Rotter Apocalypse

by Scott M. Baker

  Doreen stepped over to the Stryker, an MRE clutched in her hand. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind the view.”

  Doreen sat on the ground beside Ari. “A month ago that might have freaked me out. Since Site R….”

  “I know. After what we’ve gone through, having those things leer at us while we eat is nothing.”

  Doreen leaned over toward Ari’s MRE. “Smells good. Wanna trade?”

  “What do you have?”

  “Vegetarian chili with beans.”

  Ari shook her head.

  “Damn.” Doreen ripped open her packet. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  “Any idea what time we’re kicking off?”

  “According to Mesle, we’re not moving out until tomorrow. Headquarters doesn’t want a repeat of yesterday. They’ll spend most of today conducting air recon of San Jose and the surrounding cities so we’ll know what to expect. In the meantime, San Francisco is sending down reinforcements and supplies.”

  “No arguments here. I could use a day of R&R.” A chorus of moans emanated from the Jersey barriers. “Well, a day of rest at least.”

  Doreen dropped the packet of vegetarian chili into the heater and added water. “Do you think the world will ever go back to normal?”

  “Normal as we knew it, no,” Ari replied. “I do think we’ll see a time when there are no rotters.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think things will be like then?” Doreen zipped the heater and laid it at an angle against the rear wheel. “I’m assuming the world will be a better place. We’ve all had to pull together to fight the rotters. Don’t you think we’ll be more unified once this is all over?”

  Ari grew sullen. “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  Ari opened the heater pack, removed the MRE, and ripped open the seal. “We’re still in the middle of the apocalypse and there are those who are out only for themselves,” Ari responded. “Compton. O’Bannon. That gang in New Hampshire. The Deaders. Human nature will never change. Those things out there are more reliable than us.”

  Doreen turned toward the rotters behind the barricades. “Them?”

  “They won’t betray you, or rape you, or take advantage of you. All they want to do is eat you. We know where we stand with them. I can’t say that for everyone else we’ve encountered.”

  Doreen appeared as if she had the enthusiasm sucked out of her, which she had. Ari regretted speaking her mind. Too late now. She reached into the MRE with the plastic fork, dug out a chunk of spaghetti, and stuck it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, forcing herself to do so. Her appetite had suddenly vanished. Holding out the MRE to Doreen, she waved it in front of her friend.

  “Do you want this?”

  Doreen shook her head. “It’s yours.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “If you’re sure.” Doreen grabbed the packet and began eating.

  Ari marveled at how the simplest things now brought such pleasure in the new dead world.

  The two women ate breakfast and chatted. Neither was aware of Mesle’s approach until they heard him say, “I have someone here who wants to join the squad. Is there any room?”

  “Sure. We always have room for fresh meat to feed—” Ari glanced up to greet the new recruit. Her heart soared when she saw Natalie standing there. “Oh my God!”

  Natalie grinned. “I’m glad you think I’m still fresh. I was feeling kind of old.”

  Ari jumped up and wrapped her arms around Natalie, holding her as tight as possible and not letting go.

  When the hug became awkward, Natalie reached up and patted Ari on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Ari hugged tighter for an extra second, then broke the embrace and stepped back. “Sorry. I… we weren’t sure if we’d ever see you again.”

  “Well, I’m back.”

  “Thank God.” Ari nodded in the direction of San Jose. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Mesle. “Your friend has seen some shit that makes what we went through seem tame. Christ knows we can use someone like her.”

  “You’re really joining our squad?” Ari asked.

  Natalie nodded.

  “She requested to join us, and Headquarters granted it.” Mesle patted Natalie on the shoulder. “Get her settled in and brief her up. And get some rest. Word is we’re taking San Jose tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The alarm woke Windows at 5:30 AM. She crawled out of bed and opened the window to check the perimeter. It was still dark and she couldn’t see anything. Listening for a few moments, she heard nothing other than crickets and an owl hooting in the distant woods. Closing the pane, Windows got dressed, checked on Cindy and the others, and went downstairs. None of the lights were on. She stepped into the kitchen and flicked on the switch.

  A knocking on the living room window caught her attention. Denning sat on the front porch, gazing in at her. He swung his horizontal hand back and forth across his neck. Windows understood. She flicked off the light, crossed the living room, and opened the front door.

  “What’s going—?”

  Denning raised two fingers to his lips, and then used them to motion Windows to the wooden chair beside him. When she sat down, he leaned closer and whispered.

  “There’s several rotters along the perimeter fence down by Walther’s pen.”

  “How many?”

  “Five or six as of two hours ago. I thought I heard moaning about two in the morning so I made a sweep of the perimeter. That’s when I found three of them. I went back at four and there were a few more.”

  “Do they know we’re here?”

  Denning shook his head, although Windows could barely see it in the dark.

  “Any idea where they came from?”

  “Not sure. I’m assuming Montreal, like Miriam and the kids.”

  “That means there’ll be more of them,” Windows said, louder than she meant to.

