by Brown, TW
“Motorcycle.”
It was Melissa! She stood in the middle of the kitchen while we sat in the living room. She’d pretty much just wandered around since our arrival. Nobody really paid her any mind.
“Holy crap!” I sprang up from the couch and went to her. She faced me, her features still expressionless except for her eyes. That dull, glazed look was melting away. I could almost see life.
“Motorcycle,” she repeated.
“Hush, everybody.” I motioned with my hands and then gently grasped Melissa at the elbows. “What about a motorcycle?”
She blinked.
All of a sudden, Aaron and Jamie were bounding down the stairs, each one brandishing aluminum baseball bats. “Two coming from out back!” Aaron called as he darted past.
I looked out the now open back door as the boys, with practiced ease, moved in on the leather-clad zombie. This one proved to be much more of a challenge. It was still wearing a helmet.
A motorcycle rider!
After taking the thing off its feet, the boys managed to smash the face of the near helpless zombie until it stopped moving. They headed around the pool to apparently take out the other zombie. They had mentioned two after all.
Teresa was beside me now, and took Melissa’s hand in her own. Even Thalia was interested, and walked over to see if Melissa would indeed start talking.
“Alan?” She looked at me, then Teresa, and then down at Thalia.
“My name is Steve.”
“Where’s Alan?”
“I don’t know who Alan is,” I said slowly.
“He said he would be with me as soon as he parked the bike,” Melissa whispered, still not looking at me.
“Do you remember what happened next?” I asked.
“So many...” her voice trailed off, and her eyes were seeing something that happened days ago. “They won’t let go of him! They’re biting him! Alan, take my hand! Pull yourself up!” Melissa fell to her knees sobbing. “I pulled loose and ran. I left him. Screaming. Begging.”
I wrapped my arms around her and felt her practically sink into me. Her anguished cries shook her entire body. I absolutely don’t know what to do. I’ve never been to a funeral. Hell, until just a couple of weeks ago, I’d never seen a real dead person. So, I stood there. Holding this stranger. Stroking her hair. The only thing I wouldn’t do is lie to her. I would not tell her that everything would be all right.
“We got trouble!” Aaron came running through the open back door. “That little valley ‘bout a half-mile away? Seems a bunch of the damn things have been following it. Couldn’t see ‘em from the roof, but it’s like an anthill that has just been kicked.”
“How long?” Teresa beat me to the million dollar question.
“Ten minutes tops.”
“Shit,” Barry, Ian, and Dillon said simultaneously.
“Load up what you can. Let’s move!” I called. Everybody sprang into action. Everybody except me and Melissa.
“Hey.” I nudged her with my hip.
She pulled back, brushing herself off. With a deep breath, she wiped her face and took Thalia by the hand, “I can help.” I guess I didn’t conceal my dubious look in time. “Really, I’ll be okay. Steve, was it? I’ll be okay now. Honest.”
I didn’t really want to entrust her with Thalia, but it wasn’t a time to talk things over. I turned and ran upstairs. I’d seen a closet full of sheets, towels, blankets, and comforters. It was summer now, but it would be cold someday.
I passed a window that, in normal times, probably provided a magnificent view of the gently rolling desert plains. Just now, that view was being marred by an enormous horde of undead. Every age, sex, and size was indeed boiling up out of a gulley of some sort. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.
***
Just over five minutes later, we were a two-truck, one car caravan. This time we followed the long driveway. It led to a dirt access road running parallel to the interstate. Eventually it met with a normal two-lane road which took us to an on-ramp. I pulled up to the center of the overpass and parked.
Everybody climbed out of the vehicles. West was back the way we had come the past several days. East was...
“The mountains.” Dillon leaned against the rail of the overpass.
“Huh?” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
“We could try for the mountains.”
“We need more supplies.”
“Then we hit whatever between here and there.”
“I still think we should give those prisons a look,” I said. “I mean security-wise, we couldn’t do much better.”
