Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7

by Isherwood, E. E.

3

  “Liam, there's a switch on the lower wall near your side with a little piston. You have to move that up and down about eight or nine times to prime the fuel lines for me.”

  He found the little box on the wall and did as instructed. “Done.”

  “OK, sit tight. There's a lot of steps here.” She giggled like a little girl at Christmastime.

  “Mom, in ten million years I wouldn't have imagined us inside a tank.” A continuing thought was that he couldn't believe she was driving while he was sight-seeing up top, but if his dad was here, he and his mom would both have been in the turret. Though, dwelling on the letter in his pocket, he wondered if his mom and dad would both be driving the tanks.

  He tried to man up, as Victoria would say, but he ran afoul of his own feelings when he remembered his dad would never ever be a part of his life again. His attention was broken when the engine turned over and his mom hooted in the headphones.

  The Tiger's engine sounded like an old sports car, with a heavy, deep-throated rumble. The need for the headphones became apparent as it was loud in the interior. He looked over to Annie, who had slumped into the turret on the other side of the workings of the gun. The light shone in from the two open hatches above them.

  The tank lurched, then they started to move. Immediately Lana turned the whole thing so it was facing back the way they'd come. They moved for a thirty seconds or so, and then she shifted back down until they were stopped with the engine running.

  “Jason is going to go first. Liam, I think it would be best if you kept your hatch closed and stayed inside the turret—there could be people shooting at us.”

  An automatic response was going to be something to the effect “Who would shoot at a tank?” but he'd seen it all. Someone would shoot at the tank. He had no doubt about it. As to why. It was as simple as “It was there.” People were insane.

  Jason's tank roared by. The dust of the parking lot trailed behind him.

  “Moving,” said his mom. Jason's voice hopped on their channel. “Follow me, stay close, out.”

  The tanks moved onto the rail line. They approached the parked line of tanker cars, then the Tigers rolled along the right-of-way next to it. No shots rang out from the mysterious person who dispatched the Arizona. Ten minutes later, Jason angled his tank and, it appeared, was heading toward downtown St. Louis.

  As if knowing it would generate a question, Jason was on the radio. “Change of plan. We'll get some eyes on downtown, then drive back on the roads. Nothing is going to touch us in these things. Over.”

  “Roger. Charlie Mike,” his mom said.

  Charlie Mike? Continue mission? Mom, you're talking like a soldier.

  His pride for his mother was tempered by the road ahead. There were no people along the train tracks, and thus there were few zombies. The road was a different story. As they approached, the number of ambient zombies began to rise. Liam popped his head from the top hatch to get a better look. No zombie could get on their tank while they were moving. He guessed...

  They were on a major thoroughfare when Jason came on again.

  “Don't stop. Run them down. Out.”

  He didn't think his mom needed such a directive. Dead was dead. Plowing over a zombie with a tank was a hell of a way to go. Worse than being hit with an MRAP.

  Jason's tank veered to the left as they cruised along, and seconds later Liam watched in horror as a red mush appeared on the street underneath the back of its left track. The blood of the creature stuck to the treads and he watched it come through again and again like a bicycle chain past the pedals.

  Lana made no effort to run them over, but soon it was impossible not to hit one. The tank was so wide it was hard to miss those standing in the street, though she did weave from side to side where she had room. It wasn't long before she didn't have the room, and Liam watched as a young running boy slid underneath the nose of his Tiger. Gone.

  In a few more minutes, as the crowd got thick, Jason turned directly to the right. Instead of going toward downtown he was heading for the Mississippi River. Liam stayed low in the hatch so he could keep his bearings. The Arch loomed above him on his left. They were just south of it. Which meant they weren't heading west toward Forest Park.

  “Mom, what's Jason doing? I think he took a wrong turn.”

  “We'll follow him, and see.”

  My zombie sense is tingling.

