Stop the Sirens: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 3

by Isherwood, E. E.

  “Dad drove me to Grandma Marty's the next day, saying nothing the whole way. He could really pour on the silent treatment like nobody's business. Grandma let me in and said I could stay in the basement. I was embarrassed by the whole thing beyond words—kicked out of my own home—so I said nothing as I trudged on by with my suitcase and backpack. I spent the next couple of weeks getting over my anger for the most part, wondering why I was so mad in the first place.”

  They took a short break to catch their breath.

  “I recently asked my dad if he knew this plague was coming. Was that why he sent me to Grandma's. He said no, it was just a lucky coincidence. But once you've seen men and women dying in droves with a horrific plague, you get a new perspective. On what you've done in the past to people you love. On the very concept of coincidence. Something happened between my dad and I at the start of this year, and I don't think any of what followed was coincidence. On the other hand, I can't figure out why, if he knew this was coming, he didn't stockpile food at Grandma's? Why not arm me with a real rifle for survival, rather than counting on the small guns you and I had to use? Why not send me and Grandma to Montana or some huge bunker where we'd be safer than this mess?”

  He nodded his head, as if pointing to everything around them.

  “And if I'm honest with myself, it makes me mad to think that if my dad did know all this would happen, he deliberately sent me to Grandma's knowing I'd be unprepared. I know deep down he would never put me in harm's way, but I can't stop thinking that thought. Crazy, huh?”

  “Not at all. I'm with you—your dad would never intentionally hurt you. To me, that means he didn't really know all this would happen. Maybe he's telling the truth about coincidence. We'll just have to ask him when we get back. Deal?”

  “Yeah, sure. If—when we get back, we'll get to the bottom of this little conspiracy theory. Keep an eye out for some tinfoil for me. I'm going to make a tinfoil hat when the time comes. He likes that sort of stuff.”

  Liam couldn't decide if he would be happier knowing his dad was just lucky in sending him to live with Grandma or that he sent him into the hot zone knowing he was going to be in danger. He was long past the age of believing his dad was an all-knowing hero, but he wasn't too old to believe his dad wouldn't do everything between Heaven and Hell to protect his son.

  The splash of water brought him back to the moment.

  They didn't waste a second. Victoria jumped into the boat and Liam pushed off as he jumped in. They both turned around and were relieved to see an empty fairway all along the river. They weren't being chased.

  Not by the dead anyway.

  Shut up!

  4

  It was nearly lunch time as they settled into their boat ride. They had lifted a couple candy bars off a dead survivalist as they left the valley—a theft for which they had no regret. They shared part of one after the exhaustion of launching the boat.

  “Mmm, this is so good.”

  Liam answered with a similar non-verbal vocalization.

  Victoria was in the rear of the little boat, laying up against the back while looking toward him. He faced her while sitting on the single plank in the middle which doubled as a seat for pulling the oars. They could continue talking to each other while they slowly, so slowly, deconstructed the chocolate bars into tiny pieces.

  They drifted down the small river without the need to paddle. This gave them the opportunity to rest, as well as observe the world passing them by. The tree-lined banks on each side were well shrouded by foliage, though they saw nothing but more trees through the gaps.

  Liam pulled out his pocket knife and began to etch into the wooden stock of his AK-47.

  “That's vandalism.”

  “Not if I own it.” He looked up. “You remember when Phil said the guns were our Moses? At the time I thought it was just a clever saying, but he was spot on. Without guns we'd be helpless victims back in that camp, waiting for some imaginary government to come rescue us.” He went back to carving. “Not this boy. I'm giving this thing a name. I shall call him Moses.”

  He finished his carving and showed it to her. She rolled her eyes, but humored him.

  “Very nice.”

  “Yeah, well. It is.” He couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say about the gun, so he continued with navigation. “I think we have a long way to go on this river before we reach the Mississippi. On the map it seemed to wind all over the place. This may take a while.”

  They agreed that while things were quiet one of them would nap while the other paddled. Victoria glanced up and joked that since he was already in the seat, she would let him paddle first.

  Liam was so tired he wanted to lay down next to her, no matter how cramped the space, and just let the boat go where it may. But he was disavowed of that bad idea after the first small set of rapids they approached. Not rapids exactly, but faster water as the river narrowed next to a gravel bar. He had to paddle a few times to avoid running into a large rock in the water. An easy maneuver if you're sitting at the oars, but it would be a rude awakening if they were just drifting along while sleeping.

  She was out in moments. Not surprising given the circumstances. It gave him a chance to admire her without his usual awkwardness. Her brown hair was a nasty mess, pasted with dried brown blobs of mud from their struggle up the hillside. He figured they'd all have shaved heads soon enough.

  Victoria's face was angelic, despite the fading bruises and cuts he saw there. While she slept, the taut seriousness of her face drained away too, restoring her teenage beauty.

  Is this what she would look like dead?

  His mind just wouldn't keep quiet, but he figured it was an honest question. With so much death in the air, thinking about it nearly all the time was the new reality. She did indeed look different as she slept.

  This is what she looks like in another universe, where zombies don't exist.

