Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7

by Isherwood, E. E.

  “Don't you want to know why you're all here? I can't be the only one curious.”

  An old woman—they were all old—further up his bench spoke up at last. “I can't think of any reason anyone would want me. My name's Petunia Hemma. I spent my life raising my family—they're all moved out and on their own, of course—and my husband passed away a few years ago.” She crossed herself at that statement, as did many of the others. “I don't have any special skills or knowledge. I'm just a housewife.”

  Others spoke up in turn, some explaining they had jobs in the past which could have been construed as “interesting.” One even worked for the CIA in Langley as a receptionist. But Liam was unable to deduce anything both interesting and common among them all.

  He was left with the only thing even remotely common—their age. It was also the least intriguing to him. “Why would the government need a group of old people?”

  He looked around and noticed the stink eyes.

  “Oh sorry. I meant no disrespect. My grandma told me I could call her an old person after she reached 100.”

  That seemed to mollify everyone. Several began talking to Grandma once they learned she was a centenarian. An unwritten rule of silence was broken, and the group became much more animated. Checking where they went to high school. Piecing together the circles they'd run in during their youth. Finding out if they dated the same people. Old people stuff.

  Oops.

  Just people stuff.

  Liam was back in his seat, listening to the group chatting like they were sitting at a coffee shop hopped up on the caffeine. He was vigilant for clues tying them all to this journey, but few were forthcoming. He settled in and absorbed the life stories of his fellow passengers.

  All the excitement made him forget something important for just a little while.

  Victoria is gone...

  That was it.

  Another hour ticked by. The truck was never going very fast, and sometimes it would stop for a long time while the gun was in operation or was being reloaded by the men up front. They were let out one more time in the early morning, greeted by a light drizzle. It seemed to refresh the passengers and their conversations exploded as the journey continued.

  Liam absorbed as much as he could, but those folks could really talk when they wanted to. He still had nothing to go on in his effort to solve the mystery, even after a couple hours enduring waves of information. They were starting to repeat themselves as they shared their same stories with other companions. Even Grandma seemed to revel in the data dump.

  For a fifteen-year-old boy, it moved quickly from exciting to boring beyond belief.

  He turned inward. Sitting in the back of the truck reminded him of his zombie books. Survivors were rounded up in the hot zone and brought to the safety of the “compound” where they could find safety and comfort. When the rear doors of this MRAP opened, would they be greeted by a friendly face welcoming them to their new home?

  He didn't think for a second this was an altruistic mission.

  He then thought of his military history. He'd seen a dramatic recreation of another group of men sitting in the back of a military truck in the old days. They were traveling as prisoners of war in wintertime during the Battle of the Bulge, fought near the end of World War II. When the back flap opened, they were greeted by German special forces, and they were anything but friendly faces. They dragged the men into a clearing and shot them all—a massacre.

  Did he believe they were heading for a massacre? Part of him did. But they could have been killed at any point in this journey. They could have been killed in their homes. Why bother with the elaborate transport? Maybe they have to keep it secret?

  He felt panic somewhere deep inside him trying to get his attention. Were these cold-blooded killers? They'd killed Victoria in cold blood.

  Was it really cold blood? What does that even mean?

  They killed her because of me.

  He felt his emotions going haywire. Panic. Regret. Anger. Confusion.

  He tried to force himself to go to sleep. End the fistfight taking place in his head.

  Sleep remained elusive. Much blood was spilled in the long mental battle.

  The truck rolled on.

  5

  Liam's thoughts were interrupted as the world slanted.

  The truck dipped its nose down a little and slammed into something. It wasn't going very fast, but the mass of the large truck and the flat bench seats worked together to send all the passengers toward the front of the vehicle in a brief but violent jerk.

  Those in the front of the truck had it the worst. They were pushed against the webbing separating the front compartment while simultaneously absorbing the weight of the passengers behind them. Because Liam and Marty were closest to the doors, they suffered almost no ill-effects.

  The Gatling gun on top came to life. It seemed pissed, spinning up in long pulls.

  The men in the front of the truck were yelling. The radio was squelch city. The MRAP seemed stuck on something. The engine was roaring, the tires were spinning, but the thing wasn't moving.

  The plinks of shell casings rattled on the roof while the clangs of rounds bouncing off the exterior were plainly evident.

  Where the hell are we? Afghanistan?

  The Gatling continued making long sweeps with short intervals of downtime. The operators up front were yelling about overheating, ammo consumption, and target selection. The noise was dizzying. He tried to help some of the others get back in their seats.

  Impossibly, a few minutes into the firefight, the back doors popped open. Hayes was hunched down just outside the truck, as if trying to avoid the rain. “Liam, you and Grandma will come with me. Now! Bart, you will be picked up next.”

  He considered the wisdom of that statement, but Grandma was already on her feet. She made the decision for him. After several long seconds of helping her out, they were standing at the back of the MRAP, surrounded by a thick blanket of white smoke. Smoke canisters were laying on the ground in all directions, belching out the smothering layer of safety. The MRAP itself was also cranking out smoke. Liam wasn't sure if that was due to the crash or a protective feature of the vehicle itself.

