United States of the Dead - 04

by Joseph Talluto

  “Son of a bitch!” I hissed, suddenly pulling the little Z close and hugging it’s head tightly against my side. It struggled to turn its head, but I held on for dear life as the second little Z came at me again. This time I was better prepared and when I kicked it down again, I dragged the first kid with me as I stomped on the prone one’s neck, snapping it like a twig. I reached under my arm and got a good grip on the neck of the little girl that was trying her best to bite me. I pulled her away, breaking her grip on my vest and held her at arm’s length while I awkwardly pulled my knife with my left hand. I rammed the steel through the top of her head and gave it a twist, blowing her lamp out for good.

  I turned to Tommy and saw he was having some trouble. He managed to keep the two off of him by grabbing their necks, but he couldn’t do anything to finish either one off. He tried bonking their heads together, but it wasn’t working. I ended the stalemate by knifing the left one in the temple and Tommy used his free hand to pull his own blade and kill the other one. We wiped our blades off as best as we could and Tommy produced a lighter to finish off what we missed.

  Blackening my blade just a bit more, I looked around and saw the grass around us waving and bending in the breeze. I thought it was nice until I realized the trees weren’t bending and bowing like they should. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t any breeze at all.

  I looked at Tommy just as he looked at me. He had noticed the same thing I had.

  “Run.”

  I don’t know if I said it or Tommy said it, but we both bolted into a dead run, tearing south on Roosevelt just as fast as we could. Behind us came a loud chorus of ‘Heeee-heeeee’ as dozens of zombie children, ranging in age from five to fifteen, burst from the long grass and gave chase. They couldn’t run as fast as we could in the short sprint, but in the long haul they would run us down. We tired, they never did. We had no choice but to run for our lives, since we had no guns other than our sidearms and no weapons besides our knives. Everything that would have allowed us to make a decent stand was back at the RV, which I desperately hoped was working its way towards the Tomb of the Unknowns at this very moment.

  We ran through the trees on Roosevelt Avenue and as we passed more zombies came out of the cemetery at us. They looked to be all about the same age, around thirteen and I realized they must have been eighth graders on their trip to D.C.. As I digested that tidbit, I realized the Upheaval happened around the time when about fifty thousand eighth graders had gone to D.C. for their trips. Bottom line, they were everywhere and out for our asses.

  “Move, move, move!” I panted, running for all I was worth. We needed to make as much space between us and them as we could, if we had to stand, it would be easier to string them out and deny them attacking en masse.

  “Trying!” Tommy puffed. We were both in good shape, but after fighting and falling and running, it tended to wear you out a bit.

  “We’re almost there!” I said, seeing the white outline between the trees. “Come on!” We ducked off the road and headed straight for the amphitheater. It was a neat collection of columns and bench seating, ideal for small, formal ceremonies. The East side had the main viewing area for the Tomb of the Unknowns and if we were lucky, there wouldn’t be any zombies waiting for us.

  We zipped around the corner and I nearly collapsed with relief. The viewing area was empty and we had an unobstructed view of the D.C. grounds. I scanned quickly around and realized we didn’t have any place to safely hole up and the kids would be looking for their lunch very soon. Our trip through the brush had slowed them down, but it wouldn’t be long before they were on us.

  I glanced around for defense and saw there was only one place to go. “Let’s move.” I ran over to the tomb itself, noting the inscription “Here Rests in Honored Glory an American Soldier Known But to God.” I figured whoever was in there wouldn’t mind us using his spot as an escape from zombies. I jumped up and caught the edge, swinging my legs up. I reached down and hauled Tommy up behind me and we both lay down in the center of the slab. The usual tactic was to find a way to suddenly disappear. It confused the hell out of pursuing zombies and generally seemed to close down their pursuit response. When prey was gone and couldn’t be seen, heard, or smelt, Z’s usually resorted quickly back to their dormant behavior. The hard part was choosing a hidey-hole with an exit, in case you were found.

  If we could get enough of them to start wandering off, we might get lucky enough to be able to hop off and get away when the RV arrived.

  As we lay there we could hear the zombies arrive, shuffling and scraping along the pathway that Marines for generations had walked, guarding the Tomb. I idly wondered if they had guarded the tomb until the last, finally succumbing to overwhelming numbers of teeth and nails. Knowing what kind of men they were, I guessed they probably stayed at their posts.

  The worst part of waiting like this was we had to rely on our sense of hearing. We could hear them moving around, coming closer than we ever wanted them to. If we were really lucky, we could even hear them sniffing for us, trying to catch a scent they could follow. As long as we stayed still and quiet, I knew they couldn’t see us or smell us. Unless one of them got up on the top steps and looked back, we were pretty much invisible. And even if one did get up on the steps, zombie eyesight was usually bad and not something to worry too much about unless it was a fresh one.

