Wheels and Zombies (Book 3): Aground

by M. Van

  “Yeah,” she replied, drawing out the word, “why?”

  “No reason,” I said with a shrug. “Just that it’s old. I think I might have been your age when it came out.”

  “So what? You’re saying you’re old?” I poked a finger into her shoulder.

  “Smart ass,” I said. Ash grinned and shook her head.

  “They had this patients’ lounge back at the hospital,” she said. “It had this old VCR with about four tapes, and that was one of them. I must have seen it about twenty times.” I reached out and pulled my hand over her head.

  “From watching old movies to zombie-killing badass,” I said and set the Knight in motion.

  Warren

  Dr. David Warren sat in his office overseeing the small space that he had become forced to call his laboratory through the connecting window. The cramped lab could barely hold the one technician he had been assigned, let alone give him room to work or even think. On an improvised table set up as a workstation in the corner of his office, a centrifuge dinged and stopped spinning. He had been forced to move some of the lab’s equipment inside his own office. Except for his desk, all nonessential furniture pieces had been removed from the tiny space and replaced by tabletops filled with the limited research equipment at his disposal.

  The lack of resources had dampened his mood for weeks, along with the results he had been searching for. How could he find what he was looking for if they didn’t permit him the use of a proper lab? He sat back in his chair and glanced at the papers scattered across his desk. The failure at the Florida research lab that had resulted in the building blowing up and most of his samples vaporizing had hurt his progress more than he would have liked to admit. Though he had been granted the opportunity to lead the FMDT—the Federal Mortem Defense Team—the government that had appointed him the job had also tightened the screws. Extensive testing privileges had been evoked, and he had to find a way to get back on track.

  His head perked up at the sound of the phone ringing on his desk. A familiar number popped up on the display, and he recognized it as the White House phone number. He grinded his teeth, already feeling the anger coursing through his veins. The phone rang several times before he stretched his arm to pick it up.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Doyle?” he said in a condescending manner. Silence hung on the line for a moment as if the caller hadn’t expected an answer. Considering the fact that the same number had alone this morning called Warren’s number six times before he decided to pick up, it could have been expected.

  “Dr. Warren,” an elated voice came over the other end of the line. “How relieved I am to finally speak with you. We feared there might have been another incident when you didn’t return our calls.”

  The voice on the other end of the line belonged to Trenton Doyle, White House Chief of Staff—a man Warren had no patience for.

  “Please get to the point,” Warren said, feeling annoyed. “I’m busy here.”

  “The president would like an update on your progress.”

  Having sat in his office for the past hour brooding over his lack of progress, Warren wasn’t in the mood for government games, and Doyle had caught him at a moment where he couldn’t filter his thoughts.

  “You can tell the president that if he wanted results, he shouldn’t have impaired my research to the point where it has become insignificant,” Warren said in a clipped voice. He knew this wasn’t the person he should have vented his frustration at if he wanted to be taken seriously again, but as before, his work had become shunned to the point that it seemed unnecessary, even if deep down they all knew they needed him.

  “Dr. Warren, I know it is frustrating for you, but we cannot allow another incident as we had in Florida—many men and women died in that failure. The program had to be reduced in size.”

  “You want a solution to the Mortem virus, and you want a way to enhance our military capabilities. The only way I can do that is to be able to conduct my research the way I see fit,” Warren said. “With more resources—”

  “Your resources vanished when our financial backers left, because of the fact that your virus is destroying our country—no one of sound mind would want to be associated with that. The only reason you are still on our payroll is to find a solution to the Mortem virus. After that, you may count yourself lucky if we don’t shoot you for treason.”

  Warren drew in a breath, trying to calm himself as Doyle continued.

  “We are willing to expand your lab and funds, but not as long as you keep your research heading in the same direction as it has been.”

  Drawn to a noise in the lab, Warren glanced out through his observation window and saw the large man approaching his office. William stopped in the open door and knocked as if Warren hadn’t seen him. Warren indicated he was on the phone and imitated a chatting mouth with his hand.

  “We cannot allow you to experiment on new subjects, as you like to call them. They are human beings, for God’s sake,” Doyle said, but Warren barely paid any attention anymore to the man speaking on the phone.

  His curiosity drew him to William, who now stood bent over at his desk, writing something on a piece of paper. With the priorities focused on his research, he had appointed William to take care of the operational duties that came with being the head of the FMDT. Now, he was eager to learn why William had felt the need to visit him in person at the lab while his job would usually take him all across the country. William held up the paper, and Warren read it: Possible contact subjects 101 and 102, location confirmed within one-hundred-mile radius.

  Warren sat up in his chair—he felt exhilarated.

  “Mr. Doyle,” he said, “what if I can promise you the results the president is looking for within three weeks and I need only two things?”

  The line fell silent again as if Doyle had to think it over, but Warren already knew how to win him over. William had just returned him his salvation.

