enough zombies to rattle frayed nerves and cause bursts of panic among the untried warriors. The gunfire was constant, making it seem as though the fight for the river was in full swing, while in truth, it had yet to truly begin.

  After crossing over into Manhattan, Anna had taken her group straight away to the river, hoping to get astronomically lucky and find a boat just sitting there ready to be stolen.

  Of course, there hadn’t been a single boat in sight, but what she had seen of the odd conglomeration of soldiers, sailors and airmen made her realize that New York was doomed. They were afraid. All of them. From what she had seen it was only a matter of time before someone screwed up and touched something they shouldn’t or let themselves get bitten and not tell anyone.

  In other words, it was only a matter of time before the disease would overwhelm Manhattan and from there it would travel across to Long Island, where twenty million people were huddled like sheep. Twenty million soon to be zombies. Anna gave them two days…three at the most.

  This was why she squinted up at the transit map, trying to make out where to transfer to the “R” train. The R ran along the west Brooklyn shore where there were dock after dock, and piers and wharves of all sorts. If there was a boat to be had, Anna liked her chances there.

  With a great screeching of brakes, the train came to a slow grinding halt. Anna glanced around, saw the sign for Times Square/42nd Street, and squawked: “This is us! Get up, this is our stop!”

  Her little group had fallen asleep and was slow to get moving. Eng was the first up and after stepping onto the platform glanced back. “We should leave them. They’re dead weight.”

  “I’d give you up before I gave them up,” Anna told him. It was true. It was dangerous traveling with Eng. Not only was he a snake that couldn’t be trusted, he was also wanted by the FBI, the same as her. If it were just the two of them going about, they would stand out. The group provided them with cover.

  They also did everything Anna asked, something she appreciated in a group of morons. As she held the subway door from closing, they filed by, looking spent. She had nothing to fear from them. They were too tired to think and that meant they were too tired to rebel.

  The R train was as packed as the 1 had been. It ran out to the “island” as the New Yorkers called Long Island and the last holdouts were making their way east towards the illusion of safety.

  Anna got her group off early, raising a few eyebrows among the other passengers. She didn’t care, knowing that the faceless masses only saw other faceless beings when in crowded situations. She would be forgotten in minutes.

  As the train began pushing down the tracks, Bob looked around, slowly coming to the realization that they were still in Brooklyn.

  “We should have kept going further inland,” he remarked. “We’re not that far from the harbor here.”

  “That’s the point,” Anna replied. “The harbor is where they keep the boats and we need a boat. It’s simple, really.”

  Bob began nodding, but it was with a troubled expression on his face. “But why do we want a boat? We made it through the lines. And there were soldiers. We should be safe now.”

  “We should be, but we’re not,” Anna said, speaking over her shoulder as she headed down the platform towards the stairs. “If a zombie makes it onto this island and starts spreading the disease, where do we go? Sure, it’s named ‘Long Island’ for a reason, and it’s plenty big, but it’s still an island and a boat is the only way to get off of it. Why wait until the last second to find one?”

  Bob answered with a tired: “I guess that makes sense.”

  Anna paused as she got to street level, gazing around at the strangely darkened city, trying to get her bearings. Nothing looked familiar. The twelve story buildings all around them blocked her view of the harbor and hid any other landmarks that might have clued her in.

  Slowly, she spun in place, saying: “And we have to find a boat tonight before the Navy really tightens its grip on the northeast. Son of a bitch! Does anyone know which way west is?”

  Eng snorted. “That way. Do you know anything about the stars?”

  “I know enough,” she lied. “Let’s go.” They headed in the direction Eng had pointed, and as they walked, Anna glanced up at the few visible stars overhead, wondering if one of them was the North Star. If it was up there, it wasn’t obvious. She was still looking up when Eng nudged her and pointed.

  New York harbor stretched before them. A few miles to their left across the water was Staten Island. It rose up, a dark mass against a dark horizon. Its long west coast, so close to New Jersey, had been considered indefensible and now it was nearly completely abandoned. Pretty much th
e only people remaining were the forgotten remnants: the very old, the homeless, the violent inmates who were considered just as deadly as the zombies.

