“...a frequency I don't get. The guy lived in Minnesota or Wisconsin, he wasn't very forthcoming about that. He sounded like he had watched too many movies. He called the sick people zombies, as if they were something real. He then said you can only kill them by destroying the head. Ha! This isn't Night of the Living Dead, or whatever that movie was called. So we ignored him and went on to look for other operators. Sadly, the only other one we heard was farther north in Canada, and all we got out of him was that people were killing his livestock. He said he had no weapons to get them to stop. Nothing we could do to help him of course.”
The guy was moving much faster than he and Grandma, so Liam couldn't hear much more of his conversation, but he noted the man was walking with a big revolver in a holster on his left side.
As people walked by he heard several other theories. It was now the de rigueur subject.
“I heard it was a medical experiment gone wrong.”
“No, a friend of a friend said she knew someone in the police department. This was a terrorist attack.” And then, speaking so quiet Liam almost didn't catch it, the person said, “It was the same guys who did nine-eleven.”
“It was our own government.” A half-dozen people had different iterations of government conspiracies.
“It was the maple-syrup lovin' Canadians.” Liam heard several people talk about Canadians as if the threat was real, but he couldn't quite take them seriously. Normally he wouldn't dare insert himself, but he had to know. “Excuse me, why would the Canadians cause this plague?” The woman who spoke of it responded calmly and easily, “They want our stuff of course.”
Liam determined it was best to avoid laughing. Soon the woman and her entourage had moved far ahead.
He heard a host of other theories, just in the few minutes since he'd passed that sign. “It was the Republicans. They always wanted us city people to die.” “It was the Liberals. They was foolin' around with science and unleashed this Ebola-thing on us by accident.” “It was the Snowballers.” “It was the Communists.” “It was the anarchists. They want government to go away.” And so on and so on. The crowd consumed each theory, readily adding more and more. The truth was, no one really knew.
Several people were carrying large hand-printed signs, with variations of the “Repent! The end is here” motif. One said “This is the tribulation!” He had no idea what that meant, but Liam was surprised to see the people carrying such signs appeared completely normal. Almost calm. There were no crazed-eye preachers anywhere in sight.
Holding onto Grandma, he realized they were both now floating along with the crowd, and everyone was equally clueless about why they were there. It made him feel small and helpless.
People power-walked by them, barely giving them a notice. Liam reflected on his own mindset. Would he notice an old woman and a young boy such as himself if he was walking in this mess by himself? How many people in this procession were going to be dead soon?
Don't panic.
He craned his neck to look around the crowd, which over the last several minutes had started to thin out. Everyone was moving along the sidewalks of both sides of the street, as well as on the grass-covered median. Liam guessed they'd been walking along for an hour now, which would put them about halfway there. Grandma was puttering along, but she was slowing down, stopping to rest more than Liam liked.
He knew she needed her rest, but an odd feeling had been growing in the pit of his stomach, a sense that it wouldn't be wise to fall too far behind the main crowd. He was disturbed to see fewer people behind him than ahead. It wasn't empty by any stretch of the imagination, but things were thinning out.
“Grandma, I know you're tired, but we have to keep moving.”
“I know Liam. I'm so tired though. I really need to sit down.” She remained standing—there was no place to sit other than the curb of the street and Grandma would have to nearly squat on the ground to sit there.
Gunshots rang out from somewhere behind them. Not close, but not as far as he'd like either.
Liam gave her a drink of water and a grain bar, hoping to give her a quick boost. He knew enough about the 104-year-old set though to know there was no word for “boost” in their lexicon.
He didn't want to scare her, but he wasn't going to lollygag either. Once she had taken a drink and pulled down a few bites he practically pushed her along.
“OK, up and at 'em.”
Grandma said nothing, but didn't pick up the pace as he'd hoped.
I refuse to panic!
He looked over his shoulder, afraid of what he'd see.
5
While dragging Grandma along, a middle-aged woman in a business suit, sans the jacket, came ambling by. She seemed distracted until she spotted Grandma while walking by.
Without prompting she took Grandma's other arm and together she and Liam were able to support her much better as they walked along. Liam gave her his thanks, but Marty said nothing. Liam knew that could only mean she was REALLY worn out.
“I think she is really tired. Thank you so much for helping her.”
The woman just said she was glad to help, but volunteered no additional information. She was looking ahead and into the traffic jam as if searching for someone. Liam assumed she had lost a friend.
They moved like this for about fifteen minutes or so. Then the woman abruptly stopped and told Liam to wait against a bridge abutment just as they went underneath it.
This gave Liam a chance to look behind them again; he was horrified to see almost no one. There were a few stragglers, mostly elderly walking without helpers. Some people had just stopped to sit or lie down, perhaps giving up. And far down the street he thought he could see a few of the really sick. Really. Sick. It was best left unsaid as to what disease they had...
He felt like the lone gazelle dropping behind the herd. Ahead of him he could see the last of the main group walking away. They were very close now to the park that surrounds the Arch. Maybe a quarter mile. Gunfire was coming from that direction, though a few shots were echoing down side streets almost all the time now.
