Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory

by Cotton, Daniel

  “Come on!” Carla goes to him.

  “There’s one more.” The clown fights her to get back onto the bus.

  “I got this. Just get on!” Carla returns to the school bus.

  Brock Rottom is bleeding from his shoulder. Oz helps him on and hands him off as the convoy proceeds around the disabled bus. He turns his back for a second, but it’s long enough for everything to change.

  The Gunship starts to roll again, slow enough for the last two to get on, but fast enough to make all onboard feel better. The ground shakes from another rocket attack, and the love of Oz’s life is gone in a flash. As the Gunship picks up speed, he stares disbelieving at the wrecked yellow transport. The force of the attack threw it aside like a toy.

  Abby is on the bottom deck trying to get a head count while checking with the drivers over the radio. The incursion appears to be through, and the raiders have their semi to pick over as the Rubies limp away.

  “Abby, that Oz guy jumped ship,” Lady Luck says, after glancing in her side mirror. “Should we hold?”

  Making the call pains him, but Brass said not to stop. “No.”

  The caravan of refugees rolls on, leaving the stranger behind. That stranger had stepped up and became one of them when the time of need arose. He was a Ruby now. “The second we get everyone safe within the walls,” Abby says, “I want our bird unpacked. We’re coming back for him.”

  12

  The bandits that struck the convoy converge on the downed semi, but all Oz cares about is the yellow bus on the side of the road. His heart is in his throat as he races towards it. He hasn’t been noticed just yet. The savages are too busy inspecting the contents of the trailer.

  She’s alive! He can hear her crying onboard the overturned bus. “Carla, are you all right?”

  “She’s dead.” The words are choked with grief, but it is Carla’s voice. Whoever she had gone in for is lost.

  “We gotta go, baby,” he tells her, walking along the windows that have become the floor now that the bus is on its side. His girlfriend cries over a still child, not much older than his oldest. No matter how sad the loss is, it won’t be long before the raiders arrive. He tenderly hauls Carla to her feet, using just enough force to let her know they have to move.

  “We can’t leave her like this,” Carla cries. The girl hasn’t received the shot and will soon reanimate into a monster.

  Though he feels the people that have attacked them deserve to be surprised by the walking corpse of the child they’ve killed, he doesn’t feel right using her like that. He tells Carla he’ll take care of it, but urges her to head to the front of the bus. Oz doesn’t want her to see what he has to do. Since they can’t risk the raiders hearing a shot, Oz draws his knife from its sheath.

  At the door, Carla keeps her back to Oz as he allows the slaughtered girl the dignity of staying dead. She tries to block out the sound of steel plunging through thick bone, and the grunt of exertion that comes with the act, plugging her ears and breathing heavier to cover the sound.

  Together they climb out and slip away without detection. The convoy is long gone, and they were told that anyone who fell behind would be left behind. It’s up to them to find their way back home.

  13

  The bulls part ways so the transports can pass once they hit the parking lot of Story Book Land. They have many wounded. Bullets punctured the flimsy steel sides of the buses. The gates are opened to allow them inside, and then closed behind them.

  Most of the vehicles go exactly where they are directed by the military, except the Gunship and a semi pulling a flatbed trailer containing the chopper. Abby is off the bus before it stops completely.

  “How long till we’re ready?” he asks Lady Luck.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “I want to be up in five,” he tells her, ignoring the soldiers that accompany an older gentleman in a khaki uniform who tries to welcome him to Story Book Land.

  Vida volunteers to join Abby. Player 1 steps up as well, wanting to go back for the two who caught him when he jumped from his semi.

  Lady Luck climbs onto the back of the trailer to prep her bird for the air, but her task is impeded.

  “Belay that order, Miss,” one solider says.

  “What?” Abby approaches him. “There’s people back there. Your people. We’re going back for Carla and Oz.”

  “These gates will not be opening again for quite some time.”

  “So what? We’re going over the gates.”

