Someone caught his eye in the crowd, causing him to miss Lena’s retort. It was Mac Cochran. His expression was that of urgency.
Holbrook excused himself and met Cochran halfway.
“Chief, I have to talk to you.”
“Mac, what is it?”
Mac pulled Holbrook aside and leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone. “Chief, the Coast Guard has detected a boat loitering about twenty miles out.”
“So, what? What is it? You seem spooked.”
Cochran looked him in the eye. “It looks to be Russian, Chief.”
“Russian?” Holbrook asked a little too loudly.
Cochran winced, but no one seemed to hear it.
“Are you sure?” asked Holbrook.
“Positively. It’s one of those spy ships.”
“What are they doing here, now?”
Cochran shrugged, looking nervously around him. “Don’t know, Chief. It’s not the first time.”
Holbrook pulled him close. “Keep an ear out, and keep me posted.”
Cochran nodded and navigated through the crowd to the exit. Lena slid beside her husband, grabbing him by the arm. She looked concerned. “Jim, what was that all about?”
Holbrook smiled. “Cochran’s been in contact with the Coast Guard. He was filling me in on what’s going on.”
“What is going on? Is everything okay?”
He managed his most sincere smile. “Everything’s fine, honey.”
“What about dinner?” asked Robbie. “Is Daddy going with us?”
“Daddy has work to do, dear,” said Lena. “There’ll be other dinners.”
Holbrook kissed Lena. “No, I’ll be there. Six o’clock.”
“Yay!” cheered Robbie.
“Are you sure?” asked Lena.
Holbrook checked his watch. “Yeah. I have a few things to check on, then I’ll head home for a bit.”
* * *
Vinnie limped his way on a wooden crutch towards Blackbeard’s Arcade. He hobbled in through the front and looked around. There were some children playing on the machines, but it was mostly empty.
Dharma was standing next to Salvatore behind the prize counter. She smiled when she saw him, but Salvatore averted his gaze. The expression on his face soured.
Vinnie hopped over to the counter. “Dead in here.” He winced at his own choice of words.
“It’s dinner time,” said Dharma. “People are home or out at restaurants.”
“The pizzeria’s slow,” said Vinnie.
Salvatore ignored Vinnie and turned to Dharma. “I’m going to play some pinball, if that’s okay.”
Dharma hugged him. “Sure, that’s fine, sweetie.”
Vinnie stood there looking wounded as Salvatore trudged off to the pinball machines in the back corner. “He hates me.”
Dharma looked sympathetic. “Oh, he’s upset his mom died.”
“He thinks it’s my fault.”
“You know it wasn’t, Vin.”
Vinnie’s eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one was within earshot. “Do I? I feel horrible. Marie was a force of nature. She was a hero. And, now she’s dead thanks to me, and her kids are orphans.”
“It’s not your fault. It was those monsters.”
“I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve told her to get back inside the car.”
“You had no idea that little girl zombie was going to attack you. You said so yourself, she almost bit your arm.”
“Yeah, but Marie would’ve still be alive.”
Dharma scowled. “Don’t talk like that. I’m glad you’re alive.”
Vinnie looked around. “Where’s Alessandra?”
“She’s with Nancy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Nancy’s taken a real liking to her. She’s using her as her little assistant.”
“She feels bad for her,” said Vinnie.
“She’s empowering her,” insisted Dharma.
Vinnie looked over at Salvatore, who was sullen as he played pinball. “I apologized go him, profusely. I just don’t know what else to say.”
Dharma came around the counter and hugged Vinnie. “There’s nothing you can say. This isn’t about you or your guilt. This is about a kid grieving his mother two years after losing his father.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“You guess?” She punched him in the arm.
“Okay, okay. You’re right,” he conceded.
“He’ll come around. Give him time.”
“I hope so.”
* * *
As days passed, Holbrook tried his best to remain optimistic, if not for him, then for the others. For Robbie and Lena.