He didn't see the mystery lady. Not ahead. Not behind. Not even in the nearby cars, which were sprawled everywhere on the street and in every available parking area in sight.
Oh crap! We're in for it now.
Liam looked at Grandma and considered his options once more. She appeared to be totally out of hit points. Could he force her to push on? Should he try?
A deep, dark voice advised him to sit her down under this bridge and then just walk away.
Another voice argued she was his responsibility no matter how difficult things became.
Where did his obligation to save her outweigh his obligation to save himself? Wasn't his life—at 15 years old—more valuable to save than hers?
Why would the thought even cross my mind?
“Grandma, I'm not going to leave you here. We have to keep moving. Can you walk a little further?”
“Oh Liam. I think I'm a goner. My head is spinning and it's very hard to see.” She was hunched over even more than normal, holding herself up with a combination of her cane and leaning against the concrete bridge pylon.
“I don't think I can go another step without falling over.”
“Well then I'll carry you!”
Bent over and gasping for air, she cocked her head so she could look up at her tall grandson and give him a look he knew very well. It said “Liam you are one crazy boy, but I love you anyway. And no, we aren't doing that.”
Liam considered pulling a stunt he saw in a movie—just grabbing the small woman and tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her no matter what her protests said. He knew he could lift her and carry her, but couldn't assure himself that he wouldn't break her ribs.
And then the mystery woman returned. She was running around cars inside the traffic jam, as if she were trying to find a suitable path through the obstacles. She was pushing something.
A half minute later she was close enoug
h he could see what it was. She had a huge wheelchair in front of her, and she brought it right up onto the sidewalk where Grandma was swaying.
“Did someone order a ride?”
Liam stood incredulous while the woman moved behind Grandma and then helped her fall backwards, gently, into the chair. The seat itself was immense, obviously it was designed for an overweight client, and Grandma's pixie size made her look like a child sitting there.
But she was sitting.
“Where did you find this?”
“I've been looking for this since I first saw you. I saw it on one of those lift things that stick out the back of a trailer hitch. I work with nurses, and travel to hospitals, so this type of thing sticks out when I see it. You have to hurry with her. She looks like she needs some medical care.”
The woman looked over her shoulder at the few people wandering about on the route they just traveled. Some were lying down, but now it was clear some of those on the ground were being set upon by others who weren't normal. She voiced Liam's fears.
“I think you have to hurry.”
“Will you come with us? We can make good time if we both push her.”
“You'll be fine. I'm going that way,” she was pointing west. Not the same way at all.
“Hurry!”
And without a further comment, she dove back into the traffic jam.
“THANK YOU!” He shouted to her as she was nearly across the street.
She lifted her hand but kept moving.
“Can you believe our luck?”
Liam tossed her cane across the back arms of the chair, then began pushing her, nearly running when the sidewalk wasn't too bumpy, and never once looking back.
A faint scream told him every detail about what was happening back there.
Chapter 8: Victoria
The chaos of the Gateway Arch grounds was unexpected. As Liam pushed Grandma in the wheelchair, both could see thousands of people crammed into the verdant landscape under the 630-foot monument. The Gateway to the West was now the Gateway to the East for these people—a gateway to safety over in Illinois. But there were so many people, and they didn't look like they were moving. Going into that throng was going to be a test for them both.
“Grandma are you ready to dive into all those people? That's where we need to go.”
“I'll go where you push me Liam. I'm too tired to arm wrestle you over it.”
The pair descended the road the last hundred feet, caught up with the many other new arrivals queuing up at the edge, and soon entered the perimeter of the park. There was a row of armed citizens and police officers on the outside rim of the grounds, each holding their weapons at the low ready position. A couple of horse officers were also wandering around along with other civilians on horseback. Where they found horses downtown was another of the mysteries of this thing.
The park where the Arch resides is about a mile long and a quarter of a mile across. It is a patch of greenery huddled next to the concrete jungle of downtown St. Louis. As they approached the outer limits of the grounds, Liam could see many dead bodies littering the streets. Any school child could piece together what was happening down here. People like Angie were attacking the police, and getting put down like wild dogs. But seeing that many dead people—and their blood—in the light of day was disconcerting. He gripped the wheelchair handles with determination. He pushed through.
Liam felt reassured by the police presence, but not because they had weapons—lots of people he'd seen today had weapons, including him. He was reassured because these men and women represented authority. A hope that society was holding it together despite all the chaos. He gave the nearest officer a wave, and got a nod in return. He felt like he had returned to society with that little acknowledgment.
His faith in society didn't last long. Once inside the outer ring of armed order, there was no organization whatsoever. The interior of the park was anarchy. Liam could quickly deduce that. Surely there would be police or Red Cross or SOMEONE in charge. People were huddled in small groups all along the path, and well out into the grass on each side of him. Kids were playing in the small pond to their right. Liam knew that was forbidden from his own visits to this place as a youngster.
