Some of the zombies that tumbled down into the mud tried to climb the bank right below Liam and Victoria. Each of them managed to down a mud-covered man, but Liam had to dispatch the final woman because Victoria had to go reload. The young woman scampered up the steep riverbank and looked almost normal because the blood and gore was momentarily washed clean. His final thought was that she looked familiar—he’d seen her chasing the train somewhere along the way.
Or she reminded him of Victoria.
Whatever her origin, he lined up a shot and put one into her face. The zombie fell over backward and slid into the murky water.
“Last one is gone,” he said when Victoria got back on the line.
“Thank God,” she replied as she keyed the safety and then holstered her weapon.
He picked up the ammo and headed over to Grandma. She greeted them with a weak smile as they approached.
Zombies kept coming over the broken bridge for a bit, and some fell off the end and got swept downstream or sank to the bottom. Eventually, they seemed to know the battle had ended and that food was now far away, and they stopped trying to cross. Perhaps they sensed easier pickings at the power plant.
Dust and debris floated everywhere, and the remains of the bridge jutted out of the rushing water below. The current danced through the wreckage and made a metallic howl through the hollow girders wrapped around the pier. It almost drowned out the sounds of moaning—and screams—coming from the far side of the river.
He took the opportunity to speak to his two lady friends in a normal voice.
“I say we take a five-minute break before we try to move on to my house.”
“That sounds heavenly,” Grandma said. “I need to sit down again. Maybe a little longer than five minutes, I’m afraid.” She motioned away from the police car.
After a short walk, they placed her on the ground up against the trunk of a large sycamore tree, then each took a seat flanking her. She held her rosary tightly to her chest, much as she had when he first saw her in bed several days ago.
Phil came up to join them.
Liam stood right back up. “Officer Phil, this is Mrs. Martinette Peters, my great-grandmother.”
“Oh Liam, my mother was 'Mrs. Peters.' Please call me Marty,” she said to Phil with returning good humor.
“Do you mind if I sit down and talk to your great-grandma alone for a few minutes?”
“Grandma, you OK with that?”
She gave him a silent thumbs-up sign.
Victoria got up to join him, and they walked off.
Liam looked back in the direction they'd come for a few minutes. Small groups of living people ran down the far bank and tried to swim across the river, sometimes trailed by zombies. Many swimmers made it into the arms of the waiting police rescuers, but some were unlucky and got snatched from below. Shooters on the police side picked off the zombies as best they could.
“I can’t watch this,” Victoria said with sadness.
“Me, either,” he admitted. “And just to be clear, I'm never going to St. Louis again.”
“Deal,” she said as they walked away.
3
He strolled side by side with Victoria further down the railroad tracks, out of the immediate vicinity of all the police still around the bridge. It gave them some time to talk in peace. As they walked in the open, they each noticed the other with their hands on their guns.
“I guess we're veteran survivors now,” she said. “We’re tending our weapons like our lives depend on them, huh?”
Liam knew she was right, although he still didn't feel like a survivor. More like a lottery winner after seeing all the people who didn't make it. Where did that huge crowd at the Arch end up? He couldn't even imagine.
“So, what's next, partner?” She had a broad smile as she said it.
He gave her an exaggerated inspection from her feet up to her head. “Nope. You aren't the same girl I found lying on the grass. You've gotten over your guilt and have gone out of your way repeatedly to save me, Grandma, and who knows how many others. I think you've made up for any shortcomings you may have imagined for yourself when this whole plague-thing started.”
Victoria winced at the word guilt but was quick to respond, “And you aren't the awkward boy who ran me over and practically hid behind your grandma. I've seen you do some amazing things the last couple of days that would have made most guys wet their pants in fear.”
“Well, it may surprise you to know one thing that still makes me whiz in my drawers is asking a pretty girl out on a date.”
She gave him a sideways glance but hid her reaction and kept walking and talking. “What are we planning to do next? Do we stay with the police we met at the Arch or strike out on our own with Grandma?”
He slowed down as he formulated a response. “I have to get to my parents’ house. They don't live far from here. My dad is kind of an expert at survival and stuff, so finding him will help us a lot. Besides, I can show you all my dorky rock n' roll posters, my retainer, and my pocket protector.”
They both laughed.
“My parents are in Denver. I don't know that I'll ever see them again.” She said wistfully. “Maybe someday I'll try to get out there if things ever get back to normal. I don't think they ever will, though. I'm going to be stuck in your home state of Mizzer-y. No offense.”
Her body language conveyed a sense of deep despair. Not that he blamed her, because she obviously missed her family. That would be a blow to just about anyone. He admitted to himself he would follow her to Denver if she asked him to go. He found himself suddenly unwilling to part from her, so he figured now was the time to cheer her up.
“I got you a present,” he said with renewed energy.
