Wheels and Zombies (Book 4): Wheels' End

by M. Van

  Townsend grinned. “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

  He pointed a finger at my head as he said, “Do you mind if I get my friend Mike to take a look at that—he’s a medic.” I raised a hand to touch my head as if I needed to check what Townsend was pointing at. As soon as my fingers brushed the spot, I felt the pain flair up and I decided I wouldn’t mind someone taking a look at it. My eyes shifted to the remaining soldiers standing behind him. They all looked alike to me—big, decked with gear and shaved heads, but it wasn’t hard to spot Mike. He was the only one of the four who had a white band on his arm with a Red Cross on it, and even I knew what that meant.

  Mike stepped closer and knelt at my side. He kept a little distance, and I wondered if that was for my sake or for his.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here first,” Mike said and clicked on a flashlight that he had retrieved from a pocket. Instead of pointing it at the top of my head, as I would have expected, the light flashed right into my eyes. I winced and shut them.

  “I’m not a freaking zombie,” I said, sounding agitated.

  Mike grinned. “Sorry, kid, but you can’t blame a guy for checking.”

  “Yeah, well, you could have warned me, and don’t call me kid.”

  Mike cocked an eyebrow at that, and as his eyes ran over me, I knew what he must have been thinking. I was smaller than most others of my age. That had a lot to do with the drugs doctors had pumped into my system and the procedures that had been done to my body ever since I was a little kid. I wished I could have said it been worth it, but then my sister Alison would still have to be alive.

  That didn’t take away the fact that I loved my sister and had enjoyed every moment I had gotten to spend with her, so maybe it had been worth it. Besides, it hadn’t been just the actions to save my sister that had kept me small. The cancer and the coinciding treatment that had started to ruin my body at a young age had its part in it, but I had hoped that would right itself after being exposed to Divus serum. Unfortunately, it wasn’t showing yet.

  Mike shook his head and reached up to remove the bandage.

  “Stop,” a loud voice called out. Mike froze on the spot and turned his head to see who was shouting. The other four including Townsend did the same. None other than Dr. David Warren stood behind them, in a military uniform no less.

  I jerked my wheels to get out of there, but Mike stopped me.

  “Please,” I said to him. The pleading look that Mags used to joke about was definitely sincere this time, and the tears that sprang in my eyes couldn’t be otherwise interpreted than the fear that I felt.

  “Major,” Townsend said as he sprang to his feet and jogged to Warren. As they spoke, I vigorously shook my head at Mike.

  “He is not a major. His name is Dr. David Warren.”

  “Mike,” Townsend called out, “step away from her. She’s infected. The rest of you guard her.” My heart rate tripled as the remaining three soldiers raised their weapons and pointed them at me. In a reflex, I grabbed Mike’s arm. He looked down at it and spotted the blood on my wrists from where I had cut it with my pocketknife. He jerked away from me, but stayed on his knees by my side.

  “If you don’t believe me,” I said, “call Agent Marsden of the FBI—he’ll vouch for me.” The desperation was evident in my voice, and I hoped it wouldn’t leave the young soldier untouched.

  Warren waved around papers that seemed to have been enough evidence for the sergeant. I shouldn’t be surprised; Warren would have his shit together.

  “Soldier, step away from her,” Warren said as he came closer. Mike glanced at his shoulder and then gave me a questioning look. I wondered if Warren had made the same mistake I had made with Luke. Perhaps Mike served as an airman and was expected to be called as much by a major.

  “Please call Agent Marsden,” I said again, but at a whisper so Warren wouldn’t hear. Mike didn’t give any indication if he would or not, but he rose to his feet and took a step back.

  Baldy came running up behind Warren, also dressed in a uniform. The idiot actually wore a captain’s insignia as if anyone would ever grand him that rank.

