Seems fishy they would want to go back into the city, Liam thought. He couldn't help but get involved, even though he hated having to interact with the hunter guy.
“Are you sure you guys want to go into the city? My girl—uh, my friend here—came out of the city and she said she'd never go back because it is so incredibly dangerous. What are you hoping to do in that direction?”
The hunter had his shotgun over his shoulder with his finger on the trigger, like safety was a dirty word to him.
“Easy. We're gonna find a nice warehouse full of food to barricade ourselves in. Then live like kings until help arrives.” He looked sideways at the young mother as he said it.
“I thought you said you were going to hunt zombies?” Liam said with skepticism.
The man looked at him like he'd just thrown down a personal challenge.
“What's it matter to you, boy? I changed my mind. Big people can do that.” He had a kind of leer to him that exuded ill intent. His facial hair was filthy, as were his teeth.
Liam couldn't let it go, but he looked around to ensure some police were still nearby.
He spoke directly to the couple with their two young kids, “It would be better to stay with the largest group. Maximize your odds by sticking together. Stay with people who will protect you as long as they can.”
The crazy guy laughed and started walking away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Come on my friends, let's go find our fortress. He's just a dumb kid. We'll protect you fine folks.”
He didn't know what he said that was so funny, but he noticed the young family drifted back toward the main group. It was a small victory.
The other hunter seemed OK leaving with the crazy man; he started to follow. The mad hunter did stop when he noticed the family wasn't dropping in behind. He pulled his shotgun off his shoulder and held it at a much more dangerous angle. Liam suddenly realized how exposed he'd become. He could get shot by an insane guy just for existing.
The hunter looked at him intently for many seconds, then hocked up a loogie and spit in Liam's direction. To his relief, the man turned around, laughing as he walked away.
“Better hope our paths don't cross again, boy.” The hunter said it quietly enough not to be heard by the police, but Liam knew exactly what he meant.
Victoria grabbed his elbow and drew him back into the main group.
His mind raced. How many more stupid people were being taken advantage of by opportunists? Did chaos and disorder cloud people's judgment? Were people so far out of their comfort zone now they no longer knew how to function? Even at his age, he knew enough not to pair up with a seedy guy with a powerful gun. Not when the police are in your own stupid group! He realized he was talking about that guy again. Only this time it was that family, and they were trying desperately to get themselves removed from the script.
He was getting angry, so he tried to temper it.
I saved the lives of that family.
Too bad they don't even know it.
He had very little time to celebrate.
The swimmers started walking away, and the main group resumed its trek south. Officers and gang members alike took point or covered the rear. He and Victoria each grabbed a handle and pushed the wheelchair between them. He saw the metaphor now that he viewed Victoria as his partner. They were all in this together, joined by fate through an elderly woman who, until recently, he couldn't stand to be around.
A massive industrial rail yard lay ahead, draped in the deep shadows of twilight. It had already been three days since the sirens, and they’d escaped the worst of the horde downtown. Now that they were heading south, he hoped they were nearing safety.
Liam was surrounded by predators and there was no time for fear. Friends and family depended on him and that knowledge fortified his spirit. He lifted one of his hands, thankful the shaking had stopped.
Chapter 14: Intermodal
Marty woke up lying on the bridge, near a lone green sports car parked on the deck with her. As she stood up to gain her bearings, she realized she was in San Francisco. The distinctive Golden Gate Bridge was far out over the bay. She was on another large bridge, braced by metal girders high above, though she had no idea what it was called. It was a bright and sunny day, and the crisp blue water was beautiful.
“I'm dead, and I've gone to...San Francisco?” she said with confusion.
Her husband's avatar was next to her.
“Hello again, Marty. No, not dead, yet. You're on the Bay Bridge, by the way.”
“You can read my mind?”
“Read? No, I'm in your mind. I'm with you, inside your head. I hear your thoughts as you think them in this place.”
“Where are we?”
“That's a very interesting question, my dear. San Francisco, California.”
“Al, even I know that. I can see the Golden Gate right there; you know what I meant.”
“I suppose I do. You should ask Liam. He knows this place. You and he are developing a special bond which I'm happy to encourage.”
She searched her feelings. Of course, she shared a special bond with her great-grandson, though their relationship of the past few days was turning out to be quite different than the previous years of Liam's life all put together. Maybe something was changing.
“This is a dream, right?”
With a gleam in his eye, Al gave her a big smile. “Are you sure?”
“I remember going to sleep in the rail yard after the kids wheeled me down the railroad tracks away from that horrible battle at the Arch. Unless I'm mistaken, I'm still sitting in my wheelchair, asleep. That means I've got to be dreaming, or sleepwalking, or something like that, right?”
“You are asleep, but not walking. Let's leave it at that for now—we can't afford to get into the weeds. Some things you have to take on faith, I'm afraid. While we're together, I want to show you this car.”
