Private Lansky, the driver of the last truck, swung wide of the assembling horde and roared down the small lane in front of the large building. As he passed the building, he saw it was the First Methodist Church of Christ, ironically. Given the number of zombies, the townspeople probably used this place as a makeshift hospital, but once the infection took hold, it devastated everyone.
Lansky hoped he could find a side street that would take him back to the highway and the safety of the other trucks, but his heart leaped to his throat when he saw the road ended. Well, make your own. He thought as he followed a small line of trees. He could see an opening to the west and headed in that direction, pursued by a couple dozen zombies. They stumbled along behind the truck and he smiled as he pulled away. He couldn’t go too quickly, since recent rain had made the ground soft, but the big truck moved steadily forward.
Rounding the tree line, he pulled the truck through the field and stopped abruptly. Ahead of him was at least another fifty zombies and they were all turning to see the newcomer to their picnic. Across the meadow, Lansky could see the other trucks moving quickly down the road, pursued by at least a hundred zombies. They moved as one, effectively cuting off the road from him.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” Lansky cursed as he looked around. He had nearly three hundred zombies in front of him, about thirty behind him and nowhere to go. In his side view mirrors he could see the ones from behind getting closer and he quickly rolled the windows up to give himself some extra protection.
“Keep moving, keep moving” Lansky repeated as he veered to the right and headed back to the open country. He could see a small building and what looked to be a road, so he gunned the engine and moved the big vehicle in that direction, hoping to find some more road where he could reconnect with the convoy and put some serious distance between his pursuers.
Lansky drove furiously to the northwest, then banked hard when he reached an access road. Heading south, he breathed a sigh of relief when he hit the road, figuring he was safe. That feeling lasted about ten seconds when he discovered his path was blocked by the zombies chasing the convoy. The ones that were after him were now spread out by the building and heading his way.
Lansky made a quick calculation, then shook his head. “Fuck you, Thorton.” He figured his best chance of survival was to head back the way he came and to hell with this crazy adventure. The private turned the wheel hard to the left, veering away from the pursuing zombies and headed across the open field to go back to Cairo.
He slammed the gas pedal down and the truck lumbered across the field, bouncing a zombie off the bumper as he tried to thread the needle through the two groups. Lansky looked back for a second and at that moment, the truck fell forward heavily, slamming the private against the steering wheel. The truck’s forward momentum carried it forward to where the front bounced high up, causing Lansky to hit his head on the roof of the cab. The truck came to a stop and Private Lansky, holding his head, took stock of the situation and realized he had hit a small creek that had run through the land. He hadn’t seen it before and should have been able to see it, but with the field overgrown with weeds, it would have been impossible to avoid.
Settling himself back in the seat, Lansky tried the engine and was rewarded with it starting, but when he tried to put it into drive the wheels, settling in deep mud and water, just spun in place.
Grabbing his rifle and pack, Lansky leapt from the cab and landed on the far side of the creek. The weeds were tall enough to reach his knees and he used that as he ducked low and ran to the tree line to his east. It was backtracking, but it was the best he could do. If he could get to the forest across the street, he stood a chance. A slight one, but a chance.
He looked back and saw the zombies reach the truck and in a second they were all over it, crawling inside the cab, trying to figure out what had happened to the meat they had seen earlier. The creek wasn’t deep enough to keep them from crossing and in a short amount of time there were about a hundred on the private’s side of the water. Private Lansky ducked into the trees and moved southward towards the road and the forest.
As he moved, a dark shape rose up in front of him. It was a tall, white-haired zombie, dressed entirely in black. The long, thin arms reached out and a deep, guttural moan issued from dead lips. Lansky sidestepped the arms and shoved the zombie back, pulling his hand back as the creature snapped at him as it fell. Lansky could see an old bite on the left hand of the ghoul, probably how he bought it.
While it struggled to get up, the soldier recognized the outfit the zombie wore as that of a pastor. “So much for the afterlife. Right, preacher?” Lansky said ironically.
The ex-pastor lunged from a crouching position and the private stepped around a tree to avoid the long, sweeping arms. Not wasting any more time, Lansky ran as hard as he could for the road, knowing he could outrun this zombie quicker than he could kill it. He could shoot it, but he didn’t want the convoy to know he was still alive.
Just inside the trees to the south, the convoy came to a stop. On the last vehicle, a soldier stood on top of the cab of the truck with binoculars. He had seen Private Lansky’s escape and was watching when Lansky stood on the empty road and waved at the trucks before ducking into the forest.
The soldier climbed off the cabin and stood next to the driver’s side. “The truck’s stuck in a ditch, covered in zombies.” He hesitated before giving the rest of the news. He made a decision and hoped it was the right one. “No sign of Lansky, figure the zombies got him, considering how many there are.” He looked pointedly to the east and to emphasize his statement, dozens of groans could be heard from the approaching swarm.
The driver, a newly promoted sergeant, cursed and shook his head. “Thorton’s not going to be happy.”
“About Lansky or the truck?”
