American Revenant: Hometown Exodus

by Davis IV, John L.

  Thirty or more shuffling zombies wandered through the wreckage of the small strip of historic downtown Hannibal. Calvin pointed out one very notable creature standing in front of the Hannibal History Museum. “Holy crap, look guys, it’s Zombie Twain!”

  Wearing the white coat and black tie used in his appearances as the vaunted Mark Twain, a local actor now lurked the streets of Hannibal, a hungry and deadly creature. The wild unruly white hair, and thick blood stained mustache lent the un-dead man a decidedly creepy aspect.

  “Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today,” Gordy said with a smile.

  The other three men looked at Gordy a moment until Calvin said, “Really, Dad? Mark Twain quotes? Good grief.” He was smiling hugely as he said it.

  “We have work to do,” Jack said, “I say we get going.”

  As quietly as they could the four men slowly walked their bicycles toward the riverfront, Rick brought up the rear with the silenced pistol in his right hand while guiding the bike with his left.

  Missing the normal sounds of everyday life, the eerie non-silence of the area gave each man a feeling of unease, what Gordy would often call “the creeping willies”.

  A sudden quieted popping noise made the men turn around. Rick smiled at them. “No worries guys. He got a little too close for comfort.” A body lay sprawled less than ten feet behind the group, a neat hole in the center of its forehead.

  Quietly Gordy told him, “About time you actually got good with that thing. Maybe all you ever needed was a little ‘life and death’ motivation. “

  “Still out-shoot you, diseased zombie or not.” Rick grinned.

  Everyone stifled a laugh, enjoying the brief “like-old-times” moment. Pushing on, they quickly made it to Nipper Marina, a small boat slip-rental with a gas pump. They were disheartened to find so many vacant slips. Of the few boats left two were modern pleasure craft of the speedboat variety. A small cuddy cabin and a partially sunken bass boat took up two more of the slips. Each of these was dismissed out of hand, as all had newer starting systems. While not certain of the EMP effects on the boats, all four men agreed that it was likely their electrical systems could have been damaged.

  Returning to the bikes, the men mounted up and prepared to leave when Jack spoke up. “Hey guys, did we look at that?”

  All eyes followed Jack’s pointing finger. An old jon-boat sat low in the water at one of the furthest slips. The sun and the height of the slip had made it difficult to see.

  Cal and Rick waited with the bikes while Gordy and Jack went to investigate. They found a beat up eighteen foot jon-boat with an ancient looking Mercury out-board motor.

  “I’d bet my last paycheck that thing starts right up.”

  “Keep your money Jacko, I’m inclined to agree. Though I don’t think we should try it at the moment. We would have a zombie horde on us in minutes.”

  “Wouldn’t even think of it, Gordo. I want to see what’s under the tarp in front.”

  Jack cautiously climbed into the boat, not wanting to dump himself into the river. He became even more cautious when a bloated body floated past, briefly bumping the side of the boat.

  Jack pulled the tarp back from the bow of the boat. He found a small box full of empty beer cans, trash, and a couple of life jackets. Moving this stuff out of the way he reached up under the small space at the bow. Fingers probing gently, he grabbed on to the handle of something and pulled. A black plastic case slid out, about twenty inches long and just barely able to fit in the bow space.

  “I claim salvage,” Jack said smiling.

  “Well drag it out of there and let’s move on. We still need to get down to river road and look around.”

  “What’d you find there?” Rick asked when they rejoined the guys at the bikes.

  “Don’t know yet, gimmie a second to open it and see. Then I’ll stow it and we can head down the road.” Jack quickly popped the plastic latches. “Looks like a couple of knives, and a plastic gun stock. Three of those gawd-awful MRE things you guys like. A flare gun, couple of extra flares. So, throw out the plastic gun stock and keep the rest, I say.”

  Rick picked up the knives, a well-kept Global fillet knife and a large Cold Steel Recon Scout in a plastic sheath. “Damn, this guy knew knives, I’d bet on it. Two really nice, not cheap blades. I’m surprised to find them in a beat up old jon-boat.”

  Cal took the plastic gun stock from Jack just as he was about to leave it behind on the ground. “Hey, Jack, you might want to hang on to this.”

