Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7

by Isherwood, E. E.

  Unless we end this now.

  2

  Marty found her seat in the boat. She'd been out cold for most of her fireman's carry ride through the Arch. She woke up just as they left the railroad tunnel. Now she was safely in the boat with the man who wanted her to die as a zombie.

  Duchesne fiddled with the engine for a few minutes as they sat in the shallow water. Long enough for Marty to get concerned about the increasing number of zombies walking their direction. She took it as a good sign none of them were runners.

  As he worked on the motor, he seemed to talk to calm his nerves. “Every two-bit berg and city upriver is dumping their garbage into the river. Even the end of the world hasn't put an end to human stupidity. Good riddance, I say.”

  Finally, the boat engine cranked over.

  “Suck it, Hayes.” He reversed the boat from shore, then spun it around. Once they were out on the water, Duchesne allowed them to sit in front of him, since he could sit in front of the motor. Victoria sat next to Marty, while Duchesne made Liam sit next to him.

  The water was really moving. It had lots of churn and it tossed small bits of debris among the larger hazards such as rogue boats, loose barges, and driftwood fields. Two bridges upriver had been destroyed, though their decking wasn't visible in the water. Downriver, it appeared that every scrap of debris from all points north had found its way here and smashed itself against the mother lode of detritus.

  The blockage started when the deck of the eight-lane highway was blown. She could only speculate on how the blockage grew so large. There must have been long lines of barges that came loose and collided with the downed bridge, and they formed the core holding it all together. As more things arrived at the stoppage, they either threw themselves against immovable objects and were crushed, or they bounced haphazardly in the mad surf until they were thrown on the debris pile out of the water for good.

  Big blades of water cut all along the leading edge of the logjam as the fast-moving Mississippi made contact with it. She watched as an empty aluminum canoe twirled and spun in circles as it drew upon the deadly stoppage. It found its way between two 200-foot-long flat-deck barges—also bouncing and banging—and crumpled up as the water caught it and mashed it between the two larger boats.

  She made the sign of the cross and said a little prayer.

  She was terrified of what would happen if their boat sputtered and died, but she tried not to dwell on that. Instead, she tried to focus on an echo in her head.

  It said, “Murderer.”

  Oh great. I'm hearing voices.

  Trying to find distraction, she looked at Victoria; she was staring off into the distance—at nothing in particular.

  Before she could engage her to find out how she was holding up, the boat arrived at a long concrete pier, which previously housed a large floating casino directly across the river from the Gateway Arch. Only the faded name was left on the mud-stained wall. Their tiny rubber boat was dwarfed by tie-downs and boat bumpers against the wall of the pier, but Marty's concern remained with Victoria. She had a pained look on her face. Marty began to think the voice in her head was...

  “Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.”

  That's impossible.

  Somehow she could sense what Victoria was thinking. Not just words, but also a strong new emotion. Grandma had to really focus on the word as it flitted in her mind's eye.

  “Revenge.”

  The boat neared the wall, but the churn of the river made it very dangerous to try to get close to the ladder going up. Another of Duchesne's dark-clad friends appeared next to the ladder fifteen feet above. He was bent over with his arms out like he wanted something thrown up to him. Duchesne brought the boat around so it was facing upriver, the motor set to go just fast enough to cancel the effect of the current. She turned so she could see him trying to grapple with a tangle of rope. Something snapped against the wall.

  “Not a chance, Hayes. You can't hit me from this far out. You're going to kill your precious Grandma first.”

  Suddenly Marty had a brilliant flash of insight, through Victoria's eyes. She immediately knew what was going to happen, and what she must do to stop it.

  She pulled her legs over the bench so she faced backward.

  Victoria, she sensed, was doing the same.

  As Duchesne made a large heave with the rope, Marty looked at her great-grandson. He wasn't looking at her. Instead, he was watching Duchesne as the rope he threw came back down on his head.

  He wound up to make another toss.

  That gave Marty exactly what she needed.

  Just a little push.

  3

  I am Victoria.

  She played it over and over in her head as she crossed the ugly river in the floppy rubber boat. The anger she shared when she thought Hayes and Duchesne had murdered Grandma. That's how she saw it at least. They were willing to murder anyone and everyone to advance their plan. The death of Grandma was bad enough, but they had both willingly tried to kill millions. Such evil could not stand. Evil was the one thing she'd been taught since preschool to fear, and resist.

  Now she sat next to Marty wondering where their future would take them. She was glad the blood wasn't infected—she owed Hayes a modicum of respect for that—but there were millions, probably billions, of people's blood on the hands of the man sitting not three feet away. He was part of the organization that set all this evil in motion.

  She gave a quick glance toward Grandma and could see she was in her own thoughts while doing her best to hold on as the boat bounced and swerved on the choppy water.

  And Liam? He was sitting with him.

  Victoria actually hated Duchesne. He was a man who reveled in killing Liam's entire family—her boyfriend's family. That made it personal. He also was pretty happy to see the whole world engulfed in zombies because it forced the collapse of the United States. Even her Christian upbringing wouldn't allow her to forgive the man. He sealed his fate when he tried to infect Grandma deliberately just so he could see what happened. Transporting them across this river as meat shields against the sniper rifle was just piling on. She resolved this all would end before they left the boat.

