Boston Under Siege (Book 1): Virus:

by Willson, Fisher

  * * *

  Dewey parked the truck at the cemetery gate. The clouds were breaking in the watery dawn as he climbed down onto the icy asphalt and lowered his helmet visor. On screen, the software indicated humans ahead. He crunched through the frozen graveyard grass, dodging zombies and field stone markers until he found the humans.

  Mark was perched on the knee of an angel statue. On the other side of the statue, Alexx was backed against the marble block holding off a bevy of vampires. Dewey edged toward the fight.

  As soon as Mark saw Dewey, he barked, “Fireman, help! Help us!”

  Dewey held a finger up to his faceplate. “You’re blowing my element of surprise,” he mumbled. He held up a finger and turned back the way he’d come.

  Mark yelped as Dewey left. “Where are you going? Wait! Fireman!”

  Dewey lumbered up the slope. His target was so intent on the battle between its companions and Alexx that it was oblivious to the sound of his crunchy footfall on the grassy hill beside him. He caught his breath watching as Mark stabbed a vampire through the ear with the stem of his eye glasses. “Titanium frames aren’t just for fashion, bitches!”

  Dewey inhaled deeply, and leapt into the fight. With one, long sweep of his axe, he cleaved the undead creature in two. As soon as the body hit the ground, growling vampires leapt at him. Adrenaline pumping, he swooped, slashed and lunged until he caught a monster around its delicate throat with the pike on his axe. He heaved with the last of his waning strength, sending the vampire flying through the air. The head bobbled unnaturally like a potato leaving the sack, the body slamming into one of the remaining vampires. Dewey thrusted his fire-axe through the soft flesh of another of the attackers as Alexx beckoned Mark to leap onto her back. She crumbled, but then recovered, running toward the street. Dewey fought with the last iota of his strength until the job was done; then he unlatched his helmet and let it tumble to the earth. Sweat stung his eyes as he inhaled deeply and unbuckled his yellow slicker. He lay on the ground watching the fast-moving clouds above. His lank red hair flowed free and his chest heaved as he gulped in the morning air.

  Moments later, Snake leaned over him blocking his view of the sky. “You okay, Dewey? You hurt?”

  Dewey gulped air and shook his head no. He winked, made the OK sign with his fingers.

  “Alexx?” Snake asked.

  Dewey gave him the thumbs up and pointed down the embankment toward her car.

  “Okay, well, I gotta keep going.” Snake adjusted how he was carrying Amanda. “She’s heavy.”

  Dewey nodded. “Trips?” His name came out as a harsh whisper.

  “Don't know. You didn’t see him?”

  “Get home.” Dewey waved Snake on. “I’ll go find him. In a minute.”

  Snake nodded. “I can’t leave you like this.”

  Dewey sat up. He cleared his throat. “Okay?”

  “Don’t make me come back.” Snake made his way toward the truck with Amanda in his arms.

  Dewey picked up his axe and lumbered up to standing as he noticed a slim figure running in the distance. He wanted to yell out, but all he could manage was a whisper. “Trips?”

  A few minutes later a young teenage boy came into focus. It was Tommy. “Mr. Daud, Mr. Daud! We’ve been overrun! You better come quick!"

  Chapter 34: Greenbrier Receiving Tomb

  Trips ran through the tunnels under the cemetery until he could no longer distinguish his body from cold and pain. Along a corridor he found a rough opening in a wall. And a steep incline up. His breath ragged and hot, he felt his way up through the passage, breathing in the smell of damp, musty earth, the smell of death.

  The dirt passageway abruptly ended and Trips frantically clawed at the hard surface. He cried out as he slammed his shoulders into the wall. A searing streak of pain coursed through him, but one of the stones moved. The air changed. He changed his position and kicked the slab with all is might. His body was on fire, but the stone sat askew. He ignored the pain and pounded on the stone until he got through. Panting and breathing in the rank colder air he wiggled into a sepulcher. A sarcophagus of white stone stood in the center of the room, and two tiny windows were set in a thick iron door that looked out into the graveyard. Light!

  He took in the room, but other than the lid of the tomb, there was nothing that could break down that door. It’d take a battering ram to get out of here. He lay on the sarcophagus and with trembling filthy hands tried his phone. No service. Defeated, he looked out the windows at the steel-gray luminescent sky and passed out.