  “What for? I don’t want to pack it around.”

  Cal smiled knowingly. “Because, asshat, this thing is a Henry AR-7 .22 Survival Rifle. Great little gun. I’m surprised as Rick that someone just left this stuff in an old jon-boat. Hang on to it, when we get home I’ll take it all apart, show you how it works. It’s pretty cool.”

  Jack stowed his salvage in the bag on his bike rack and mounted up.

  5

  Mike, Jimmy, and Sam had scouted all the way to River Point, near Nipper Park. The idea of getting any boats down to the southside bridge simply wouldn’t work.

  Backtracking, the men now stood on the railroad tracks, looking north towards the marina.

  “Well, I’m thinking we load up all vehicles, drive to the southside bridge, jump onto the railroad tracks there, a five minute bumpy-ass ride and we turn off on Broadway. Puts us right there at the boat ramp, we can offload right on the docks. Thirty minutes, maybe slightly more and we can have whatever water transport loaded, everyone on board and be motoring down the river before anyone or anything knows we are there.”

  “Sounds do-able Jimmy,” Mike said. “Or we could simply go straight down main, to Broadway, at the dock in two minutes.” He could see Jimmy giving him a funny look out of the corner of his eye. “I know, that draws a lot of attention, just trying to give options.”

  “Having options is great, but seriously guys, either way we run it the whole thing is high risk. All the gear, and people. Loud vehicles, doesn’t matter if people are noisy or not, clanging and banging just getting to the offload point.”

  Mike and Jimmy looked at Sam in silence, waiting for more. They knew he was right, so they would have to figure a way to minimize contact with the walking hordes of dead that would be drawn straight to all the noise they would have to make.

  “I’m not sure about you guys, but I would much rather sit in comfort and brainstorm this than standing out here in the open. Feel like I’m waiting for a bite or a bullet to come out of nowhere.” Sam began to walk the half-mile back to their bicycles, Jimmy and Mike following close behind.

  Walking in silence the men were left to their own thoughts on how to move everyone to the docks.

  They had hidden their bikes behind a large vacant storage building that sat right next to a paved foot and bicycle path. After rounding the bend in the railroad tracks they were directly across from the building, behind a screen of trees. Their bikes were on the other side of the creek, behind the building, where they heard at least two men talking.

  “Come on Ham, no time to dick around. Ain’t nothing here to speak of other than the bikes, you want to take ‘em let’s take ‘em and get going.”

  “Don’t rush me old man, there may be something else layin’ around. Don’t know who left these bikes here but, yeah, we gonna take ‘em. Tell you what, you start loading them up while I look.”

  “I’m not your bitch, Ham. Load the bikes up your damn self.”

  “Put the bikes in the truck, or I put a bullet in your useless fucking head, right now. Pick one Gramps.”

  Sam, Mike and Jimmy had slowly been making their way across the shallow creek throughout this exchange. Coming up the low bank on the other side they all drew a weapon. Jimmy had a small Kel-Tech 9mm, Mike had his much larger caliber Springfield Armory 1911 Series .45. Sam unslung the suppressor equipped DPMS Oracle AR-15 he had carried over his shoulder.

  The men drew close together, Sam whispering, “Mike, you
go left, around the building quiet as you can. Jimmy and I will go around the front; maybe we can surprise these guys and end this without firing a shot.”

  Mike nodded and moved towards the left side of the building in a low crouch, pistol up in the ready position. Sam and Jimmy stayed low, moving quickly towards the front of the abandoned building.

  At the front of the building both men stood up, backs to the wall, though not directly against it. Sidling slowly towards the far corner they were surprised when someone pushing one of their bicycles came from around the corner. Jimmy got a good look at him from the side, even though the man was scowling, Jimmy recognized him instantly. Leaning in to Sam’s ear he whispered, “That’s fucking Grinny, from the shed.”

  That was all Sam needed to hear. He waited until the crusty old man stood at the side of a battered pickup, presumably the same one he had been driving the day of the incident at the shed. The same day he and his men had murdered two close friends of the group. As Grinny hoisted the bicycle up Sam soft-stepped up to him quickly, placing the barrel of his rifle against the back of the filthy, graying head.

