Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7

by Isherwood, E. E.

John held up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence. He'd heard the rumor, but he had no way to know if it was true. Supposedly a barge of military gear had gotten loose and floated down the river, then was caught by the teams pulling the barges near Cairo. Once the mayor found out about it, he ordered it be released and allowed to continue downstream. It did no good to dwell on what could have been.

  “Focus on what we can control, soldier.” She wasn't really a soldier, nor was he. Neither of them seemed concerned with his terminology. “We need to find weapons for everyone who can carry one. For starters, whatever guns people can bring to the table, we'll encourage them to come forth. But for the rest, we need to use whatever we can find in town. Spears, especially, would be useful. Everyone with a little strength can point a spear at the bad guys' heads.”

  “Where?”

  “The port. Use rebar. Cut metal from the barges. We have plenty of them. There has to be a machine shop with all the old factories and barge towboats around here.”

  “Makes sense. Are you putting me in charge of that operation, sir?”

  “Do you want it?”

  “I want to save this town. It's not my home, but my family is here. If you want me to make spears, I'll make you spears to kill those things.”

  “I have no orders. Nothing. You'll have to do it all yourself.”

  “You can count on me, sir.”

  “Then you're dismissed.” He saluted her because it felt right. “Good luck to you,” he offered as she walked out. It wasn't protocol, exactly, but he was learning to ease into civilian life, after all.

  Another man entered the room as she turned the corner. No salutes were involved. It was a man allied with the mayor, possibly his chief of staff or other functionary. They'd never spoken.

  “Sir, could I have a minute?”

  “Sure.” He stood up to shake the man's hand, but he demurred.

  “Don't take it the wrong way. I'm scared to death of turning into an undead soul. My name is Joshua.”

  Lots of people had stopped shaking hands, but it still felt uncivilized.

  “Hello Joshua, I'm John. Please, sit down.”

  The man was dark-skinned, like the mayor, but that was the only commonality with the sweaty leader of the town. He was much younger, and wore shorts and a light button-down, short-sleeved shirt. He seemed cool and relaxed, despite the heat and humidity of southern Illinois.

  “I'm here because the mayor says he doesn't recognize your authority.”

  “So you're here to threaten me?”

  There's not much I can do to stop you.

  “Oh no, just the opposite. We tossed him out. Whatever's heading our way, the sick aren't going to be talked to death. We need someone in charge who can defend this town.”

  “So you want me to lead the whole town?”

  “There is no precedent for this. Whatever this is, the bottom line is you need to lead the defense of this town. What happens after all the infected are dead at our doorstep is something we can address later.”

  It called to his ego. First Chloe had deferred to him to tell her how to defend the town, and now Joshua was asking the same. He was being “volunteered” to the head of the fight. No one seemed to mind that he'd been tossed into a pit by the Army he supposedly led. It touched upon his earlier feelings of superiority. People saw it in him, no matter what uniform he wore.

  He had so many things he wanted to get done, even beyond the immediacy of defending these people. The cargo barge the mayor had floated downstream might still be out there, undisturbed. He wanted to find Douglas Hayes, if for no other reason than to learn more about his primary enemy—human enemy—Elsa Cantwell. She was going to regret her decision to toss him out of his career, no matter how powerful she might be. Yep, he had much to do. Step one was keeping his base intact.

  “Joshua, I'll defend this town...to the death.”

  He hadn't meant to say that last bit, but once said, he felt he'd planted his flag on it.

  So be it.

  4

  The next morning, as part of his inspection of the northern defenses, he looked out on the field of undead in front of him. Overnight the number of them had increased, and the defenders had been picking them off as they neared the water-filled ditch. As instructed, they waited until the infected were close, but didn't allow them to get into the ditch. The infect—

  Oh the hell with it. I'm calling you guys zombies.

  He laughed to himself, acknowledging he lost his mind.

  Then he heard the sound of thunder in the distance. There were clouds above him, but they all appeared friendly.

  Another boom. This time he got his bearings. It came from up by the highway. He stood next to a civilian pickup truck which was loaned to him. He held up the pair of binoculars that had also been loaned. And his rifle. And his handgun. And his clothes…

  He swept the field, but saw nothing. He dropped the glasses, and waited. The next round of thunder came from a point he identified as being very near where the road met the interstate. And there…

  I don't believe it.

  A pair of Abrams tanks came off the interstate and slid down the embankment into the field. Behind them, other vehicles crept down the hill. He counted a few, but was distracted again as the tanks kicked up a pair of dusty smoke plumes as they sped through the ruined field. They didn't fire their main guns, though they did sweep the field from side to side as they drove. When they approached the town, they veered toward the road and cruised onto the little bridge. He was whooping and hooting along with the other townspeople who saw it.

  The big levee to the north of the town had a large hole at the base where a huge flood door could be drawn across the north-south road to keep out flood waters. The tanks rolled through that gate and stopped just inside the town at a small high school football field.

  He almost lost control of the pickup truck as he drove it down the access road, he was in such a hurry to greet the tankers. When he skidded to a stop on the dusty pavement, he jumped out and approached the military trucks assembling on the field. Besides the two tanks, he saw several Humvees, a couple Bradley's, several service vehicles—he hoped with ammo for the tanks, a fuel tanker, and a surprising number of civilian off road vehicles.

  It was a miracle, yes, but not their salvation. They'd hardly make a dent in what was coming.

  A man popped up out of the commander's hatch of the lead tank. He removed his helmet and saluted John. It took him a minute to put it all together.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Thompson,” he shouted.

  The soldier hopped down to the main deck of his tank, then came off the side with a little more care. He turned and walked up to John as more of the vehicles parked. Even while appreciating their appearance, he was saddened to see so many civilian vehicles as opposed to military. He continually ran the numbers…

  When he neared, he spoke. “General. We're here as volunteers.”