  4

  The number of zombies decreased sharply as they navigated through the warehouses and the tall chain link dividers of the warehouse district. Given enough time, the zombies from the street would follow the path of the loud tank, but for the moment the area was clear.

  They parked the two tanks one behind the other in a narrow lane between two warehouses. There were no windows or other openings, so they could be fairly certain nothing was going to attack them from the sides. That's what Jason said when he hopped back from his Tiger to theirs. He unslung his rifle and shot behind the tank a couple times. “Those runners kept up with us,” he said nonchalantly.

  He crouched on the front deck as he spoke. Lana stuck her head out of her driver's hatch while Liam and Annie both stood up in theirs. “Lana, you and I will run ahead and check on our route. Liam, you can look back that way for any more runners. Mike will focus on the front.” He pointed to the other man in his turret. “Annie, if you're up to it, you can keep watch with Liam.”

  She nodded, though Liam noticed her eyes were droopy. Either she was really tired, or something was wrong with her.

  “Annie, you look—”

  “Like shit? Yeah, I know Jay. I'll be fine. I'm not going for a run. I promise.” She laughed, but no one else did.

  “We aren't heading back to Forest Park?”

  Instead of answering Liam's question directly, Jason passed a look to Lana. In turn she hopped out of her driver's seat, pulled out her rifle after her, and stood up. “Liam, this is important, OK? Just guard that back side and we'll be on our way soon enough.”

  He smiled at her, and she returned the gesture, though her eyes seemed more serious.

  She jumped to the other tank with Jason, then they scrambled down the front of the beast, and ran up the corridor toward a big concrete wall. In a couple minutes they were out of sight.

  Annie's gun was lying on top of the turret. It vaguely faced forward while she stared that way. Liam looked backward with his gun propped smartly on the upside down hatch lid. The way they were both supposed to be watching.

  “Run, kid.”

  He spun his head around. Annie looked progressively worse. The blood dripping from her ear was definitely new.

  “What?”

  “I said, run. I'm not right.”

  “Why the hell didn't you tell my mom, or Jason?”

  “You think I have a choice? Whatever this is inside me...it's tricky. I'm having trouble knowing the difference between my voice, and...not my voice.” Her gun was now pointing somewhat in his direction.

  The lower half of his body was still inside the turret compartment. He felt for the pistol in his pants pocket, hoping to find the security it gave him minutes earlier. He held it out of her sight, for the moment.

  “I don't care anymore. I lost my lover back in that drainage ditch. This is fitting, I guess.”

  There was no one else around, but Mike in the other tank. He was looking the other way. His mom had run around the corner at the end of the lane between the buildings—out of sight. The gun handle was soaked, he was so nervous. The conflict between getting out and running for it, or staying in and fighting was in full bloom.

  Man up.

  “You have to leave, Annie. If you're infected. Get out of here.”

  “What...so you can shoot me in the back?” Her head drooped. Both ears had blood draining—just enough to be noticed. “I'm—” She cocked her head sideways, as if listening for something. “I can hear them.”

  “Who?” His curiosity often overcame his fears. He was bolstered by the feel of steel
in his hand. He pointed it at her.

  She leaned over like she was straining to hear something, and then she fell back inside her compartment, out of his view. He squatted back into his own hatch so he could see Annie on the other side of the main gun's breech. She was starting to get upset, just as Dean had done.

  He stood back up, willing his mother to come back. She wasn't there. It was on him.

  There were few good choices. The handgun was in his hand, though he couldn't ignore the shakes in his arm. Shooting the girl was the last thing he wanted to do, no matter her condition. If he missed, inside the turret, would the bullet ricochet back to him?

  With some effort he lowered himself back into the tank. He fell into his seat and then tried to check on Annie's condition. To his surprise he only saw her feet as they went up through the top of her exit, trailed by the wire from her communications getup. He warily stood back up.

  “Annie!”