There was a little parking lot near the outer line of police. It was filled with police cars and trucks, as well as several civilian vehicles. A large box truck was parked almost directly in the path he was walking. The back door was open and a man was standing inside the truck yelling at the crowd, “Guns! Ammo! On loan! We need you armed!”
It was perhaps the most unusual thing Liam had seen today, and that was saying a lot. The thought of police allowing this man to toss guns out the back of his truck—it just wasn’t done. Ever. And yet—
“Grandma let’s check this out.” She didn’t reply, so he took that as an affirmative.
When he got closer he could see this was a truck from a popular sporting goods store in town. Lots of police and civilians were standing near the back, and the man was working with a partner to take down some information from each person and then hand them a rifle or shotgun. No money was changing hands. Liam could see a cornucopia of firearms in the cargo area. If he was in a cartoon his eyes would be swirling with longing and desire. He moved with Grandma so he could drift into the queue.
It can’t hurt to try.
In a few minutes he was talking to the man holding the guns.
“Can I get a rifle? I want to protect my Grandma.” It was completely true, but boy did he want a gun.
The man looked down and seemed to take a few seconds to size him up. Liam knew at that moment what the man was going to say. His own eyes flashed behind the man, spotting a large—no huge—tan rifle sitting on its end, up against the wall of the truck. He doubted he could even lift the thing...
“Look kid, I appreciate your situation, but we need men on this line. Police. Ex-military. You and your grandma don’t belong anywhere near guns. You need to be inside the park staying safe.”
And there it was. He was “just a kid.”
Liam could feel the emotions welling up inside as the man moved onto another customer. An older woman got a gun after giving her name and address. No other questions asked. So much for needing men he thought.
He wanted to stay and argue but knew it was useless. He tried to move out of the line while avoiding the concerned looks of the men and women still there. Soon he was lost in the crowd, moving deeper into the park. Anonymity brought relief.
Liam tried to keep the wheelchair on the straight and narrow of the path, but couldn't help looking from side to side at the many strange people who had washed up in this tidal basin of humanity.
To his right was a large black family, it looked like the entire extended family was huddling together. Old ladies. Several middle age men and women. A score of children. Very scared. Liam couldn't understand the fear here amongst all the armed police.
To his left, among the hundreds of people, he spotted a young boy much like himself—only he was with his mother and father. Liam felt a little jealous because that boy had his parents right there with him. He tried to be happy for him, but his heart wasn't really in it.
He rolled Grandma past an old cathedral, though it was clear the place was full and not taking in new tenants. Hundreds of people gathered around the front doors, hoping to get in. Liam kept moving toward the Arch itself, which was further inside the grassy parkland.
Dozens of other vignettes emerged from the crowd. Wounded men. Coughing and hacking women—danger! Small children walking rudderless. The aged. The infirm. Mentally challenged.
And pets of every stripe! No one wanted to leave without their pets. Dogs were the most common, but small pet carriers were prolific as well—probably holding back the cats. There were even some big birds on people's shoulders. Liam couldn't identify many, though he did know a Macaw when he saw one. For some reason the pets put an odd thought in his mind.
“I wonder where all these pets go to th
e bathroom?”
Grandma might have heard the question, but if she did she kept the answer to herself. Liam merely pushed on.
It wasn't far before the path revealed the larger scene beyond the park and well beyond the Arch. Liam could now see the Mississippi River—a disgusting brown, churning itself under the downtown bridges at high speed. Small boats were flitting about in all directions, their purpose unclear. Several aircraft were buzzing above. Those were definitely military.
Liam stood there for a full minute, finally disturbed by a weak voice.
“I need to get in the shade Liam.”
Liam obliged, angling her back from the crest of the sunny hill and toward one of the many tree-lined and shady paths through the park. All the benches were taken, but many trees had some space on the concrete—most people chose to sit under trees or in the open grass off the walkway. Liam carefully observed several of the trees to find one that was best suited to Grandma's needs. Some had large groups of scary-looking men, as if an entire biker gang agreed to meet there. Some had large family groups. One had a score of priests and nuns below it. Liam searched for a tree with enough open space so Grandma could get the shade she needed without asking people to move. He knew it was a tall order given the size of the crowd, but he was patient.
He settled on one that had a couple families—one with a baby stroller—as well as a woman lying half on the grass and half on the path. It looked like she was sleeping—which was just fine. She wouldn't give them any trouble.
“Here you go. Shade as promised!”
Grandma didn't say anything again. Liam figured the trip was too much for her. Perhaps some shade would help her sleep for a bit.
As he was rolling her next to the tree, Liam couldn't help but notice the sleeping woman was closer to his age than he thought. She was wearing some kind of elegant black dress, completely out of place in the sweltering heat and humidity of this park-turned-refugee-camp. The knee-length dress had hiked up her thigh as she lay on the grass, revealing more than was appropriate for a 15-year-old teenage boy, for sure. Liam was immediately embarrassed and tried to focus on pushing the chair into position next to the tree, but the distraction conspired to force the wheelchair off the pavement. Liam felt the chair drop off the small edge and he knew immediately what he'd done.
Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Since the Sirens Page 10