Convergence: The Zombie War Chronicles - Vol. 2

by Damon Novak

  We were set. Plenty of cargo space, too. And we didn’t have to hotwire shit.

  “You found it, you pull it into position,” I said, pattin’ Terry on the shoulder. “Good job.”

  He rubbed his shoulder.

  “Sore?”

  “That gun has a kick.”

  “You’re a kick. Get it lined up and get back to the boat. We got a road trip ahead of us.”

  Ω

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  We were all pumped, I’ll tell you that. Four kills netted us two vehicles. The Silverado was full of fuel, and the Ford was about three-quarters full. Both ran on gas, not diesel, which was good. It’d be tough enough refuelin’ at all, much less searchin’ for a station that had both fuels.

  By the time we found the transportation, got unloaded, reloaded, and pulled outta that parkin’ lot, it was just past 10:30 in the mornin’.

  I do love an early start.

  Oh, yeah. Another reason for our slightly later departure; with the Dreamline 26 at our disposal one last time, everyone who needed a shit, shower, and a shave, got one. By the time we all loaded our butts into those two rides, we smelled like herbs, flowers, and Colgate.

  I think Garland even put on some Old Spice, which is why I insisted he ride with Danny and Lilly.

  Yep. We got the Silverado. Bein’ a southern boy, I don’t do Fords unless there’s an apocalypse, and then only if it’s my last choice. I mean, when did Bob Seger sing about a fuckin’ Ford, anyway?

  Like a goddamned rock.

  Georgina offered to drive, and I didn’t argue. Nokosi rode with Liam and Garland in the back seat of the Excursion, and obviously, we took Roxy and Terry with us. Hell, if we’d had that damned dog with us, it woulda felt like a family outin’. Minus the dead folks walkin’ around.

  I liked that Georgina wanted to drive, because bein’ a passenger’s underrated. Lets a man take in the scenery.

  And there was a fuck-ton of scenery.

  We planned our route by pluggin’ in the towns along the way that would keep us off the main highways, and away from the big cities. That was our original idea, and we never wavered from it.

  We passed through smaller cities and towns mostly, but the first scary place we got to was Beaumont. From the GPS, it looked like the biggest city we’d pass through, and what it looked like was true.

  You ever get drivin’ through mud or deep water, where you know if you stop – or even slow down – you’ll get stuck in a hurry?

  Damn, I felt bad for Georgie. Fuckin’ zombies and crashed cars were everywhere. Danny had taken the lead, but she stayed on the ass-end of that Excursion like a greyhound on a fuckin’ rabbit.

  “You’re doin’ good, girl,” I said, holdin’ that holy shit handle for all it was worth, right along with everybody else. At one point, I thought Terry and Roxy were bawlin’, but when I turned my head to calm ‘em down, I saw big smiles on their faces. They busted out laughin’, and Georgie yelled, “What is so funny?”

  That got me goin’, too. This was Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride on steroids. That’s a Disney ride, just in case they’ve turned it into somethin’ less bone-jarrin’ and you’ve never heard of it.

  The deadheads came at us from every side. We must’ve been the only passersby in quite a while, ‘cause they were ill-prepared to get to us in time, but it was like playin’ fuckin’ vehicle pachinko, and we rocked from side to side. All that was missin’ was the dang bells.

  Yeah, we dented a couple fenders, bouncin’ our way through that mess. Then the road narrowed out to about two lanes with some turn lanes, and the towns got smaller. When poor Georgina Lake finally got a chance to slow down, I knew she was done for a while. That’s okay. I took the wheel.

  We drove on, and while we saw a good number of the staggerin’ freaks turnin’ their heads toward us as we zipped by, the plan was workin’ out nicely; we got through.

  Until we didn’t.

  A sign announcin’ we’d arrived in Nacogdoches, Texas appeared on the side of the road, the familiar Lone Star Flag emblazoned on it. That was when we started seein’ the dead zombies sprawled everywhere.

  Now, Nacogdoches wasn’t exactly New York City, but it did have almost 39,000 folks livin’ there, accordin’ to that sign.