It had been a week, and they hadn’t lost power. Because of new theories that the virus was present in the local water supply, they used bottled water and soft drinks rather than the local water supply as a precaution.
The boardwalk businesses continued to pull together to pool food and resources, but without incoming shipments, the supply was dwindling. Holbrook and Nancy had introduced the idea of rationing to Marco, and he agreed.
The arcades were used to occupy the children and keep them entertained, but it was lights out at night. Over the course of the week, they had discovered that the lights had attracted some of the dead from across the Bay, who strolled up onto the beach in search of a hot meal. They had been dispatched by Holbrook’s patrols, but it was a warning to be more cautious.
Everyone chipped in, each to his own ability. A handful of retired engineers helped monitor the water supply, sanitation systems, and damaged structures. They inspected gas and power lines for safety. The local teachers did their best to teach the children, even though it was summer. The children of Smuggler’s Bay were less than enthusiastic about it, but it kept them busy and out of the hair of the adults helping run the town.
It was a quiet Friday morning, and Holbrook was patrolling the bay side with Becky when they heard the staccato chopping of helicopters. They looked up to find six Blackhawks and two Chinooks passing overhead.
“What the…?”
“It’s about time,” said Becky.
After a few minutes, Holbrook’s radio crackled. It was Pacelli. “Chief, Pacelli here.”
“Go ahead, Pacelli.”
“Chief, we got some army copters landing on the beach.”
“I know. We saw it. I’m on my way.”
*
By the time Holbrook made it over to the boardwalk, the army was setting up on the beach. There was an officer pointing here and there, issuing orders, and his men went about their delegated tasks with urgency.
Pacelli and Lena, on boardwalk patrol, were waiting for him at the boardwalk stage on Mariner Avenue. As Holbrook walked up to them, he saw Lena’s face. She looked concerned.
“What’s going on?” asked Holbrook.
“I don’t know,” said Lena. “They just started running around.”
They watched as several men started erecting tents. A small party walked off towards Blackbeard’s Pier and started surveying the construction equipment. Smuggler’s Bay survivors gathered at the edge of the boardwalk, watching the goings on with great interest. Some people even cheered
“They’re setting up a staging base.” Holbrook looked at the apparent officer in charge and sighed. “Well, let’s go make friends.”
Lena turned to Pacelli. “Stay here. Keep the boardwalk patrol alert.”
Pacelli nodded and marched off.
Holbrook smiled. Lena had really come into her own since the attack. She became tougher, more resourceful. She took charge with such confidence that even his men took orders from her.
Holbrook and Lena walked down the wooden ramp to the sand below and began trudging over to the officer directing everyone. He shot them a glance, but ignored their approach, remaining focused on his work.
When they got close, the officer finally regarded them, though not warmly. “Who are you?”
Holbrook extend
ed a hand. “Jim Holbrook, police chief.”
The man shook it. “Colonel Waters, US Army. Who’s in charge?”
“I guess that’s me,” said Holbrook.
“Not anymore. I’ll take it from here.”
Holbrook wasn’t crazy about his demeanor. “What took you guys so long?”
Waters shot him any icy glare. “There’s a war going on, or maybe you haven’t heard.”
“Colonel, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we’ve been through war ourselves here. We lost many of our residents…family, friends.”
Waters looked away from Holbrook, hands on his hips, surveying his operation. “Your efforts are appreciated, Chief Holbrook. I don’t mean to sound otherwise.”
“So, what’s the plan?” asked Lena.
Waters regarded her with amused contempt.
Lena wasn’t sure if it was because she was a woman or a civilian or both.
“The plan? The plan is to stage a resistance to the dead.”
“You’re using Smuggler’s Bay as a staging base,” said Holbrook.
Waters nodded. “That’s correct. A barrier island is an ideal jumping off point for retaking the coast.”
“That’s great,” said Holbrook. “How can we help?”
Waters levelled his gaze at Holbrook. “I’m going to need an inventory of your supplies—food, weapons, tools.” He pointed across the beach to the pier. “I’m going to require use of that equipment as well.”
