She squeezed the trigger. Her arm fell limply to her side and her head dropped. She couldn’t believe what she had just done.
A gentle hand was laid on her arm and she looked into the compassionate eyes of the tall man as he moved to take care of Norman’s body.
“We’ll take over from here,” he said, and she stepped aside.
The three men gently covered Norman’s body with one of their own jackets before hauling him over to a truck that had joined the procession. One of the men stopped on the way and looked her dead in the eye. He didn’t say anything but that one look conveyed so much. He looked at her with a sense of awe and wonder at how she could have done such a thing so effortlessly that was mixed with gratitude that she was able to do it and he didn’t have to. She wiped a tear from her eye and he moved on. She wished Benson were there to handle some of it; she didn’t know how much more she could take on her own.
The world had changed overnight and, somehow, Lisa was able to adapt and respond to it quicker and more effectively than everybody else. She didn’t know what that meant on a grander scale; she only knew that she was operating on instinct alone and that somehow her whole life had been grooming her for this moment.
What Norman did took courage; he should be honored and remembered. But with so many having died so quickly, she knew they didn’t have the time or resources to do much more than bury him and move on. Lisa hoped that she could show such courage in the face of death, but she didn’t see it happening that way—not for her, anyway. She would go down in the heat of battle, struggling for one more breath and killing anything that tried to prevent that breath.
The living continued to arrive but with the living also came the dead. Lisa was impressed by how many of those with guns were fairly accurate and she soon took others off that weren’t that good with a gun and rotated in Ernie who always did well at the range. Several showed up with their own guns, shotguns, hunting rifles, and even a few ARs, but she could see also that ammo was going to be an issue. One major horde rounded the bend ahead and they had to wait a few minutes for Larry and his skid loader—who was joined now by two others of different makes running alongside—to clear the way.
A tracked unit that completely closed off an alley of dead before they could even get near the group showed Lisa how incredible these little hunks of motorized steel were. They were graceful in the destruction they caused, moving back and forth in a smooth rhythmic dance. It seemed that twenty or thirty zombies in a small area could easily be handled by one of these compact units; she wondered how they would fare against the numbers she and Benson witnessed from the water on the bridge or what had pursued her on the island. She didn’t see how anything could survive that swarm.
****
Ally and Elise’s attempt to get on the 298 via 27 or any other route was useless; every turn they took seemed to push them closer and closer to the water and farther away from the 298 until they finally found themselves in the Highway 27 fishing village. The highway was blocked with a flaming tanker truck and car pileups as well as many of the undead focused on the last vehicle to move—theirs.
The village itself was burning and it looked as if most of the boats were gone. Short of trying to ram her mother’s Buick through the horde, there simply wasn’t a way out. Ally was all for giving it a go, but Elise said they would only make it a little way in before the press of bodies would stop them dead. Zombies wandered the streets aimlessly, some still smoking from the fires that ravaged the tiny village.
“Over there, I see a boat!” Elise said as Ally swerved around a man and woman bearing down on their car with their mouths agape.
“That? That’s a canoe.”
“We don’t have much choice anymore now do we, Ally? Pull into the lot and run for the canoe, hopefully we can get it into the water before we become lunch.”
The car skidded to a stop not ten feet from the canoe and they got out and ran, hoping to beat the zombies to it. Ally grabbed the front of the plastic boat and began dragging it toward the water and only looked back when she felt that Elise wasn’t helping.
Elise had acquired a two-by-four and was beating off three of the slow movers but the crowd behind was gathering and gaining. Ally’s feet hit the water and she pulled the canoe out waist deep before checking on Elise again. She swung the board back and forth, but the zombies didn’t care if they were hit and kept on coming. She hadn’t killed any, but she had knocked some down, which tripped up several more. A few fell and Ally saw the horror bearing down upon Elise, but she didn’t hesitate.
“Elise, they can run! Get your ass out here now!” she screamed as she swam with the boat out to water deeper than she could stand.
Elise turned and ran, keeping her eye on both the water and the running zombie who was looking to cut her off. She had only a few feet to go when she stopped as quickly as she could, causing the runner to cross in front of her where she swung her two-by-four at its head as hard as she could. She felt no satisfaction at the solid sounding connection but relief flooded her being as she dove into the water and swam for the canoe. The zombies followed into the water; unable to swim, they just walked deeper and deeper until they disappeared, causing the girls to scramble over the side of the boat and into the seats.
“For all of those times I wanted to kick your ass, I’m glad that I never tried,” Ally said. “Girl, you can fight.”
“We’ll see, won’t we? Let’s try and get farther away from here,” she said as she dipped the two-by-four into the water.
Ally and Elise found themselves floating in a canoe with only the two-by-four as a paddle. They were wet, cold, and had nothing in the way of supplies as they looked at about forty miles of water between them and the next viable city, Hot Springs, Arkansas.
They struggled to maneuver their boat toward some of the docks, hoping to find a friendly face or a house clear of zombies where they could stock up. It wasn’t much but it was the closest thing to opportunity they could come up with; providing the current didn’t sweep them right by the island.