  “This is interestin’,” I said. I grabbed the handheld. “Danny, y’all seein’ this?”

  Lilly came back. “Somebody’s taking them out.”

  Lilly, Danny and company were trailin’ us right then in the Excursion, but we’d switched off a few times, with them takin’ the lead. That didn’t mean all that much, considerin’ Georgina’s ordeal and the beatin’ our truck took as the trailin’ vehicle.

  “Keep a sharp eye out, and your heads down,” I said. “Don’t need whoever’s shootin’ them poppin’ one of us.”

  We drove on. We’d only been on the road about two-and-a-half hours, but to me, it felt like ten. We’d only gone a mile past the sign when we came to a roadblock. I felt my muscles involuntarily tense as I said, “Everyone, grab a gun.”

  When I glanced beside me, I saw Georgie already had hers in her hand. I pulled to a stop just before the blockade of cars, leavin’ enough room to spin it around if I had to. I hadn’t noticed before, but now that I looked, there were pairs of cars and trucks blockin’ off the side streets, too.

  No way out except the way we’d come.

  In my rearview mirror, I saw Danny had also left enough room between us to get out if he had to.

  Brilliant minds thinkin’ alike? Hell, no. Just common sense.

  I put it in park and looked around. The radio blurped out Danny’s voice: “Wanna get out?”

  I pushed the button. “Sure. Armed?”

  “Hell yeah,” he said. “But let’s put our hands up in case whoever set this shit up is watchin’.”

  “Okay, go.”

  I looked at Georgie, then at Terry and Roxy. “Stay put. Be ready. Georgie, slide over. I’m leavin’ it runnin’. Anything goes wrong, drop it in gear and get the hell outta here.”

  “Uh huh,” said Roxy, from behind me. “Mom’s not leaving you.”

  “You do what you think’s best to stay alive then,” I said. “Remember that’s your daughter back there.”

  “Excuse me?” said Terry. “Gay lives matter.” He held the DP-12 over the top of the seat with both hands. “Two in the chamber and twelve on standby,” he said.

  I took it. “Hell yeah you matter,” I said, openin’ my door. “Now you matter just a little more. Hang tight.”

  I got out, the shotgun in my right hand, holdin’ it in the air. I turned to see Danny, who watched me. We both closed the doors easy and walked toward the roadblock.

  It didn’t take long to meet who had put it in place.

  “Hey,” came a man’s voice. “You’ve got about 32 gun barrels pointed at you right now, and every one of the people behind ‘em can shoot.”

  “Fair enough,” called Danny. “We ain’t plannin’ to shoot. Least not first.”

  “Keep ‘em raised,” the voice said. Directly in front of us, on the other side of the blockade of cars and trucks, a man stood. He was about six feet tall with brown skin, and his hair was cropped short, dark except where it was sprinkled with gray.

  “I’m Jimmy Sanchez,” he said, his Texas accent strong. “We’re not blockin’ you for long. Just tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on.”

  “I’m Cole Baxter, and this gentleman here’s Danny Williams,” I said. “Came up from Florida. Headin’ north.”

  The man’s eyes scrunched up for a sec, then he asked, “Where in the north you headed?”

  “Why you wanna know?”

  “Because if you came from Florida, ain’t no way you’d be passin’ through Nacogdoches, Texas.”

  “Depends on whether we got to Port Arthur on a boat from Key West, don’t it?”

  Jimmy Sanchez smiled, and I knew he was a savvy dude. It immediately made sense to him.

  “Fair enough.
Y’all ready for some chow?”

  I looked at Danny and raised my eyebrows. He shrugged and said, “Sure. I could eat.”

  I turned back to Sanchez. “Yeah, thanks. Need to make it a quick stop, though. We got some miles ahead of us, and I ain’t big on the dark anymore.”

  He nodded and turned his head to the sides. With a quick lift of his chin, I’d estimate about thirty men, women and children stood. They all held rifles identical to the one Jimmy Sanchez held; they were lever-action .22 calibers as far as I could figure. The one Liam was usin’ was similar, but these guns looked well-used.