“Watch it,” said the sergeant as he picked up the radio. “Get in before you get your dumb ass eaten.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier jogged back to the rear and climbed in. In short order the rest of the men knew Lansky was alive, at least for now. Every one of them wished him luck and in a small part, each one wished they could do the same.
Chapter 11
Ken Thorton took the news remarkably well, all things considered. A small crowd of zombies just ran him and his men from town and he had lost a man and a truck in the same day.
“Could be worse,” he said to the reporting Sergeant. “Keep your eyes peeled and report if you see any more of those quick little things we saw back at the town. Thorton out.”
Ken set the mouthpiece back and looked at his map. Route 31 went south and then turned east before it went north to link up with state road 16. The junction took place at a place called Harrisville. The map said there was a population of about three thousand, so Thorton got on the radio and called back to the other trucks that they may be in for a hard fight.
Just as he did that, he noticed something on his map. There were some small roads that worked their way through the hills and he could see a county road that connected to both 31 and 16 and allowed him to avoid the town altogether and gain about five miles in the process.
He showed the map to his driver. “See where this bend is? There should be a road working its way into the hills going in the opposite direction. Take the side road. If its labeled, it’s a county road.”
His driver squinted at the map, got his bearings and nodded. They should come up on it soon, since he didn’t remember making any such turn like that.
Thorton considered bringing the men off alert, but since he didn’t know what he might encounter, decided to let it go.
The trucks found the turn easily enough and began a slow trek through the hills. The road was nearly covered in grass and leaves and more than once the truck lurched a little as the tires slid and groped for purchase. Overhanging tree branches snapped off the roof and cargo area and surprised fauna dashed out of the way of these forgotten intruders.
As they moved slowly along, Thorton
had a nagging doubt that resurfaced every once in a while. It especially surfaced when they were in remote, out of the way places such as this. America was such a huge place, with millions of places for zombies to hide. How was he going to deal with it all? Would he even bother? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the best thing to do would be to find some central spot for himself, then parcel out land to his men, ordering them to find people and get them to deal with the zombies. Why should he dirty his hands?
Ken smiled as he dreamed big, watching the edge of the forest slowly move past. Even during pre-zombie years, this road was just gravel and dirt. With no one to maintain it, frequent washouts had carved big ruts in the path. Some were nearly big enough to swallow even a truck tire, so it was tough going.
About a half mile into the shortcut, they passed a home sitting on top of a hill. The opening in the trees was sudden and Ken could just catch a glimpse of a tilled garden and an outbuilding. Makes sense, He thought. These people were pretty much on their own to begin with. What’s a zombie to them? Probably more hospitable than their cousins.
Thorton thought this particularly funny and told his driver who answered with a hearty laugh of his own. At the driver’s suggestion to stop, Thorton shook his head. People in this part of the world were fiercely independent and notorious for their patriotism and woodcraft. If they tried anything funny, chances were the men would proclaim a feud and stalk and kill every one of them.
The forest became thicker and more hazardous and one of the rear trucks actually got stuck. It took men from both trucks pushing and another truck pulling to get it free. Thorton seethed at the delay, but since this shortcut was his idea, getting mad at someone else would mark him either a hypocrite or an imbecile.
Two hours later, they came to a fork in the road and crossing his fingers, Thorton ordered the trucks to go left. The convoy proceeded at the same pace and included a heart-stopping moment when the scenery dropped away to the right and there was about three inches of wiggle room for the trucks to pass a cliff. A switchback caused some concern, but got worked out once the rear trucks stopped trying to push the lead truck over the side of the road. Thorton had to get on the roof of the cab and pull his gun on the driver of the second truck to get him to back off.
They reached a small collection of homes about a quarter mile later and Thorton decided to call a halt. They pulled into the yard and the men gratefully got out of the trucks and stretched their cramped legs. Ken walked a little ways around and saw the two homes near the road were actually double wide trailers, sharing a large redwood deck which spanned the front of the trailers and the space in between. The third house, tucked away behind a small stand of trees, seemed to be a firmer building and looked like a small single story structure with a tall roof and large porch in the front. It looked exactly like one might expect a West Virginia cabin to look like.
As Thorton moved closer, a small boy looked around the corner of the building and stared at the Major with wide brown eyes. He didn’t move as Ken walked around the trees, he just sat on a metal chair and waited.
Ken looked at the surroundings and saw two out buildings, one a garage and the other a kind of barn. A large field had been planted and there were chickens by the henhouse. A huge doghouse was near the chicken pen and Ken could hear goats on a small pasture up on the hill.
He stood before the cabin and the still-staring boy. “Hello, there!” He called out to the youngster, who looked to be a lean ten years old. The boy was dressed in simple work clothes, a clean t-shirt tucked into baggy jeans. Around his thin waist was a large belt and on that belt was a large hunting knife. The blade had to be ten inches long, which, given the slight size of the owner, nearly made it a short sword.
The boy just stared at him for a full minute before standing up. “Momma’s sick. I got chores.” He walked off the porch and headed to the chicken coop, uncovering a bucket of seeds and spreading the meal out to the clucking hens. A huge German shepherd pulled itself out of a shadow and with a meaningful glance at the newcomers, trotted up next to the boy’s side.
