The Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Line

by Millard, Adam

  How could you beat an enemy of such indifference?

  As if in reply to his question, something blew by overhead. Bernstein looked up, not knowing what to expect, and when he saw what had been responsible, he knew that they could beat such an incessant beast.

  'Is that the Wave Hawk?' Sniper Two's voice crackled down by Bernstein's feet.

  'It is,' Bernstein said.

  He reloaded and continued to take down the enemy.

  *

  Being up above them was even worse than existing on the ground-level alongside them. Staring down into the ocean of flailing limbs, bloodied stumps and half-devoured faces served as a constant reminder of the creatures' extended mortality, and also reminded Dredd of the shit they would be in if the chopper malfunctioned on any level.

  Al, in the back of the Wave Hawk, had already begun to chop through them with the mounted M60s. There were two M50 grenade-launchers available, but Dredd didn't think they would need them.

  Though if Al was in charge, the chances were increased exponentially.

  The noise from the M60s was terrific; more than enough to drown out the monotone drone from below and the racket of the rotors above. Bodies fell like dominoes as Al whipped the machine-gun from left to right, spraying into the horde as assuredly as Dredd had anticipated.

  The man was a maniac, that was for sure, but he was good at what he did, and Pimlico had had no choice but to reinstate the lunatic in order to get Dredd up in the air to stop the encroaching throng.

  Dredd looked down at the snipers on their towers as they flew by. Snipers One and Two – the guys who had been unfortunately positioned over on the side of the fracas and emerging creatures – were no longer firing at the horde.

  They were waving.

  They were smiling, and waving, happy at the appearance of the hovering, steel saviour taking care of business much more effectively than they could.

  Dredd flicked them a thumbs-up before whipping the Wave Hawk away from the towers, deeper into the horde.

  It was funny, watching them fall, unable to see the bullets tearing through them but knowing that they were. Dredd could picture Al in the back, having the time of his life.

  Like a pig in shit, or something to that effect.

  The noise was such that he couldn't hear anything other than guns, but he had a feeling – more of an undercurrent – that Al was whooping at the top of his lungs as the horde dropped to the ground, their lifeless bodies twitching harmlessly as the last of the undeath left them.

  *

  The word past down the row of snipers like Chinese Whispers. Bernstein relayed the news to Sniper Two – Blanc, he was pretty certain the guy had French ancestors now that he thought about it - and Blanc informed the sniper a quarter of a mile away, and so on and so forth until all eight of them were aware of the Wave Hawk's intervention.

  It was like watching something from a Michael Bay movie. The creatures fell; the helicopter shifted and began to attack from a different angle, and in the end there would be only one result.

  Bernstein watched. One thought kept running through his mind.

  What would've happened if the chopper hadn't turned up?

  There was no way they would have been able to hold of the onslaught. They were outnumbered, and even if more snipers had been ordered to Tower One and Two, it just wouldn't have been enough.

  'I could watch this all day long,' Bernstein chortled into his headset.

  'Many more?' Blanc asked.

  Bernstein scanned the ground. The majority of the things had already fallen, and only smaller hordes were emerging from the trees to the west.

  'Almost over,' he informed Blanc. Secretly, he was relieved. 'The general made a good call here today.'

  Silence, and then Blanc said, 'You can say that again. Shit, Bernstein, I think I need new pants.'

  And so the creatures failed to penetrate Bay St. Louis thanks to the fire-power of their only helicopter and the audacity of one pilot and an insane gunner.

  It was 5:15 when the last creature fell.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The train was fucked. Terry had stipulated his list of requirements to get the thing fixed, and had been rewarded with only two.

  The guy upstairs clearly wasn't helping.

  That wasn't to say he couldn't make it run; he could. An hour spent working on the fluid-couplings, another hour flushing the engine and refilling it, and the locomotive would probably run as sweet as a nut.

  But it was time they didn't have.

  He was worried about the sentries. All of them were tired, though Shane would never admit it, and there was something about Lukas that made Terry's skin crawl.