  Instead of continuing my plea, I sought eye contact with Mike. Pleading wouldn’t do me any good. Besides, Warren would probably be able to counteract anything I said with paperwork. I just hoped Mike would see the truth in my eyes as Baldy grabbed my chair started to push me to where I had seen the truck disappear around the corner. As we passed Warren, I kept my eyes on my lap. I couldn’t handle seeing the smirk that would surely be plastered on his face.

  | 19

  Mags

  As I took a moment to compose myself, I glanced at the zombies between Savanna and me. The remaining bunch separating me from the girl seemed solidly packed together. The closest ones to Savanna stood clawing at the boxes stacked on the shelves underneath hers and from the looks of the damage to the boxes they had been doing that for a while.

  A sense of dread collected in the pit of my stomach at the thought of getting back into the mix of zombies. The thought of climbing a rack that looked to be as high as a two-story building didn’t appeal to me either.

  I hadn’t brought a rope, which I might have been able to use to climb over to her, but then I wasn’t a cowboy, and I doubted I’d be able to throw it within her reach.

  “What’s the hold up?” Tom said over the radio, and I glanced in their direction.

  “There is no way I’m going to get through that,” I replied in an exasperated voice.

  “So,” Tom said. Along with the exhaustion, I started to feel annoyed.

  “I’m open to ideas,” I said, “or maybe you might want to get over here and show me.” My tone was harsh, and I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. Savanna was still watching me, and I tried to give her a reassuring smile. I felt glad that she wouldn’t be able to hear the desperation that would have accompanied the anger in my voice.

  “I have an idea,” Tom said. There was mischief in his voice, but I felt too tired to counter it.

  Instead I asked, “What?”

  “Look down,” he replied. I closed my eyes a moment to brace myself before I did as he asked. All I could see were the greasy and ragged heads of the zombies swaying from left to right as they shuffled an inch forward and then back again.

  “I’ve got nothing,” I said.

  “You’re sitting on it, for Christ’s sake,” Tom said in a raised voice.

  “He means the forklift,” Angie interjected. “You might be able to use that.” I glanced down at the machine and then at the large crate that rested on the forks, but I couldn’t see the forks themselves.

  “Hah,” I muttered.

  With no better ideas springing to mind, I climbed off the top and eased myself into the driver seat of the machine. Seated, I could still see over the bumping heads, and it made me doubt that this machine could carve itself a path through the mass.

  I eyed the controls; they looked familiar. At one of the warehouses that my dad owned, they used similar machines, although those were a bit smaller. I had worked in the family business for as long as I was able, and although the last few years it had been behind a desk, as a kid I used to work the floor. Usually that meant stuffing things into boxes, but occasionally it meant driving around in one of these things.

  “You do know how to drive shift, right?” Tom asked. I was guessing Tom didn’t know that in the Netherlands, and I was pretty sure in most of Europe, people primarily learned to drive using a gear stick. But, unwilling to answer him, I flicked the key that fortunately enough sat in the ignition, and the forklift rattled to life. I couldn’t find any descriptions on the levers, so I tried them until I found the up and down one for lift. Before shifting into gear, I lifted the forks a little to raise the crate off the floor. This gave me some disapproving growls from the zombie onlookers. Ignoring them, I eased the machine forward.

  This wasn’t the Knight or even a Hummer, so I figured brute force wouldn’t work with this thing
. Therefore, I eased it forward—nudging the zombies instead of ramming over them.

  It worked, and I raised the lift when I thought it would be close enough to the rack where Savanna was. After parking, I climbed out of driver seat and onto the roof. In my head, it had seem a lot simpler to climb the side of the lift. There were plenty of handholds, but the crate stacked up on top of the forks turned out to be more of a box and less solid than I had hoped.

  Clambering over the box, I place a foot on each fork. Forcing myself not to look down, I checked the rack for the best way to climb over to it. In doing so, I noticed Savanna shifting back against a box in the furthest corner she could find. Her wild eyes stared back at me, and she shook her head vigorously. She looked like a deer in headlights.

  Afraid Savanna would freak out on me and cause me to fall, I paused and leaned against the box.