  Standing out in the open, he was assaulted by the sights and sounds of battle. The buzz saw sound coming from the top of the MRAP was the most distinctive, but he could hear other machine guns from the Humvee's, as well as the sounds of guns being fired from a distance. Those were the attackers—whoever they were.

  Hayes had a Humvee pulled up almost to the back of the MRAP. He hurried the pair toward his ride.

  Liam didn't know how to process all that was happening.

  In one moment, he heard the whipping sound of a bullet streaking through the air nearby.

  Then two more. Close.

  He heard several rounds smack the outside of the MRAP.

  The Gatling was freakishly loud.

  In another moment, he heard and saw a bullet sink into the tire of the Humvee he was approaching. His mind recalled some television show which explained how these vehicles had special tires which would run even if flat. So much time to think in those few seconds of running...

  Hayes made no effort to slow down as they moved toward the space where the bullet just passed. There were several cracks already on the windshield. “Get her in the front seat! I'll be in the back!”

  Once inside, with the doors safely closed, the Humvee began moving. Liam and Grandma were crammed together in the front seat, staying as low as possible. Hayes was in the back, along with a person they couldn't see fully. He was standing upright and was poking out the top, operating the machine gun mounted on the roof. It was hammering away, dropping shells both inside and over the outer surface of the truck. The driver was the redhead woman. She didn't have her hat on this time, her wavy red locks were down to her shoulder. After looking over to ensure everyone was in, she ripped out of there—as fast as the Humvee could accelerate.

  “What about the others?�
�� Liam didn't want to leave the whole group inside that truck, though he had to admit, he was glad he chose to sit at the back of that thing so they were pulled out first.

  “The other Humvees will get them out. If they can push back the looters, maybe they can free the MRAP too. A good mine-resistant vehicle like that isn't something we want to abandon.”

  “Wait. Those were looters?”

  “This whole trip we've been attacked by them. They see us as a threat to their ability to steal and destroy everything in this part of the city.”

  Liam had seen looters destroy everything that held together the fragile safety zone in downtown St. Louis at the Arch.

  As the Humvee cleared the firefight and smoke, the machine gun up top stopped, the driver slowed to safe cruising speed, and Hayes gave them the all clear to sit up. Finally, Liam would get a look to see the new landscape they'd been trying to reach for so long.

  His mouth dropped when he saw where they were.

  Is this for real?

  6

  After a full night and morning of riding in the back of the MRAP, Liam imagined they were somewhere in Texas, or even Maine. Instead, they were on a street Liam recognized as being less than thirty minutes from his house. They were still in a suburb south of St. Louis.

  “Are you kidding me? This is all the farther we've gone?”

  “I guess I can't blindfold you now while we go to our secret lab, can I?”

  Liam gave him a harsh look.

  “Oh, lighten up, Francis. We've been avoiding roadblocks, traffic jams, and hordes of zombies since we left your house. It takes time to plan routes, feed more candy to the dragon riding on top, let your friends out to pee, and keep ourselves from getting bogged down in massive throngs of the infected. It would be easy to get trapped forever in one of those groups. Traveling in the apocalypse is not like going to school with the text-and-drive crowd you're used to. It's gotten complicated.”

  He hated admitting the guy was making sense, but...

  “So then, where are we going?”

  Hayes was pointing to a nearby park a mile or two up the road, across the interstate. Liam knew where they were now, so he knew the destination, if he was being told the truth. It was a huge wooded park designed around a herd of elk the locals kept penned there as an attraction. Liam had been there once as a young boy and could remember absolutely nothing of the trip. It only stuck in his memory because it was close to the highway and every time the family drove by it, Mom and Dad would reminisce about that earlier trip. They would always ask if he remembered feeding the reindeer, to which he replied many times, he didn't. Then Dad would take his cue to bestow a biology lesson, starting with, “did you know they aren't really reindeer?”

  I wish you guys were here now.

  Before his mind could start warming up for a fight, he tried to coax more information from Hayes, though there was a powerful part of him that couldn't help but respond with snark.

  “Are we going to feed the reindeer?”

  “Ha! Those elk are probably already dead. People are going to be hungry. And no, we aren't going to feed them.”

  The Humvee sped along the road underneath the main interstate highway in the area, wasting no time with any of the desperate hitchhikers running their way. The highway itself looked like it was a bombed out parking lot. Many cars were smoldering, while others had their doors hanging open, abandoned. There were quite a few people walking around, though it was impossible to tell through the dirty and broken windows of the Humvee whether they were alive or dead.

  A short drive on a side road brought them to the gate of the park. Nearby was a large wooden sign with faded white letters which informed citizens they were about to enter Lone Elk Park. Unlike most parks in the area, this one was practically unique in that it was surrounded by a ten-foot wire-mesh fence high enough to both keep the elk inside, and keep other species of deer on the outside. It wouldn't keep out a determined human who could easily climb it or cut it down, but it would be ideal for keeping mindless zombies out.

