He didn't wait for her. He held her as she walked next to him, and he tried to provide as much support as possible. Even so, they ran into a few dirty travelers walking by, though again, when they saw the young boy and old woman, they made no effort to bother them.
Liam's paranoia was telling him the reason they weren't interested was because they carried nothing of value—except for his gun, which was hidden from view. If they were carrying a bucket of chicken, the entire highway would no doubt be his friend.
Or my worst enemy.
They found their way into the weeds on the far side of the highway and Grandma practically collapsed. Liam felt they needed to be further into the woods, so no one could see them from the road.
“I've got to sit down, Liam.”
He geared up for something he would have never considered doing a week ago, no matter how much he wanted to. He was going to tell her no.
“Keep moving. Our lives depend on it.”
“I can't. I just can't.”
“You can. You have to.”
They made it a dozen yards when Grandma slumped over in his arms. He had to stop and turn to her as she fell over like a fainting damsel. He kept her on her feet, and began dragging her as he walked backward. Her oversized orthopedic shoes were secure to her feet, so they provided good cushion while he pulled her over the rough ground. They were at the threshold of the woods and there was no stopping.
In the previous world, the sight of anyone dragging a body would be enough to require a call to the police. Today, if anyone happened to notice them, it favored no extra attention. People ignored him and went on their way.
Liam finally had her far enough into the woods where the highway was no longer visible. He was running out of energy, too. His poor diet and bad sleep habits the last few days were grinding him down.
“Here you go, Grandma. I'm so sorry I had to drag you like that.”
He set her up against a stout oak tree.
She was out cold. She was also suffering from the poor food being served in the Zombie Apocalypse. He didn't have a crumb to give her.
He sat down next to her, intending to keep silent vigil.
2
Marty woke in a dream. She was a veteran of these vivid episodes.
She looked around but didn't see her husband. He was a mainstay on all her previous dreams—or nightmares, depending on which ones she was thinking about.
Maybe I'm not dreaming.
She was in the woods where Liam had dragged her. In fact, Liam was still at her feet. Asleep against the tree. He was translucent, like a ghost. She looked at her own hands and arms, but couldn't see through herself. She was real. Or he was.
“Liam. Are you awake?” She reached down to shake him, but he wasn't just transparent, he was hollow, like a projection. “OK Al, where are you?”
Again she raised her arms. Instead of the thin and wrinkled skin she was used to seeing, her arms were a little more full. A little more...young. Not teenager young, but she had been in her body for 104 years and knew its wear marks. Perhaps a spritely 90.
Her body wasn't tired, and she felt fine in this place. She started walking the little ways back to the highway. It was the same mess it had been when they crossed it. Cars. Luggage. Junk. No one was visibly walking in the night air, though the moon was helping illuminate the scene.
There was a campfire, with several men and women—all translucent like Liam—sitting around it. She felt compelled to go check it out.
They were some of the well-worn travelers she had seen passing this way earlier in the day. She couldn't hear what they were saying, and she was quickly distracted by a young girl walking from the other side of the group. She was the only person who noticed her walking up to the fire; she was also the only one solid like her.
“I saw you come out of the trees. Are you my guardian angel? Momma says we have angels looking out for us, even in the bad times.”
The girl was saying the word “angel” in a funny way. She said ahn-gyel, as if the word was foreign to her. She cringed at the condition of the poor thing; she appeared to have been having rotten luck. It's enough to be traveling at the collapse of mankind, but the girl had a bald head and a sallow look. Cancer? Something serious to be sure.
“No, dear. I'm no one's guardian angel. I'm just an old woman out for a walk. Who are you?”
“I'm Clara. I've been walking all day looking for my mom and grampa. Do you know where they are?”
“No, I don't. I'm sorry. How old are you, Clara?”
“I'm this many.” She held out her hand with four fingers. “But I'm almost this many!” Again, the fingers came up, five on display this go-round.
“That is very nice, Miss Clara.” Marty knelt down in front of the child, an act impossible to do at her age.
Dreaming or really sleepwalking this time?
“Can you tell me, what are you doing out of bed?”
The little girl appeared to think about it. “I get up sometimes when I'm asleep. My mommy made me go to sleep and I saw her and grampa in my dream. Grampa was OK. I was OK. But then the bad man came in and pushed me down. I had to go away. Why did he do that? Where's my mommy now?”
The tone of her questions made her appear every bit as scared and weak as she probably felt. Her sickness only added to her misfortune. Marty couldn't make herself ask the child what disease had made her sick. She didn't want to make her feel bad. She figured they would both be disappointed when they got back to their bodies after being in this place.
“Oh Al, why did you show me this poor girl?”
“Who are you talking to, lady? Can I talk to them, too? Are you talking to Grampa Bart?”
She held her pose, expecting Al would make himself known. When nothing happened, she let out a soft sigh. “I sometimes have a friend—” Something about the name jogged her synapses. “Grandpa Bart? Is your mom by chance named Janey?”
“My mommy's name is...mommy. I think Grampa calls her Janey. Do you know where to find my grampa? He said he was going bye bye.”
