She and Jane walked around.
“It really is a hospital,” Jane agreed.
They both stared in wonder. Having a hospital out on the river meant it could go anywhere to provide services. It would be a great asset to anyone fighting against the zombies who, so far, didn’t have the ability to swim and board ships like this one.
“Who’s in charge?” There were no nurses or doctors to answer Jane’s query. Just some sleeping patients and the group of newcomers. “And how did you know to come here?” Jane continued.
Victoria looked back, waiting for the answer.
“A young woman told us to get over here straight away. She said this was part of the official evacuation effort.”
“All of you?” Victoria probed.
The others nodded.
She walked tentatively into the area of beds. There were probably ten long rows of them. The first patient she could find was also an elderly woman. Not Grandma. That got her running. Out of all the beds, maybe ten percent had people in them. The cool hull seemed to help with temperature, but it was still humid—most patients were sweating as they lay there.
But, more troubling, was the fact they were all attached to wires and a type of harness over their heads. They seemed to be out of it.
When she’d run up and down all the rows, she was satisfied Grandma was not among them. She didn’t know if she was happy or sad at the realization. These people had to be safer than those in danger of being overrun by the horde.
She returned to Jane with a question on her face.
“I don’t know what this is. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Victoria, pointing over her shoulder, replied, “Actually, I’ve seen something like it. I, uh...” Her attention was stolen by movement at the front of the barge.
A black drone had floated down the stairs and hovered silently, out of the way. Another came in behind it. And a third.
“Friends of yours?” she asked Jane.
The angular machines hovered at the base of the steps, as if waiting for orders.
“Nope. I have no friends,” she replied with finality.
Chapter 15: Fighting Retreat
Marty tried to get out of her chair, but her back was, as Liam would say, toast. She sat in the darkness of the cozy old home with her kinda-sorta captor. Debbie didn’t say she was a prisoner, but she wouldn’t help Marty up so she could leave. It was a request she refused over and over, until finally she went into the other room, pulled some bedding and a pillow into the family room, and went to sleep at Marty’s feet. Now, even if she could pop out of her chair with the help of magic, she wouldn’t be able to step over or around Debbie without rousing her.
The saddest part was the girl seemed to be deeply asleep—even the distinct whining of a tank barreling through the neighborhood didn’t bring her around. When it came by, Marty believed it had gone through the backyard, but as the night dragged on she doubted what she’d heard.
So, she did the only sensible thing for her situation.
“Al, you better talk to me when I fall asleep,” she whispered.
She woke with the sun high in the morning sky. Rays of sunshine raked the empty kitchen, reminding her of many pleasant years of cooking and baking in her home. Who owned this house before the horrible zombies came here? Was that person still alive, somewhere?
And Al? He never showed up, though she remembered many of her dreams from the night before. They were “normal” ones, though, not those induced by Al and his dream-within-a-dream routine. It wasn’t relief she felt, however, as now she needed him more than ever. She was alone—Liam and Victoria were still up the river on their boat—and the general had hinted things were going to get bad in the town. He didn’t say she should leave, but that was written between the lines.
At her feet, Debbie’s bedding was an explosive mess of sheets, pillows, and comforters all over the floor. It was too hot to need any of those for sleeping under, but she probably needed them to cushion herself on the hard floor. Whatever it was for, she wasn’t among the wreckage.
“Debbie?” she said cautiously. She needed the girl but wanted her to be gone, too.
No response.
She called louder to the same effect.
Time to do this myself.
In an act that immediately reminded her of that first day in her St. Louis living room, she cautiously rose to her feet, using the arms of the chair as her guides. Her rest the night before had helped her back, but not as much as it would have with proper sleep in a proper bed. Sleeping in a chair brought out new soreness in her body.
Once on her feet, she looked for her cane. Or, she thought, even that darned walker. But this was a home for youngsters. The only cane recently inside had been her own, and she managed to misplace it.
Pretending she was only 99, she grabbed the arm of the chair and moved to the wall. She wall-walked to the front door.
“Where will I go?” she said to the empty room, talking to herself exactly as she used to do back home. She giggled at the realization. She was, after all, still alive. For her, that was a thought worth celebrating.
“Who would have thought,” she mused, “that an old lady like me would be in a pickle like this. Looking for a walker when so many zombies are upon us.”
That sobered her.
The front door was flimsy wood and opened easily. With a few stumbles, she reached the edge of the front stoop so she could see the world outside.
It was worse than she feared. Because several lots had no houses sitting on them—the old town had been stripped of many over the years of decline—her view of the scene allowed her to see several streets over. People were running on her street, on the next street, as far as she could see streets further into town. All of them were heading to the south—away from the battle in the north.
In her yard, she saw a swath of destruction emerge from the side of the house—dual troughs of dirt had been torn from the thick grass. The cause of that mess sat in the lot across and down the street a few houses. One of the tanks from the levee had driven there, apparently through her backyard, and it came to a rest under the impressive canopy of a towering old tree.