“Sure thing,” said Holbrook. “What for?”
“We’re going to build an elevated, fortified base of operations.”
“That’s going to take a while,” said Lena, confused.
“War is about the long game,” said Waters. “We are not the cavalry riding in to wipe out the dead menace, Miss…”
“Mrs. Holbrook. Lena.”
“…Mrs. Holbrook. This is not going to be quick, and it’s not going to be easy.” He turned to Holbrook. “How’s your police force?”
Holbrook put his hands on his hips. “Most of them were wiped out in the attack. My current force is composed of several of the old officers, lifeguards, and a few civilians.”
Waters nodded. “Good. It won’t do us any good if there’s no order.”
“It was the best we could do under the circumstances, and it did the job,” said Holbrook.
Waters listened, face stoic. “Well, we have a new job now, and that’s to keep the island secure, hunker down, and fortify. Once that has been achieved, we’re going to coordinate strategic strikes inland.”
“That’s great,” said Holbrook. “By the way, do you guys know anything about that Russian spy vessel hanging around the shore?”
Waters paused, looking at Lena. Holbrook looked at her, too.
Lena sighed. She knew that meant this conversation wasn’t for her ears, so she begrudgingly walked back towards the boardwalk, giving them their privacy.
“Yes, we’re aware of the Russian spy ship. It’s a Vishnya-class intelligence ship.”
“What are they doing around here now?”
“Catching us with our pants down. Surveilling the chaos.”
“Do you think they have any involvement in the attack?” asked Holbrook.
“We’re not ruling it out,” said Waters. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to get back to work.”
“I’m going to get that information you wanted, ASAP,” said Holbrook.
“That would be appreciated, sir,” said Waters. “I’ll be in touch once we’ve established the staging area.”
“I’ll be around,” said Holbrook.
Waters returned to directing his men, and Holbrook walked back up the beach to the boardwalk, where Lena was waiting for him.
“What a prick,” said Lena.
“Nah, he’s got his orders, and we need to help him any way we can. He doesn’t have time for social niceties. Plus, he wants to make it real clear who’s in charge now.”
“And it isn’t you.”
“That’s okay,” said Holbrook. “I’m a police chief. He’ll do a better job of leading the town.”
“I suppose so,” said Lena with some reluctance.
“If the news is correct, we’ve got a long haul ahead of us,” said Holbrook. “There’s been a Russian spy vessel lurking close to shore.”
“I know, I saw it on the news.” She looked away, at the beach. “It’s what Mac Cochran told you about.”
Embarrassed, Holbrook smiled. “I didn’t want to alarm you.”
“I’m not as stupid as you and your colonel buddy think I am.”
Holbrook pulled her close and hugged her. “Don’t ever think I feel that way. You’re amazing.”
She wanted to be bitter about it, but she melted in his arms. Who knew? Maybe before all this happened, everything she’d been through, she would’ve been so naïve. The dead had a way of hardening those who survived.
Holbrook looked at the people of Smuggler’s Bay lined up along the boardwalk fence, waving to the soldiers, cheering them on. This was what they were waiting for, and he was glad it would offer them some solace.
However, Colonel Waters was right. It was just the beginning. Everything wasn’t going to be okay. They would have to make it okay.
*
Vinnie limped over to the edge of the boardwalk using his crutch, Dharma by his side. They watched all of the activity on the beach. Vinnie was admiring the helicopters.
“Look at that,” said Vinnie, watching the soldiers. “That’s a welcome sight.”
“What are they doing?” asked Dharma.
“Looks like they’re setting up camp. We could use more help.” He snapped his fingers, as if an idea had suddenly dawned on him. “Let’s go bring them some pizzas.”
Dharma smiled. “Good idea. Get off on the right foot.”
Vinnie winced at the expression. “Really, Dharma?”
She smiled impishly. “Hop along, now.”
“Please. Just stop.”
“Shake a leg, mister.”
“Oh, for Chrissake.”