He walked over to the little green sports car, and she followed. The car itself was ancient. It wasn't as old as her, but she remembered seeing the model back in the 1950s and 60s. It was a coupe with a white vinyl top and open windows; the insides were covered with bird droppings and nesting materials. The green paint was well faded on the top, though it was still evident on the sides—bird filth notwithstanding. It appeared to have been on the bridge for decades, maybe much longer.
“This could be the most important car you ever see. Do you know why?”
“I can't think of any reason. I've never seen it.”
“I'm sure you haven't. It's OK you don't understand the connection yet. That it's here tells me you are very close to realizing your full potential in this world. I can't say much more than that, or I could upset the delicate balancing act that is leading you down this path. But you should take great comfort at seeing this particular car, in this particular place.”
She looked at the car, then at Al.
“You look like Al, and my Lord, how I wish you were Al. But you can't be. Who are you, really?”
“You are very perceptive indeed. No, having conversations with the dearly departed is generally frowned upon by ... the system. In this place, I can look like anyone you have in your memory, put you in any situation you can imagine, and if I'm really lucky, I can guide you on your journey through this troubling time.”
She suddenly felt exhausted.
“Mister whoever-you-are, will you please tell me why you've been masquerading as my husband in these dreams?”
“Dearest Martinette, I never intended any harm to you. The closest approximation to my true nature is what you would call an Angel. I serve the Light.”
She looked intently at him.
“You're an Angel of God?”
“You won’t find me in any Bible, and I make no claim to understand my Creator, though, like you, I hope to see His true face someday. In many ways, I'm just as real and fallible as you.”
She crossed herself, knowing she would have to ask the next question.
“I mean no disrespe
ct, but how do I know you aren't lying to me again by saying that? Who you serve.”
Al considered and then snapped his fingers. As far as she could see over the bridge row after row of infected stood in lines. An impossible number. Most were missing limbs or had large chunks torn from their bodies. All were ruined in form and substance. Somehow, they were standing there, unmoving, all the way to the other shore.
Al called out to them, “I serve the One True God. You shall bow in His name.”
And then ... impossibly ... they all bent to one knee.
And then ... predictably ... she fainted and fell back to the ground.
Falling. Falling. Falling.
2
“OH, MY GOD!”
Grandma woke up with a yell. It must have been a nightmare, because she practically exploded awake, tipping dangerously forward in her wheelchair. Victoria sat the closest and had the good sense to grab her as she leaned over the edge. It was a near-run thing. Would Grandma survive falling flat on her face? After surviving so much, that would be a horrible way to go.
Liam moved closer and spoke softly.
“Grandma, are you OK? You were having a bad dream.”
“No. Yes.” She looked around and reoriented herself on the rail yard. They'd found it after much walking and just as it became too dark to safely continue.
“No, I wasn't having a bad dream exactly. Yes, I'm fine now that I know where I am.”
“Sorry. It's just that you made a lot of noise. We're kind of hiding here from ... them.” He didn't know how to say it any more plainly without making her feel bad.
He and Victoria now crouched together next to her, listening to see if any zombies had become alerted by her nightmare. In the vast rail yard, it didn't seem likely, but he took no chances—made no assumptions—anymore.
After several minutes, he breathed out a silent sigh of relief. Nothing seemed to have been attracted to them. The group hid in the narrow corridor between two lines of train cars. The train yard offered many such hidey holes, and most of the police group was in between the same two trains. Hiding and staying quiet. Resting after their run down the railroad from the Arch.
By virtue of their slow movement with the wheelchair, he, Victoria, and Grandma found themselves at the very back of the line, though the biggest cop—Jones—was also there with a shotgun. He was the rear guard.
Liam was near the final car of one of the parallel trains. As things settled back down, a face popped around that last car, looking into the dark corridor between both sets of tracks. Liam could clearly see the black man's eyes—along with his red ball cap. He was a living, breathing person. Jones happened to be facing his way, so Liam made a motion for him to turn around. Jones did and casually moved the shotgun resting against his shoulder to a more actionable position in front of him, though he kept it pointed down.
The visitor paused for a second before walking into the gap between the two lines of cars, with his hands and arms reaching outward to show he was unarmed. He wore a white t-shirt, and even in the low moonlight it was apparent he had a lot of bloodstains on it. He did have a weapon: an ornate gold-plated pistol stuck in the waistband of his jeans.
Liam felt his pocket for his pistol but made no effort to draw until he saw where this was going. Jones would be far more intimidating if weapons were required.
The man looked over his shoulder, back around the train car, before turning his attention once again to Liam and his friends. He appeared to study the situation with great care. Jones stood quietly, making no threatening gestures; just holding his shotgun in a position where he could swing it forward in an instant.
Seemingly satisfied, the man motioned with his arm, signaling someone out of sight to come to him.
Liam unlatched the safety on the gun inside his pocket. If there were more than a couple of men, he knew he'd probably be outgunned in this narrow space, but he was going to help Jones, no matter how futile.