  “Fuck you, Ham. I’m loadin’ the damn bikes. Quit fuckin’ with me.” He finished speaking and turned around staring directly into the dark tunnel of the suppressed rifle. A tiny squeak escaped from his throat.

  “Uh, hey fellas, these your bikes? Sorry, no idea. Let me get ‘em for you.” He started to turn around when Sam jammed the rifle barrel into his face, pushing his nose flat.

  “I don’t want no trouble with you boys, “his voice nasally, “I’ll give ‘em back.”

  “Will you give our friends back? The ones you and your sick-fuck friends killed at the little shed. They were good people. Their kids are now orphans because of you, you piece of shit.”

  “Well shitfuck.” Real fear bloomed in Grinny’s eyes. Sam’s voice chilled him right to his marrow. “That was all Reichart, we was just following Reichart man. And he was the first one took a bullet back there. I know, I was wearing half his face.”

  “You can have your very own bullet you dirty shit. Now let’s walk back there and talk to your buddy.”

  Though Sam felt that his blood was boiling with rage, it was all Jimmy could do to follow his lead. He had witnessed first-hand what this asshole and his friends had done to the Tanners. He wanted to reach out and choke the old bastard to death right there. But that also meant giving in to something within himself that he was terrified of.

  They stepped around the back corner of the building, Sam with the rifle to the back of the old man’s head, Jimmy momentarily lost to thoughts of rage. It took them a moment to realize that Mike was laying on the ground, a big thickly bearded man straddling him. The big guy was trying to punch through Mike’s arms, get at his face. Mike, at six feet three inches and weighing just over three hundred pounds was no small man. Using his size he slammed his back and hips up and down, attempting to throw the guy off without letting him through the blockade of his forearms.

  Sam shouted, “Get the hell off him, or I’ll blow your damn head off!”

  The big guy ignored the shout, kept pounding away at Mike. Jimmy let his rage flow, using the fierce anger burning him up.

  “GRAAAAH!!!!” He charged the bearded beast beating his friend, tackling him from behind. Jimmy didn’t let go as both men went over, locking his arm around the thick neck. Big Beard tried to push up, get his legs beneath him, fight back against whatever crazy demon had grabbed on to him. Jimmy was unrelenting, tightening his grip, jerking backwards and side to side. The other man wasn’t giving up, slamming an elbow over and over into his attackers’ ribs, but it seemed to make the demon squeeze tighter, jerk harder.

  Jimmy gave a great heave backwards, while using every ounce of strength left in his burning arms to twist and jerk the thick neck to the right. There was a sharp snapping noise, then stillness. The dead weight now in his arms leaned back on him. He fell backwards, trying to suck air in past the heavy bastard lying on his chest.

  Mike pushed from the side, rolling the guy off of Jimmy. He reached a hand out, offering to help him up, but Jimmy just lay there sucking air. “Thanks.” Jimmy just nodded. Dark bruises were already beginning to form on Mike’s thick forearms.

  Mike noticed the old guy Sam was holding at gun-point. He looked as if he would never grin again. His eyes were wide open, staring in awe at what this crazy dude lying on the ground had just done to a guy that was at least twice his size.

  Sam broke the silence, “So what do we do with this one?”

  Jimmy sat up, looking back and forth between Mike and Sam. “Shoot the son-of-a-bitch and let’s go home.”

  “Hey now, you fellas don’t have to do that. Let me go, I swear you won’t never see ol’ Hendry T. Mason ever again.” The man was drooling from fear thinking these three crazy fuckers were going to put a bullet in him and just walk away.

  “Sam, Mike, you didn’t see the way this guy was grinning sitting behind the wheel of that truck while our friends died. He was having a good time, enjoying himself. End him here so he can’t hurt anyone else.”

  “I can’t just execute someone, Jimmy. Yeah, everything is shit now, but it’s not so far gone that I can be judge, jury, and executioner. Not even with human filth like this.” Sam punctuated the statement by shoving ol’ Hendry hard with the barrel of the rifle.

  Hendry stumbled forward and fell to his knees. He stayed there blubbering, begging them not to shoot him.