*
Lenny stood proudly behind the refreshment counter at Blackbeard’s Pier, left in charge with Salvatore by Dharma. Since the arrival of the military, boardwalk traffic had picked up again. After gawking at the soldiers on the beach, some people came into the arcade to let off some steam.
Lenny was delighted when a few soldiers came into the arcade. A Colonel Waters had been asking to speak to the owner, which Salvatore indicated was Nancy.
In the CVS, Mrs. Holly and Tara ran the pharmacy as their own urgent care center, doling out medications and tending to the sick and wounded. Tara was doing much better, and she used her counseling skills to help those who were struggling with anxiety and acute stress syndrome.
Colonel Waters repurposed the construction equipment, once used to rebuild the pier and boardwalk, to create an elevated fortification as well as wooden barricades at the town boundaries.
Everyone carried on with their new normal, with a new sense of purpose and a new sense of urgency. There was no more daily grind in what became known as the Dead Zones. No more traffic, no more pain-in-the-ass boss, no more bills. The country thought it was going to be torn apart by politics, but Democrat versus Republican didn’t matter anymore. It was no longer about getting more votes, filling more offices, or passing more bills.
Now, it was the living versus the dead, and the stakes were higher. The country now had to pull together in the face of a superordinate threat.
Becky had armed herself from the town’s makeshift armory and slipped off in a row boat across the bay to find her husband in Stonewall, where they lived. He hadn’t been picking up when she called him, and she was worried.
If he had been evacuated, he would’ve called her. The dead took her sister away from her. She wasn’t going to lose Greg. If he was trapped inside their house, surrounded by the dead, she was coming for him.
She was coming for them all.
The
End
Read on for a free sample of Stage 3: A Zombie Novel
CHAPTER I
The droning was incessant. It came up from the floor, hummed through the seat and reverberated through his body like a shiver. Mason snapped awake, kept his eyes tightly closed, and muttered a silent curse.
Damn! Still in the air……
While he was asleep, someone had nestled a red-hot poker behind his eyes and wrapped a clamp around his head. It was that damned engine vibration! How the hell did people abide that ceaseless droning? No wonder his skull felt like it was coming apart.
Well, okay, maybe there was more to it than that, he admitted sheepishly, the taste of scotch still strong in his mouth.
He could hear music, too. How the hell was there music? Oh right. His iPod. He'd turned it on and slipped in the earbuds to circumvent any further tedious dialogue with Fatty McLardass next door. Then, in case the big guy didn't get the message, he'd reclined his seat and closed his eyes. Eventually, the charade became real, and he'd actually fallen asleep. That last part was sheer bonus. He hadn't been sure how he'd survive another sixteen hour flight across the Pacific in a plane stuffed with humans, but apparently he'd found the solution; copious amounts of alcohol, a couple of Dramamine, and a generous helping of Pink Floyd.
Should have gone business class, he pondered idly to himself. Becks would have liked that……
And with that single errant thought, a flood of emotions poured into his aching brain. Grief. Loss. Betrayal. An abiding anger bordering on outright hostility.
At last, he felt a cramping in his legs that brought his mind back to the present. One of his feet was twisted around the other and sending shooting pains into his calf. Not wanting to let his neighbor know that he was awake, he uttered a vague somniferous grunt and shifted casually in his seat. Better now. Blood flow restored and no one the wiser. And better yet, the searing pain in his head superseded the growing pins and needles accompanying the return of circulation.
Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he took mental stock of his positioning. His head was turned to the right, away from his neighbor and toward the window. Good. He could pop an eye open without being discovered and maybe see how far along they were. If they were over land, they were in the final stretch, and he might be able to abide a half-hour of idle tourist chit-chat if it meant he could properly stretch his legs. If they were still over water, he'd have to feign unconsciousness for a while longer. Hell, maybe he'd even drift back to sleep and give his body time to work through the last of the alcohol to keep his skull from splitting open.
The Creeping Dead: Book 2 Page 26