  “We lost our chopper out there, and this one is already earmarked for another mission.” The major doesn’t explain any further, but Abby ascertains from this information that the army lost contact with the team they sent out to shut down the reactors.

  “This is our bird,” Abby tells him.

  “It belongs to the United States Army now, son.” More uniformed soldiers have come to back up the major. “Stand down.”

  Lady Luck hops off of the flatbed. Too many guns are pointed at her for her liking. She joins Abby and the others. Assault rifles aimed in their direction warn against lashing out.

  “How can you leave your people out there?” Abby asks the major. “They’re less than an hour away!”

  “They knew the risks,” the major says, then turns away.

  Medical personnel take folks off the buses. The major scans the amassing throng that has come to witness the excitement, who had hoped to welcome their friends home. He knows there is one he will need to talk to personally about this, apologize to. But oddly the man isn’t with the crowd anymore. His bewilderment at this turns to alarm. “Someone find Dan Williamson!”

  ###

  Locket. Lighter. Though Dan hasn’t always had the best of luck out there, he’d hate to leave without his lucky items. I haven’t died yet.

  “You’re going out there, aren’t you?” Heather asks from behind him. She stands before her husband, just about to begin the second trimester of pregnancy with their third child.

  “It’s Oz and Carla…” He tries to convince her and himself that it’s a good idea. Someone has to go, and if anyone can pull it off it’s him.

  “I know.” She walks closer with their two sons then tenderly caresses his cheek. “Our family needs you… Go bring them back.”

  He’s shocked at first, too shocked to speak. Her dazzling green eyes are glossed with tears, making them look like polished jade. She tells him that the soldiers are looking for him and that he’ll need to find a way out.

  A quick kiss and he’s off. His first mission is to escape the safety of the park.

  14

  Carla and Oz slipped away from the bandits that picked over the remains of their kill. Carla moves as fast as her battered body will allow. She doesn’t have any broken bones from the roll over, but feels as if she should.

  They have to hurry. Though out of sight of the raiders, the shouts of delight from these thieves turn to screams of terror, indicating the new breed of zombies have arrived. The following silence now scares Carla and Oz. The super zombies are feasting, and as soon as they’re done they’ll be heading their way, following the smell of blood.

  Oz and Carla know they won’t be able to beat these things in a marathon all the way to Story Book Land. They need shelter but there is nothing around that will offer much in the way of protection. All they can do is keep moving.

  Rapid plodding behind them forces them to take an off-ramp to try and get out of the corpses’s view. The dead are a ways back, but will be even faster once they hit the ramp and have gravity pulling them. Oz points for Carla to take a right at a blue sign that promises gas and food. His hope is this building will prove to be secure enough to protect them.

  He turns to release a few short bursts from his machine gun at the corpses. He doubts he’ll put any of the jogging dead down, but he just wants to knock the leaders to the ground and buy them some distance.

  As promised, there is a service station. An awning covers the pump area. “High ground!” Oz ye
lls. “Climb!”

  Carla veers away from her boyfriend to a soda machine. She vaults up with her bruised arms and sticks her foot in the beverage dispenser, pulling herself on top of the unit. Reaching the next plateau will be the real challenge. The distance is a few inches farther to the top of the roof. Carla stops on the machine to see where Oz has gone to.

  At one of the pumps is a car Oz wants to check. Better than shelter would be a means to travel home. Behind the wheel is a woman. She’s been dead awhile by the looks of her leathery skin and the condensation on the windows. Hot days have been baking her, boiling her fluids out through her skin. She’s still active, but barely. Oz rips open the door and throws her as far as he can propel her emaciated form. The engine won’t turn over.

  The dead are close now, racing each other down the ramp at a manic pace. Oz has to climb one of the poles of the awning as Carla struggles to get herself onto the station’s roof.

  Oz has his SAW slung so he can cling with both hands to the peeling surface of the neglected business. He is able to walk up the pole using the traction his boots provide while his hands work as a sling he leans against. It gets harder the higher he ascends, as gravity tries to claim him.