  As we lay there listening to the shuffling and sniffing going on all around us, I became aware of a strange sound coming from Tommy. It started out as a weird spluttering noise, then it would stop, start again, then stop again. I dared to look over at him and was shocked to see him red in the face, trying desperately to hold something back. I nudged him slightly and that’s when he let loose the fart of the century. It reverberated across the plaza, ricocheted off the amphitheater walls and echoed out towards the river. I swear I felt the marble slab vibrate. In another second, I expected the soldier in the tomb to pound on the ceiling and say, “C’mon, really?”

  As I listened to the renewed moans and sniffing going on, trying to locate the source of the flatulence, I began to feel the beginnings of a deadly sensation. The absolute seriousness of the situation contradicted by the cosmic cutting of the cheese gave me the most dire case of the giggles.

  Believe me, I tried to hold them back, but they kept working their way out through my fingers and nose. By myself it wouldn’t have been so bad, but Tommy managed to get them as well and it must have been a strange sight to see two men giggling like schoolgirls, lying on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, surrounded by teenage ghouls.

  The more I tried to hold them back, the worse it got. Tommy was no better off and every time he contained a giggle he let loose another fart.

  Finally, I had had enough. “Screw this,” I said, rising to my knees. At the sight of me, the dozen or so Z’s that were lounging about groaned loudly and rushed the tomb. We were safe from attack, since they couldn’t climb up here, but we were going to be surrounded by hundreds if we didn’t do something quickly.

  I pulled my handgun as Tommy got to his knees, letting a last one go into the wind. He pulled his gun as well and we went to work. Originally, I hadn’t wanted to use our guns unless seriously needed, as I didn’t want to advertise our whereabouts to the general dead populace. But I figured we could thin the herd out a little without too much worry about exposure. I lined up a snarling face on the outer edge of the crowd and fired, switching my aim quickly and fired again. Tommy was calmly plugging away on his side, working his way from the back to the front. Both of us had five magazines for our handguns, which gave us enough to take care of even this largish crowd.

  “Save your last two, we’re going to be moving soon,” I said as I blew a hole in the forehead of a particularly nasty-looking individual. Half its face was ripped off and the other half was dangling down near its neck. Its eyes were still in their sockets, giving it a weird ‘Tales from the Crypt’ look.

  I was on my third magazine when I finished with my s
ide and Tommy fired his last shot nearly at the same time. We scrambled off our sanctuary and moved quickly down the steps to hang out between the huge hedges flanking the walkway. They were enormous and in bad need of a trimming, but that would have to wait.

  As we got to the center of little hallway, three more zombies came into view on the far end. We froze, but they spotted us and started to limp in our direction. I pulled my knife and was about to charge when suddenly the zombies looked over to their left. I followed their gaze and saw the RV swung into view. It slammed into the three zombies, knocking them back before crushing them under the wheels of the big rig.

  I slapped Tommy on the back as we ran for the vehicle and that big gas guzzling behemoth never looked so good. We boarded quickly and I handed my empty mags to Tommy for reloading. I worked my way up to the front and plopped down next to Nate.

  “Was waiting for you on the other side, when we heard your gunshots. Figured you were making a stand so we came around to this end.” Nate glanced sideways at me. “You might have saved a few.”

  I shook my head and told him about the eighth graders, Nate whistled appreciatively.

  “Wow. That’s why there are so many. Now we know. Do you think Thorton heard your shots?”

  I gave the notion some serious thought. “I’d have to say no, probably not. But its all speculation. We’re far enough away that pistol fire might go unnoticed whereas rifle fire would be heard all over. We’ll see.” I changed the subject. “If Thorton’s in the area, I don’t want to be getting sniper fire before we even get out of the RV. This thing isn’t exactly subtle and since we’re the only thing moving around here…”

  “Got it,” said Nate. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Well, the good news is the roads run along both the Mall side and the commercial side of the buildings, so we can park on the commercial side and be relatively unseen.”

  “Unseen except for the three million zombies wandering about.”

  “That was the bad news.”

  Nate just grunted. He moved the RV along the narrow road and I watched as several small groups of teens got bumped out of the way. They sprawled along in the tall grass, or bounced off a grave marker. I felt kind of bad for the markers, but there wasn’t anything to be done for it.

  Roosevelt took us to Eisenhower Drive, which in turn took us to Memorial Drive. The road had few cars, which made sense, who runs to a cemetery when the dead are walking? We encountered a few more vehicles when we crossed the bridge to Columbia Island and I saw the tell tale signs of past occupation by people desperate to get away from the zombies. The island would have made a good choice, but it had too many bridges to seal effectively and the in the first rush any defenders would have been swept away.

  As we crossed the Potomac on Arlington Memorial Bridge, Tommy handed me my reloaded magazines. I thanked him and looked out across the water to the Teddy Roosevelt Island Memorial. I thought I saw a faint whisper of smoke coming from the forest and remarked on it to Nate.

  “Looks like someone might be forted up on that island,” I said.

  Nate gave it a once over. If that bridge was blocked or barricaded, people could be living there.”

  “We’ll check it out when we finish.”

  “Good.” Nate was abrupt and didn’t elaborate. I didn’t press him, but I knew he was feeling the strain as much or more than anyone. This had been a rough trip and while Tommy, Duncan and myself were used to the threat of zombies, the constant stress had been an awakening for Nate. I was sure his heart was in the right place, but I began to get the feeling he was doubting himself.