  * * *

  Trips awoke freezing and stiff, cuddled around Dewey’s knapsack. He tried his phone again. Still no service, and very little battery left.

  The gray sky had changed to a midnight blue. He brushed off his hands and opened the pack, then barked a laugh.

  Dewey had packed meal replacement bars, water, and C-4 plastic explosives. “Dewey, I love you, man!”

  He ate all three protein bars and drank all of the water. If this doesn’t work, you’re a goner anyway.

  The C-4 plasticine had directions, which Trips promptly ignored as he kneaded and packed the substance around the hinges rather than the lock. He attached the fuse cap for setting off the detonator without batting an eye, remembering how his grandfather had taught him to do it, patiently and with precision.

  He had been around blasting sites since he was a boy, wearing huge red safety earmuffs to protect his young ears from explosions back when his family still owned coal mines in West Virginia. When he was finished packing the putty, he crouched behind the sarcophagus with his fingers jammed deep into his ears. The door blew.

  As the air cleared from the explosion, Trips saw the glint of frost on everything. He slipped through the door as it stood open, cocked to one side and inhaled deeply. It’s beautiful!

  The trees glistened with white icing. As he crunched over the glassy grass and shivered in the frigid night air. He glanced at his phone. His GPS locator immediately identified his whereabouts as the Greenbrier Receiving Tomb. It wasn’t far from the Grove Street gate. He tapped voice activation for his phone. “Call Ami.” It went directly to voice mail. “End call. Find Ami.”

  The phone beeped. “Unknown location.”

  That’s weird, he thought, as he reached the gate. “Find Dewey.”

  The phone beeped. “Located at Wolfen Laboratories.”

  Huh, okay. “Dial Dewey,” Trips said, deciding whether he should steal a bike or a car from the supermarket parking lot across the street. Yep, think I’m leaning toward a car. I’m tired and it’s bloody cold. I’m deadly hungry, but it’s probably a bad idea to enter the grocer’s. There you are. He zeroed in on an old Chevy Chevelle. I could probably manage you.

  A very happy Dewey chimed over the phone. “Dude! Where are you? You okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks to your remarkable pack Dewmeister. I owe you mighty.” Trips heard shouting in the background and breaking glass. “S'up? What're you doin'?”

  “We thought we were safe here – the cage people – long story.”

  “You need help?”

  “They’re on the way. They know we're here, but haven't been able to get through, yet. They said to stay put. Seems someone opened Pandora's Box and let all the zombies out. There are thousands of them spreading out from West Cambridge into Watertown.”

  “I'm not far. I found a classic, a Chevy Chevelle. Can be there in no time.”

  “No way. Get home. If the army can't get in, then you'll just be putting yourself at risk. I'll call you later. I’ve got battery and power for now. We’re barricaded in here pretty good, but I've got to go. Glad you're okay, dude, I was worried. It's been days.” Dewey hung up.

  Trips studied his phone trying to figure out what had happened. It’s been days? It’s almost midnight. But, wait, midnight, then where the hell is Ami? Quickly following on the heels of that thought, Trips’ brain clicked remembering Amos’s cryptic comment about how his girlfriend tasted. He
heaved the pack into place on his back and beat it over to the Cheville. He smashed the driver’s side back window, opened the door then rifled through Dewey’s bag, and the glove box.

  “Damn. It’s either in the boot,” he said, hands on his hips as he glanced in the direction of the store, “or you’ll have to go shopping.”

  A zombie whimpered its way toward him as he popped the trunk and found a toolbox. He searched through the toolbox, and finding the tool he was seeking, closed the trunk, and slid into the driver’s seat. Zombies from all around the parking lot were converging on him.

  Trips gritted his teeth and jammed the flathead screwdriver into the ignition and twisted. The car roared to life. He peeled out, heading to Ami’s apartment.

  Chapter 35: Where's Ami?

  Trips double-parked the stolen heap in front of Ami's apartment. As he got out of the car his back sent a spike of hot needles into his skull. Ugh. I need my reiki mama.

  He dragged himself up the front steps, and with stiff blackened fingers unlocked the front door then trudged up the five flights to the apartment. No zombies, no vampires, no people. Good.

  He unlocked the apartment door and peeked into the bedroom. Mark was asleep. He heard someone in the bathroom. Ah, thank goodness, she’s here.