  Adding “Where are you going?” was unnecessary. She'd been taken by the same force that had captured Dean. The girl hung herself off the back of the tank, dropped, then ran. In less than a minute she had gone far enough she could turn down a side street, out of his sight.

  Only after she was gone did he think about using his rifle to put her down.

  Is that the right term? Could I shoot a her in the back? Was she a zombie?

  All kinds of questions without answers.

  He had five minutes to sit and ruminate. Lana and Jason approached at a run from ahead. They both jumped up on the tank, then Lana continued to the second and made for her driver's position. She made no mention of Annie though he wanted her to ask.

  The engines roared to life, much louder now that he was exposed and between the two concrete buildings. The tanks got up to speed and headed for the ten-foot concrete wall ahead of them. When they cleared the buildings it became apparent the wall extended in both directions. It was plastered with colorful graffiti and sat just beyond five or six sets of railroad tracks.

  “Hang on, you two. We're going to swing around the floodwall for this next part.”

  “Um, Annie's gone. She ran away. Like Dean.”

  He could almost hear his mom thinking. Weighing the pros and cons of the loss of Annie with whatever she was doing. Liam found her new focus a little troubling. The mom he'd known all his life was kind and compassionate, and losing an entire human being from a three-man crew would be something requiring serious attention.

  “OK. Just sit tight. This is almost done.”

  It took him a further minute to ask what she'd meant by that. The noise and vibrations of the heavy tank told him they were crossing rough ground.

  “We're going to blow up the temporary bridge to St. Louis. We have to stop the convoy from getting here.”

  “What? The convoy? It's in West Virginia, isn't it?”

  “Don't believe what you see on the news. Never. It's much closer than that.”

  Cliff Hammerich called the Tiger an antique. Going to war seemed like a pretty dumb thing to do with an antique. There was also another bridge ten miles south of the city. They'd walked right under it...

  The tank sputtered and came to a stop.

  “Jason. Wait,” she said over the radio.

  “Roger that. Waiting. Out.”

  Another moment's pause. Lana spoke directly into her microphone. “Liam, would you mind climbing down from the tank for a few minutes? We checked this area for zombies and it's clear. You'll be fine for a few minutes.”

  “Why? What's happening?”

  “You have to trust me. I need you to get down. Take your rifle and my handgun.”

  He wanted to argue, but things were moving too fast and he couldn't keep up. Tanks, special zombies, and NIS hit squads had made him lose his proverbial marbles. Now his mother wanted him out of the safety of the steel cage so he could stand alone in a world filled with zombies. Though it struck him as self-destructive, he took off his headphones and climbed out and down the tank.

  The spray-painted barrier was a floodwall. Seeing it reminded him of any number of floods over the years with news crews getting footage of how high the water came to topping the wall. An opening the width of a street was just ahead. The movable flood doors were all the way open. And, once his foot was on the ground, Lana had her tank moving forward for the gap in the wall, close behind Jason.

  That was the moment he realized the idea of getting the tanks was not really his idea at all. And, to further the discovery process, he wasn't on a rescue mission for some old tanks. He was on a strike mission, to stop the arrival of an enemy army.

  And the only word that resonated as he stood in the July sunshine was “antique.”

  5

  Liam watched as the two Tigers each released a couple small drones—the size of large birds—from a box behind their turrets. With small propellers pushing them, they took off straight up for about fifty feet, then began angling toward the river beyond the floodwall.

  He tried to guess the functions of the drones—they looked alien next to the 75-year-old tanks—but nothing came to mind. Cliff had said there were enhancements done to the old beasts, though drones aren't what he expected.

  Liam's own situation became his prime concern. The large crowds of the city weren't on the scene yet, but there were zombies in the neighborhood. One stout young man ambled out of a nearby warehouse through a large wrecked set of garage-style doors. He got his rifle ready to dispatch it, but had to let it get a little closer so he had a hope of hitting it in the head, for a proper zombie headshot. At that moment he really wished he had Victoria with him, as her skill with rifles at long range was much better than his own.

