Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7

by Isherwood, E. E.

  He arrived at the first major cross street he'd face on his way home. It was a four-lane highway with two lanes in each direction separated by a grassy median. The intersection was something out of a war zone. He paused while he took in the scene in the low pre-dawn light.

  None of the stoplights were working, nor were any of the tall light posts. The intersection itself was crammed with cars, as if people decided they were going to ram themselves through with or without the aid of the signals. Cars had stacked up in all directions with several wrecked vehicles surrounding the whole mess. Some were charred hulls, scoured clean down to bare metal.

  One large concrete mixer had hit the whole congregation at high speed and plowed into the middle of the intersection before it lost all its kinetic energy. Its engine bay was a blackened, burnt-out mess. The cars it had hit were much worse off. Very hard to see if anyone had been in those cars.

  To his right was a place he knew from his younger days—the county library. It was a small building as libraries go, but it was relatively new and Liam remembered it with sarcastic wit as the place that never had anything he wanted to read. Apparently, this area had no interest in zombie or horror books.

  Y'all should have read those books!

  Now no one would ever get the chance. It had been burned to the ground, along with a fast food place and a gas station. Maybe the gas station caught fire and torched the other two nearby buildings? Maybe some angry residents took out their frustrations on these places? Maybe it was a freak lightning strike? Any number of scenarios could have happened here.

  There were no people around. So he began pedaling. He had to ride well up the cross street to find a gap in the traffic. He then had to walk his bike through the pile up of cars and follow the far side of the road back to the intersection. While walking, he saw some of the cars had moving creatures inside. The windows, much like the car exteriors, were blackened from soot from the nearby fire. He kept as silent and as low as possible as he rolled by them.

  There were several grooves in the grass off the side of the raised highway. Vehicles were still getting through this intersection, but had to be a daredevil to drive along the canted hillside—the only route clear of debris. A bicycle could still fit on the flatter portion of the road grade. A good thing too, as the hill looked very dangerous.

  Once on the other side of the intersection, he could look back on the devastation. The mangled traffic. The hulks of cars. The hollowed out buildings. Nothing of value was left in sight.

  God help us all if this is happening everywhere.

  As he was standing there, a man ran up behind him. He had been hiding behind some nearby clutter. He had a gun trained on Liam before he could even consider riding away.

  “What's your business here?” The look in the man's eyes was not right. No doubt some things happened here which would affect anyone.

  “I mean you no harm. Me and my grandma are just passing through.”

  “Grandma, eh? Mind if I take a look?”

  Liam hesitated. Unsure. He thought of the last man who held a gun to his head to rob him. Someone had shot that guy at the last possible second. He didn't think anyone was going to save him this time, assuming this guy had the same bad intentions.

  “Umm, she's asleep. We have nothing of value.”

  The man wouldn't take no for an answer. He moved to the back of the trailer, looking at Liam as if daring him to stop him. When he reached the side of the trailer, he peeked into a gap in the canvas’ outer shell. He started to giggle.

  He then tore off the canvas flap so he could see the rear compartment.

  He was bawling in laughter.

  “You are more messed up than me, carrying a woman like this around. I salute you!”

  He threw down the flap again and took a bow.

  “Please, sir. You and your grandma are welcome to proceed.”

  He was bent low. Liam needed no second invitation.

  The laughter receded as he rolled away.

  He felt better once back into the isolated country road network. The trees provided cover from the living and the dead.

  The light of the morning was growing. It had taken him fifteen minutes to get around the blockage, and now the sun was blaring bright just beneath the horizon. Soon it would be visible.

  Pedaling along, he would often see zombies standing in stream beds, open fields, and in the woods. Alone, they weren't much to look at. He could probably walk up to any one of them and spear them out of their misery. Were they standing out here waiting for a human to happen by? Did they pause in the night, as a type of sleep period? What made them surge in larger groups? And what special skills, if any, did the zombies around here possess? The colonel said there were many different flavors of zombies in America now. What were they like in Alaska? So much he didn't understand about these new creatures.

  As he coasted on the bike, he reached over his shoulder to reassure himself the small spear was still strapped to his back. What he did know was that anytime he was spotted, the zombies would react with anger and begin moving in his direction, even if they had no hope of catching him. Much like his journey on the train, he seriously wondered if every zombie he was now passing would show up at his doorstep at some point in the future like a bloodhound finding its way home. They were able to follow the train. Could they follow something smaller and quieter?

  He picked up his pace.

  On one long straight stretch of road, Liam was distressed to see people standing in the middle of the pavement in the distance. He stopped his bike and tried to ascertain if they were living or dead, but he couldn't see them clearly.

  Push through or find an alternate route? The age-old gamer's dilemma.

  He looked at his map and decided a detour would take him in a wide arc that he simply didn't want to add to his day. With the rising sun, he'd undoubtedly encounter more people, and the sooner he could get home, the less friction he'd have with the natives.

  He pushed.