She had her answer. It had to be the same man. Marty last saw Bart laying on the floor in the back of the MRAP. He'd been asking for his granddaughter, Janey, the whole miserable trip. Now this little girl was looking for her too, as well as Grandpa Bart. Liam told her about Bart's fate as they escaped the camp, but she wasn't about to tell this sweet little girl her beloved grandpa was gone forever. But she was troubled by the need to lie to her.
“I'm not exactly sure where your grampa is right now, my child. Do you know where your mommy is? Maybe she can help you?”
“My mommy comes to my dreams too. And Grampa Bart. We play together. Grampa is so silly. But where are they? I'm scared.” She was talking quietly while using her right hand to pull at her right ear. It was a nervous affectation.
“Come, my dear. Sit with me a while. We'll—”
As she stood there talking, her little friend winked out of existence.
“—be just fine.”
Marty didn't wake with a scream. She simply opened her eyes and was sitting on the ground against the tree. Most uncomfortable. Liam was next to her, just as he'd been in her dream.
Her mind was swirling with questions about what she just witnessed. But there were no answers to be found in the dark and buggy forest that night.
3
They woke early on the morning of the eighth day since the sirens. The late June air was already heavy in this wooded area, and heating up. With nothing to eat or drink, they were immediately prepared for the continuation of their journey.
“We need food and water.” Marty was standing against the tree, looking marginally more stable than she did last night.
“Can you walk if I hold you?”
“I guess we have to try. Don't want to die in this forest.”
Ain't that the truth.
But where should they go? Liam knew this area to a degree because of his time in Boy Scouts. Beaumont Scout Reservation was over t
he hill and in the valley beyond. He'd been there many times growing up, as his dad was a Boy Scout leader and had insisted Liam participate. It gave him an opportunity to do things “in the real world,” as Dad would say. Tie knots. Fish. Camp. Survive.
“If we can make it over this hill, I think I know where we can find clean water. The Boy Scout camp has an artesian well that should still be pumping out water. After that, we can work on finding some food.”
The only tools Liam had to work with were his pistol and his pocketknife. He used the knife to fashion a crude wooden cane for Grandma. He would hold her on one side, and she could use the cane on the other. That way they might be able to minimize the strain on her leg muscles while they went over the hill. He briefly toyed with the idea of making a stretcher to pull her behind him, but he knew it would take him a long time to fashion anything of that scale. Better to get as far into the woods as possible while she could still perambulate.
The woods were rough on Grandma. Many times, Liam asked her to sit down on a rock or log, and she never rejected him. He knew he was pushing her hard going this way, but they had no better options.
To keep her mind off her struggles, Liam tried to keep her talking. He laughed at the irony after all the years of avoiding speaking to her. She recalled many things Liam classified as minutia from her life, but she also recounted her experience from the previous night.
“I had a strange dream last night. A lot like the ones with your grandpa, but he wasn't in this one.” She described the little girl and everything they discussed.
“I don't know what to say, Grandma. Maybe the sick girl means the world is sick? Or that you are sick?” It almost made him choke up to say it. “I sure hope you aren't...”
She laughed. “I may not be sick, but if you keep pushing me like this, I might die of exhaustion.”
They took another rest while they talked. “I've been having a lot of these dreams lately. I never had anything like them before the plague started. I have to believe the two are related. Al—I mean your Grandpa—told me this has to do with good and evil, though I can't quite fathom how.”
Alarms rang in his mind. He'd done too much reading about how the world ends in zombie bloodshed. Maybe this was more of a supernatural battle, played out with the spirits of the undead walking the Earth? “You mean like God and the Devil fight it out in the streets? Tribulation? That sort of Biblical stuff?”
Marty was standing there, deep in thought.
“Grandma?”
“Oh, sorry. I really don't know. Everything your grandpa has shown me has pointed to Biblical stuff as you call it, but my heart isn't sure. Why did he pretend to be your grandpa? Why not just approach me as an Angel? Why would God be concerned with finding a cure for a plague? What does the little girl have to do with anything?”
Her statement was left hanging in the woodland breeze.
Liam made as if to start walking again, before saying, “Well I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a cool refreshing drink of spring water.”
“That would hit the spot!”
Grandma was being cheery, but was suffering horribly. Her bottle of Ibuprofin was sitting in his backpack in his parents' basement. He took comfort she had no medications she absolutely required each day. When she broke her arms several years ago, her doctors were amazed to learn she had never been on any long-term medications throughout her entire life. No cholesterol meds. No high blood pressure meds. No blood thinners. No nothing. She did need the rare pain relief for her back, but that usually only flared up when she overdid herself. Like walking-through-the-woods level of overdoing it.
Liam and Marty walked out of the woods a couple hours later looking much as they had when they collapsed the previous night. Exhausted beyond words. The only difference; it was only 10 a.m.