  On the other side of the river, traffic was a different story. Here the roads were jammed with cars and ghouls and Nate had to travel overland much of the time.

  “Feels weird, even now,” Nate commented as he wove the RV through a stand of trees, knocking down several zombies.

  “What does?” I said, wincing as a Z bounced over the plow, smacking its head on the side of the windshield, leaving a dark greasy mark.

  “Driving off the regular roads. Always feel like a cop is gonna nail me.”

  “Old habits,” I said, leaving it at that. We all did things that made no sense in the world we lived in, but it was a comfort to still do them or think about them, as it was a reminder that this world wasn’t all there ever was. When we found cell phones, even after a year and a half after the Upheaval, I’d check to see if there was any power, any signal. It was stupid, but I did it.

  We passed by the Lincoln Memorial and judging by the rings of bodies, it looked like someone had fired their last on the steps. I saw the statues of the soldiers as they made their way through the simulated rice paddy while we worked our way past the Korean War Memorial. Their haunted faces matched the looks of the dozen zombies that roamed the same field.

  I looked in the rear view mirror and saw we were being followed by dozens of zombies. They knew someone was driving the vehicle that kept knocking them out of the way and they could see Nate and myself as we plowed through throngs of them. I don’t know why we didn’t bother to try and conceal ourselves, but it probably had something to do with trying to get where we needed to be as quickly as possible. Tough as it was, this big rig was a target and the sooner we could get it stopped and get ourselves out, the sooner we could avoid an ambush. I just hoped that the zombies didn’t stay too interested in it and we would be allowed to grab it and get back out of D.C..

  “Hold on,” Nate said suddenly. He swerved to avoid a huge crowd of zombies and the ones on the edge of the pack bounced off the plow and the sides of the rig with sickening smacks and thuds. The RV lurched one way and then the next as it bounced over prone bodies. Many of the ones we drove over were already dead and the crackle of brittle bones was easily heard above the din of the moaning Z’s.

  We swept down the street, hurling zombies left and right and Nate tried to thread the needle through a couple of trees on the side of the road. The fit was tight and I could hear the branches slam into the rooftop fences. There was a screech of tearing metal, a pause in our forward progress and then we sped forward suddenly.

  I looked over at Nate just as Duncan called from the back.

  “Shit, the whole roof fence got torn off!” he said.

  “Damn,” Nate said, looking over at me.

  “Just get us to that red building over there,” I said, pointing to the Smithsonian Castle.

  “Trying,” Nate said through gritted teeth. He wound around the World War Two memorial, plowed across the National Mall, and careened across the hill on which the Washington Monument stood.

  I couldn’t be too sure, but I thought I felt the wheels of the far side of the RV shift and leave the ground for an instant as we sped down the hill.

  “Watch it!” I yelled, gripping the sides of the seat as we slammed into two cars, knocking them sideways and out of our way, splitting the weld that held the left side of the plow to the frame. I could see the one side dipping lower than the other. Another hit like that and we were going to lose the plow altogether. Curses from the back let me know that the hit had been unexpected by the other men.

  “Anytime you want to drive, Daisy, you just let me know.” Nate bared his teeth as he tried to steer us around a massive traffic jam of cars, limos and military vehicles.

  “Maybe that road there.” I pointed to the road that went around the Holocaust Museum.

  “I’ll try. Red Castle, right?” Nate asked about our destination.

  “That’s it,” I said getting up and heading to the back. I motioned for Duncan and Tommy to come forward.

  I spoke quietly as I opened the cabinet and retrieved my M1A and spare magazines. “Get the packs together and load up on ammo. Food and water will have to be abandoned. We can scrounge what we need later.”

  Tommy narrowed his eyes at me. “What gives?”

  “We may have to abandon ship, we’re crashing in deeper and I don’t think we’re driving out,” I answered, grabbing extra box
es of ammo for my SIG and Nate’s .45. I took the Springfield my dad left for me and put it in my pack. I wasn’t familiar enough with it to trust it with my life and my SIG had become an extension of my arm.

  Tommy looked out the front window and Duncan looked out the back as we all grabbed hold of a wall to steady ourselves as the RV swung sharply around another obstacle. I saw the door buckle slightly as we hit another car.

  The impact spurred Tommy and Duncan to furious action and they quickly and efficiently loaded packs with ammo and magazines. I noticed they kept a small supply of food and water with each pack, just to be safe. New habits becoming old ones, I thought as I went back to the front of the vehicle. Wonder when we’ll outgrow the new ones?, I pondered as I steadied myself again as the RV moved to the opposite direction.

  We pushed our way down the street between the Agricultural Department and the Bureau of Engraving. The two causeways that had connected the buildings had been blown apart and I wondered briefly why they had done that. A lot of these buildings were huge fortresses with no easy access from the street, so hundreds of people could have been saved had they forted themselves up properly. Of course, by the time the full nature of the threat had been realized, millions of people were infected and roaming the streets in search of a live meal.