Ten seconds later, a black teenage girl trotted around the corner, toward the group. She was followed quickly by a younger girl holding the hand of a third small girl. Then a couple of very young black boys came around. They were followed by a string of about ten black children of varying ages. A couple of grown women followed the procession. Impossibly, another handful of small kids followed them, including one or two small white children. Finally, another grown black man rounded the corner. The only difference in attire and appearance with his mate was the large number of gold chains draped around his neck. Liam couldn't help but remember a different encounter with a man wearing so many gold chains …
Jones never raised his gun and waved at the last man as he went by.
The men followed their charges. They ran by Liam with grim smiles, unaware of his internal confusion, and soon disappeared down the line. No words were exchanged.
Liam's hand left his pistol as his blood pressure slowly came back down from the stratosphere. For several minutes, he wondered if anyone else in the large group of survivors would be surprised by this unlikely mix of people running by, but thankfully, no gunfights erupted. Well, not anywhere close. Gunshots were so common as background noise in the distance he didn't even notice it.
He and Victoria were both exhausted beyond words. They settled in next to Grandma, using his backpack as their mutual pillow. Jones hunkered down several paces toward the back of the line.
“Get some sleep, guys,” Jones whispered as they tried to get comfortable. “I've got this.”
“I'll make sure he stays awake,” Grandma said sweetly. “I've been asleep in my chair most of the past few days.”
“No arguments here.” Looking over at Victoria, her eyes were already shut.
He felt the world owed him a nice night of sleep.
It wasn't long before he was out.
3
Seemingly seconds later, he woke up when Jones gave him a manly chuck on the shoulder as he held a hand over his mouth. Jones was in his face giving the “quiet” symbol. Next, he did the same for Victoria, but she woke with a little squeak.
Jones pointed underneath the last train car and made a motion suggesting they look below to see what was on the far side.
There were lots of undead meandering around an open section of the rail yard, visible because of the low light of the moon. They moved without a unified purpose but more or less faced south. It was impossible to know how many were out there.
Completely exhausted, he didn’t feel like he was awake. Probably, this was some kind of nightmare in which he was sitting in a train yard with fifty other people, hoping everyone could be quiet so as not to alert the insatiable, bloodthirsty zombies. Going along with the dream, he calculated the odds of warning everyone.
He soon edged back toward a deeper sleep, his mind aimless. The shambling dead still hadn't noticed anyone. Were they able to see in the dark? Did they have hearing or smell that was better than a live human? No one really knew the capabilities of these creatures, other than their one apparent skill—finding blood.
He questioned if they did have superpowers, like in any number of books he'd read on zombies. Some were fast. Some were strong. Some couldn't be killed except by complete decapitation. Some were supernatural spirits. Some …
Zombies aren't real. They're just sick humans, right? Hayes had laughed at that word.
In real life, the sick are just sick. Rather than the archetypical zombie running around shouting, “Brains!” these were just housewives, bankers, and students who got sick with a disease that seemed to cause them to wander around aimlessly. But they had a plague so bad it kept killing even after the host dies. If they knew healthy humans were hiding so close, they'd be swarming to the buffet table.
All we need to make this scene uber-surreal is the idiot priest who tries to reason with them because he believes they are still the children of God and gets eaten, dying with that look of shocked surprise on his face. He looked down the path to see if a priest was coming.
“Hello, F
ather Cahill!” he called out. Wasn’t he the one who had saved them? Why was he doing such a dumb thing, now?
A shove woke him up.
“Stay awake! You're mumbling,” Victoria whispered into his ear.
He looked around for the priest and realized he’d been dreaming. Or hallucinating. Either way, he could put everyone in danger if he let his exhaustion get the better of him. He smiled at her and tried to stay focused on the figures moving around on the other side of the tracks.
They seemed to float gently in the cool evening air. The moonlight gave them a ghostly pallor. A dreamy look—
He fought to keep his eyes from closing again. For some reason, he thought of flapjacks.
Minutes went by, and a new stimulus arrived. There, not fifteen feet away, was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. She was dressed in a sheer pink nightgown that absorbed the light of the moon and made her seem to glow.
He stood to get a better view, like a Peeping Tom at the girl's summer camp, but felt no embarrassment as he memorized her curves.
“Aw yeah. Victoria, you look amazing tonight.”
She smiled broadly at him and slowly removed one of the straps of her gown, letting it fall off her shoulder. It revealed just a little more of her ... He was pleased to see the shimmer of her gown now drifted in his direction.
He panted like a dog. It was wrong to behave like an—an animal—but he reveled in it. He shouted, “Victoria, kiss me!”
“Seriously, Liam?” a girl whispered forcefully in his ear while pinching his upper arm. “Wake up!”
He opened his eyes and turned.
Victoria seemed pretty angry, but she put a finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet.
He glanced around. She wasn't in a revealing pink gown. Instead, to his utter horror, he saw a similarly shaped blood-drenched teenage girl. It appeared as if someone threw buckets of the stuff on her.
Oh, God, no!
The zombie wore a pink nightgown.
“It's not possible.” He whispered it to himself. What was he going to tell Victoria—“I was dreaming, and you were wearing a slinky nightgown, but you turned out to be a blood-soaked zombie”?
Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7 Page 20