  Directly west was New Jersey. The night was so still that the screams and gunshots from the city of Bayonne could be heard drifting across the water. To their right was Manhattan, many of its buildings still lit. Seeing them gave Anna a touch of hope.

  Seeing the empty piers right in front of her dashed that hope. There wasn’t a single ship in sight. No yachts, no barges, no sailboats… not even a dinghy.

  “We keep going,” Anna said. “Something will turn up.”

  They trudged along for an hour until they came to the Belt Parkway which curved around the southern edge of Brooklyn. Here, the docks gave way to a protective sea-wall where men and women with an assortment of guns stood guard. They were stationed every thirty feet and it was no wonder they were jumpy as hell

  Anna had a light shot straight into her eyes as she came up to the first. “Will you please stop that,” she asked, using a far nicer tone than the one she really wanted to use. “We aren’t zombies.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” The voice was a timid whisper coming from an uncertain shadow.

  “We’re checking on things,” Anna answered, stepping closer. “Our job is to make sure security is tight. We have to make sure no one’s run off.”

  The shadow wavered even greater, as if it were about to dissipate from pure fear. “Has anyone?”

  Anna had no idea. “No, not yet. We’re just checking. There aren’t any boats around here, are there?”

  The shadow bobbed slightly, which Anna took to be a shrug. “No, I don’t think so. The last boat I saw was just before sunset. It was crazy full. I’m talking like two hundred people on a thirty foot sailboat. I thought it would sink, but it didn’t.”

  “Okay, good,” Anna said, her stomach knotting up. “What about cars? You see any of them?” So far they had come across a few, locked and keyless.

  Another bob. “No. None driving around…except for a few Humvees. The soldiers come around every thirty minutes or so, doing what you guys are you doing.”

  Had there been a touch of suspicion in the seemingly innocuous statement? “We’re, uh, with the mayor’s office,” Anna replied, thinking quickly. “He wanted someone to check on things and sent us. And, you know what? We should be getting back with our report. Thanks.”

  She had taken three steps away when the shadowy figure hissed: “Wait.” A chill went up Anna’s spine as she turned with a smile that glinted in the darkness. The shadow hurried up to her and leaned in so that his hot breath was in her face. “Can you tell me what’s happening? Wasn’t there supposed to be some big military thing this morning? It was all over the news. What happened to it?”

  The little group had been asking themselves the same thing. They had seen the hundreds of planes and the clouds of helicopters. At first, Anna and Eng had watched the display of military power with some trepidation, figuring that if the army got into the swing of things too quickly the apocalypse would falter before it got going. If that happened, at best they would be caught up among the fleeing refugees. At worst, they would find themselves stuck in yet another Quarantine Zone. But, as the day wore on, so did their worry about the military being too effective.

  “The army is trying,” Anna said, patting the man on the arm. “Unfortunately, what happened in Newark kind of took us by surprise, but I think we’ve got it contained.”

  “What did happen?” he asked, his relief at getting answers evident in his tone. “They say that the zombies got to Jersey by way of the river. Is that what happened? Do you think they can get up here?” He pointed a shadow-blurred hand at the sea-wall which rose four feet straight up out of the black water.

  She couldn’t imagine a zombie getting up it, and at the same time she wouldn’t put it past one of them to somehow climb straight up out of the river like a spider on a thread—it was just how the last few days had been going, everything horrible had become not just possible, but likely.

  “Stay vigilant,” was all she could say. It seemed to disappoint the blob of a man. Anna didn’t care, she was already stalking off into the dark heading further along the edge of the harbor, afraid that she was wasting their time. Anyone with a lick of brains would have grabbed any available boat and gotten the hell out of there long before.

  Still, she had to try. The alternative was simply to pray for a miracle and she knew there wasn’t a god worthy of the name who would ever answer one of her prayers.

  Doggedly she went on, not caring if the others in her group kept up or not. She was determined. If there was a boat to be had, she would find it and she would kill to get it if that’s what it took.

  This mindset carried her and the others for five miles along the Belt Parkway. They moved slowly, frequently stopped by patrols of army personnel or gangs of civilians who were ready to shoot anything that moved if it was in the least bit suspicious.