  She wore a simple black t-shirt with blue jeans. She picked jeans, she said, from his mom's wardrobe because she had a knack for being tasty to mosquitoes. So, even though it was deathly hot—there's that word again—she opted for the long pants simply to avoid bugs. She was very down-to-earth in that way. He could only imagine what some girls he'd known from school were going through. No makeup. No hairdryers. No nothing. Of course the boys were no doubt complaining about the lack of video games or sporting events on the tube.

  Continuing his overview, he smiled at the sight of her holster with his little .22 pistol on her right hip. She had laid down the AK-47 on her left side. It rode in the boat next to her like her best friend.

  He turned around to check his course and held the oars up while he studied a new set of problems. Bridges were ahead.

  He continued rowing, but remained alert.

  The first bridge was for a four-lane highway. It was all concrete with two large piers pushing down into the dirty green water. While it would have been busy with four lanes of vehicle traffic in the old days, there was little chance of anyone being on the deck just now. Unless they were up to no good…

  He propped up Moses next him. There was a round in the chamber, though he kept the safety on so he wouldn't accidentally shoot himself or anyone else. The air naturally cooled as he went under the large structure, temporarily escaping the glare of the sun. He had an urge to yell something as he went under, knowing it would be amplified in the semi-confined space, but he checked that irrational childish impulse as soon as he thought it. Having fun was the anti-survival skill these days.

  He was more concerned about the next span. It was a lower railroad bridge and even though it was a hundred yards or more downriver, he could see nets and wires had been strung below—as if to ensnare boats traveling this very path.

  He thought of rowing back upriver to avoid it altogether, but he ran things over in his head. If this was a trap, going backward would only get him killed. He knew he couldn't paddle against the current fast enough to escape anyone running along the shore. He'd ha
ve to try to push through using the momentum of the current.

  As he approached, he noticed the nets had significant amounts of debris down where they touched the water. It gave the appearance a neglect on the part of the would-be trappers.

  Closer now, he saw gaps in the nets on the far right, between the shoreline and the concrete pier holding up the rusty metal framework of the bridge twenty feet out.

  He paddled furiously to that side. As he approached the nets he had to nearly paddle backwards so he could avoid the big pier, but the current caught him and tossed him cleanly to the inside and through the gap. A small lean-to made of tarps was under the bridge, with a large opening facing the river. As he floated by he looked directly into the hole, and saw the bottoms of a pair of boots. But he also thought he saw—

  Eyes in the darkness.

  He waited to see if anyone would run after him or start shooting. Or start moaning. All the while he paddled downriver like his life depended on it.

  After about a minute of hard paddling he saw—nothing. Just like the golf course, his mind constructed pursuers, but the world would not provide them.

  Did I really see eyes?

  He knew there were still people left alive. The river would be a natural focal point for those looking for food. And that would bring in the zombies, searching for the same.

  As the boat rounded a sweeping turn and the bridges fell from view, it struck a large piece of driftwood. Victoria woke up with a jolt.

  “Holy moly, Liam. You're soaked with sweat! You look like you've been paddling in a competition.”

  “Nah, just a hot day.”

  “Oh, well do you want to switch? I don't mind paddling for a while.”

  He thought about telling her to go back to sleep, but the nets spooked him. The eyes terrified him. His fear of water was a minor quibble now.

  “Maybe we should both keep our eyes open, you know, for security.”

  She glared at him for a few seconds, clearly seeing through him—he knew her facial expressions—but she didn't complain.

  Since there was only one sitting plank, she sat next to him and worked the left oar. It was less efficient but they still made decent forward progress.

  Together they continued down the river.

  Come zombies or high water.

  5

  Working together, they paddled down the river for most of the afternoon without incident. Liam felt the stress of each moment, as he expected trouble at each bridge, each sandbar, and each revealing curve in the meandering stream. Many times he saw men and women wandering aimlessly on and near the river banks, but by staying low in the boat they managed to avoid being seen by the infected.

  They also saw scores of dead bodies in the water. They were heaviest near the bridges linking Arnold with St. Louis, where the effort to contain the plague in those early days was fierce. People had fought, and died, for those bridges. Clouds of flies greeted them as they went under each span.

  “We're only seeing the undead. I figured there would be a lot of people down here fishing and stuff. Is it possible no one's left alive out here but us?” He chanced a look over the side, not sure what made him think to do so.

  Maybe zombies are walking on the bottom, below us?

  He knew he was being irrational, but he ensured he was sitting as close to Victoria as possible in the middle of the boat just the same.

  Ahead, he saw a landmark he recognized. “There's the bridge we crossed all those days ago with Grandma.” He laughed a dark laugh. “The bridge we helped destroy.”

  The trussed railway bridge was partially collapsed on the south side, thanks to the big wrecking ball the police had used to prevent the zombies from getting to their side of the river. The large crane and ball were the only sentinels left to guard this wreckage, though the bodies of a few zombies wrapped in the bent girders still writhed and grabbed for them.

  There was a ghostly howl coming from the current rushing through the hollow metal dipped in the water. As they slid underneath the good side of the remaining structure, Liam reflected on everything they'd seen and done since passing across this bridge on the third day after the sirens. He looked at Victoria and guessed she was lost in similar thoughts.