Two streets over she happened to glimpse Debbie walking between a pair of hobbling elderly women. Everyone else was going south, but her direction was against the grain—toward her stoop.
It gave her a moment to ask what could drive the young girl to collect more elderly. It was almost as if she was doing a service project of some kind.
“Save the elderly people from the zombies,” she chuckled. “Well, not this old bird.”
With great care, she stepped out onto the front walkway and made her way to the street. Once there, she knew she would get assistance. It embarrassed her to do it, but almost no one would pass an elderly woman swaying in the middle of the roadway.
To her surprise, many people did pass her with not so much as a look.
Oh, heavens me. Things are bad.
But, with great relief, she felt someone grab her arm.
When she looked at her helper, she thought it was just about the last person in the world she expected.
2
“General! What are you doing here?”
“I’m planning,” he said curtly.
With the whole town running in terror, and the leader of its defenses on her elbow, she didn’t dare bring up her trivial problems.
“Actually, this is called a fighting retreat, Ms. Peters. Elsa bombed me yesterday so I had to move my vehicles into the town. We've been fighting with spears at the ditch all night. Now I have my people in a line behind us, trying to go door to door to evacuate what we can before the zombies catch us.” As if to emphasize that line, he shoved her to go faster—beyond her comfort zone.
It struck her that this might be where her story ends. After a few paces of fast-walking, she stopped him.
“General, I’m not your concern. Leave me here. Protect these other people.” She pointed back
to Debbie, who was at that moment walking over the lawn to the house she just left. “That girl helped me get out. She's trying to help others escape. She needs your help, more than I do.”
He looked back, but only for a moment.
“You aren’t going to understand this. I’m not sure I do. But Elsa wanted you dead. There's a reason for that. Whatever that reason is, that makes me inclined to refuse her wish and save you myself.” His eyes conveyed the seriousness of that statement. “Now are you going to walk with me, or not?”
She’d lived a long and happy life. Though she admired his sentiment and shared his desire to deny that woman anything, she couldn’t be responsible for dragging him down while trying to take care of a spent soul like her. She did her best attempt to pull herself free, intent on doing a movie-quality evasion of him. Of course, she came nowhere near pulling it off.
“Leave me be.”
His response was rapid and decisive.
Before she knew what was happening, she was in his arms.
“Oh! No. Put me down, please.” Her words carried no weight. They were as light as she was in the strong arms of the military man.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. I was taught to always honor my elders, and I admit this is borderline disrespect. But we’re in danger of losing the whole town because of that woman’s actions, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk away and leave you to die when I could easily save you.”
Marty didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t make him put her down, even if she wanted to get violent—which was never going to happen. As with a sizable portion of her later life, she was now being swept up in events, and totally dependent on another human being for her care.
Al, why didn’t you answer me?
In those moments she reflected on Al’s absence. Was he giving her a message? Was it up to her what she did next? That seemed right. He could have given her a destination, and she would have done anything in her power to get there. But he didn’t work like that. The being masquerading as her late husband liked to be mysterious. She laughed a little at the more-than-obvious thought.
So where would a mysterious being want her to go? Liam would be looking for her. She was sure of that.
I didn’t leave him a note!
The realization stunned her, but the more she thought about it—
I still don’t know where I’m going.
“Dear Liam, I left the house in the arms of a general. Points unknown. Best wishes. Grandma.” That thought was as accurate a note as she could leave at the moment.
The general wouldn’t take her back to that house, even if she begged.
“I can hear them, general,” she said softly. The yelps of the zombies carried on the air.
“Marty, listen to me. The lines are about gone. The town is going down. I’m going to leave you somewhere safe, but you have to trust me. I’m going to get you out of here, and then we can see how you and Elsa fit together. Deal?”
“Are you giving me a choice?”
“No.”
“Well, then. Carry on.”
She would be on the lookout for her escape. Wherever he was going to put her, it would not be safe. And worse, it would endanger others. She’d spent too long already allowing people to fight for her, and die for her. Liam, especially. She was as proud of him now as she was ashamed at her own selfishness through all this bother.
It wouldn’t be suicide to let myself get caught, would it? Not if I tried, for a little while, to escape them.
Her mind was aflutter with competing life directives when she finally saw what the general was going to do with her.
Chapter 16: Chloe
John knew how it would end. Always did, once he saw the zombies coming over the interstate. And every death was the result of Elsa—and whatever group she worked for—and her abandonment of these people. Deep down he wanted to walk away from this fight so he could prepare for the next one, but, alas, that wasn’t going to happen.
He'd gotten Ms. Peters to a safe spot. One victory among a string of fighting defeats.
“Sir, everyone who’s getting out is behind us.”
“And we have nowhere to go,” he replied.
“Sir?”