  He dumped his stuff and bent over the sink drinking from the tap. She’s okay; she turned off her phone because people are sleeping -- so considerate.

  “Oh, it's you. I thought you were going to be her. Where is she?” Alexx asked as she stepped out of the bathroom. “She’s not with you?”

  “Wait…what?” Water tricked through his beard as he turned off the faucet. “She's not here? She downstairs?”

  “Nuh-uh.” Alexx shook her head lazily and stumbled across the living room into the bedroom, collapsing on the bed. She groaned. “And I can’t get ahold of Ichiro. Maybe she went to your place.”

  Trips looked at the remaining half-inch of liquid in the bottle of scotch on the counter. Jesus, you drank all my whiskey? “Are you sure she’s not downstairs, Ally?”

  Alexx didn’t answer.

  Trips shook his head. Drunk. Fucking great. “I'll be back.” He trotted downstairs to the laundry room. No Ami. He looked outside, then ran back upstairs. “Alexx? Alexx wake the fuck up,” he bellowed. “How and why would she be at my place? Is she at HQ?” He glanced from the bed to the computer. He gasped when he noticed drops of something dark on the hardwood floor. He squatted down and swiped at the liquid. “What is this?”

  Mark fell out of bed as Alexx stumbled into the living room. Trips held up his fingers. “What is it? Is it blood?”

  “Yes, Trips, that's blood,” Alexx said, examining his fingers. She glanced at the spots on the floor. “It's brown, so it's old, but it's not completely dry. Golly, that's an awful lot. Isn’t it?”

  “You didn't notice this?”

  Alexx pointed at her gauze pad covering her eye. “I can't fucking see!”

  “You think she cut herself?” Trips asked, scooting over to the computer on his knees. “Maybe she left a note? Maybe she's in hospital?” He turned to look at Alexx his tone becoming increasingly hostile. “Didn’t you even look for her?”

  Alexx looked blank.

  “Ichiro! Maybe she's with —” Trips stopped himself from saying more. He didn't want to think about Ami with Ichiro.

  Alexx crossed her arms. “He and I aren’t on speaking terms right now, Trips. You’ll have to call him yourself.”

  “You want me to call him, Trips?” Mark asked, leaning on the bedroom doorjamb. He darted back toward the bed to find a phone.

  Trips opened the computer. When he clicked the laptop to life, there was a video over all the other applications. The freeze frame was a blurry image of Ami with a man's hand over her mouth.

  “Ah! No!” Trips said.

  “Be cool,” Alexx ordered, gripping Trips' shoulder as she hit play.

  “What is going on out here?” Mark asked, then he saw the video. “Oh, my God —”

  The video showed Amos struggling with Ami. Someone behind her was pinning her arms back, then Amos addressed the camera. “You take what's mine? I’ll take what's yours.”

  In the background, Tom Waits crooned You’re The Same Kind of Bad as Me as Amos addressed the camera, “You know, Trips, every time I hear this song, I think of you.” He stepped away and poured a vial of water down Ami's throat. She choked and spat. “Oh, now sugar, don't make me resort to water-boarding.” There was a cackle of laughter as Ami struggled, bound by sinewy white arms wrapped around her forehead forcing her eyes wide and her head still. The back of a head blocked the image on screen for a moment, but they could hear Ami’s mewling cries as she choked down more tainted water. The blurry head pulled away and showed a bloody mouth and sharp teeth. “So delicious. You really should try this.”

  Ami panted, as another blurry back of the head took over the shot. Then the shot came into focus and Amos appeared, licking his lips. “Mm. I feel healthier already. I hear her blood has healing properties,” Amos said. There was a cackle of laughter. “Her blood is so strong. It sings? Doesn't it?”

  “Trips! Trips! Don't fall —” Ami cried, her comment cut short as Amos slapped her across the mouth and she was jerked from the shot. Amos pointed into the camera. “It's a simple equation, math boy, your life for hers if you're lucky.”

  The screen went black.

  “What are you going to do?” Alexx asked, stunned.

  Trips blinked. “I don't know.” He slung his bag and sword over his shoulders. “I'm gonna find her, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

  “I'll go with you,” Alexx said. “Just give me a minute to put on my suit.”