  Until they were so numerous they pushed the fence down.

  Liam knew that story had already been written. No fence was impenetrable. He surveyed the barrier as they drove through the gate and, to his untrained eye, it looked pretty solid. Solid enough for today.

  They sped along a narrow road until they came to a clearing next to a small man-made lake. Instead of elk, they were greeted with several immense olive drab tents and many smaller flanking tents. There were also a few other Humvees parked randomly in the complex, plus a few civilian cars. A gaggle of guards was jaw-jacking near one of the big tents, but that was about it for people. No one was walking around outside, which Liam took as a good sign. No zombies were here. For now, whatever project was taking place here was under human control.

  The clock is ticking...

  Liam suffered from an overdose of pessimism. The past twenty-four hours had been nothing but down for him. Really everything had been down since he kissed Victoria at the sycamore tree two mornings ago. Would that end up being the high point of his life going forward?

  Hayes got out first, then opened the front door for Liam and Grandma.

  “It isn't Fantasy Island, but welcome anyway.” He swished his hand in a dramatic gesture, as if to show them the entire facility with it. Liam helped Grandma get out of the high-clearance truck and set her upright as he held her next to him. He noticed she was leaning hard.

  “Let me show you to your tent. This way please.”

  Liam was struck by the silence of the place. After the constant din of the MRAP, and the battle they'd just escaped, his brain was suffering in the absence of loud noise. He could hear birds tweeting softly all around them, and the rustle of nearby tree leaves. It was only disturbed if he listened very hard for a soft hum coming from one of the larger tents.

  They walked a short distance to one of the smaller tents. It was still a very large affair for someone used to a four-man tent his family used for camping. It was about twenty feet across and looked like heavy canvas construction. There were full-length flaps on all four sides, allowing a person to walk in from any side. All were open but the one in the very back. It was hot enough they needed the airflow.

  As they got closer, he noticed there were several cots in the tent, and most of the cots had people lying on them. He tried to get a better look, but when they were at the threshold of the front tent flap, Hayes stopped them. “This is going to be your new home for a while. I told you back at the bridge we're going to protect you two. You will be safe here. I'm sorry for all the—ah—unpleasantness getting to this point. From here on out, you're home free.”

  Liam didn't want to sound too pessimistic in front of Grandma, but he'd read enough zombie books to know how silly that statement sounded. He cranked the sarcasm all the way up. “You realize, of course, this whole camp is going to be overrun, and we'll probably all end up dead or zombies. You know that, right? You brought us here for nothing.”

  “And you realize, of course, I just spent two days, tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition, precious fuel, and many other toys and manpower to bring your grandma here. Oh, what? You forgot? I didn't bring you here. I brought her here. Now that I have her here, do you think for a second I need you and your attitude around?”

  He stepped in it now.

  Uh oh.

  “Sir, I'll do as you ask. Please leave Liam with me. I really do need his help getting around after all the excitement of my travels.”

  Hayes had a penchant for the dramatic. He left it hanging for a long time whether he was going to give Marty her wish.

  Chapter 8: Elk Meadow

  Hayes had kept Marty and Liam in suspense for a long period of time. So long that Liam needed to shift his weight to his other foot while he stood there holding grandma.

  He's going to kill me.

  Hayes was looking at Liam, studying him. He realized at last what it meant to have your life in someone else's hands. His mout
h may have just gotten him killed. Then how would he avenge Victoria? “I'm sorry. I get mouthy when I'm nervous. It got me kicked out of my house by my parents. Please don't kill me.” He knew he was falling on his sword, but he couldn't stand leaving his fate completely in the hands of this man.

  “Kill you? Is that what you think of me? Listen, I hated to have Victoria shot, but you see how the world is now. Everyone wants to kill everyone else. Bullets are flying. These plague victims are chomping. I really didn't have time to argue with you. You see that now, right?”

  He didn't wait for any reply. “Anyway, I'm not going to kill you. I just enjoy messing with your head because you are so freaking annoying. But consider this one helpful hint before you settle into your new lives. Grandma, I'm talking to you on this one. If either of you so much as sneezes and I don't like it, I won't kill you for it, but I might have my friends over there kill you for me. A minor detail perhaps, but my job is all about the details.”

  He spun around and shouted out, “Enjoy your stay!”

  They entered the tent and found their way to a couple of empty cots. Grandma asked to lay down, which was easily accommodated with Liam's arm.

  “Thank you, Liam. For all your help on this trip. I just need a little time to rest now. And pray.” She had her Rosary out again, holding it to her chest.

  Liam was once again reminded of a dead woman with her arms folded across her chest, dressed in her everyday clothes. It gave him the chills to look at her. He stood there for a few moments to observe. She seemed to drift off to sleep almost as he watched. Satisfied she was still alive, he looked around at the rest of his tent mates.

  Well, I'll be.

  Everyone in the tent, maybe ten others, was elderly and frail, just like the group he'd left in the MRAP. He was now convinced the common denominator was age. It wasn't background, skills, knowledge, or anything else. The CDC was collecting old people. But why?