LZR-1143: Evolution

by Bryan James

We ran toward the bus, and George reached the corner, skidding to a halt and firing two shots in quick succession. A large group of creatures were rounding the corner, cutting us off from the rear of the bus.

  I handed José to Kate, determined not to let this group cut us off from the ferry. I fired into the group at full automatic from five feet away, scoring several head shots amongst the wild fire. The clip clicked to empty and I shouldered the gun and drew one of the machetes, which was protruding from my pack.

  Behind me, I heard Kate say “hold him” and then the quick shots from the M-16. We had established a line, and behind us, George was firing his shotgun at head level, sheering off heads as they pushed forward. At least half of them were down, but the rest were closing, and the pack behind us was moving slowly up. Kate’s rifle clicked out, and I reached behind me, grabbing the hilt of the second machete, bringing it forward and reversing the blade, tossing it to her handle first.

  I waded into the dead, blood racing and head swimming in adrenalin. The first creature approached from my right side, and I brought the heavy steel around in a full-armed swing, cutting cleanly through the neck. Tendons and bone met the blade briefly as it passed through, feeling barely a vibration through the metal. I turned to meet the next creature who approached from directly in front of me; behind it, another clambered forward. I drew my pistol with my left hand and brought the machete around again in a right hand lateral blow, sheering halfway through the neck and stopping, even as I raised my left hand and pulled the trigger, unable to miss the second creature from five feet away.

  Kate grunted to my far left and I swiveled in time to take the leg out from under a short man whose left hand still held a briefcase, but whose right was grabbing for her arm. He collapsed to the ground and I barely looked down as I fired again with my left hand, splattering brain against the ornamental brick walkway.

  A pathway was clearing to the back of the bus, and Ted helped José to the rear as George emptied the last of his rounds into the heads of two more zombies. A large man in the uniform of a tourist, polo and khaki shorts, grabbed at my arm, managing to snag a piece of material from my sleeve before I brought the machete up in a brutal uppercut, slicing the face cleanly in two, and biting into brain on the out-swing. Beside me, Kate was mirroring my modus operandi, machete in one hand, pistol in the other. Her M-16 lay discarded on the ground in a puddle of blood, stock shattered and ammunition exhausted.

  George dropped the ladder, and as it swung forward I had an inspiration, grabbing a zombie by the neck and slamming it against the rear of the bus, above the armor plate, and jumping back. The heavy metal ladder swung into place, a rung neatly crushing the head of the twitching form and pinning the body to the bus. Kate dropped the last creature with a neatly placed cut through the back of the neck, and swiveled around to face me, even as Ted was pushing José up the ladder. George was already on top, pulling José up.

  “Starts to get a little fun, doesn’t it,” I asked Kate, my voice shaking slightly as I bent over to wipe my blade on the shirt of one of the fallen corpses.

  She glanced behind her at the second group, only twenty yards away and closing quickly.

  “It has its excitements,” she said, smiling briefly and popping the clip out of her pistol, peering at the ammunition indicator. “I’m almost dry. You?”

  I shook my head.

  “Two more rounds,” I hefted the machete and grinned. “But plenty more left here.”

  She pointed at the approaching creatures and walked past me, patting me on the shoulder as she grabbed the rungs and started to climb.

  “They’re all yours.”

  I could do it, I thought briefly, seriously considering wading into a crowd of thirty with a machete. I watched the drool fall in bloody droplets from the gaping mouths, sixty arms clutching for flesh, sixty legs shuffling forward on rotting feet. I smelled the stench of death.

  Like hell I could.

  I turned and jumped onto the ladder and pulled myself up, climbing to the roof behind Kate as the first of the creatures slammed into the back of the bus. George and José were disappearing into the hatch as the engine revved. Ted was crouched over the opening, staring forward at the chain link fence that stood between us and the ferry, which sat placidly tied to the pier, ramp facing us, but locked in its stowed position. Up and inaccessible.