  “I’m listening,” Doyle said.

  | 5

  The road stretched out in never-ending asphalt while we weaved around abandoned cars. The Knight easily dispersed with vehicles blocking the road as I notched and eased them out of the way. It made me feel uneasy, and I felt the muscles in my shoulders tighten as I clenched the steering wheel. Ash didn’t seem to be bothered even when some of the cars we passed contained dead drivers or passengers. The bite of a zombie was enough for most people to turn into one of them, but I guessed even the Mortem virus couldn’t sustain a body after brutal onslaught. It felt strange to me that both Ash and I had been given a chance to survive. We had both been bitten at one time and hadn’t turned.

  Trees flashed past the armored glass on both sides as the sun started to make its descent.

  We followed the I-10, crossed over onto I-12, and switched to the I-55 near a place called Hammond. The place looked like ghost town. We hadn’t overtaken any zombie parades as far as I could tell, so I hoped people had fled instead of hunkering down, thinking they could survive the horde, but because many houses looked boarded up, it was hard to tell. We didn’t stay to prowl.

  The road stretched on, with nothing to be seen but trees, trees, and more trees. Ash had dozed off, and I had caught myself nodding a few times. Soon, we would have to stop. I didn’t know what was worse: the tenacity of a busy road or the boredom of an empty one. To keep myself distracted, I was thinking of a way to get Ash behind the wheel. Maybe a stick would do the trick—the Knight was an automatic after all, but I dismissed the plan. In the wake of a zombie apocalypse, I shouldn’t throw all sanity into the wind.

  Still, it became hard to focus on driving. The conversation with my mom and dad raked through my mind. Mom had sounded exhilarated over the phone even when I tried to apologize for the way I had treated her the last few years. How I’d acted back then hadn’t been my proudest moment, and I’d felt relieved that part of the phone call had occurred in Dutch, which meant Ash hadn’t understood a word. In my defense, I had been dying at the time I’d a
cted out like that, and the only way I had been able to think of that would soften the blow for my family had been to push them away. For her, all this had seemed forgotten, but not by me.

  While awake, Ash had asked if I wanted to listen to the voicemail recordings; it wasn’t as if she could have understood any them and I would have needed to translate them, but it seemed a waste now. Everything had changed. We had a real possibility of seeing each other again, and listening to my mother’s heartfelt messages would mean looking back and not ahead.

  We stopped at a gas station in a place called Terry. The place looked like a stronghold managed by the Terry Police Department. They had secured this one gas station and maintained it, guns raised. The message surrounding the Mortem infection spreading fast and heading their way had been clearly received. Dozens of cars stood in line, waiting in turn for a chance to fill their tanks while their owners hovered around their vehicles. Some people waited patiently inside their cars while others honked their horns or shouted profanities. It seemed only a few of the cars were allowed near the station at a time because about two dozen stood waiting on a nearby parking lot under the watchful supervision of the Terry PD.

  It turned out a massive vehicle like the Knight caught some attention, and a pair of officers approached our truck. We hadn’t used the IDs Mars had provided us in Florida much, but this seemed like a good time to test them. Wearing sunglasses and military caps, we mimicked being soldiers as best we could.

  “Let me do the talking, okay,” I said to Ash as the two officers approached. She pulled a face in disgust.

  “What? Why? You sound even worse than Arnold Schwarzenegger,” she said.

  “I do not,” I replied, resenting her comment. Ash was always pushing buttons, testing how far she could go, but today I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, with two officers on their way to interrogate us, I hardly thought this would be the right time.

  “Well, maybe not Arnold, but definitely Jean-Claude.”

  “What are you talking about? Those guys aren’t even Dutch,” I said as I pressed the button to lower the window. Before she could retort, I added, “Ash, please shut up.”

  “Good evening and welcome to Terry,” the first officer said. He had to look up at us sitting in the Knight. Relieved Ash kept her mouth shut, I bid the officers a good day.

  “We have business in Jackson but would like to make a pit stop before we head into town,” I said in my best US-sounding English and showed the man our credentials.

  The officer who had spoken lowered his sunglasses and peered over the brim at the plastic cards I held out. He was an older man and the years as a cop showed on his face. The hair poking out from under his hat reflected silver in the sinking sun. A woman in uniform, also sporting shades, held a drawn gun but kept it pointed at the ground.

  The man looked from the cards to his partner. “Looks okay,” he said as he handed her the cards. “Call them in.” The woman holstered her gun and pulled on the radio pinned to her shirt. The woman spoke into the radio, and as she walked off, the man leaned a shoulder against the door. Even with the shades on his face, I couldn’t deny his concerns as he gazed up at me.

  “Do you need to refuel?” he asked, returning his gaze to the line of cars waiting for a chance to fill up. “We are low as it is, and we’re trying to give everyone a fair chance to reach the Mississippi before the clusters hit.”

  I kept my face devoid of any reaction. It wasn’t that hard, hiding my eyes behind the shades on my nose. As a supposed member of the US military, it probably wouldn’t come across well if the man could read the ignorance on my face, although I could imagine what he tried to convey with the word clusters. He meant the large groups of zombies that might be parading in this way. The mention of the Mississippi River reminded me of what those travelers had told us about the river being used as a border to contain the virus.

  The officer expectantly looked up at me, waiting for my answer. I was always on the lookout for fuel for this beast of a truck, but as I watched the line at the pumps grow, I figured those people needed it more than us.