  The guy was clearly unstable. The fear in his own wife's eyes as he ordered her around was enough to clarify that the man who they had no choice but to trust was something of a loose cannon. Terry almost wished they had taken a different road, evaded the strange family completely.

  'I used to have one like this,' a tiny voice said from the left side of the busted locomotive. Terry leaned across to discover River and Saul standing down on the track. ''Course, mine was a lot smaller, and made of Meccano.'

  Terry wiped the wrench he had been using on a rag and smiled. 'I don't suppose you know how to get one moving, do you?'

  River laughed. 'If I did,' she said, 'I'd be the one up there, sweating buckets, wouldn't I?'

  She had a point.

  'But from what I do know,' she continued, and Terry was all ears, 'the engine needs lubricating. You won't be able to run it from dry.'

  Saul stood, mouth agape, unsure of what was passing between the old man and the machete-girl. He would have been rendered speechless if he wasn't already mute.

  'Is that so?' Terry said, his silvery eyebrows knitting together. 'And how come you know so much about engines all of a sudden?' It was stupid to ask River anything like this, for she always had an answer that would, nine times out of ten, blow your mind.

  'Tractors,' she spat, grinning. 'I was a farm-girl for a while. Daddy used to let me help him clean the tractors up before harvesting. The engines on those old things were in much worse condition than this one.' her smile widened. 'That's a good thing. Means we might get this piece of shit moving before more lurkers come.'

  Terry thought about reproaching her for her use of foul language, then decided there was no point. She had every right to swear; she was just as adult as any of the others.

  More adult than that prick Lukas.

  'Oh, I have no doubt we'll get this badboy running by morning,' Terry said, hoping the news would settle her, or at least ease the nerves of the boy practically clinging onto her for dear life. Saul sighed, glanced across at the hulking machine, before turning his eyes back up to Terry. 'I promise everything's going to be alright,' he said, more to the boy than River.

  She could handle herself just fine.

  'So what's the deal then?' Terry said as he tucked the wrench into the back of his pants. 'You want me to give you a shout when the engine's ready for a once-over?'

  River's face lit up. 'Are you asking for my help?' she smiled. 'I knew you'd need my help.' Nonchalantly, she added, 'Yeah, give me a shout when you're ready.'

  Terry nodded. 'There's some oil over in that hut, and some rags.'

  She was already running away. Saul, the nervous wreck, chased after her.

  Terry went back to work on the couplings, though now he had something that wasn't there a moment ago.

  A smile.

  *

  'Motherfucker ain't gonna get that piece of shit moving. No way.'

  Lukas lit a cigarette and stared down the shotgun barrel as if checking it wasn't warped.

  Abi was frightened. She didn't like Lukas in this mood; she knew what he was capable of, what he might do. It was like watching a pit-bull get cornered, and God-forbid anyone who tried to corner Lukas in the same way.

  She placed a placatory hand on his shoulder. 'Everything's gonna be fine,' she said. 'We'll be
rid of them soon, and we can take the girl and run, just like we said.'

  She hoped it was that easy.

  Lukas hawked on the ground and turned to face her. 'That prick in charge thinks he can talk to me like something he trod in,' he said, his face contorted into pure ugliness. Abi hadn't realised until now, but Lukas had aged ten years since Ridgeland. The corners of his eyes extended out into crow's feet, and his lips were puckered like an old lady's as the cigarette bounced around in the corner of his mouth.

  'I should just take care of them, now,' Lukas said.

  This was exactly what Abi feared. Her mouth dropped open with shock as the enormity of the situation hit her full-on.

  'That's not a good idea,' she said, brushing his arm to soothe him. 'We can slip away in the night; just take the kids and go. There's no need to kill 'em all. We can take their weapons while they sleep. We'll be back on the main road by two. Leave them a note or something telling 'em if they try to come after us we'll kill 'em. They won't have no choice, Lukas. We'll have their guns, and they won't risk it.'

  He listened, but his expression told Abi he wasn't convinced.