  Ted turned to me as I approached.

  “Can I borrow your pistol?” he asked, looking meaningfully at the fence and the ferry beyond.

  I turned to the fencing as he asked, understanding the problem.

  Behind the bus, more than a hundred zombies—another pack unless I missed my guess—were barreling down the main street towards us. The bus could handle the fence, but before we could load onto the ship, the ramp had to be lowered and the mooring lines cast off. We couldn’t do that in the middle of hundreds of creatures.

  I turned to Kate.

  “Go down and toss us up a couple shotguns, would you?”

  She followed my gaze and read my eyes.

  “I’ll come with you. Better two of us than one.” She dropped into the bus and disappeared from view, coming back a split second later with three guns. I reached my hand down and took the two shotguns, pulling them to the roof as she put a foot on the bottom rung.

  “Better that you stay with them. If we ... if something happens to us, they’ll need one of us to try to get that ramp down.”

  “Mike, you know goddamned well that ...”

  The rest of her angry sentence was cut off as I slammed the hatch and spun the latching mechanism, sealing it tightly and pounding twice on the roof to urge them to pull up to the fence. The bus started forward as we moved to the front, above the windshield. The hatch could still be opened from the inside, but by the time she was out, we’d be downstairs and in the thick of it.

  Boy, was she gonna be pissed.

  Chapter 32

  The bus pulled to the front of the gate, leaving barely enough space between the plow and the fence. We leapt carefully to the hood and down over the plow, avoiding the sharp edges of the serrated teeth.

  The lock was a simple combination plugged through a quarter inch chain. I motioned to Ted to step back, and blasted the metal with one shot from the shotgun. The U-shaped metal loop shattered and the chain went slack. I yanked the metal chain through the fence and pushed it open, Ted close behind me, pushing the other side. The bus engine roared, and the monstrosity pushed through the narrow opening, clipping a blade briefly on the metal post near me.

  Across the gate from me, Ted started forward to shut the gate. Less than five yards separated the group of creatures from us, and as the two gates met in the center, twenty bodies reached the chain link.

  Ted fell as the fence buckled inward, and my legs bent under the pressure of the weight as I pushed back against the creatures. Ted stood up, thin frame quick to react. He came to my side and fired several shots into the crowd, temporarily reducing the weight as he put his hand through the chain link and drew the chain together on our side. He screamed once, as in pain, then cursed, even as he looked around for something to secure the two pieces together.

  My arms and legs were burning as he began to look frantic.

  He turned to me, eyes wild.

  “We don’t have anything to lock the chain with,” he said.

  I spat a curse, and then remembered my attempt at a party trick in the cabin of the Humvee. I turned to him quickly.

  “Empty your gun into the crowd, then hand me the barrel,” I said through clenched teeth.

  The moans had increased on the opposite side, and fingers were piercing the chain link like so many worms emerging from a sodden dirt forest. Faces were pressed against the metal, tongues lashing the air and pieces of rotten skin flaking off on the rough edges.

  Two thundering shots later, he handed me the warm steel barrel with a dubious look on his face.

  “I don’t think ...” he started, then stopped, eyes widening.


  I had pushed the metal barrel through two adjoining links, and was bending the hardened steel in a closed U, making a circle of steel to hold the chain together. My arms and hands burned from the effort, but my blood was racing through my veins, and adrenaline shot through me like jet fuel. I felt like I could do, or kill, anything.

  I backed up from the fence, shaking slightly from the effort. Ted’s eyes were still wide, and shook his head slightly.

  “Okay then,” was all he said, then turned and ran toward the ferry.

  José was already on board with Kate, and they were standing in front of a raised panel with the top flipped up. I heard the hum of electronic machinery as the ramp began to lower. Further along the edge of the dock, George was unwinding mooring ropes and tossing them into the bay. The bus, parked directly in front of the ship, was waiting to board. I imagined Ky sitting inside, foot on the pedal, ready to get this shit on the road.