  Jimmy stood up, hovering over the kneeling man. “Fuck you!” He kicked Hendry hard in his ribs, knocking him over next to his dead friend. He spat, turned away, grabbed one of the two bikes left lying in the grass behind the building and walked to the truck in front of the building.

  Mike and Sam stood looking at each other for a moment, briefly taken aback by Jimmy’s outburst. Then the quiet of the day was shredded by a scream from the old man on the ground. Both men snapped their attention to the bodies there, and were shocked to see a rubber-necked dead man chewing mightily on ol’ Hendry’s face.

  Hendry was trying to push himself away from the gnawing teeth, but they were latched into his cheek and pulling a chunk out even as he screamed.

  Two loud pops, two dead bodies. Sam stood there gaping, smoke twisting up from the barrel of the AR-15. “Damn, I didn’t think these things went all zombie that fast.”

  Mike just grunted, and grabbed the last bicycle.

  6

  The second team of men stood outside the school, ready to mount their bikes and begin pedaling towards the river road when they saw four bicycles in the distance.

  “It’s them.” Dean Fletcher followed the team through a large pair of field glasses.

  “We were just about to head out and look for you guys,” Mike said in greeting as the first team dismounted their bikes.

  “We thought you would be,” Rick replied. “Sorry guys, lost track of time, but we did find some good stuff.” He pointed at the heavy bags on the backs of the bikes.

  “Let’s get everything inside. Then we can look over what you guys picked up.” Jan Fletcher ushered everyone indoors, pulling her husband Gordy aside until everyone passed.

  “I’m glad you’re back, I was worried.” She gave him a quick kiss and followed the others in.

  Everyone met up in the lunchroom area, gathering around a couple of old folding tables that were pushed together, acting as a banquet table. Children hugged their fathers, wives kissed their husbands and no one talked about how afraid they were that someone they loved wouldn’t come home that day.

  Adults seated themselves at the table, while the children went to the far end of the room. After the long and stressful day of waiting they didn’t want to let their families out of sight. The adults tolerated this as long as the children kept the noise low so they could talk easily.

  “Ok guys, let’s hear it.”

  Mike grinned at his wife. “Ok, babe. We know that using Bear Creek to load up and get out isn’t going to work. T
he kind of boats we need just won’t come down the creek; if they do, once fully loaded they won’t go back up.

  “Loading and leaving from the slips at the marina is going to be the easiest for such a large group. If it was just people we could hike everyone up to River Point and board some boats from there. But we have a ton of supplies and gear, stuff we can’t leave behind.”

  “What’s the risk involved there?” Jan asked.

  Team Two had already decided to let Sam handle the questions involving risk and the elimination of it.

  “Well, we will have to use vehicles to move everything. That’s going to be noisy as hell no matter what we do. I’m thinking we go from here, cross the south-side bridge, down Main to Broadway. Once we take the right on Broadway it’s a straight shot to the boat ramp, just a few hundred feet. The slips are right there, with everyone working to load all the water transport we have it shouldn’t take very long. The question is not how to stop all the Gut-Suckers. Instead we need to ask how to slow them down or draw them away.”

  “I hate that term ‘Gut-Suckers’, it’s just nasty”

  “Sorry Tam, kinda become a habit now,” Sam said, only half-apologetic.

  “Ok, so do you guys have any ideas on how to do the slowing or drawing away of the,” Gordy paused, “horde of zombie un-dead?” He smiled at Tam as he said it; she returned it with a sarcastic grin.

  “Well, we were thinking about setting up a field of trip ropes. Ropes strung just over ankle high, back and forth across the most likely areas they would come through. It won’t stop them but it might slow them down enough for us to get loaded and off on our little river vacation trip.”

  “That sounds kind of silly to me,” Lisa Phillips said, “like an awful lot of work for very little return.”

  Sam bristled for a moment, ready to challenge Lisa, when he realized that she was right. It was silly to think that setting up a trip-rope labyrinth would help them in any way. “I’m not sure what else we could do though. Putting up a barrier of any type along that area would be time consuming and the noise would draw every zombie for a mile. I really don’t see a feasible way to stop them while we load everything and ship out to the river. Unless the gut-suckers aren’t there when we pull up then I can’t think of anything.”