  “No. You're hurt,” Trips shook his head, touching Alexx’s shoulder. He didn't want to get into the fact that she was also dead drunk. “’Sides, it's me he wants.”

  “What? This is crazy. Call the police. You can't go after that maniac!” Mark dialed emergency and got a fast beeping reorder tone. He groaned and hit redial. “Trips, you can’t go after him yourself.”

  “He must have taken her to the cemetery. How could I have been so stupid? I should have known when he –” Trips trailed off thinking of when Amos alluded to the deliciousness of his girlfriend. How could I have been so stupid? He had already taken her. She was right there! She’s still there. She’d better be alive or…

  Mark’s plea interrupted Trips’ thoughts. “You can't go back there!”

  “Keep trying,” Trips nodded at the phone in Mark’s hand. “Send help. I’m counting on you.” He turned to Alexx, “Call the guys.”

  Alexx slapped a water bottle in Trips’ hand. “Consider it done.”

  Chapter 36: Rescue Off The Reservation

  Outside Ami’s apartment, the rain pummeled down in freezing torrents as Trips revved the V-8 engine of the Chevelle. He pulled out, and the muscle car fishtailed from side to side urgently seeking a purchase on the pavement. “I'll drag you to hell, motherfucker!”

  He yanked the gearshift into low and exhaled. “Control yourself, Kentigern. Steady on.”

  “Avoid roadblocks, stick to back roads through Cambridge.” He made his way down tree lined streets with uneven brick sidewalks, colder and darker than the avenues. He swerved around stalled out passenger vans and passed by double-parked deathtraps of ravenous undead things gnashing their teeth. He spied a knot of cars tangled in a collision and abruptly turned into a Walgreen’s parking lot, and headed out the other exit toward the river. The major cross streets were blocked with hospital overflow, casualties, and authorities. This is bad. More likely to get bagged as AWOL. He shook his head, looking in the rear-view at his reflection and the blackness behind him. “Got to cross the river.”

  A gust of wind swept through the Avenue rocking the sycamores. Fallen branches cracked under the tires as Trips drove the V-8 behemoth out onto the open road. This was where the car wanted to be. The dense clouds spread a muted amber glow on the horizon. A muffled
buzz had Trips fishing for his phone. He ignored the text message and tapped the callback button with the phone on speaker.

  Alexx answered, sounding startled.

  “I'm driving. Speak to me.” It was evident to Trips she hadn’t expected him to call back.

  She got right to the point, more or less. “I got a hold of Dewey, but um...”

  Trips gripped the chrome chain steering wheel. It was freezing; he wished he had gloves. “Yeah, I know. He's got a situation.”

  Alexx hesitated. “And Ich he won't pick up for me.” She sounded unsure of herself.

  “Why? What’s going on?” Trips shook his head regretting he’d asked. “Never mind. I'll call him.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Alexx paused. “Um, Trips?”

  He rolled his eyes. He wanted to get off the phone. “Yeah?”

  Alexx hesitated again. “I don't know how much help Snake will be. You know?”

  Trips clenched his jaw. “He's stoned?”

  Alexx sounded relieved. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” Trips had his thumb hovering over the end button on the phone screen.

  “Trips?” Alexx whispered.

  “What, Alexx? I've got to go,” Trips barked, as he passed an Army truck. He glared at them, but they didn't seem to care. “It’s shitty weather and I’m driving.” The windshield wipers began to squeak.

  Alexx sighed, then announced, “I called your Dad.”

  “You what?” Trips’ chest tightened. He glanced down at the phone.

  The tiny speaker reported, “I called your Dad.”

  A long line of canvas covered cargo trucks faced him heading in the opposite direction. Shit! Abruptly, Trips turned the headlights off and pulled the car over. Goddamn it, if I get stopped, that’s it. I’ll be hauled back to face AWOL charges, and now this! He slid down in the seat and exhaled. “What the fuck, Alexx?”

  Alexx said, “Maybe he can help.”

  Trips lay on the seat, his stomach in knots as the trucks pulled out. Their headlights cast pools of soft light through the Chevelle. The rain was heavier. The traffic signal changed and Trips peeked over the dashboard, his foot flinched hovering just above the accelerator. The car was still softly purring. He feathered the gas just a touch but stayed low until the army vehicles were out of sight. “How the fuck do you have his number? Did Ichiro —”