  'Nah, I need to end this before it gets out of hand.' He climbed to his feet, tossed the shotgun up into the air and caught/cocked it.

  Abi, sensing she only had seconds to make this right, grabbed him by the leg and began to plead.

  'Lukas, please, we can do this without more bloodshed. Babe, please, listen to me. I'll talk to the prick . . . I'll make sure he gives you some respect . . . please.'

  Lukas glared down at the sobbing nuisance that was his girlfriend. She was a great fuck, but at times she could be melodramatic.

  It was annoying.

  He sighed, lowered the gun. 'Why do you care?' he asked. It was a valid question. Why, all of a sudden, was she so concerned about the well-being of this bunch of shits? Back in Ridgeland she would have loaded the gun for him to take care of the same people. The idea that Abi was changing enraged him further, and he wanted to kick her in the head and march on to slaughter each and every one of the idiots standing in his way.

  She gazed up at him; her blurred vision reminded her of why she loved him. Through teary eyes the new wrinkles stretching across his face were invisible, and she saw him as he once was: a behemoth, a God . . .

  'Let them serve their purpose this afternoon,' she calmly said, biting back more tears. 'We need someone keeping an eye out over on that side. Those fuckers came from nowhere this afternoon; it's safer if we don't put ourselves at any disadvantage.' She paused, rubbed the tears away. 'We'll leave after dark, Lukas. We can do that.'

  Lukas pondered in silence. It would have been so simple, so ridiculously uncomplicated, to take the shotgun and blow the three fucking adults away where they stood. With them gone, it would have been just him, Abi, the dummy and that cute little bitch, River.

  She was useful.

  'If he so much as talks down to me one more time,' Lukas said, poking at the air with the shotgun barrel, 'I'm gonna put a fucking hole in the front of his face so big you'll be able to put your arm through it.'

  Abi nodded. 'It won't happen again, babe,' she said. 'You're in charge here, not him, not none of 'em.'

  She climbed to her feet and kissed him.

  Her behemoth . . .

  Her God.

  *

  Marla sat on the end of the bright-green container, her feet dangling over the edge as if she was on a fishing trip, waiting for something to bite.

  The only difference was: a bite on this trip could only be construed as a bad thing.

  She reached into the pack and retrieved a water-bottle, which she handed across to Shane.

  'Thanks,' he said, unscrewing the cap and swallowing half of it down in two hungry gulps.

  'Well, this has turned into something of an adventure,' she said as she peeled the wrapper off a chocolate bar. 'Feel like Indiana Jones yet?'

  Shane stared out across the treetops; somewhere off in the distance, the sweet sound of birdsong carried along on the wind. It was out of place – something so beautiful, so . . . normal – in this world.

  'I don't think I'll ever feel like Indy,' Shane said, all the time twisting the cap on the water-bottle. On-off-on-off. 'I've always thought of myself more as James Bond, anyway.'

  'Bet you'd look good in a tux,' Marla smiled, her chocolatey lips made Shane look away; it would have been so easy to lean across and help himself to some of that chocolate.

  'Guess we'll never know,' Shane offered morosely.

  'Awww, bullshit. We'll find us a nice wedding store somewhere, get you all shaven and tidied up, spend the afternoon playing dress-up. It'll be fun.'

  Shane pictured it. Him wearing a black suit, a bow-tie, a bowler-hat; Marla slipping in and out of the changing-room, each time in a new frock. At one time, such an afternoon would have been the bane of his life – he hated shopping, especially women's shopping – but not anymore.

  It sounded heavenly.

  'Yeah, I bet the looters didn't hit the wedding-clothes stores when this shit went down,' Shane laughed. The thought of a surviving group, all dressed to the nines, was hilarious. Instead if machine-guns and swords they were just going around, poking at lurkers with fancy umbrellas and canes.

  'There you go,' Marla said. 'It's a date. I'll bet when we get to where we're headed, there'll be loads of places like that. Entire stock-rooms full of tuxedos and braces. Hell, I reckon we'll be able to get River into something pretty and pink.'

  That, Shane thought, was not going to happen.