Ally sat in the front of the canoe wanting to cry. Or at least she thought she wanted to cry. Her emotions bordered between grief and seething rage of wanting to destroy the one entity that caused so much pain. A person she had trusted and her family trusted was now an animal on the loose. An animal that deserved to die, an animal that she needed to kill.
Chapter Eleven:
Sam’s Club
Benson directed the small flotilla into the bay off Scotland Point Road and waited. It wasn’t long before he saw Lisa’s pickup truck followed by a Chrysler 300. Using the bed of the truck, they might be able to move twelve or thirteen people, which worked since they managed to get one of the bigger boats going and several had decided to head upstream. He wished that he had something to give them, but as it was they were down to three rounds for his forty and an empty revolver. It turned out that nobody was part of a team or family. They were all just individuals who had managed to band together in a time of need. He suddenly felt very lucky to at least have his children with him. Danny was being really good too, it was as if he got it, he actually understood what was happening. Krissy was being the rock her mother always was and the sight nearly brought the stoic officer to tears.
He could tell Justin was none too happy about leaving his boat, but he also knew that the kid didn’t want to be alone. Benson was a cop; taking charge of him was what he knew he had to do
“Justin, we need to secure the boat. I’ll get the fuel line,” he added as he began stashing it under the life jackets under the seat and headed for shore. They anchored the boat offshore a ways and lowered the Bimini top to keep it from blowing away. There was no doubt in his mind that they would have need of it again, but the odds of it remaining untouched were slim.
Benson recognized Skitter Pop from several suspicious encounters and shook his head as he went up to the window of the Chrysler. “It must be a cold day in hell today if you are helping out the cops,” he said sarcastically.<
br />
“It ain’t about that anymore, Officer Benson,” Skit replied. Benson nodded his head in reply, knowing that Skit was a master of avoiding the bad cop routine that Krupp and some of the others were fond of using
“Tommy, you ride up here with Skitter. Justin and I will take the box of the pickup. Did Lieutenant Reynolds send any armaments?” he asked as he tried to place the face of the driver he was unfamiliar with.
“In my trunk,” Skit said as he hit the electronic release before getting out and helping the officer.
Benson’s eyes took note of the .45 revolver tucked into his belt and noticed that he was careful to keep his hands away from it. “She trusts you with a gun, huh?”
“We are united in a common cause… survival,” he paused. “It’s just a sign of the times, Officer Benson, that’s all. I will turn it over to you if that makes you more comfortable; I haven’t even shot it yet.”
“No, if the lieutenant trusts you, I just have to go with that,” Benson said. He grabbed a couple of the shotguns out and tossed them to the two he remembered as being ex-military. He was sure there were others who knew how to shoot but shooting and operating firearms around crowds of people were two different things and military were trained to keep their own out of their sights. He loaded up some mags for his .40 then directed the two with the shotguns up to the Chrysler and walked back to the truck bed, where he met with Justin.
“So I guess we’re not going up to the house, are we?”
“On the island? No… not yet anyway.”
“You really can’t stop me though, can you?”
“Yep, I’m a cop and you’re minor without parental supervision so I have taken you into protective custody.”
“That’s a load of…”
“Don’t finish that line, young man, or I’ll bring up the holding cell,” Benson said, trying to get a handle on the boy's temper before it escalated.
“Well, what do you need me for when you got all of this going on? You should just let me go.”
“No, you don’t really want to be alone, do you?” he asked the kid who kind of half-shrugged. “No, you need to come with me so I can show you some things that will help you; then you can go out and be alone.”
“Show me things… like what?” Justin persisted with an obstinate tone.
“Like how to shoot, for one. How to prepare food so you can eat and how to pick a spot that will help you survive the night. Basically things your dad should have shown you.”
“Oh, so now you’re going to be my dad?” Snide, but Benson let it brush over him and put himself in the kid’s shoes. There wasn’t time for a long discussion; there weren’t any Zs around them now but they would be driving through the thick of them in a matter of minutes.
“Yep, but ya gotta earn it; the first rule you’re going to learn from your new dad is that you don’t have a say in it until you are eighteen,” Benson said, holding his gaze. He held his hand up, stopping any more conversation after seeing the snotty look on the kid’s face. “Don’t say anything that you might regret later. Now watch closely.” He opened up the revolver that he had taken from the kid earlier and showed him the basic operations of the piece. “You see, there’s a lot that you have to learn before you can go out on your own. What I just showed you has to be done on the run… and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. You’re going to have to learn how to drive a car and build fires,” he said as they crawled into the back of the pickup bed, where he slapped his hand to signal they were ready. Skitter Pop took off slowly in the lead vehicle. Benson, Justin, and a guy from one of the boats rode in the back of the truck driven by the man Benson didn’t recognize.
“And you’re going to show me all of that?” Justin asked, continuing their conversation.