  I'm missing half my zombie-killing team.

  Another zombie ran around the corner down at the far end of the warehouse, perhaps drawn by the noise of the tanks. He was looking at two targets, neither of which he felt comfortable shooting, yet. The one in the nearest door—dressed like a utility worker—would be closest, though the runner might close the gap so they were equally distant when he could make sure he would hit the head.

  He took a knee and aimed for the first one. It was still a hundred yards away, but he didn't want to risk letting them both close with him. His first shot was a miss.

  From the knee he threw himself on the rocky ground so he could use both elbows to steady himself. His arm was still a little unsteady, as he knew it would be, but he took a deep breath and tried to re-acquire the zombie. The small scope helped a little, but the thing was lurching from side to side, making a clean shot very difficult. The blood-crusted face was a further distraction.

  His second shot hit, but tore through the man's torso. On the third shot the zombie tumbled to the ground. It was passed by the runner. Now it was just the two of them.

  Remember to breathe.

  The trigger squeezed and he felt himself push the barrel down in anticipation of the recoil, but he only noticed this because the gun didn't fire. His normally reliable AK-47 finally jammed on him.

  The zombie was twenty feet away—the sweet spot for him—and he no time to clear the jam.

  Half his remaining time was spent getting to his feet. Then he held the rifle as a baseball bat. He'd seen Officer Jones do the same with his shotgun so many days ago. This zombie was some kind of warehouse worker. The overalls and name tag were sure giveaways. He was only missing the hardhat…

  Instead of swinging the butt of the gun, he decided to ram it into the zombie's face as he ran into him. It seemed a safer bet. He'd missed enough swings lately to want to try to mix it up. It didn't seem like they were learning to defend themselves per se, but they were unpredictable. He had no backup if he misjudged.

  With a firm thrust of the warm gun barrel, he planted the gun's stock square in the man's face. Liam tried not to look at the resulting destruction, but his face was already pretty messed up so it was hard to judge effectiveness. Between the bite on his neck and the bloody effluence of the initial disease process, the man
already looked like hell. With broken teeth and a collapsed nose...it didn't much matter.

  The zombie continued ahead, pushing into Liam, but the gun's impact had blunted the attack.

  The rifle was no use in close quarters combat. Inside the reach of his arms, the zombie was too close to hit again with any force. The rifle did, however, provide a buffer between the teeth of the zombie and his own neck. He was able to use it to hold off the stumbling creature until he could ensure it wasn't going to strike. The hit to the head had dazed it, if such a thing was possible with the sick, and Liam used the extra seconds to readjust himself so he could get out of its reach and bring the rifle back around for another hit.

  The longer the struggle went on, the more disoriented the zombie became. Its face was horrible to look at—the blood was running freely, splashing Liam's clothes.

  Liam figured he had things well in hand when he tripped on a rail. He was closer to the train tracks than he thought. He fell backward and the zombie man fell with him.

  His back flared in pain as he hit the uneven rocks below, and the weight of the man only added to his misery. The rifle he'd been using as a wedge had moved and he was shocked to feel the barrel of the gun on his own neck. Though the gun was jammed, it scared him to his core.

  Liam reached into his own pocket while the horrible image of the man above him shifted, always searching for somewhere to bite.

  Can they bite if their teeth are busted out?

  Good one, Liam. Put that in your book!

  The man didn't notice as Liam brought the Glock to bear next to his head. Liam hesitated. The target was directly above his own, and shooting the zombie would be messy.

  If the infections spread by blood alone…

  He closed his eyes.

  He fired once.

  6

  Liam stood up in the sunshine of the day. His entire chest was covered in blood, and he could feel it on his head and face, too. He'd already gotten splashed by blood as the zombie fought him, so firing the gun didn't seem relevant to that score. However, he didn't count on being doused in the red gore.

  Is this the end of my run as a hero? I never wrote a word of my book.