  Denning placed his fingers against his lips again. “We’ll have to prepare for that.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t want to be out there alone with them in case there were more. I figured we can go take care of them at dawn.”

  * * *

  Windows had woken up Cindy and the others right before sunrise and warned them about what she and Denning intended to do. After ordering them to stay together in one of the upstairs bedrooms facing the southern side of the house, she joined Denning in the kitchen. He sat at the table sipping a cup of coffee. A machete and a hunting knife had been laid out on the counter.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “At least you’re honest.” Denning put down his mug, pushed out of the chair, and stepped over to the counter. He picked up both edged weapons and extended them to Windows. “Which do you prefer?”

  She took the hunting knife and slid the sheath between her right hip and jeans. Denning ran his belt through the top loop of the scabbard and tied the bottom string around his leg. He picked up the mug, took several large gulps of coffee, and grabbed his weapon.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  Exiting the back door, the two stepped to the west end of the house and peered around the corner. The sun had not yet crested the tree line. However, they had enough light to see to the end of Walther’s pen. Five rotters were bunched around the outer fence, their attention focused on the bull as he paced the pasture, oblivious to the living dead nearby. When he trudged to one end, the rotters followed. When he came back, so did they. It was almost comical to watch.

  “When Walther walks away from us, we’ll go after those things,” Denning whispered. “They’re distracted, so hopefully we can sneak up on them and take down a few before the others know we’re there.”

  “Why not shoot them?”

  “If there are more on the road, the noise will attract them.�
��

  Windows frowned. “Makes sense.”

  They waited until Walther had reached the southern end of the pasture and turned north. The rotters shambled after him. Denning and Windows darted across the open space between the house and the perimeter fence. They crouched down, ran to the gate, and passed through to the other side. After resting a moment for Denning to catch his breath, they moved at a walking pace along the fence so as not to make noise. When they approached to within a few feet of the pack, Denning ran up behind a rotter in mechanic’s overalls and swung the machete down. The blade fractured the skull and carved into its brain. The rotter convulsed for a few seconds before going limp, still held upright due to the machete imbedded in its head. Denning twisted the blade from side to side, freeing it. The rotter dropped to the dirt with a thud.

  Meanwhile, Windows had circled around to the next rotter in line, a female with long blonde hair that had become disgusting with filth and gore. Windows clutched its hair with her left hand and held the head steady, and with the right jabbed the hunting knife under the base of the skull. It snarled. Windows twisted the blade in a circle, scrambling its brains. The rotter slid off the blade and fell forward.

  The commotion had attracted the attention of the remaining pack. The closest had been a cop and still wore a riot control helmet.

  “Duck!” warned Denning. After Windows crouched down, he stepped forward, brandishing the machete like a baseball bat, and swung. The blade sliced through the rotter’s neck, partially severing the spine. It toppled over onto the ground, unable to move, the head still attached by a clump of skin and muscle, biting at Denning’s feet.

  The fourth rotter, dressed in a white lab coat stained dark brown with dried blood, lunged at Windows where she crouched. She held up the knife in front of her and stood. The blade punctured the soft skin underneath the rotter’s jaw and continued up, cutting through the roof of its mouth and into the brain. Its mouth gaped open and it spasmed once before going limp. Windows pulled out the knife and jumped back so she wouldn’t be hit by the body as it fell to the dirt.

  Denning took care of the final one. Moving in a circle around Windows, he got its attention. It maintained eye contact with him. Once the rotter had positioned itself with its back to the fence, Denning rushed forward and shoved it against the wooden slats, momentarily disorienting it. Lifting the machete, he brought it down hard, cleaving its face from the base if its nose to the top of its head. This time he had imbedded the blade so deep he could not remove it.

  “Need help?” Windows asked.

  “Please.”

  Windows placed her hand on its shoulders and ducked her head so her face wouldn’t be splattered. Denning twisted and yanked for several seconds before the machete finally pulled free with a sickening suction noise. The rotter slid along the side of the fence and onto the ground.

  “We should bury the bodies before we let the others out,” Windows suggested.

  “Good idea. First, I want to check the access road leading in here and make sure there aren’t any more of these things roaming around. I don’t want us to be surprised while making our rounds.”

  The two headed for the access road, all the while scanning the area for any living dead that might be lurking in the woods. Windows started to feel something was amiss. She couldn’t put a finger on it, although something definitely was not right. Then it dawned on her. The background noise was not coming from birds and insects, but from rotters. It was the incessant shuffling and moaning of the living dead, though she had no idea where it was coming from. Only when they rounded the bend and came within sight of the main road two hundred feet away did she understand.

  “Get down!” Denning took Windows’ arm and pulled her into the trees where they melded into the shadows. A steady stream of the living dead headed south. Windows counted on average twenty every minute. They didn’t seem to be agitated or have a purposeful direction. Occasionally, one would glance down the access road, neither acknowledging it nor moving in its direction. It seemed like the rotters were on a road trip, which might have amused her if this exodus wasn’t taking place less than a mile from their compound.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered. “Are they running from something?”