It immediately brightened her face, bruises and all. “Really? When did you have time to go shopping? The stores are all closed.” She gave him a painful-looking grin, but her smile didn't diminish.
“Well, I didn't buy it, but I didn't steal it. I think it was abandoned when I acquired it.”
“I'm intrigued.”
“Close your eyes and hold out your hands and I'll give it to you.”
Her green eyes peered into his for a long moment, but she did as he asked, smiling happily. He pulled the item from under his untucked shirt on the non-gun side of his waistband. He gently put it in her hands and invited her to look at it.
It was a small, travel-size Bible.
“You were looking for one when we met, so naturally, I've been trying to find one every minute of the day since then.” He smiled to be funny but admitted it was pretty near the truth.
Victoria was tongue-tied for several moments. He knew that was not an easy thing to do.
“Thank you, Liam.” She said it in an almost reverent tone.
“It's only the New Testament. I'm working on getting you an Old Testament. I've got scouts roving the countryside as we speak.” Again, he laughed at his joke to make himself feel less self-conscious that he was trying to do something nice for a girl. He also did his best to keep it casual and avoid any hint he wanted something from her in return. He just wanted to do a good deed for her that didn't involve shooting sick people in the head.
“Liam, it's absolutely perfect. Truly, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”
Whoa!
“Where did you get it?”
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would get him in trouble.
“I saw it in the train engine when we were up in there the first time, and I ran up there—”
Here comes full disclosure.
“—I ran up there that last time we were running from the zombies with Grandma. I figured it was the final chance I'd have to get it for you. I didn't know we'd live past the bridge. I felt it was worth the risk.”
“Well, your feelings on this matter were completely wrong. Nothing is worth risking your life like that. Consider this a slap on the wrist.” She took his hand and tapped it playfully. “But I do 100%
appreciate this, and I'll treasure it.” Her smile was infectious.
They strolled on the gravel road for another couple of minutes then turned around and walked back. They both agreed was unsafe to be so far from Grandma or lots of people with guns.
On the return trip, Victoria surprised him by holding his hand.
Totally worth it.
4
When they reached Grandma, she was done talking to Phil. He was giving her a big hug and let go as they got close. His face was flushed red; he'd been crying some more.
“I don't know how your grandma did it, but she answered my prayers. She really did. Thank you both. I, uh, need some time alone to process this. Please excuse me.” He walked off, avoiding eye contact as he went away.
“Grandma, what did you tell Phil about his wife?”
“I don't know if I understand myself. Somehow, I knew to call out her name and the name of his daughter and share their desire to get us across. I had one more message, but that was just for Phil. I'm having trouble remembering how I knew it, though. I'm old, you understand,” she said with an expression that conveyed “And that's all I'll say about it.”
“Grandma, I think we just witnessed a miracle. There's no other way to explain how that happened.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
She said it with a big sigh, then settled herself against the tree as best she could.
He had to admit it was nearly providential the way he found Victoria from out of the tens of thousands of people in the Arch grounds. That she would turn out to be such a critical person in helping him and Grandma get out of the city. And the one big favor he did in return was helping her find a Bible, and that a Bible turned up where it did, when it did. Was it all a divine mystery, or just a lot of amazing coincidences?
He still had trouble believing in God, but he desperately wanted to believe in something. He craved the same fearless faith as these two women, though it struck him that even if he chose to go back to church, there might not be any churches left.
Maybe Victoria was put here to help me find my way spiritually?
His anger at being “dumped” at Grandma's house by his father had long since dissipated. If anything, his parents had done him a favor by putting the two of them together at precisely the same time the world fell apart. It almost seemed his dad anticipated what was going to happen. Almost like he knew.
Wait. What?
He dismissed it as absolute rubbish. His father was always spouting off—he would claim he was “discussing intelligently”—things like government conspiracies, media collusion, and military-industrial scheming. But those were just silly theories.
Right?
He was 99% sure it was all bunk. But the last 1% was elusive. His whole worldview fell apart if that rounding error couldn't be sorted. But his dad saw the government as the bad guy. Always. That mindset might be believable if he were reading one of his books on zombies, but in the real world it seemed completely insane. All his book learnin' did nothing to help him recognize real zombies until they got up in his face and tried to bite him—so he couldn't necessarily trust those books as his guide anymore. He looked over to the police back at the bridge—the people who just saved them—and realized they were the government. He wanted to believe they represented help, not some massive internet-fueled conspiracy. He resolved to keep his eyes open; to prove his father wrong. He wanted to toss out that last percent of doubt.
For now, he was 100% sure he had to come up with a plan for their next move. He still had a deep fear he'd end up being that guy and step on a rake at the worst possible time, but after all he'd just seen and done—and survived—that irrational fear was receding. He had to be smart in looking ahead.