“You go if you want, but Ian and I aren’t steppin’ foot inside. Those are nasty places, and whatever managed to survive inside, cop or convict, is nothin’ you want to tangle with,” Dillon was speaking quietly. Everybody was frozen. Listening. There was something in his tone.
“Fine,” I shrugged. “But if we’re heading to the hills, we still need a grip of supplies.”
“I remember seeing a Walmart sign around Pendleton, I think,” Anton spoke up.
“Probably been sacked by now,” Dave sighed.
“Still warrants a look,” Teresa said. “Now, let’s get movin’. We have to go back through those things.”
We all looked towards the direction she pointed. Sure enough, they were staggering out onto the freeway. Christ, there were literally hundreds of them! Where have they all come from?
The drive east was a bit hairy the first couple of miles. For the most part, we were able to weave around the things. They stayed spread out. On occasion, somebody had to take a shot. I didn’t like it. Sound carrying like it does now in the silence of a dead world, we were probably drawing attention to ourselves. Living or dead, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet anybody.
***
We came over a big hill that actually gave us a decent view of the town of Pendleton, Oregon. From our vantage, we could see very little movement. Anton pointed out the prison, a sprawling complex of what looked like a bunch of four-story buildings. I did see large, open compounds, but no movement. I scanned with my binoculars and found a couple of groups against the outside fences. Inside, nothing was stirring.
Hmmm.
We got moving again. There was an exit marked, ‘Downtown’. That would do it. We rolled off the interstate and took a left. There was a sign pointing the way! We passed a lone straggler stumbling along the otherwise deserted sidewalk.
The big, open, mostly empty parking lot was actually a good sign. If there were folks inside, most likely we would see a flock of the undead crowded around the front doors. Our little caravan sliced across the parking lot.
I came to a stop crossways in front of the multi-doored entrance. Anton pulled up nose-to-nose in front of the truck, and Dillon came in alongside. Teresa and the boys were already jogging out across the lot with spiked clubs and machetes to dispatch the few zombies that were drawn by our sudden presence.
Barry was tugging futilely at the doors, “All locked.”
“Did you expect them to be open?” Dave laughed. “Can you imagine the greeter?” He aped a zombie’s slow shamble with outstretched arms, “Welcome to Waaaalllmaaart.”
Even Melissa managed a weak chuckle. Dillon stepped up with a little toolbox and went to work on a lock. “Never had the luxury to enter a locked building without being in a big hurry,” Dillon said.
I don’t know how he did it so fast, but all of a sudden, the door was open. Within moments, the door that took us from the entry-foyer to the actual store was being held open and we were all ushered inside.
“We’ll keep an eye on the parking lot.” Teresa motioned to the four boys who voiced no objection to being tasked with guard duty by a sixteen-year-old girl.
“Thalia and I will stay here by the checkout registers,” Randi said, “until we know the store is clear.”
I nodded. “Pair up then. I’ll go with Barry.”
Ian and Dillon paired up with Dave and A
nton.
We fanned out, each of us pushing a big, blue shopping cart. Away from the main entry it got dark in a hurry. Ghostly swathes of light from individual flashlights danced around. Strangely enough, it looked as if this place hadn’t been touched. Everything was neat and orderly. There was a hint of spoiled food in the air, likely from the garbage cans around the store. No telltale smell of the undead, though.
I came to a stop at a big counter. I scanned the selection. Electronics. I scooped several two-way radios, power supplies, and chargers into my cart. Now, at least we could stay in communication. If our group was going to continue to grow, we needed to stay in touch. I also grabbed all the batteries I could find from a display rack; every size and shape. Never know what we may need, and I didn’t see us making too many shopping trips.
Next, I went looking for a portable generator, not that electricity was going to do us a whole lot of good. Still, there are some things that might be made easier. I stopped in the aisle suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Barry whispered. “See something?”
The whole world is done. Over.