They were standing at the edge of the woods, overlooking a narrow and flat valley where the Boy Scouts conducted a great deal of camping trips, hiking, horseback riding, and big gatherings they called jamborees. The camping area was about a mile long, two hundred yards across, and very flat the entire length. It was hard to see from one end to the other because of small curves and undulations in the landscape, but they could see a good portion.
“Grandma, we found the mother of all jamborees.”
Below them, tents of all shapes, sizes, and colors were packed into every possible space. Nearest the road were a large number of pop-up campers, buses, and recreational vehicles. It was a spectacle of mankind that caught Liam completely by surprise.
They'd been standing there gawking for a few minutes when he noticed they weren't alone. From behind them, and from the sides, several young boys with long spear-shaped poles made themselves known. An extra boy, trailing the others, was carrying a rifle.
Marty was quick in setting the tone for this encounter. “We surrender!”
Liam added, “Take us to your leader.”
4
Fortunately, being a Boy Scout had its advantages. Liam was able to remember the secret handshake and recite the Scout Oath and Scout Promise. The others were impressed. They didn't say what would have happened if he wasn't a Scout. The crew that “captured” Liam and Marty elected to send one of the younger boys as an escort so they wouldn't get lost.
The encampment was loosely centered around the administrative building in the midpoint of the length of the valley. A small wooded creek ran through the campground, and the building was set just to the west of the waterway. Even so, the large building was hard to see among all the colors and variety of living quarters erected around it. The first camper arrived, set up shop next to the main building, and everyone else spread out from there.
Contrary to expectations, they did not bring them in to see “the leader.” The place was packed, as you might expect when thousands of your closest friends are camping in confined quarters, with hostiles on the perimeter, and food a scarce resource. The only thing they had in spades was water. Boys of all ages could be seen carrying water from the creek to fires on both banks—likely purifying it.
A young Scout about Liam's age was walking by and saw Liam trying to help Grandma along the pathway near the creek. He immediately jumped in to help. The young boy leading them appeared distraught, as if he should have volunteered to help first. He kept walking.
“Hello. I'm Drew. How old are you, ma'am?”
“I'm 104! Can you believe it?”
“Wow!”
“And how old are you, Scout?”
“I'm almost 15, ma'am.”
“And what brings you here?”
“We just got here yesterday. We were trying to hide in our house, but Mom and Dad said it would be safer for us here. We didn't know so many other Scout families had the same idea.” He laughed a bit, but it sounded forced.
They crossed a small bridge over the creek and the young guide told them to wait by a pirate ship. Liam thought he misheard him, but sure enough they rounded a bend and saw a fifty-foot wooden pirate ship. It was made out of lumber and was intended as a place for young Scouts to play. The mock pirate ship appeared to have run aground next to the water, and it actually made Liam laugh out loud. It wasn't here when he frequented this place. The Scouts probably built the ship as part of one of their many service projects.
Their young guide asked Drew if he could leave them with him, and he gave the boy a thumbs up sign. He then hauled butt out of there, presumably to return to the woods to find his mates.
“They organize new people at this boat. I started out here, too. I guess it gives a well-known landmark for orientation and other meetings.”
There were dozens of people sitting at various places on the structure. Most were families with young boys, but there were older people and young girls scattered around as well.
The Boy Scouts were nothing, if not organized. As they approached the meeting area, two Scouts ran up with cups of water, each trying to be as courteous and kind as they possibly could. Marty gingerly downed what she could while Liam
drank his in a few rude gulps, followed by a gratuitous belch.
“That was the best drink of my life!”
Grandma didn't chide him. After what they'd been through, she might even have laughed. Sadly, they had no food to offer, and they retreated back to their drink preparation station a bit sheepishly. It must be a common question.
There were no chairs or benches on or near the boat, so Grandma took a seat on the steps leading from the main deck up to the poop deck. A large wooden wheel for steering the fake ship was up there. Several young kids were already spinning it, their spirits undaunted, even in such a bleak world.
She seemed to relax amongst the youngsters.
Liam took a moment to pull Drew aside. “What can you tell me about this place? Is it safe? Do you have zombies here?”
“Ooh, you call them zombies? We've been calling them plaguers, but zombies sounds better, even though they aren't true zombies that come out of graves and stuff. I haven't seen any of them since I got here. Plenty on the way, though.”
He visibly shuddered.
“Once I got here and set up my tent, they told us everyone was responsible for security. They send us out in small groups, so we can help each other if there are plag—zombies. That little guy who brought you here was carrying what most of us are—basically a sharp stick. But we have an infinite supply of them around here. Anyway, to answer your question, we haven't had any zombies in camp, but from time to time you will hear some shooting or young boys coming out of the woods crying after their team had to put one down.”
Liam was reminded that he wasn't so far removed from these boys. If things had been a little different, perhaps he would be here at a campsite with Mom and Dad. But would that mean Grandma would be dead in her house right now? Would Victoria still be alive if she hadn't met him?
Ugg.
Using that expression, even inside his own head, reminded him of Victoria's absence. A dark cloud passed over his heart, putting a damper on his otherwise pleasant demeanor in front of Drew. The other boy took this as an invitation to continue talking.
Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7 Page 48