  Payback time.

  Her faith prohibited any thought of suicide, which was funny to her because two weeks ago that's exactly what she wanted. The first night on the run back in the city there were many times she thought about stopping and letting the nightmares in the darkness slither out and steal her away.

  Back then I had nothing to live for.

  But she ran, tangentially aware of the magnitude of the sin of killing oneself, but also deeply afraid of dying in such a horrible and gruesome manner. She'd seen it over and over...

  Then she found Liam and Marty. They seemed like such down-to-Earth people—and Liam was attractive to her in that scruffy-dorky kind of way. He had beautiful blue eyes and was always smiling—the perfect remedy to her life's problems.

  She felt herself smile inwardly at that highpoint of emotions during those early days.

  But soon after meeting them, she was presented with the opportunity to act as a decoy against the gang members, allowing Marty and Liam—and Hayes, unfortunately—time to escape the Arch. Was it a sin to commit suicide if you were doing it to help someone else live? She'd have to ask Pastor Beth if she ever made it back to Colorado. She was willing to lay down her life, not just for the new friends she'd found in the faceless crowds downtown, but also to sate her own guilt at running away from her mates on that first night. Finally, she was shot by Hayes, and in her mind, she was sure she was going to die. Ironically, it was to be in Liam's house where she'd find salvation. She was shot in his front door as he and Grandma were taken away. Her last thought was a begging for forgiveness. She was done running.

  But she was saved—literally—by her Bible. The very one given to her by Liam as an act of friendship; of love. It had to be a sign from God. She prayed around the clock in those dark days, waiting and hoping Liam would find h
is way back to her. When he did, she resolved to never lose him again.

  Now she saw her chance to make things right—to give Liam and Grandma a hope at freedom. As the small boat pitched and yawed in the water, Duchesne was trying to throw a rope to his minion up top. And—

  Grandma!

  Victoria could sense it. It was an incredible rush of awareness. A sudden urge by Grandma to push Duchesne into the water.

  I love you, Grandma. Let me take this burden.

  She only had a moment to decide, but she was a girl of action.

  Just a little push.

  4

  Liam bounced in the boat during the river crossing. He sat next to Duchesne who kept himself crouched low as he piloted them all using the small outboard motor. He was left to wonder what fate awaited them on the far bank. If they made it to the far bank. He tried to ignore the maelstrom of debris thrashing about a hundred yards downriver from their tiny, fragile, air balloon-ish little dingy. Though the motor had already proven temperamental, he resigned his trust to it. He'd go crazy with stress thinking of all the ways they could die down in that wreckage if the boat lost power. There weren't even paddles...

  Just ignore it.

  They bounced wildly toward some kind of docking facility on the Illinois side. He wondered if he should try to make small talk with Duchesne as they crossed, perhaps to beg for their lives, but the loud motor made that impossible.

  He was a few feet from the two most important women in his life right now. He felt a little guilty he didn't feel quite the same about his own mother, but there was something about his great-grandmother and the adventures they shared that drove him to be a man, to be stronger and more resourceful, to be a loving partner. Being around his father caused him to want to offload responsibility, while being around his mother made him feel he had to more carefully manage his emotions. In short, his parents reminded him he was their child. Grandma's needs required the child to be a man. He knew it was unfair, but he was resolute Grandma made him a better person in her own special way.

  And Victoria. He had nothing but good things to say about how she'd helped him these many days as well. She was his partner. His equal, if not his better.

  He sighed a contented sigh, knowing they would be fine.

  As the boat neared the large seawall port, Liam felt a weird emotion swirling through his head. Was it betrayal? Maybe. The word was there, but it had nuance. He focused hard on what he was thinking and feeling. He thought he heard words, but wrote off the impossibility. He couldn't hear thoughts. But still...the emotions formed into words.

  Betrayal.

  But not exactly.

  Betrayal. And Payback.

  He worked through it. The word became obvious as the boat bounced near the seawall.

  Revenge.

  Liam knew he was a bit slower than the women with emotions. Spending days on end with Victoria taught him a lot about the differences. It took him extra time to ruminate on the meaning of emotional words, and try to understand how Victoria saw the same things in entirely different ways. But that's what made things interesting, even in the most mundane settings.

  Now he sensed some kind of powerful emotional link with Victoria.

  And Grandma?

  The boat tossed on the nasty water, sloshing waves back and forth between the boat and seawall. All the while, Duchesne was tossing ropes around. And—

  Whoa!

  The emotion was overpowering. Both women were broadcasting a message—was it body language—that Liam understood. He assembled the message in an amazingly brief time; he knew what was going to happen and what he had to do. He wasn't about to let either of those women do what they were planning, but he couldn't give away their plan to Duchesne.

  Victoria. I've got your back.

  Grandma. Thank you for teaching me to be a better man.

  He stood up, catching Duchesne at the perfect moment of vulnerability. The man was tossing the rope in a ridiculous way, trying to get it high enough so his friend up on the top of the seawall could catch it and tie it off. The opportunity was golden.