  Their story of being “with the mayor’s office” was never questioned, though just as with the first man, it elicited many questions from people who had been living on a steady diet of rumors since the sun went down. Anna developed pat answers that were designed to end conversations—once she had asked her own question that is: Where are the boats?

  No one knew.

  Seven minutes after nine, they were nearly run over by a Humvee. It came out of nowhere and before they knew it, the group had three rifles pointed at them while flashlights turned them temporarily blind.

  “Who the fuck are you?” a soldier demanded.

  Anna didn’t hesitate: “My name is Miranda Morgan. We’re with the mayor’s office.”

  “Who was the second president?”

  Now she faltered, “Huh? What?”

  One rifle shifted her way, turning her blood to ice in her veins. The soldier asked again: “Who was the second President of the United States?”

  Lieutenant Eng of The People’s Liberation Army answered: “John Adams.”

  He was waved to the side. “Step away from the others. You, blondie, who was the third president?”

  She understood now what was happening. “Thomas Jefferson,” she said calmly, “but you are wasting your time, we’re not infected.”

  “We’ll decide that. Get over here and shut up.” The soldier turned next to Renee, one of the dispatchers.

  She started to blubber. “I don’t know history. I never knew history. C-can you ask me something else?”

  The soldier had a sheet of questions. He chose a math question: “What’s thirteen times thirteen?” Renee blubbered some more as she floundered through numbers. When she threw out the wrong number, the soldiers started looking back and forth at each other, but the leader said: “She gets a third question. What do you get when you mix the color blue and the color yellow?”

  “Green?”

  “Yes,” the soldier said to everyone’s relief. Now blubbering in relief, Renee went to stand next to Anna and Eng as the others were tested. Bob acted as though he had a heart attack when he missed his first question, but he rallied for the second. The others passed their IQ tests, and just like that, the soldiers were climbing back into their Humvee.

  “Hey, wait,” Anna said, coming to the door of the vehicle. “What about the guys who were in that building?” She pointed at a warehouse that stood across the street, silent and grim. “There were three guys in there acting all strange.”

  “Really?”

  Anna nodded exuberantly and almost went too far with honest to God! but changed her reply to: “Yes, they were a little scary.” She was thanked by the soldiers who hurried towards the warehouse with their guns at the ready. When they were out of sight, she pointed at the Humvee and whispered: “Everyone in!”

  She had to find a boat and after the long night and the little question and answer session, she realized she was never going to find a boat on foot.

  They clambered into the Humvee with Eng driving. He
was a fine driver and the roads were eerily empty. They made great time zipping from cove to cove and to every bay on the island—all for nothing. There was no getting off the island, Anna realized, except by plane or helicopter, and these were controlled by the military.

  And there was only one way to get them to part with an aircraft and that was by blackmail on a massive scale.

  2—The Hartford Quarantine Zone

  “Stop being melodramatic,” the mayor said to Thuy, trying not to stare at the gun in her small hands. “You won’t shoot, we all know it. You’re not that kind of person, so put the gun down.”

  “I wasn’t that kind of person,” Thuy corrected. “I am now. Get out while you have a fighting chance, which is more than you gave me.”

  “I didn’t…” the mayor began, but stopped when Thuy jabbed the tip of the assault rifle into his leg.

  “You are a snake and a liar,” she accused. “You left your friends and family to die. You left us to die in a manner that can only be described as attempted murder. For that I judge you. Get out whole and healthy or get out bleeding.”

  Outside the slim metal walls of the Jeep, the city was filled with the dead roaming everywhere, killing and feasting. Seeing them made the mayor’s tan face turn white. He spoke through lips that were unnaturally tight: “Shooting me would be murder. Are you a murderer?”

  In answer, Thuy pulled the trigger of the M16. The sound was loud, but not as loud as the mayor, who began screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “Ho-lee shit,” Chuck drawled, eyeing the blood. “Deck, y’all better take this machine down a few blocks before we let His Highness out or we’ll have an issue ourselves.”

  “You aren’t going to let me out!” the mayor cried. “She’s the one who’s shooting people. She’s the one…”