He'd been guiding Grandma the past four days, and he admitted it would be nice to hand her off to Mom and Dad—the “professional” caretakers. But even if they arrived at his home this afternoon, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with her. After all, she wouldn't be around for much longer. Would she? He recalled a phrase she'd once said in her sleep. Something about living to be 120. Rather than fear of spending more time with her, he found anticipation. If things got back to normal and she lived that long, he'd celebrate each birthday with real zest. If things got back to normal ...
Thinking of his parents, he checked his phone for the millionth time to see if it had a signal. He tried not to get too bummed when he confirmed it was still offline. It appeared as if he'd have to physically walk to his house to talk to them.
Victoria bumped him with her hip to get his attention.
“Do you see our friend Hayes anywhere?” she asked.
He looked around. “I can't say that I have. I don't remember him being in the group crossing the bridge either, though I wasn't taking a head count. He could have made it across and then run off. Maybe he swam across. Or he could have made a run for it when we were on the other side. He seemed pissed these police officers wouldn't let him pass.”
“If he made it, he'd probably still be yelling at the cops,” she said with sarcasm.
“Hayes was an idiot trying to be something he wasn't. He would have been pretty stupid to run off alone just because he felt slighted. No one can survive this thing alone. Look at us. We just barely made it with a whole army helping us.”
They let that percolate for a while. Grandma was fast asleep again, up against the tree. She had one arm over Liam's backpack, always protecting it.
Victoria reached for his hand and pulled him gently from the orbit of Grandma. She set down her new Bible next to Liam's pack, where it would be safe.
“Grandma's sleeping against a tree, just like you were when we met.”
Victoria laughed, “Does that mean I have to smash her fingers, or are you the expert?”
“I still feel horrible I did that to you. I don't think she would like me if I let that happen to her.”
Victoria smiled broadly; a lovely look, even if she wore too much coal dust and bruises for makeup. “I think she would forgive you, just like I did.” She kept pulling him around the bulk of the massive tree trunk. “There's a question I want to ask you, now that it looks like we might live beyond this conversation.”
The police and survivors near the bridge were blocked from their view. She let herself lean back against the bark, arms at her sides, and put her right foot partway up the trunk, so her leg was bent at an angle, pointing directly at him. Her dress hiked up a little, revealing her knee, and he saw it was jet black with coal residue. A testament to all they'd survived. Her posture, positioning, and proximity had him thoroughly confused.
Victoria compounded his confusion by asking, “I was wondering if you could tell me more about the shadow government?” Her effusive smile was contradictory to the serious question.
What in the hell does she mean?
Liam remembered their discussion earlier—it seemed like weeks ago—thousands of zombies ago—dozens of departed acquaintances ago—a train ride from hell ago. He told her if she said the code phrase, “shadow government,” he would kiss her on the lips.
Clueless Liam from four days ago would never have figured it out.
Survivor Liam of today returned the wide smile and kissed the girl.
Maybe the Zombie Apocalypse won't be so bad.
In the moment, he felt alive. Energized. Steady in mind and body. Unafraid of going into the suburbs.
What's to fear, when you're traveling with two bad-ass heroines?
###
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Since the Sirens (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2015 by E.E. Isherwood
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or ot
herwise, without the prior written permission of E.E. Isherwood
Version 2.0
Since the Sirens Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I want to recognize my own 104-year-old grandmother for being the inspiration for the character of Marty. Her passing was also the driving force behind my desire to write this book. I had over 40 years to benefit from her presence in my life, and she became my archetype for the strengths and weaknesses of someone so advanced in age. I regret to say she passed away in 2014 after living an incredibly long and healthy life. I give my real grandma a single mention in this book, when Al tells Marty that in a parallel universe she “passed away peacefully in her sleep today.” That is my homage to her. The rest of the book is written in the character of Marty, who only shares broad strokes with my late grandmother. I couldn't hope to write faithfully in the voice of a real person.
However, I tried to write Marty with my grandmother's physical abilities as I remember them, because I didn't want a superhero character that didn't ring true. Could she have walked a couple miles in the June heat, with a young man helping her? Could she have survived stumbling away from Angie? Could she endure lying on the bed of a flatcar for several hours? On a normal day, the answer might be no. No woman of 104 goes out and tries these things. Yet, if the world was ending, and she had to do those things to protect her family—absolutely she would have tried. In that light, Marty shares many of the best qualities of my real grandma, though I'm pretty certain mine never lassoed anything.
Because of who she was and how she influenced the character of Marty—and my own upbringing—the trajectory of the entire Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse series has a more positive and uplifting direction than it might have otherwise. Liam must remain guarded with so much evil in the zombie world, but he learns to search for the positive in mankind, and in himself. In that sense, I can relate to his character, having existed in a world containing such an upbeat person as my own “Grandma Marty.” His spiritual growth throughout these books would have made my real grandma very happy.
Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7 Page 28