  “What’s the hold up?” Angie asked over the radio.

  “I don’t know, but she seems scared shitless,” I replied. “She’s acting all frantic.”

  “So get in there and knock her out,” Tom said.

  Ignoring him, I raised a hand palm out in an attempt to calm the girl, but she kept shaking her head and pointing down.

  “Nooo, you … will … turn,” she said, stretching out all the words in an almost singsong voice.

  “Savanna,” I called out and then realized she wouldn’t be able to hear me and started to wave before I pointed at my mouth. I spoke her name again but made sure to exaggerate in articulating the word with my mouth. Convinced I had caught her attention, I patted my chest and then made a motion that I would stay put. That seemed to calm her down.

  “I think, she thinks that I’m going to turn into a zombie,” I said. “I thought the kid had explained it to her.”

  “How much explaining can someone do using Morse code?” Angie replied.

  “I guess,” I muttered and then added more firmly, “Can you see if the kid can signal her some more?”

  “Right,” Angie replied.

  I watched the movement of people up on the balcony, but from the corner of my eye, I noticed Savanna eying me suspiciously. Turning to her, I pointed a finger at myself and said, “Mags, my name is Mags.”

  The girl nodded that she understood.

  “Nice … to … meet … you,” she replied. I smiled at her and then glanced around.

  “Just wished it had been elsewhere,” I muttered. Savanna’s brows furrowed and shook her head. She hadn’t been able to decipher the words from my lips. I felt the heat crawl up my neck and flush my cheeks as I considered the rudeness of that. I pointed a finger down and made a swirling motion to indicate the zombies without looking down.

  “Bad timing,” I said. Savanna nodded in agreement and even threw me a little smile. A moment later her head shifted, and she crawled to the other side of the rack toward the balcony. I followed her gaze and saw the light of Toby’s flashlight blink on and off.

  It went on like that for quite a while, and I eased my butt up and onto the box. The material dented underneath my weight but otherwise seemed solid enough, and I relaxed my muscles.

  The flashing continued as my legs dangled over the heads of too many zombies. The term ridiculous came to mind as I shifted the bandana across my nose. I had already tried to rub my gloves clean on the box, leaving streaks of blackened goo all over its brown surface. My pants saturated with the same stuff stuck to my skin, and I shuddered each time I thought of it.

  “Is he reading her Gone with the Wind or something?” I said exasperated over the radio.

  “Let me check,” Angie said, which was an answer I hadn’t expected. A moment later, her voice came over the radio again. “No, I think it’s Harry Potter.”

  “It’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,” Tom said.

  “You are not being funny,” I said in a harsh tone. “Besides, it’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.”

  “It is not,” Tom said appalled.

  “Yes, it is,” I said, pretty sure of my statement, because I owned hardback copies of all seven books.

  Before our debate could progress into an argument, the light flashing stopped. Savanna slid back in front of the opening where I could see her, but her demeanor didn’t tell me anything. I raised my shoulders questioningly, but she just pointed in the direction of the balcony.

  “What?” I asked over the radio.

  “Short version,” Angie replied. “They know it takes time for the virus to take hold of a body, and she wants you to wait for a while to make sure you won’t turn.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said with a groan and almost ran a hand through my hair but stopped myself in time after seeing the smudges on the glove.

  “Just give her a minute to convince herself you’re not a threat,” Angie said.

  I huffed out a breath and leaned back on my hands, ignoring the groaning of the box underneath my weight.

  | 20

  Ash

  They took my chair. I couldn’t believe the bastard had taken my chair. They’d left me in a room the size of a closet with something you could barely call a mattress and a pillow. My backpack was gone, and even the pocketknife had been taken from me. The room was bare except for the sunlight that greeted me through a small window too high for me to reach without any aid.