  “We've come a long way since that day. Lost a lot of good people.”

  This time it was Victoria who wouldn't let him get himself down. “Yes, but look at us. We're still alive and happily boating underneath this very bridge where we thought we were going to die. As far as I'm concerned, given the alternatives, I'd say our prayers were answered that day.”

  “True. We got across the bridge. The bridge was blown. We were saved. But when will it end?”

  “God doesn't give us any more than we can handle.”

  “That sounds like a motivational poster.” Liam gave her a friendly chuckle.

  “Well,” she said while echoing his laugh, “maybe it is. But that doesn't make it any less true. God is watching out for us.”

  In his former life, Liam would have argued about the presence or absence of an all-powerful God. He wanted to argue it. But what came out was completely different.

  “I hope God is real, and I hope He is indeed watching over us. Watching over Grandma.”

  They shared a moment of silence as they watched the bridge behind them. Liam really was praying this time. Then it was back to business as they approached the end of the river.

  “I can see the Mississippi ahead. We'll have to stay close to the left bank so we can turn upriver when we get there. Why don't you sit in the back again so I can paddle us around the corner?”

  As they glided for the turbulent waters of the confluence, Liam saw a familiar, if unwelcome, sight. Far across the big river he saw two of the Marine Corps V-22 Ospreys flying fast and low near the water—heading upriver toward downtown St. Louis. Momentarily frozen by the sight, the boat drifted further out into the watery chaos of the junction than he intended.

  “Hang on” was all he could say. The boat was very small and there was no way for Victoria to hang on to much of anything. Her only job was to sit in the rear and keep watch in front of Liam to see where he was rowing.

  “I think the current is weaker along the shore. Let's aim that way.”

  Liam wasn't about to argue as he heaved the oars with all his strength. A few tense minutes was all it took to ensure they'd not be drawn further down the river, instead of going the direction they intended. He brought it as close to shore as he dared. He settled in and they made slow but steady progress upriver.

  “Let me know when you want to switch.”

  Um. Now?

  The small boat served them well on the small river, but it became a challenge in the faster water of the large river. It helped a great deal to stay close to the shore where the current was weakest, but Liam felt himself losing steam.

  “I'd be happy to switch, but paddling in this stuff is going to exhaust us both in no time flat.”

  He pulled the oars for a while longer then handed them off to Victoria so he could rest. He suspected her slighter frame and weaker upper body wouldn't be able to dig the paddles as fast and hard as the river required. Still, she wouldn't take no for an answer and managed to find a rhythm that worked for her. She pulled her weight. The boat moved upstream.

  At dusk, after many shifts at the oars for each of them, they were done. They happened upon an empty container barge anchored near shore. In the old days this river was a superhighway of barge traffic. Today, nothing else moved on the water but debris—including lots of bodies.

  “Let's tie up to that thing and climb aboard if we can. As long as there are no zombies inside the hull we should have a truly safe place to rest tonight. Help guide me in.”

  Liam pulled the oars with soft grunts as they approached the long, flat barge moored thirty feet offshore. It looked like it was sitting low in the water; it was loaded with something.

  Please let it be food!

  In short order they'd tied up and found a l
adder up the side. No zombies jumped on top of them, and no human defenders waved them off, either. Liam was so tired he didn't really care what was inside the hold. Even the thought of a zombie didn't scare him. He was willing to shoot just about anything to lay his head down.

  He struggled up the ladder with his sore arms and raw hands and was relieved to see neither humans nor zombies. He turned down to Victoria as she climbed the final rungs of the ladder behind him.

  “You're never gonna guess what we get to sleep in tonight.”

  She got to the top, and paused. “You know, I don't even care.”

  6

  When they escaped St. Louis, he and Victoria spent a lot of time riding a train. They were forced to hop rail cars so they could reach the engineer in the front. Unfortunately, many of the gondola cars were empty, requiring them to slide down into them so they could run up the other side. The bane of their existence during those jaunts were the empty coal haulers, which were filthy with black dust on their insides. In the end, they were covered head-to-toe in black soot, and they carried it with them long afterward. The undersides of his fingernails were still black.

  Neither of them protested as they settled down on the coal pile. After weeks of cat naps and fitful nights tossing and turning, deep sleep came fast. The softy rhythm of the river, the crickets and other bugs squawking in the nearby trees, and the facade of safety helped Liam achieve his best sleep since the disaster started. The dreary cloudy morning came fast on the heels of the night.

  When he woke, Victoria was already up and moving. She sat nearby, patiently trying to clean off some of the smudges and grime caked on her arms and face. She had nowhere to wipe but on her shirt. She had somehow gotten his pocket knife and had cut a swath of her shirt so it was about four inches shorter all around, exposing her midriff. With the long strip of cloth, she managed to do a decent job of cleaning up.

  She noticed him. “Oh, hello. Good morning.” Her words were accompanied by a big smile, though her eyes were still travel-worn.

  He responded, or so he thought, but his eyes were glued to her exposed belly. He knew he shouldn't stare, but…