  The dead crash into the pumps, unable to stop soon enough. They wail and reach for him, trying to climb the gas pumps to get at the meat that taunts them.

  His ankle is seized and he is almost pulled from the pole. Carla holds her breath as she watches, unable to get a clear shot at the dead with her pistol. Her beloved AK-47 was left on the double decker bus.

  “Hey!” she shouts to get the attention of the deceased that crowd around her boyfriend. “Over here!”

  More than a few glances shoot her way, but the dead know the one on the column is the easier meal. Carla will have to make herself more appealing to them. She lowers herself back down onto the soda machine for another try. “I said, over here!”

  Sweaty palms threaten to betray Oz, and he feels weaker with every passing second. A glance back breaks his heart as he sees what his lover is doing for him, risking herself to get the dead away. He wants to yell to her to get on the roof, but he hasn’t the breath to spare at the moment. Oz locks his forearm around the pole, letting the paint chips bite into his duct tape armor. He works his legs on either side of the column, squeezing it as he climbs.

  Her plan may have worked a little too well, for half of the horde gathers around the machine as Carla scrambles to return to her perch. The dead are taller than she is and have no need to hop up and grab the top of the machine. One steps into the drink dispenser, teaching the others.

  It was hard enough to climb the first time, but the second trip is far more difficult for Carla. Self-preservation gives her the boost she needs to get out of reach. The efforts of the dead cause the machine to lean forward and fall away from the wall, but it doesn’t stop them from getting on the back of it, reaching for the woman that frantically scrambles up the stucco.

  Her fingers are sliding, losing their grip. She is about to fall when her wrist is seized by a powerful, familiar hand. Oz hefts her up with a grunt. Her modest weight usually doesn’t provoke such a sign of exertion, but he’s exhausted.

  The new breed below surrounds them in a writhing sea, with more waves coming down the ramp to join the swell.

  15

  Rumors spread through the magical kingdom like wildfire about Dan Williamson being on the run. He assumed the first place the soldiers would likely go was his suite, so he had to slip out of the hotel through the service stairs.

  The streets and walking paths throughout the park are filled with patrolling jeeps and soldiers in fatigues. Others who wish to help Dan escape are also on the lookout for him.

  A young blonde haired girl wails in the middle of the promenade, tears flowing down her cheeks. She screams for her mother, though she looks old enough to fend for herself. It’s enough to melt the hearts of the soldiers she has derailed from their appointed mission. Just like she planned.

  “It’s all right.” One of the soldiers tries to soothe the distraught girl. “What’s your name?”

  “Barbara.” She wipes away a crocodile tear. Her mother has been gone for nearly a year now, but dredging up her memory is enough to evoke the waterworks. “I can’t find my mommy.” She fakes another blubbering fit so Dan can slip past over the rooftops.

  Thank you, Barbie doll. Dan heads away from the front gates on his quest to go over the wall. The stone enclosure is far too high to attempt scaling, so he’ll be leaving by way of the private beach. The problem is the high wall actually extends past the shore, and it’s lined with rock formations that are far too steep and slick to tread on. Dan will have to swim it or find a boat.

  The one-time king of New Castle stays low under the hedges, feeling foolish doing so in broad daylight. He’s become stuck within the boardwalk, in sight of the beach he just can’t get to. A couple of men looking for him have parked their jeeps along this strip that was made to give visitors the feel of a seaport beach community.

  Dan creeps as close as he dares. They’re just a few storefronts down from him. He barely risks breathing, as if they’ll hear him.

  His name spoken aloud almost sends him running. “Mister Williamson, what are you doing?” The snarky bird-like voice belongs to an old crone from New Castle.

  Oh, why did it have to be you? Dan thinks as he shushes Mrs. McCleary, the librarian who disdains most popular books. He’s grateful he’s the only one who’s heard her. From where he crouches behind Brock Rottom’s treat truck, he gives her an embarrassed smile and whispers, “Mrs. McCleary, how are you today?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Williamson. I asked you a question.”