  Some of the kids were probably as young as six, but they held the rifles with a level of confidence I wouldn’t necessarily expect from children their age.

  “Quite a crew you got there, Mr. Sanchez.”

  “It’s all we have left,” he said. “You?”

  “We’re a total of eight, plus a police K-9.”

  A whistle came from somewhere in the group standin’ in front of us, and I heard two quick pops right after.

  When I spotted the gun barrels responsible, I jerked my head in time to see two emaciated zombies about fifteen yards away, both in in mid-collapse. They’d just gotten through the west blockade of vehicles.

  Clean head shots I guess, ‘cause they hit the ground and stayed put. Little bullets make little holes, but ask JFK about that shit.

  That’s right. You can’t.

  I looked back. Both the shooters were girls. One had to be twelve or so. The other, her hair in pigtails, couldn’t have been older than nine.

  I was impressed.

  Ω

  “These children are remarkably mature,” said Georgina. “There must be a story behind that.” She’d just returned to the long picnic table where we sat with Jimmy Sanchez and a woman named Carla Solis.

  She was a handsome woman in her forties, maybe, with jet-black hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Her eyes were intense and dark, almost black, and her features were sharp and soft at the same time.

  Georgie had been movin’ among the ten or so tables, paying particular attention to the kids. I saw both Jimmy and Carla watchin’ her as she examined almost all of ‘em, obvious gratitude in their eyes.

  When Georgina sat, she said, “I hope you don’t mind. I’m a doctor, and I feel obligated to do what I can.”

  “We don’t have a doctor among us,” said Carla. “We appreciate it.”

  Georgina smiled. “We have quite a few medications in the vehicles, antibiotics, that sort of thing, but nobody needs it right now that I can see.”

  “We also have everything we could take from the pharmacies in the area. Just in case.”

  “Well, everyone appears to be healthy,” said Georgie, with a smile. “That’s impressive, considering everything.”

  Both of ‘em nodded, like they already knew what Georgie’d told ‘em, but I also saw relief in their eyes.

  “Thank you,” they said together.

  The food was grilled chicken and mashed potatoes, and there was lots of it. The minute they led us through the 8-foot chain link fence and into the large, brown tent, the smell smacked me in the kisser.

  I almost had a foodgasm.

  “How are there so many of you?” asked Terry. “And what’s with those cute rifles?” Roxy’s best friend leaned forward and bit into a drumstick, turning his eyes back to Carla and Jimmy, who both smiled.

  “They’re a tradition with our people,” said Jimmy. “Nostalgia, mostly. At least before that black rain turned everyone. Now it’s necessity.”

  “Who’s your people?” asked Danny, his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

  “We are fairly diluted now,” said Carla. “But everyone you see here is from the original Nacogdoche Tribe, at least somewhere down the line.”

  “Heard of the town,” I said. “Never knew about the tribe.”

  “It’s not surprisin’. Never got granted a reservation or anything. We were down to about 110 purebloods way back in 1809, evenly split between men, women, and kids. Eventually, our people were just absorbed into the general population of the area.”

  “So how’d you all end up together now?” asked Roxy, sittin’ between her mom and Terry.

  I saw a little sadness touch Carla’s eyes. She said, “Long before all this, I knew about my heritage, but not necessarily my relatives. My husband, Michael, gave me a DNA kit for my birthday. I did the test and sent it in. When it came back, it didn’t tell me too much I didn’t know before, but it did identify others in Nacogdoches and nearby towns as relatives. That was about six years ago. We started a club, collected dues, and started becoming a tribe again. At least a little.”

  “Carla’s and my family had been friends before,” said Jimmy. “My wife, Anna, and our kids, Tommy and Will.” He pointed to another table, and I saw a pretty woman wave, a boy and girl on either side of her.

  “My parents died when I was young, and my grandparents were already dead when I was born. I had no idea I was part of the tribe until I did the test. Unfortunately, Anna didn’t have any Nacogdoche blood in her.”

  I took his comment as sorta strange, but Terry glanced at the woman again and asked, “Why do you say unfortunately?” He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “She looks fine from here.”

  “That’s not my Anna,” said Jimmy, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Just a family friend.”