  Marla glanced out across the trees, chewing chocolate as if it was going out of fashion. She must have stayed like that – completely oblivious to Shane's sideways glances – for five minutes. You wouldn't have thought they were in the middle of the apocalypse, not with the serene smile painted across her face, not with the delicate birdsong just a few hundred feet away.

  Somewhere behind them, Terry cursed as he slipped with the wrench. They both turned to see the man in charge of getting them moving again shaking his hand. He looked up, noticed Shane and Marla staring at him, and waved. 'I'm okay,' he said. 'Just mashed my thumb up.'

  Shane laughed. 'Be more careful. You'll need those thumbs to drive the train.'

  Terry waved, didn't reply.

  'He seems confident enough,' Marla said. She screwed the empty foil wrapper into her palm and toyed with it, relieving some tension, no doubt.

  'He's good at stuff like this,' Shane said. 'If I remember correctly, he was in workshop at the pen, made some nice furniture, too. Reckon he could have made a decent living out of that shit if things . . . well, if things hadn't turned out the way they have.'

  'There's a bit of a difference between knocking up a spice-rack and fixing a diesel locomotive.' Marla squeezed the wrapper so tightly that her knuckles whitened. She was obviously still dubious about them getting on their way anytime soon.

  'Yeah, but, come on . . . it's not as if a few hours trying is gonna hurt. I mean, this time yesterday we thought it was just us. Before the jets, we were quite happy.' He paused, realised how stupid his comment was. Happy? He was happier in prison; at least his family – Megan, Holly – had still been alive. 'You know what I mean,' he continued. 'We were none the wiser, and we pushed on regardless. Those jets gave us something to aim for, and we're aiming for it. Doesn't matter if we get there today, tomorrow, or a week next Tuesday.'

  Marla laughed. It was always funny to hear Shane go off on a rant. 'Better not take that long,' she said, smiling. 'I don't think I can bear a whole fortnight with Lukas. The guy gives me the creeps.'

  From Marla, that was something. She'd been a doctor at the prison, surrounded by the country's vilest, most deviant sonsofbitches ever to commit a crime. She could spot people like that a mile off.

  And Shane had sensed it too.

  'Don't worry about them,' he assured her. 'I've got my eyes open on the situation.'

  Just then, something shook the trees twenty feet in
front of them. Twigs snapped as whatever was down there crunched them underfoot.

  Shane picked up Marla's pistol; his own was down to three bullets, and they would have to last until they could get more supplies.

  Marla handed him a second magazine, just in case he needed it.

  He hoped not.

  Something moved again, this time a little closer. A branch suddenly poked up from nowhere, freed by the motion of the invisible figure below. Shane aimed the Beretta towards the trees, being careful not to make any sound as he flicked the safety off with his trembling thumb.

  Marla didn't take her eyes off the spot where the last noise emanated from; something was there, and only an idiot would make the mistake of losing it.

  Shane pushed himself to standing; it was hard to remain stealthy when all you wanted to do was start firing, aimlessly, into the void. Adrenaline was already taking over, and his heart was racing so rapidly that the steady hush-thump of blood in his ears was causing him to miss vital sounds from down on the ground.

  Marla pointed a finger across to where she thought she saw something, and then lowered it, shrugging, not sure if she had seen something or if it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

  Cruel tricks that were apt to get them all killed.

  Suddenly, all hell broke loose as a thick, dark cloud emerged from the trees, accompanied by the fluttering of wings and a terrible cawing.

  Crows.

  A whole fucking murder of them, aiming towards the sky at a speed so fast that Shane checked their asses for fireworks.

  'Something spooked them?' Marla asked, no longer trying to remain quiet. It didn't matter anymore; if there was something there, the crows had undone all their hard work.

  'I don't think so,' Shane said, clicking the pistol's safety back on. 'Might be a deer or something, but I've never seen birds fly away from a lurker before.'

  The crows disappeared into the distance, cawing and cackling. Shane wasn't sure, but it sounded like the murder were laughing about all the fuss they'd just caused.