Thorton’s skin crawled at the mention of the word sick. He had a pretty good idea what might be ailing this boy’s mother, so he stepped up onto the porch and unholstered his sidearm. He opened the door and noticed immediately the house was in immaculate order. Everything was neat and tidy; there wasn’t dirt anywhere. Thorton didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. A simple living room with a lofted ceiling greeted him and over the fireplace he noticed a small caliber rifle. There was a small sofa, an easy chair and what appeared to be two children-sized wooden chairs.
He checked the kitchen and saw more of the same; the only thing out of place was a single plate and glass sitting on the table. Another plate and glass were in a drying rack next to the sink. In a small vase, some fresh flowers were adding a splash of color to a lonely scene.
There were two other doors in the house and Thorton opened the first and saw it was the boy’s room. It was as neat as the other two, with a small bunk bed and dresser. A tiny bookcase was tucked into a corner along with a brightly painted toy chest. Thorton could see it was hand made and whoever had done it had made it a labor of love for his children.
In the next bedroom, Thorton met the boy’s mother. She was lying on the bed, wearing a flowered house dress. Her hair was neatly combed and she looked to be resting peacefully. A tray of breakfast food was on the bedside table, untouched. For a moment, Thorton couldn’t breathe and had to steady himself against the door frame. A flood of memories came back, memories of his own childhood and his own mother’s sickness and eventual death. It was that death which propelled Thorton into the man he was today. How things might have turned out had his mother lived and he not gone into state custody he would never know. Ken took several deep breaths to shake the memories and steadied himself as he approached the supine woman. He saw the pill bottles and full glass of water and with a strangely heavy heart, knew this woman was dead. A quick check of her pulse confirmed it and in an uncharacteristically compassionate gesture, Thorton pulled the sheet over the dead mother’s head.
“Why’d yuh do thet?” came a small voice from the doorway.
Thorton turned around and saw the boy had come back. He knew of no other response than to say. “Your mother’s gone, son. She’s passed away.”
The little boy looked at Ken, then at his mother. His big eyes filled with tears as he approached the bed. He paid no heed to the huge man standing by him as he reached a small hand under the sheet and brought out his mother’s hand. Gently taking her thin fingers, he brought it up to his face and squeezed out big tears onto the lifeless hand. Stepping back, he gently put it under the shroud and turned to the door.
“I got diggin’ to do.” was all he said.
Thorton followed the boy outside as he walked across the yard to the barn. He emerged with a shovel and went to the far side of the yard where Ken could now see two more graves. They both had simple crosses made with spare lumber. On one was written ‘Dad’ and the other ‘Stevie’.
“Wait,” Ken called out to the boy. “We’ll help.” Thorton signaled to his men and three came running over. He pointed them to the graves. “Dig a grave for this boy’s mother. She’s died recently.”
“What do we care?” asked the nearest man, a corporal.
Ken reached out casually and took hold of the man’s throat. “Do what I tell you or they’ll dig two,” he snarled in the man’s bulging face before shoving him back into the other men who hastened to comply. Ken turned his back on the men and returned to the house. In a few moments he returned with a large bundle wrapped up in the sheet from the bed. The boy watched emotionless as the men quickly dug the grave, then turned as he saw Thorton approach with his mother.
“Hol’ up, sir.” The boy reached up and unwrapped his mother’s face, stepping up on his tiptoes to give her one more kiss goodbye. “Bye, Momma. I loves you. Tell Dad ‘n Stevie I’ll see y’all in
a bit.”
Thorton wrapped the boy’s mother’s face again and gently placed her into the grave. The men covered her up with dirt while another man fashioned a cross.
Thorton faced the boy. “You going to be okay, here? You can come with us, you know.”
The boy shook his head. “I got chores an’ I got to care fer my fam’ly. Thanks jest the same.” The boy turned and went into the house.
As he walked away, Thorton could hear the sound of soft sobs coming from the inside the cabin.
Ken reached the spot where the majority of his men were and addressed the group. “Take what might be useful from these two houses, but leave the cabin and the barn alone. We’re moving out in ten minutes.” Some of the men wondered at the major’s sentimentality, but others dismissed it, figuring they would probably have done the same.
Fifteen minutes later, the trucks were moving out again and quickly came to the junction for Route 16. Route 16 was a much better road, being paved and maintained right up to the Upheaval. Travel was much faster and the road headed south, which suited Major Thorton just fine and after six miles through the hills they came across a collection of houses with the moniker of Mahone.
The houses themselves were up on a ridge overlooking the valley and the only thing that might have been a business once was a pair of pipes sticking out of the middle of a small parking lot which may have been a gas station once upon a long time ago.
The road banked upward and followed the ridge itself and Thorton could see valleys to the right and left. It was easy to get lost in the scenery, forgetting the events over the last two years and the total breakdown of civilization.
That breakdown happened faster than anyone could have prepared for and places that thought to insulate themselves against the rising of the infected found it already in their midst. No place was safe, no place was secure. Anyone who managed to survive the initial Upheaval, stood a chance. Anyone still alive after the waves of undead had swept the country, had half a chance more.
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