  “We won’t take up any of your resources,” I said, “although I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.” For the briefest moment, his lip twitched into a smile.

  “Have you seen any of the clusters on your way in?” he asked. I glanced at Ash who had her jaw set in a tight line. It was somewhat amazing she’d been able to keep her mouth shut for this long. She nodded in support. I turned back to the officer. He didn’t need a positive tale—the man needed the truth.

  “The last ones we came across headed northwest, not far from New Orleans,” I said.

  “It sounds like the ones you’re describing won’t be the problem. We’ve got a massive cluster coming in east of here,” he said. “That’s why we’re trying to get everyone across the river as fast as possible.”

  The man let out a long breath, lifted the hat off his head, and wiped a sleeve along his face.

  “I should have forced them to leave,” he muttered. It sounded as if he were talking to himself, so I hesitated to respond. The reply that came from Ash startled me.

  “Who should you have forced to leave?” she asked in a low voice. I was afraid the man would recognize the voice of a young child, but he didn’t seem to notice. From our high vantage point, I didn’t think he’d get a good look at her. The man placed the hat back on his head.

  “My wife,” he said in an exasperated voice. “You see, our boy serves in the forces as well, and she wouldn’t leave without us.”

  “There is still time,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Maybe,” he said under his breath as he watched the female officer return with our cards.

  “The IDs check out,” she said, handing the cards back to me. “Sign in with the officer over there. He’ll show you where to park. Stay in your vehicle until the officer says you can come out.”

  I frowned as my eyes followed the woman’s pointed finger to a small section of a nearby parking lot. Two officers stood guard by the area, carrying shotguns.

  “It’s just a precaution,” the man said. “We don’t have ways to check for the virus, but we figure if you don’t change in the next fifteen minutes, you’re good.”

  “Right,” I said and felt relief that there wouldn’t be any physical inspection. This meant there wouldn’t be any risk that the bite marks that Ash and I both had would be discovered.

  We said our good-byes and wished the two officers the best. I huffed out a breath.

  “Hadn’t thought about the possibility of quarantines, did ya?” Ash said with a twang of arrogance in her voice.

  “Did you?” I bit back.

  With a smirk she said, “Nope and I’m glad we didn’t.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked as I glanced at her.

  “Because I don’t think it would have come across well with the officer if we acted like nervous wrecks.” She had a point. Still, we should have thought things through before we had emerged on this journey to find an airport that would probably be crawling with military personnel. However, risks were necessary if I wanted to find a way home.

  After our fifteen-minute stint sitting in an overheated truck—as I refused to turn on the air-conditioning even though Ash begged me to—the two officers allowed us to exit our truck. Knowing better than to offer help, Ash maneuvered her chair out of the truck and climbed in before we headed for the station. Inside, we were surprised to see the man sitting behind the cash register still demanded cash. Fortunately for us, Mars had managed to return all our stuff Dr. David had confiscated while he had held us captive, including my old travel backpack that had contained my ID and traveling money. In Florida, we had found a bank with a working ATM, and I maxed out all my credit cards. We were still on the run from Dr. David and had no idea how far his resources went, so we didn’t want to leave too much of an electronic trail—for as long as that would even be possible. The cash was meant for cases just like these.

&nb
sp; I had to admit we must have looked odd to the people hanging around the gas station, with our tank-like vehicle and army fatigues. It wasn’t that the folks around weren’t used to the military—no one even looked up when a huge convoy of military truck and jeeps tore by the station. But I guessed it wasn’t often that they encountered a five-foot-two active soldier in a wheelchair who looked like a twelve-year-old. If I had thought it would be of any use to try and talk Ash into staying in the truck, then I would have, but she had the stubbornness of a mule. Besides, with our new pair of aviator glasses and a scowl on Ash’s face, it seemed that they had bought it. At least no one asked any questions, and the coffee had been worth the stop. I had about three cups in record time and already felt the jitters when we heard that first shot being fired in the distant.

  I glanced down at Ash, who sat in her chair next to me. She must have heard the shot as well, because she glanced up. I peered out the window, leaning on the standing bar where we had confiscated a spot as I tried to get a better visual of the sides of the building.

  All I could see were the people, who had been filling up their vehicles and busying themselves around the station, stopped in their tracks. A man refueling his sedan shifted his head frantically from left to right before his gaze got stuck facing our direction or whatever it was that was happening behind the building. The man dropped the hose without replacing it on the pump and bolted for the driver side of his car. A woman and two kids sitting inside the car had their faces glued to the windows. The kids were crying, and the woman turned to scream at the man.

  Without a word, I abandoned my cup of coffee and ran for the other side of the shop.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Ash shouted at my back. I didn’t reply, and I also ignored the attendant who shouted at me for entering a restricted area as I shouldered the door full force and stepped inside a breakroom. On one side of the wall, there was a small kitchenette and a basic table, along with a couple of chairs that stood in the middle. Wrappers and empty cans of soup covered the tabletop. It seemed as if someone here had no shortage of supplies. I rushed to the window where the view was obscured by blinds and yanked at the cord.