There were two bridges on the southern tip of the peninsula on which the town of Cairo had been settled. Today it was essentially an island, since the ditch linked the two rivers on the north side. It had been filled with bodies, so maybe that disqualified it from being an island. A strange thought given the gravity of the situation.
There were hundreds of barges floating around the town, as part of the recovery efforts of the past several weeks. He could have jumped any one of those, cut it loose, and gotten his men out. But not the equipment. That’s why he’d made every effort to get his surviving tanks, Humvees, and Bradley’s to the southernmost bridges. But now that he was there…
“The mayor did us one last favor,” he said with derision.
While they were busy fighting zombies hand-to-hand up in the north, the mayor and some of his public works lackeys had been here, in the south, clogging up the bridges with every vehicle they could find. Somehow they’d even managed to wedge a truck-sized shipping container on the Missouri bridge.
“We can just climb over that garbage, sir,” the civilian man said.
John didn’t reply. They’d spent the morning fighting a delaying action block after block in the long, narrow town, and he assumed this was going to be where he rides off into the sunset after a job well-done. He'd even gotten lucky and found Marty wandering about. But their escape was in jeopardy.
The mayor had made sure he couldn’t get his heavy equipment out of the town. He couldn’t say for certain the old man knew what he was doing—maybe he got a call from Elsa. The end result was the same: the mayor screwed him over.
There were barges out on the water with cranes attached—the port area had two he knew about—and with unlimited time he could have this bridge cleared using those cranes. But he had minutes, not hours.
He reached into his Humvee, searching for a miracle. “This is Warfighter actual.” He called to his aid Tom using the designation he'd written on the piece of paper. "Dunkirk, how copy?”
Nothing but static.
He’d tried to keep his radio chatter to a minimum because Elsa was always listening, but this was important. The surveillance drones did slow circles over Cairo, reminding him of the wider world and his lack of a role in it.
“Tom, dammit, are you there?”
He’d sent his assistant out the previous day, and he feared he’d come to harm. If he’d come through it might have made this whole fiasco more palatable. As it was, he was going to have to abandon all his equipment to the zombies. Maybe someday he could come back and collect it…
That gave him his out.
As civilians streamed onto the Kentucky bridge, he gathered the remnants of his unit. He had the two Abrams, four remaining Humvees, a mostly-empty supply truck, and a rabble of civilian cars. Both Bradley’s had been lost—one by the JDAM, the other due to a maintenance failure. It made him laugh to think he was probably still the most powerful man for hundreds of miles. The two tanks would make him invincible in a world where everyone used spears.
“Mount up. We’re going to the most southern tip. We’ll swim if we have to, but I’m not abandoning these tanks until I have no other choice.”
Some of the men looked at the bridge—he knew they were considering their own odds. But to their credit, everyone followed him into a little park that sat on the southern tip of the fake island. The buildings of the town faded away, and the last few hundred yards south of the bridges was a pleasant grassy parkland. They were outside the levee system, so the ground sat very near the water level. Hundreds of barges rode the water in every direction.
He shut off the Humvee and sat for a moment staring out at the water. This was the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. The Mississippi came in from his right, linking with the other waterway in a
large V. One jump and he could float in perfect safety all the way to the Gulf of Mexico.
That made him laugh. There would be no such easy escape.
He got out of his truck, intending to explain his reasoning at what had to look like a desperation play, but an Osprey swept in from just above the Missouri-side bridge, it rumbled almost directly over his position, then flew north in what could only be described as a landing maneuver. His instinct said it was Elsa coming in to gloat.
He thought through all the possibilities of the day. Fight or flight time. The noontime sun smacked down on him—hastening the need for action.
“Change of plan, gentlemen. I need volunteers for a mission. We’re going back into town.”
“I’ll go,” a soldier said without any hesitation.
Chloe. You wonderful woman.
2
Chloe explained how she’d just left the port area—and her makeshift spear factory—because zombies came a’ knockin’. When a tank drove by she figured that was the last hurrah. Her people helped get civilians over the Kentucky bridge, but she decided to throw her fate in with the general.
“I’m glad you made it.” Then, looking at the rest of his men, he noticed there was an almost even mix of civilians and formal military. Perhaps the transition was already taking place. The order of the old military was giving way to a citizen army. “I’m glad you all made it here,” he said loudly.
“I have one more mission, then we’re going to jump in that water,” he pointed behind him, “and swim to safety.”
That brightened everyone up.
“I need to go back into town. I think the woman who screwed us all was on that plane. I’d like some payback, wouldn’t you?”
He got some cheers, but he knew they were being polite. After fighting all day and all night, no one—not even him—truly wanted to go back in. The only reason they weren’t fighting them at that moment was that so many people refused to leave their homes, even when faced with the black tide, that the zombies were delayed by those holdouts. If anyone was looking at the scene from above, they would see rings of zombie surrounding homes. Donuts of death on a final platter of humanity.
Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 6): Zombies Ever After Page 25