  I jumped onboard as the ramp reached the halfway point.

  “Engines?” I asked José briefly, and he nodded weakly, gesturing to amidships and limping forward.

  “I’ll take him,” I said quickly, avoiding Kate’s piercing glare.

  Yeah, I was gonna hear about my little trick later.

  The ladder to the engine compartment was located in the covered hangar-like deck that housed the cars; we opened the heavy door, carefully going down the narrow steps. I hated surprises, so when we got the bottom of the ladder, I motioned to José to be silent and whistled as loud as I could. The piercing shrill echoed against the metal walls and machinery, and we waited a full minute before deciding that we were alone.

  We moved along a narrow corridor, which opened into a large room with two engines on the metal floor. They gleamed with oil, and the room stank of engine oil and cleaning fluid, but the machinery was immaculately kept, and I sighed with relief when he entered an intricate sequence of keystrokes and dials, silencing several indicator lights, and turned over the first engine. It roared to life, followed quickly by the second.

  Turning to me, eyes rimmed in red and irises becoming white, he said simply.

  “They need some time to warm up; the wheel isn’t tough, and the controls in the main bridge aren’t complicated. Throttle for speed, wheel for direction. Don’t try to back into the dock; just cruise forward and hit reverse as you get close. She’s used to a little impact.” He took a deep breath, and shook as he exhaled.

  “I need to rest a little. Leave me here.”

  I understood, and mutely reached into my belt, handing him my pistol. “You’ve done something special here,” I said.

  “You won’t ever see it, but you made a difference.” He simply nodded and leaned against the cold metal bulkhead, eyes closing.

  I walked outside, throwing the latch and starting down the hallway. A single shot rang out, reverberating in the enclosed space. I kept walking, always moving forward.

  Above-decks, the bus was pulling forward to a parked position. George was throwing off the last line, and Ted was directing the bus. I yelled to Ted, who told me Kate was in the bridge, and I turned to run upstairs. As I rounded the corner onto the top deck from the ladder, a loud metallic crash whipped my head around.

  Under the weight of hundreds of creatures, the chain link fence had succumbed. They poured over the flattened metal in droves, and George was jumping onboard as I stared. The bus was firmly situated, and Ted was running to the control panel to raise the ramp. Only several feet of water separated the ferry from the pier, fewer when the tide pushed us inland with every wave—enough space that many of the creatures could luck onto the deck if they tried at the right moment.

  Underneath my feet, I felt something shift, and the large boat moved slightly.

  But it was moving in the wrong direction.

  The ramp, only halfway up, obscured the impact, but the hull pushed gently into the tire-wrapped pier-side, jolting Ted at his perch and sending George onto his face as he tried to run to the bus.

  I burst into the bridge, which had a musty, mildewed odor. Kate stood behind the wheel, right hand on the throttle controls.

  “Other way!” I shouted, and she shot me a dirty look.

  “I know, genius, I get that!”

  The boat shifted again and, for one frightening moment, ground against the pier as the hull moved back off the tires. Then we pulled forward, slowly easing into the bay. Behind us, the gap between the ship and the pier widened, even as the first of the creatures reached the water’s edge. They floundered at the gap and, pushed by the horde behind them, the first of the pack tumbled into the cold water, legs and arms thrashing.

  I sighed, leaning against the control panel and staring out the window toward the bay. It was a calm day, and the water was smooth. The sun was sinking low over the opposite shore, and I wondered absently whether we should overnight onboard and risk something happening with the engines, or a night landing on an unfamiliar shore in a noisy boat. I turned to Kate to ask, and stumbled backwards under the force of a full-armed slap to the face.

  She was standing in front of me, eyes blazing and a tear in one eye.

  “I told you not to leave me like that again,” she said, voice angry, but somehow scared as well.