  As he got closer, he knew they were humans. It was a group of about six men. It was a roadblock. He could turn around, but they'd already seen him. Plus, they had a truck nearby.

  He decided he'd have to go through.

  Playing it cool, he rode right up to the men with a purpose, stopping about twenty feet short and then raising his hands.

  The men looked rough. The type of country boys with overalls and filthy ball caps. Liam felt the knock of panic.

  “Halt! Who goes there?”

  The men laughed at their own—probably well-worn—roadblock joke.

  “I'm Liam Peters. Boy Scout. I'm on a mission for the Boy Scout camp out by Interstate 44.”

  “Boy Scout, eh? What you got in the back?”

  He didn't want any snoopers if he could help it, but that seemed nearly impossible to avoid. “I'm trying to get my 104-year-old grandma to my home about ten miles thataway.” He was pointing straight ahead.

  “You live around here?”

  “Yes, sir. I live at Hwy M and Interstate 55.”

  Liam knew how to work the odd cultural phenomenon shared by residents of the St. Louis area. Everyone in the metro area gets judged by where they went to high school. You say your school, and a stranger says theirs. In that instant, both parties know quite a bit about the other. Social status. Geographic location. Whether they were religious. Whether they were good at sports. By a lucky coincidence, most of these young men went to the very same high school where Liam was soon going to be entering his senior year—assuming school ever started again. None of them had been on the track team, but most had been football and baseball players. They asked about coaches, teachers, and the condition of their old playing fields.

  One of the men, named Ty Owens, seemed to be the leader of this motley outfit. He had a mouth full of chaw and an International Harvester hat beaten all to hell. But Liam realized he was just as scared as he was about what was happening.

  “I hear ya. Yeah, once things started falling apar
t, my buddies and I all made for the biggest farm in the group,” he pointed over his shoulder, “which turned out to be my daddy's place. We brought our families here and have been stopping people, trying to get any news of the outside world for the past week now. Can you tell us anything?”

  Liam actually laughed. “Where do I begin!”

  He told them about his journey out of the city with Grandma. He breezed over his encounters with zombies—they'd dealt with a few during the initial wave—and focused on Grandma and Victoria. He then told them of the fall of the city of Arnold. The collapse of St. Louis. The mess on the highways, and of strange military convoys. He specifically told them to avoid Hayes if he came through with his MRAP. He also took a chance by revealing more about the Boy Scout redoubt.

  “The camp where I'm coming from is filled to the brim with industrious people who survived the initial collapse and zombie hordes, but they have no food. I'd suggest you go there to find refuge, but I don't know how long they will survive there.” He made as if nodding at their guns. “They could also use help with security.”

  “But no food, eh?”

  “No, they are in the woods without much chance for agriculture. It's a good place to hide from the zombies, but longer term, they are going to have to rethink their position.”

  “Once I get Grandma home and get my parents, I'm planning on going back there. Unlike most of the world I've seen, they are the only ones actually working together to survive. Well, and now you guys.”

  “You're welcome to stop here on your way back. We'll help you in any way we can. Just be careful out there. We've seen some real characters go through here. Some with guns blazing.”

  They gave him a few freshly picked strawberries and allowed him to go on his way.

  They allowed Grandma her privacy, and for that, Liam was most appreciative. “Goodbye, Grandma,” they said while they waved him through, “nice to meet y'all.”

  For the first time in his life, he thanked his father for moving them so far out into the suburbs they were bordering on rural.

  I need to start keeping a list of things to thank Mom and Dad for when I see them.

  6

  Marty fell asleep as soon as she was positioned inside the tiny trailer. She wasn't entirely comfortable, but it beat that miserable ride in the back of the military truck.

  Soon she was dreaming.

  Marty's vision focused as she became aware of her altered state, but it was very dark. She waited while her eyes adjusted to the low light. As if on cue, she heard the clops of running feet heading in her direction. A small group of young people were in a narrow corridor between two tall buildings.

  “Help!” One of the young women cried out from the back. Four or five people ran by Marty as she stood there. Only one stopped to look back. As her brown hair swished away from her face, it was evident to Marty she was watching Victoria.

  “I'm so sorry,” was all that Victoria could get out for her beleaguered fellow-runner before she resumed her own escape. Even in the darkness, Marty could see the girl on the ground had been brought down by one of her pursuers.

  Before she could get moving again, one of the infected pounced on Victoria from the shadows, pushing her to the ground, both tumbling—Victoria screaming in surprise while the attacker merely snarled. They came to a rest at Marty's feet, causing her to stumble backward into some trash cans.

  The plague victim was on top of Victoria—he was much larger and quite aggressive. She screamed wildly for a few seconds, but then seemed to reconsider. She quieted down, to just a quiet whisper of crying. Her eyes were closed.

  “Victoria, don't give up.”

  A final yelp was soon lost to the victory bark of the dead man pawing away at her. The man's teeth were hovering over Victoria's jugular. It was only a matter of time…

  Marty looked away—and was grabbed and pulled into a dark doorway.

  It was Al. Finally, he was back.