  After the effort of escaping that truck to end up in here, I couldn’t stop the anger building inside me as it slowly morphed into rage, but there was no way to vent it. Punching the wall hadn’t helped and had only left me with a bruised hand. Screaming hadn’t helped either. I grabbed the pillow and whacked it against the wall again and again. I hadn’t meant to unleash the near-primal roar that exited my throat, but it seemed to help as I felt my arms grow tired.

  The door to the small room opened, and Baldy stuck his head inside.

  “Uh,” he said, looking at me dumbfounded, “everything all right.”

  I grabbed the pillow and launched it at him. Baldy didn’t even try to duck and caught the soft material in the face. He glanced at the pillow for a moment as it lay at his feet before he turned back to me.

  “Go away, Baldy,” I said as I let myself fall over on the mattress.

  “Sure,” he said. I poked my head up to look at him.

  “Hey,” I said, feeling a bit calmer. “What’s your name anyway?”

  Baldy looked to be surprised at my question but opened his mouth to answer. “Chester.”

  My mouth fell open; I couldn’t help it.

  “Chester,” I said, hearing the incredulity coming from my voice. “You’re an evil badass and muscle for hire named Chester.”

  “I’m not an evil badass,” he replied. Apparently, that being the only thing he had taken away from what I’d said.

  “You’re not?” I asked with surprise.

  “Warren has presidential orders.”

  I glared at him. “Orders from the president?” I said.

  Chester nodded emphatically.

  I had nothing further to say to that and fell back on the mattress again. The door clicked shut, and I closed my eyes. That throbbing in my head had returned with a vengeance and I would have loved some pain medication right now. I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping that would help, because I wasn’t expecting any of those pain meds anytime soon.

  A moment later, I raised my head as the door clicked open again. Chester stuck his head in the opening.

  “I thought this might make you feel better,” he said with a sheepish look on his face. It crossed my mind that maybe this guy really wasn’t such a badass. He held out my backpack and swayed it back and forth. I sat up as he stepped inside and handed it to me.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I said as I looked up at him. He showed me some teeth, and I assumed it to be a smile before he turned and headed for the door. He stopped for a moment, grabbing the pillow I had thrown at him off the floor and tossed it back to me. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

  There wasn’t much inside the bag tha
t could help me. I didn’t think I’d be digging a hole out of here with a toothbrush, but still, the familiarity of the stuff gave me little a comfort. I was still wearing the extra sweater that I’d put on inside the truck. Fortunately, the temperature inside this closet was warm, so I pulled it over my head and shoved it in the bag. My fingers traced the hard plastic of its cover, and I pulled out the phone. A mixture of excitement ran through me as I switched it on, but as soon as the photo on the lock screen appeared, it faded instantly. I didn’t have to unlock the screen to see there was no signal—not a cellular, GPS, or Wi-Fi signal anywhere. For good measure I held the phone higher, but to no result.

  At that point, it was as if the energy drained from my body. I felt tired, but most of all helpless, and I hated it. With force, I grabbed my legs one by one and deposited them onto the mattress. Meanwhile, I cursed the unmoving limbs. I punched my left leg for good measure, grabbed the pillow, and crashed on the mattress. Intellectually, I probably knew my legs had nothing to do with my situation. This could have also happened if I’d been able to walk—maybe I just needed something to blame.

  To distract myself, I grabbed the phone and opened the photo app. The recent additions were mostly of Rowdy doing the most stupid things, like trying to stuff a carrot up his nose, and the most adorable things, like handing his grandfather a hammer as he helped to remove the threshold at the backdoor. I quickly skimmed through the pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Marsden as the pain of their loss was still too fresh and I couldn’t mourn them now, not here. A close-up of Angie sticking out her tongue made me smile. The next one was a picture of Mags kissing Mars as they said good-bye before Mags left for Alaska. It looked like one of those pictures that came with a new frame as if it were staged out there on that airfield with the sun falling behind them. I think they didn’t even know I had this or that it existed.

  Behind me, I heard the door open and figured it to be Chester. But then I flinched at the voice as Warren spoke up.