“No.” I tried to shake off the feeling that things were wrong.
I pushed my cart, grabbing items as I thought of them. I could hear Barry filling his cart as well.
It was only about fifteen minutes into our spree when I heard Teresa’s call. “We got company coming! Lots.”
Everybody came on the run, pushing carts filled to various degrees with all sorts of stuff. A huge stuffed bear sat atop Ian’s cart.
Sure enough, in singles and groups, they were coming. From our view, we could see most of the parking lot, and it was already dotted with zombies. No doubt our vehicles had been more than enough noise to draw attention.
“I’ve got an idea.” I turned to face everybody. “They obviously heard the trucks. So if I were to take one and—”
“I’m going with you,” Dillon spoke up.
“And just what do we do while you two leave with one-third of our transportation?” Dave asked, the worry in his voice apparent.
“Wait for the lot to thin, and then head for the road. We’ll meet you on the interstate. Just go a few miles outside of town until it looks clear,” I said.
“And what about the supplies? That was our entire point for coming here,” Dave said angrily.
“Dillon and I can circle back. While we’re out, maybe we can find a van or something.”
“Only two of you?” Teresa was getting agitated.
“I’ll stay,” Ian spoke up.
“And me,” Barry added.
Before everybody in the group decided to volunteer, I spoke, “The rest of you get moving.”
Dillon, Barry, Ian, and I helped everybody through the doors and into the waiting car of Anton’s and my trusty power company rig. Randi and Anton would be driving. Teresa and the boys climbed into the back of the power truck.
I grabbed her arm after she was up and in. “Take a couple out with a gun once you get close to the top of the ramp. See if you can draw some that way.”
She nodded, and at the last instant, gave me a quick hug. “Be careful.”
I turned to join Dillon and the others. We took off in a screech of tires, leaving behind what I had considered to be my group. I wasn’t really sure if I would see them again.
“Which way?” Dillon asked as we reached the road that ran along the expansive parking lot.
“Away from the freeway. Take us into town so I can look for a vehicle. Preferably a van,” I said.
We cruised by what looked like a stadium and veered into what passed for downtown. I’ve heard of towns that kept some semblance of the Old West. This place seemed to take that to the extreme. With very little urging, Pendleton was now a ghost town in every sense.
In the distance, I heard gunshots. Good, Teresa was doing exactly what I’d asked. I glanced back and noticed that a few zombies were rounding the corner in pursuit. So far, everything was going as planned.
8
Vignettes III
FIVE MILES OFF THE VIRGINIA COAST—“…USS Arliegh Burke to anybody...can anybody hear this transmission?”
Static.
“This is the United States naval vessel, USS Arliegh Burke to anybody...can anybody hear this transmission?”
Static.
***
Commander Joe Bryant, technically the Commanding Officer of the Naval Hospital, went down the stairwell. He could hear them in the darkness below. The doors had finally given; the barricaded windows succumbed to the force exerted by bodies that pressed against, and eventually tumbled through, oblivious to the cuts and gashes that would incapacitate a normal human being.
“They’re pouring in!” Madeline Bosley called from the emergency door that led to the roof and opened up to the helicopter landing pad.
“I know,” Joe whispered to himself. “How long until Rick is ready to try and fly that damned helo?”
That they even had a chance of escape was a miracle. Nobody had heard from the copter since the second day after the outbreak began. It had responded, just like almost every other source of civil-aid or defense, to an emergency call. Four days ago, the aircraft, flying erratically, came to rest on the rooftop landing pad.
The pilot was lying next to the open door of the helicopter when Commander Bryant, Corpsman Rick Reynolds, and a handful of others got to him. In the moments taken to debate if they should check on him, the pilot hauled himself up to a sitting position. All they could do was draw him away from the helo, and then mercifully put him down.