  “My husband wasn’t of our tribe either,” said Carla. “Michael and Anna both changed after the rain.”

  I was understandin’. But at the same time, I was confused. I said, “You’re sayin’ you think Native American blood is what kept you from … changin’?”

  “Look around you,” said Carla. “Of all the people who became sick after the rain, not one person in our resurrected tribe turned.”

  “Interesting word choice,” said Roxy.

  Carla smiled. “Unintentional, but yes. We were only twenty-four strong. Some died in attacks by the dead. Others in town who didn’t know their bloodline joined us. In the end we are what you see now.”

  “And you’re tellin’ me there’s nobody here right now who isn’t Native American?”

  This time Jimmy spoke up. “I was surprised, too. We’ve been over it again and again. Of the thirty-eight people here, inside this fence, more than 80% are known to be of Nacogdoche heritage. It may be higher than that. Not everyone’s been tested.”

  Inside my head, my brain was twistin’ around the information. What she was sayin’ seemed to point to Indian blood – at least Nacogdoche blood – as the factor in preventin’ the transformation from human to zombie.

  But that couldn’t be right. I didn’t change, but my brothers did.

  “Much as your numbers seem to buck the next words that are gonna come outta my mouth, your bloodline can’t have anything to do with it,” I said. “The whole Indian thing. I’m not an Indian. Neither’s Lilly. My brothers both changed, and we didn’t.”

  Jimmy looked at Carla before turnin’ back to me. “How did they change?” he asked. “From scratches or bites, or … from the rain?”

  I stared at him for a sec, but my mind was workin’ a hundred miles an hour. I stared at him. “Tanner changed from the rain. He bit Clay later, and a little while later, he changed. But that doesn’t explain me and Lilly.”

  “Everyone known to me to be of Nacogdoche heritage did not change from the rain,” said Carla. “Granted, there are unknowns. But what you see here can’t be coincidence. The bites and scratches will still change any of us. We know this to be true from the ones we lost.”

  I looked at Lilly, and she turned away from me. I wasn’t really sure at first, but a few seconds later, when I turned back, she was staring at me again, either fear or sadness in her eyes.

  Now, I know my little sister. I know every expression, ‘cause I’ve seen ‘em all. I said, “What is it, Lil?”

  Right then, a tear slid down her cheek, and it surprised me. I’d seen her cry recently, but this was deepe
r somehow. It wasn’t just grief … it was somethin’ I couldn’t put my finger on.

  Just then, two more whistles came from outside the tent. I heard a double click, a pop, a double click, and another pop.

  “It’s protocol,” said Carla. “Before shooting the dead, we alert everyone, so they expect what comes next. They also know it is not aggression from within our group.”

  “CB?” said Lilly, standin’ up. I turned to her again, and she flipped her chin toward the flap of the tent as she walked. I didn’t have to ask. I got up and followed her.

  As I walked up behind her, she said, “You got the keys to the truck?”

  I pulled ‘em out, and they jingled. Some kids opened the flap to let us out, and I noticed two of ‘em fell in behind us, both armed with what I now saw were .22 caliber Henrys.

  I was real impressed with their internal rules. Lilly and I’d both left our guns in the tent, so I guess they were bodyguards.

  I got to the truck and unlocked the doors. Lilly and I got into the front seat.

  “Shit must be serious,” I said.

  She looked up at me, wipin’ away another flood of tears. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry about, Lil?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out with her eyes closed. “It’s about Tanner.”

  “What about him?” What could she say about the brother I’d known all my life? That we’d both known?

  “He … wasn’t … wasn’t …” her voice trailed off and she turned her head out the window.

  “He wasn’t what, Lil?”

  “Our brother. Not by blood.”

  I stared at her, not believin’ my ears. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

  “CB, Tanner was adopted.”

  “How can that be right? Lil, it was Tanner!”

  She turned in her seat to look me in the eyes. “When I was ten years old, you, Clay and Tanner went off on a weekend trip with Pa. Camping and fishing. Mom had her friend over for dinner that night. Enid Devereaux, I think it was.