  “I was beginning to think you'd left me. After seeing Clara, but not you, I thought I was on my own.”

  They were inside the building. Al was leading her through dark hallways, but appeared to know where he was going. “There are many layers to this battle. Clara represents a difficult one for me to solve. This memory is far more important to you. The clues it provides are manifold, if you're willing to see them.”

  “This is a memory? But Victoria didn't die in a dark alley. She was killed in Liam's home.”

  “Are you sure? About either?”

  Al wasn't known for speaking directly about anything. Was Victoria attacked in a dark alley? It seemed impossible or she would never have survived that night. No one gets up and walks away from an attack like that. Could that memory be real? She knew for certain Victoria was killed by Hayes. She'd seen it with her own eyes.

  “Al, stop. Where are we going?” Marty realized with some genuine shock she was being pulled through the darkness of the structure and was running the whole way. Was it magic?

  “Not magic. That's ridiculous, Marty. We're in your head, remember? Anything is possible. But right now, we have somewhere we need to be. There's something I must show you as it happens.”

  They ran for several minutes. While scary on the face of it, Marty was reveling in the feeling of the wind at her face. She'd not run with any speed in probably 60 years, and seldom any further than the length of her backyard with her children.

  They came out in a large space, outdoors. It was the same celestial waterfall she'd seen back on that railroad bridge as they escaped St. Louis. She remembered the whole event with clarity now that she had returned. The waterfall, she knew, represented all the known planets in existence—each drop was in fact a tiny representation of a planet. Marty couldn't even guess at the number she was seeing. The waterfall began high up; she couldn't see the top. It descended into a small pool of water surrounded by vibrant green grass and several types of strange flowers. The pool drained down off a cliff, out of sight. It was much as she remembered it, but there were some changes.

  Next to the waterfall she noticed a large glass window centered on a dark metal door set into a rock face. Al was walking directly to the window. When he looked in he put both arms up on the door frame as if catching his breath.

  “We aren't too late.”

  Marty walked to the door, trying to look in. Al, noticing this, moved out of the way. Inside, Marty could see a well-lit room with a small wooden table in the middle. She thought she recognized the table, but she had no frame of reference for what was sitting on it.

  “No, you wouldn't, Marty. That is one of the very first personal computers. My oh my, Marty, you really haven't touched a computer, have you? You're seeing what your mind projects when you think of a computer. Wow. That is an original 8088, I think.”

  “But what does it mean?”

  “I'm sorry, Marty; I don't have time to explain it all, but I'll show you what I can. First, I want you to notice all the other windows in this room. Do you see them?”

  She looked through her window and could see several other doorways with their own portals. They were all darkened and she couldn't see anyone standing as she was, looking in.

  “But they're there. Each window you see is a representation of someone trying to access—what's inside that room. I know you want to know what it is. But I cannot influence you at this critical juncture. I can only tell you that the key to getting into the room is held by you, and it is tied to the memory you just processed back in that alley.”

  “Victoria? But she's dead, right?”

  “Then how did you see her memory?” He had a bit of his old smile as he said it, though he was much more serious than he'd been in their past meetings.

  “She's still alive? She wasn't attacked in that alley? But she was definitely shot in Liam's house.”

  It was par for the course for Al. He never gave her a straight answer. She was left grasping at straws.

  Looking away from the old computer and focusing on Al onc
e more, she took a stab at piecing together his cryptic hints.

  “So, Victoria is still alive. I saw her in that truck on that dark road being attacked. I saw her in that alley being attacked. I'm seeing her real memories, just as I saw Liam's in an earlier vision. This is incredible. It means Victoria didn't die when she was shot.”

  She perked up as she said it.

  “You got it, Marty. You already know Liam's heart. You are seeing the truth of Victoria. You are creating a triad of heroes. Focus on that. Don't let go of that thought. Ever.”

  “Yeah, but what good will that do? An old woman and two youngsters. How are we heroes? What the heck are you not telling me?”

  “Oh, Marty, my dear. There is an entire universe of information I'm not sharing with you right now. I wish I had the time. All I can say is that everything you're doing, everything you're seeing, these memories, your real life existence, and the people you're fighting—will help you understand how to get into that room,” as he said it, he was pointing his thumb through the glass window, “before anyone beats you to it. You three are the key. Only you three.”

  With that she woke up. She found herself in the bike trailer once more.

  “Victoria is still alive.”

  Ahead, her chauffeur responded by putting more effort into cranking the pedals.

  We're coming Victoria.

  Chapter 14: Goodbye, Eurydice

  The last hour of Liam's bike ride brought him into territory that was more and more familiar. Houses he recognized. Potholes to avoid. There was very little activity, alive or otherwise, on the roads winding though the wooded properties of the area. It gave him plenty of time to think, while keeping his eyes open for trouble.

  He tried to summarize the crazy chain of events which brought him here.

  Victoria's death.

  Getting kidnapped and imprisoned by Hayes.

  Seeing behind the curtain at the CDC Camp.