  “Those things don’t run from anything. They’re probably chasing after survivors from Montreal.”

  “Why so many?”

  “It’s a pack mentality. One sees food and goes after it, and the rest follow. Like lemmings going over a cliff. They could be following someone who passed by here days ago.”

  The thought dawned on Windows that if these rotters had been around when Miriam and the kids had found the barn, they would have led this horde right to them.

  “What do we do now?”

  “There’s nothing we can do. Hopefully the gate across the road will prevent any of them from wandering down here, though that won’t help if any come through the woods. Until these things pass by, we need to be as quiet as possible. We’ll keep the kids indoors to be safe. And we’ll continue standing guard at night.”

  “Maybe we can get Miriam to help with that.”

  “Maybe, though I’m not sure if she’s up to it.” Denning moved deeper into the woods and headed back to the farm. “Let’s get out of here before one of those things sees us.”

  Windows followed, trying to blot from her mind the images of the rotter-filled road.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Mike, wake up.”

  Robson heard Roberta’s voice, though he didn’t respond and pretended to be asleep, hoping she would go away. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  “Come on, Mike. I know you can hear me.”

  Leave me alone, he thought.

  “We have to talk about last night.”

  “What’s to talk about?” Robson asked without opening his eyes. “Linda threw us all under the bus. The vampires now have the advantage.”

  “Only if we let them,” James said. “That’s why we need to plan how we’re going to handle the situation when they come back tonight.”

  “There’s only one way we can handle the situation.” Robson opened his eyes and sat up, resting his back against the barn’s center support. “We have to stand together and refuse to join their ranks.”

  “Do you think that’ll keep us alive?” Caslow asked.

  Robson shook his head. “Not permanently.”

  “Then why bother?”

  Robson stretched and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “If the vampires think we’re vulnerable, they’ll divide us. They’ll pick off the weak, and those of us who are left won’t have the numbers to resist. Our only chance of making it out of this situation is to unite against them.”

  “Maybe we’ll have a better chance if we join them,” suggested Caslow.

  “Do you really want to become one of the undead?”

  Caslow hesitated. “It’s…it’s better than being dead, isn’t it?”

  “No,” said James.

  “If we do stick together,” Yukiko said, “do you think they’ll spare us?”

  “No. But it might buy us some time so I can talk to Dravko.”

  “The bloodsucker who’s supposedly your friend?” Cory laughed derisively. “That means we’re all screwed.”

  “Dravko isn’t like Vladimir or Tibor. He still has a touch of humanity in him. If anyone will help us escape, he will.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Magda asked.

  “Then we’re all going to have some tough choices to make.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Cassandra stood at the glass door leading to the balcony, holding the blackout curtain aside with one hand so she could look out over Montreal. “They should be here soon.”

  Derrick stepped from the bedroom with the backpack he had finished preparing. “Cassi, get away from the window before you draw attention to us.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. The military is almost here.”

  That’s the problem, Derric
k thought. He placed the backpack on the couch and crossed the living room to the balcony. From their tenth floor residence in one of the three apartment buildings along the west bank of the Ile de Soeurs, they had a good view of the city. From this vantage point, over the past two days they had tracked the fires as they raged through the LaSalle District and stopped when they reached the Saint Laurent River. They had also marked the path of the Canadian military as it advanced through the city. He estimated them to be around Mont Royal Park, three kilometers distant. Cassi saw that as a good thing, hoping they’d be rescued soon. Derrick viewed the approaching military as being only slightly more welcome than the hordes of zombies roaming the city.

  Though others disagreed, Derrick had always thought of himself as practical. He had been arrested twice for shoplifting, although he never did any time for it. One time, a storekeeper went after him with a baseball bat, giving Derrick a nasty welt on the arm before he made it out of the store. Purse snatching didn’t fare much better. He had made a few thousand dollars over the years, giving up that venture after he had grabbed a pocketbook from some bitch waiting to meet her boyfriend, who happened to be approaching from the direction Derrick used to escape. The ass-kicking he got that afternoon put him in the hospital for two days. It wasn’t like he was using the money to buy drugs or liquor or whores. He needed the cash to live. As a high school dropout, he couldn’t get or keep a job, and needed to resort to petty theft to make ends meet. Besides, he only stole from those who had more than him, so he was merely redistributing the wealth. Christ knew those people could afford to spare some. Derrick saw himself as reasonable; the authorities viewed him as nothing more than a thug.

  That was why he and Cassi had to get out of Montreal.

  Everything Derrick had acquired during the past year had been commandeered. He had taken over the apartment during the first few weeks after the outbreak when all the residents had abandoned the building, and then spent a week fortifying every window and entrance on the ground floor so nothing could get in. The Harley he kept garaged in a first floor apartment had been taken from a dead biker he had found while scouting out the northern part of the island. He scrounged for supplies in other apartments or local shops. Derrick figured that in this new world disorder everybody did what they had to in order to survive, despite the fact that argument had never worked for him before the outbreak.