None of the medical team had made the return trip. Things had been so hectic that, when the flight rescue hadn’t returned or responded to calls, they were written off as just part of the growing list of casualties. Now they had a way to escape the hospital. Problem was, nobody knew anything about flying a helicopter.
The debate had been heated. The eventual conclusion was that, as more and more of those things gathered outside, it was becoming unlikely that survival was probable. The next day was the deciding factor.
On all sides, the undead were packed in. At its thinnest, the mob was a hundred yards deep. The helicopter had brought them in its wake by the thousands. Windows began shattering from the constant force. Commander Bryant summoned everybody to one of the cafeterias.
“I’ll not order anyone to try and leave. Those that feel that they’d rather trust in the barricades we’ve managed to create on the bottom two floors are welcome to stay.
“There is a large National Guard depot just northwest of here,” Commander Bryant went on to explain. “The idea is to do a fly over to check for survivors and, if it is not secure, we will double back and attempt Fisher’s Island.”
“Who will be flying?” a young woman asked. “I didn’t think we had any pilots.”
“Corpsman Reynolds has spent the evening familiarizing himself with the controls. He has managed to start the helo and perform liftoffs of a few feet. He feels that, while not gracefully, he will be able to get airborne.”
“That ain’t like takin’ mom’s car out to an open parking lot. You lose it in that thing and it’s game over,” a large, pudgy man said. Commander Bryant recognized him as a cook.
“Agreed, but if those barricades fail, I doubt any other helicopters will become available. We estimate it will take three trips to ferry everybody,” the commander explained. “If we start now, we might be able to evacuate before that mob can get through and begin making their way up to us.”
“Evacuate to where?” an old man who was still wearing his patient’s gown spat. “We can see outside. Them things is everywhere. Ain’t been no television or radio in over a week! Power is out everywhere. The damn town looks to be burning, and nobody ain’t done nothin’ to put a halt to it.”
“I’m not here to argue.” Commander Bryant held up his hands to quiet the eruption of frustration that came boiling on the heels of that statement. “I’ve only come to announce that we’re going to make thi
s attempt. Any who want to try need to let us know so we can decide how many additional trips we’ll need, if any.”
It had been useless. Almost nobody asked to go. The capacity on the helo was twelve people. Only seven, including himself along with Corpsmen Reynolds and Bosley were leaving. The consensus seemed to be that if, and it was a big if, the helo managed to get in the air and fly away, maybe most of those zombies would follow and wander off leaving a more reasonable chance to escape for those who stayed.
“Commander?” It was Corpsman Bosley.
He shook his head and looked up the ramp to where he could see her silhouette in the now wide-open double-doors. “Sorry, corpsman, how long did you say till Reynolds says we’re ready to fly?”
“He says all the gauges he can figure that are of importance indicate we can go now,” she replied.
“Is everybody loaded?”
“Yes, sir. Just waiting on you, sir.”
“Maybe I should go down and—”
“Sir, forgive me for saying so, but those people don’t want to go. More so, they’re hoping we fly away and lead the zombies on a chase after us. Some of ‘em are even hoping we crash a few blocks away, figuring that that should definitely draw attention.”
With a sigh, he turned and walked up the ramp to the roof. April was promising to be a wet month. A light rain fell and a gentle breeze blew in from the nearby Atlantic Ocean. It carried the stench of death with it from the rotting masses below.
Faces peered expectantly at him from the open side hatch. He gave Corpsman Bosley a pat on the arm as she climbed in, then he pulled the side hatch shut. Allowing one last glance back, he stared at the gaping doorway. Nobody came running out at the last second. He climbed in the vacant front seat and put on the headset.
“All set, sir?” Corpsman Rick Reynolds’ voice came through above the whine of the rotors.
“Take her up, Mister Reynolds.”
With a shudder, and a bit of a wobble, the helicopter slowly lifted off from its pad. The vertical climb was agonizingly slow, but eventually they were about twenty feet above the roof of the hospital. The nose dipped slightly as the helo began to move forward.