“That and more, my boy; much, much more. Now this is a .45-caliber pistol in the classic styling that once ruled the west, especially when paired with the lever action Winchester. This is a double action so all you have to do is make sure the safety—which is this button—is off and then pull the trigger until it’s empty,” Benson said as he simultaneously scanned the brush on Scotland Point Road. On a good day in light traffic, they could have traveled the two plus miles to Sam’s within ten minutes, but Skit said it took close to two hours. He also said it should go quicker since they now knew the route and there shouldn’t be any detours to find on the way back. It was getting to the main thoroughfare that would be the toughest.
“Now I want you to hold this, but you’re not allowed to shoot it until I tell you, okay?” he said. Justin nodded. “Now pay attention, I need you to know that this is a test and if you screw it up, it will be a long time before I give it back to you.”
“But I can hang on to it until I screw up?” Justin asked, excited, and all his arguments about the impromptu adoption were forgotten. The stranger watched, seemingly entertained by the exchange.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“What do you mean pretty much?”
“Pretty much means ‘yes’ unless something comes up. I’ll hang on to your ammo,” Benson said right as they arrived at the point where Scotland Point Road tied into Ard Point and Burchwood Bay roads. Everything looked clear ahead as they turned, until Benson saw Justin’s jaw drop open and he lifted the gun as if to fire in a panic. Benson grabbed the gun, forcing it down but leaving it in Justin’s hands. When Justin then looked at him with his eyes bugged out, Benson looked behind them and also felt the urge to panic.
The dead were leaving the beach. A wall of lost souls covered the horizon as the population returned to the city after having been drawn out there earlier by people fleeing.
Benson pounded on the roof of the truck without need, as the driver had also seen what was coming. Skit, unfortunately, couldn’t see what was coming in the front car and took the road casually, trying not to draw attention to them.
“Hold your fire, son,” Benson said reassuringly. “You need to watch our backs.” He braced himself against the side rail and smiled at the man across from him in the truck bed wishing that he knew him well enough to trust him with the shotgun.
Three runners started to pull away from the mob, easily out pacing the pickup. The truck was right on Skitter’s tail, flashing his lights in panic when Skit finally got the message. Benson felt the truck jar as he took his first shot and knew he missed. He brought his sites back on target and fired without hesitating; one of the runners dropped, but two more had broken away and were gaining on them.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit,” Benson said. He tried to steady himself for another shot but the truck was moving too fast and the road was too rough. He shot three more times and only one fell but got back up, although slowly.
“Move, move, move!” he shouted while holstering the pistol and grabbing the shotgun, knowing that one was already in the chamber. He knew that coming from the armory, it was a full load of double aught so he wouldn’t be caught with birdshot trying to take out a crazed cannibalistic dead guy.
“Jesus, I wish I had a club or something!” the other man in the truck bed screamed as he too watched the runners approach.
“Check the tool box there,” Benson said as he indicated the silver box up by the cab. The man crawled over and opened it to find various pieces of sports equipment.
“This will work,” he said as he turned back around. He shuddered as he saw more and more of the slower zombies coming, it looked as if the whole city was on their ass.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s a hockey stick,” the man said. They waited and watched as three runners slowly gained on the truck.
They were twenty yards away, and Benson was tempted to take a shot but the bouncing of the truck stayed his hand. Fifteen… ten… he fired, blowing off half the face of the lead and slowing but not stopping it. He pumped another into the chamber just as the one he shot put on a burst of speed and managed to put a hand on the tailgate. It started to pull itself up when the hard-swung heel of a hocke
y stick caught it in the face and sent it rolling backwards. Benson wasted no time in taking out the one behind, feeling a grim satisfaction in it falling and staying down after one round. The third was followed by four more while even more runners were behind that.
The truck must have hit a clear space, as the road smoothed out and they picked up speed. Benson relaxed when he saw the runners start to fall back into the distance. He was marveling at the fact that they must have been tirelessly running at over thirty miles an hour. He looked at the man with the hockey stick and they shared a smile of relief. He was about to introduce himself when the truck rapidly slowed to a virtual stop, sending Benson rolling into the toolbox behind the cab.
They felt the truck start to weave through a tangle of wrecked and abandoned cars. The infected never slowed and quickly closed the distance, almost catching the truck completely before it cleared the mess and began accelerating. Benson fired, dropping one and then another but missing on the third.
****
Justin watched the man with the hockey stick waiting for something to come in range of his swing as he tried not to fall out of the truck bed when one of the runners launched high from a pile of vehicles, flying in their direction. The man managed to lodge the blade of the stick into the chest cavity and felt the weight of the zombie force it to the bed. He held it suspended and directed the falling body beyond the truck. The man watched the blade, thinking that the small curved piece of wood would surely break under the weight. It held firm until the shaft broke, spilling the runner into the bed with them. He and Justin saw the creature extend his jaws, ready to bite down on the leg of the unsuspecting police officer, who was now firing a freshly loaded shotgun out the back. The man kicked out, pushing the head away with his tennis shoe and shouted to try to get the cop’s attention as he kicked again and again. The infected was spurred on by something primal and continued its attack with a strength that went beyond what the man could summon. All he could do was continue to kick the infected away from the cop’s leg.
Zombie Rush Page 17