  “I’m adjusting my prosthetic,” he lies, in a low tone. For effect, he wiggles his shoe that contains the slip-on for his partially amputated foot.

  “Poppycock!” She scoffs. “I heard what is going on. You are trying to leave to save that brute and Sheriff Hotpants, aren’t you?”

  “Well… yeah…”

  Before he can ask for her help, or in the very least her silence, she heads towards the soldiers. “Gentlemen, excuse me.”

  Oh, what the fuck, McCleary? Dan silently screams. He ducks down, grasping at straws for an alternate plan.

  “I saw that awful Williamson man,” McCleary tells the patrol.

  “Are you sure it was him?” one of the soldiers asks.

  “I lived in the very town he and his militia held occupied for some time,” she says. “I saw him running down the promenade. I believe he is heading for the marina down the far end of the cove.”

  “Command, Williamson is on his way to the marina,” the soldier speaks quickly into his radio while raising a hand to the old woman as a silent thank you. The jeeps speed away, but before departing one of the men suggest that the Coast Guard be called to cover the south end.

  Dan stands, looking at the woman with disbelief. He should be taking off, but he is so stunned he has to utter, “Why?”

  “You are wasting time, Mister Williamson,” she tells him, then continues on her way.

  Capitalizing on his chance to pull this off, he hops the stone wall that lines the beach and races across the sand towards the long dock jutting from the boardwalk. Running on sand is a hard enough task with two intact feet, but his prosthetic rubs and shifts within his shoe, making it even more unpleasant. A small boat pulls up to the wharf and he plans on taking it out of here.

  ###

  “No, they called it failure to yield. I say I ran a green light,” Gar says to his partner, a man named Eli from the same city as himself. A man who has heard all of his stories many times over and is happy to finally be hearing a new one. The only reason the potsmith must regale him with a new yarn is because the third in their party doesn’t want to hear a single mention of her ex-husband, Randy Russell. “The cops decided to check my car for illegal substances…”

  “Really, Gar? You?” Eli pretends to be surprised.

  �
��I know, right? Totally profiling if you ask me.”

  “Or just damn fine police work,” Eli speaks low. He likes Gar, but also likes giving him a hard time. Eli enjoys the fishing trips they are allowed to go out on to bring in food from the sea. Today it was lobster trapping and they’ve brought in a good haul.

  “They found my stash and brought me in.”

  “And this was the first and last time you were ever charged with anything?” Kelly Peel asks, while reaching for the dock to bring their boat closer so it can be moored.

  “Yeah. It was also the first and last time I ever wore a suit,” Gar says. “My lawyer brought it to me.”

  “Why would an innocent man need a lawyer?” Eli says sarcastically.

  “I didn’t know I had one until the day I was supposed to be tried. I also found out that day that I was actually working, indirectly, for Benito Sartori.”

  “Bullshit!” Eli says.

  “Who’s Benito Sartori?” Kelly asks.

  “Big time mafia guy. There is no way you were tied in with that shit, Gar.”

  “Exactly!” Gar says. “I told him ‘no thank you’ and that I would keep my mouth shut if they’d just forget we ever met and separated any connections between us. I also said that I would be keeping the suit and going with the public defender.”

  The story is halted so they can unload their catch onto a truck parked on the dock. “It would have been safer to keep the sleaze bag. The guy the court gave me wasn’t very good. He was nervous and fidgety. I just sat there wondering what prison was going to be like.”

  “Sounds scary,” Eli says.

  “Oh, it was. I just sat in that hard chair, looking over at my stash on the table. I thought, there’s a pound of weed I’ll never be able to smoke. They read the charges out loud and it hit me! I stood up and told the judge ‘that’s not a pound!’ I could see the bag wasn’t nearly as full as it was that day. Sure, some settling may have occurred, but not that much. The bag didn’t have the right plump volume it should have had.