  Liam figured he was going to give him—

  Just a little push.

  Yeah, just a little one.

  When the moment came, he threw himself at the distracted Duchesne. He was joined in perfect unison by the other two. Liam watched in horror as the rear of the boat pitched downward at the worst possible time.

  In one confused mass, all four of them tumbled over the edge.

  5

  Liam's first thought, after popping out of the water after their big splash, was how bad the water smelled. On a good day, the Mississippi might smell like diesel fumes and dead fish, but today it smelled like diesel fuel, dead fish and, well, just death.

  When they hit the water, he was able to grab Grandma's top so when he popped out, she popped out as well.

  Victoria was further away, but thrashing hard to push Duchesne away from Grandma. He broke away from her and attempted to make for the seawall. The problem for him, and for them all, was the current. It pushed them all back out into the main channel because of the swirling eddies along the debris-strewn shore. The seawall gave no purchase to someone swimming below, and in no time, they all drifted in the main channel, a quarter mile from the end of the line.

  Victoria made it to Liam and Grandma. She immediately took some of the load from him as Grandma was unable to swim on her own.

  “I should tell you both,” she said as she spat out some nasty water, “I can't swim.”

  “No, Grandma, you shouldn't have told us that.” He laughed, despite it all.

  They were into the strong current twenty-five yards offshore. It drove them in the direction of the massive disaster wrapped around the gigantic catastrophe. They tried to paddle and swim toward shore, but with Grandma in tow they just couldn't break free of the main current. They were in the event horizon.

  Victoria responded in a weak voice, “My God. Look!”

  From their vantage point, the wreck became more imposing as they neared. There were well over fifty barges wedged into the side of the bridge; some of them canted dangerously as they bobbed up onto the debris. The tips of others pointed up out of the water while the bulks of their hulls remained hidden beneath the waves. They watched as an open-topped 200-foot barge ran into the pile ahead of them. It came to rest nearly sideways, and listed toward the surface as it was absorbed by the massive frontal wave. The powerful current reached inside—it was empty—and simultaneously held it in place as it began to fill up.

  No, not empty. Oh no.

  As the runaway barge tipped further and further in their direction, Liam could see into the hold. It contained a large number of bodies. He scanned other barges on the pile for signs they too were holding similar cargo. He assumed it was illegal to fill barges with dead people and send them downriver.

  I'm going to blast those towns upstream when I write my book.

  They were going to drift into the blockade. The only variable was where. Even that wasn't much of a question since they had very little ability to alter course.

  All along the front edge of the debris field, large pieces of driftwood smashed into heavier objects such as concrete or barges—and they broke apart with sickening cracks. Wooden and fiberglass boats shared a similar fate. The only things that seemed to survive the impacts were the barges themselves. Most went in front-to-back, which made swimming near them suicide. There was no possible way to climb on either end in the tumult. If they could approach from the side, they still didn't have a great chance, but it wasn't exactly impossible either.

  “Guys, we have to swim hard for that sinking barge with all the bodies in it,” Liam shouted.

  They didn't have time debate it. The women made no protests, and paddled with Liam in the direction he wanted to go. It was a tough swim, and it took them further out into the channel, but there were no similar pieces of safety between them and either shore.

  He gave one cursory head
spin, searching for Duchesne. He hoped he'd drowned, but figured they'd not get that lucky. He did see rope guy running downriver along the shore. He wondered if he would try his luck out on the flotsam and jetsam to save his boss.

  He thrashed his legs under the water, and drove the triad into the current heading straight for the sinking barge. He hoped their timing would be right to suck them directly into its hold, and they would have a little time to climb out before it tipped over or sank.

  Risky. Very risky.

  His mind fought against the illogical notion of heading for the grand disaster before them.

  Please God, help me get Victoria to safety. Please God, help me to get Grandma to safety. And please God, if it's your will, help me find safe harbor as well.

  The noise from the blockade increased as they approached. The cracks of wood. The groan of the metal hulls. The chaotic splashing of water and debris out front.

  25 yards.

  15 yards.

  They were on the glide path he wanted, but he continued to kick as hard as his tired body allowed.

  “Swim as hard as you can as far as you can into the barge. We need to get in and find a ladder before it capsizes.” Already the barge had a severe list. Liam hoped for a little luck, or a little help from God.

  5 yards. They were in the spray of the leading waves.

  The barge had filled most of the way with water and had settled down as the heavy load stabilized. It continued to fill, but they were able to get across the upriver lip of the barge's hold without too much trouble. The cargo sent panicked shivers down Liam's spine. Up close, the stiff dead were terrible.

  Victoria screamed, “Oh God, no. No!”

  If this was a normal sinking boat, Liam would be scared enough. Getting across the thirty feet of the hold as it filled with water would be a major challenge. But this barge was filled with dead bodies, and as it filled with water, it shifted and rearranged them. All of them seemed to have bullet holes in their heads adding to their grotesque appearance. They were once zombies...

  “God almighty. Poor souls.” Marty wailed as she too succumbed to the horror. She recoiled as she touched them.