  I raised my hand to my face. Before I could reply, her hand was in my hair, and she was kissing me. I held her close, remembering how good it felt to have her in my arms. The engine thrummed beneath us, and I vowed to myself not to leave her again.

  We turned the ship into the bay, and plotted our destination coordinates in the GPS. After much deliberation, we decided to drop anchor in the bay overnight and approach the shore in the morning. Ted had a passing familiarity with the ship, having served in the Coast Guard twenty years ago, and was comfortable enough with the controls to set the engines to idle for the eight hours of night. The fuel was sufficient, and after we cleared the majority of the ship, we retired to the main passenger deck to talk, and catch some sleep.

  We discussed the next steps, and agreed on a plan after poring over a map of the area. We needed to reach the Pentagon. That was the end goal.

  The question was the best route. Before the plague, or infection, or whatever you called it, there were millions of people in the city and its surrounding areas. Now, we had to assume there were millions of zombies. Although Kate and I had been out of the loop, George and Ted and Ky filled in some blanks. There were reports of D.C. being overrun, and of military build-ups in and around the Northern Virginia area. Holding the city was impossible, but the government had apparently been successful in retreating to hardened facilities in the Northern Virginia suburbs, including the Pentagon. Scattered reports had everyone from the President to a single low-level Cabinet secretary surviving the outbreak, and no one was sure of anything other than consistent reports of military presence in Virginia. Freeways and major arteries needed to be considered off-limits, and major seaports like Baltimore and Annapolis were out of the question. Our strategy had to be a quiet approach, and as little contact with likely centers of infected as possible.

  George and Ted had never lived in, or visited, D.C., leaving it to the rest of us to plan an approach. The first part was easy. We would take rural roads through Maryland to approach D.C. from the Northeast, avoiding the larger suburbs on the East side of the city. Our map was already marked with routes, and we marked alternative routes around possible population points, where we might be more likely to encounter packs. But when we started to plan for the approach to the city proper, we were stumped.

  Surprisingly, Ky proposed the breakthrough strategy.

  “We can’t take the beltway, or Route 50 into town, right?” she asked, looking at the map. Romeo’s head lay on the table, and her hand absently scratched his ears.

  “Right. Too many vehicles and undead. We have to find a way to get into town through the path of least resistance.” Kate had a finger absently twirling a strand of hair, and I smiled.

  “And we can’t fly in,” Ky said absently. Then h
er eyes lit up.

  “If we can’t go over, or on top, we should go under! The subway!” She looked up, eyes bright as we considered the idea.

  “Might work,” I conceded, looking at the others one at a time.

  “There’s as good a chance as any that the subways would be somewhat empty, and it does give us a quieter way to come into the city than the roads. Plus, it gives us a surefire way to get across the river, and the Pentagon has its own stop.”

  I was getting more excited.

  “We could bypass a lot of headaches by going under the main city, and if we picked up the line far enough outside of town, we’d have a straight shot through.”

  Kate looked at me and frowned, staring at the map.

  “I can’t love the plan, but it seems the best option. I just hate to think of being cornered underground with hundreds of those things.”

  “That’s the beauty, though. Aboveground, they can group together, draw from other packs, and attract more. Underground, there are limited access points. Whatever is there when we get there is likely to be all we have to deal with. There can’t have been that many people underground when this hit, and how many have since grouped together with other packs and left?”

  George spoke up, voice serious.

  “But how many trains were sealed underground when this thing hit? How many people stuck underground, unable to move through the turnstiles and up the elevators? How many creatures are wandering those tunnels, unable to leave? It’s fine if there aren’t that many that can find their way down, but how many can’t find their way up?”

  I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. It was a good point, but we had to make the hard decisions.

  There had to be fewer underground than above. It was simple math.

  I said as much, and Kate nodded, along with George.

  Ted refrained from comment, but stood up, grabbing a soda from the snack bar and popping the top.

  “What the hell, right?”

  He said it resignedly and dismissively. As if it were the only option.

  What the hell indeed.