  John looked at all the new men and women watching him. The concept of mutiny was alien to a man of his rank, but he'd already been dismissed with malice, so what concern was it of his why these soldiers had come back. His next words could affect his ability to keep control over all the forces swirling around Cairo.

  “Colonel Thompson. We can use any help you can give us. We're defending these citizens,” he pointed to the people who had come out to watch the arrival of the tanks, “until we remove the threats to them.”

  Softly, the colonel responded. “You better be ready. We almost didn't make it. We had a third M1 protecting the back of the column, but it got bogged down a couple miles to the north. We tried to extract it, but there were so many zombies following us we didn't have the time. They'll be here soon, I'm afraid.”

  “How many? We were told millions had migrated in this direction.”

  “Hard to say. There is a lot of land out there. But they've been out there a long time, walking in this direction. They seem to group up and add to their number, like rain storms. By the tim
e they hit the rivers here, there could be millions of them. I'm afraid we brought some of them to you, too. They like to follow...”

  “That's what I thought. We've been seeing an increase each day, though some days are worse than others.” He thought of the battle the night before his units abandoned him.

  Still speaking quietly to each other, John asked the important question. “Why did you come back?”

  “Funny thing. When you didn't show up, that Elsa woman claimed you'd taken off on your own. Anyone who knows you wouldn't believe that crap. It only took a little snooping before we found someone who saw a man being thrown from a bridge. You I assume?”

  John nodded.

  “We put it together and figured out this was where you'd be.” He smiled broadly. “When we got close, we heard you ordering people on your radios. We knew we'd made the right choice.”

  “Sonofabitch. My security has gone to shit.”

  “Don't worry, general. We'll take good care of you. The warriors I brought with me will fight here with you. They hated leaving the town to die and are glad to join the fight to save it. The civvy cars back there are the families of these soldiers—and people who joined up when they saw us drive by. There's a lot of holdouts out there.”

  A man waved and yelled on top of the levee, getting their attention.

  “Shall we go check it out, Vince?” he asked.

  John smiled inwardly at his charmed existence. Vince was the third person to defer to his leadership. He'd gone from dead man to practically being the King of Cairo—or would that be Pharaoh—in no time flat. Elsa might have done him a favor. Some day he'd have the resources to tell her in person. Just before he put a bullet between those cold eyes...

  Together they jogged up the incline of the levee. Vince was a short stocky man with a dark tan. And fifteen years younger, at least. He jogged easily by his side. When they reached the top, they had a clear view of the road as it crossed the ditch and went north to the interstate.

  Far in the distance, they saw the horizon moving.

  “What the?” John asked. He'd left his binoculars in the pickup truck.

  As they watched, the shapes on the interstate started down toward the fields, adding to those already there. The number of zombies was legion.

  “I told you, we brought a few with us.”

  “My God. Those are all zombies?”

  Some were running. Some jogged. Some ran sideways in odd patterns. Others ambled directly for the town. It was a black tide washing down from the highway…

  “You guys got here at just the right time. My people have spears. We need tanks. Armor. Smart bombs. Cruise missiles. Everything.”

  “Well, it's just us. No air support. No missiles. No indirects, I'm afraid. Elsa kept the Paladins close to her.”

  John extended his hand to the man who'd just saved all their lives. Given them a chance, anyway. “Colonel, I'd buck you up to General if I could. I can't officially promote you to cook now, you understand.”

  They shook hands, holding firm as if to confirm their fates were intertwined. “Don't sweat it, sir. If we make it through this shitstorm then maybe we can go to Army headquarters, wherever that is, and complain.”

  When they were done, they watched the growing storm on the horizon.

  John was ready to issue his first order for the great battle ahead.

  Chapter 15: Polar Bears' Den

  Lana and Liam emerged from the dark staircase into a well-lit reception hall. There was no other way to describe it. The ceiling was thirty feet high and twenty-foot murals decorated the upper walls all around them. Skylights on the roof provided the light, while six massive modern-looking chandeliers hung uselessly below them. There were several rooms linked to the central chamber, including one with large windows facing east. Liam saw part of one leg of the Arch in that direction.

  “That way. We need to check that out,” he pleaded.

  But before they could move, two plain-clothes men appeared with weapons raised. They didn't look happy.

  “Down. Weapons down.” They both had pistols drawn, but they weren't pointing directly at them.

  “We're bears. In fact, I'm the Polar Princess.”

  Liam mimicked his mother, who had her arms up in the air. He studied the men's faces as his mom spoke. Their eyes lit up when she said her weird name, then narrowed again.

  “Really?” one said with obvious skepticism. “I'm going to need more proof than just your word.”

  Lana turned to Liam. “That's the trouble with having the gift of invisibility. You can never turn it off.” Then, to the men, she continued, “but I'll prove it if you can take me to Travis or Haylee.”

  “What makes you think they're here?”

  “Well, for starters, I'm the one that told them to be here. If they're not here, I failed in my promise to bring the movement out of the ruins of Washington D.C.”

  That seemed to get their attention. One of the men holstered his pistol, though Liam couldn't ignore the other man. His olive drab ball cap was filthy, but there was a polar bear embossed over a drab version of the American flag.

  “If you'll kindly hand over your weapons we'll get your squared away. If you are who you say, you'll understand why we have to treat you this way.”

  “Of course.” Lana handed over her weapons. Liam did the same.

  “The AK has a jam anyway,” he said as he handed it to dirty hat. The man may have nodded, but didn't smile.

  They walked across the great room toward the chamber with all the windows. He was dying to look down on the city from this high up. The bit of the Arch leg in his view was curved, like it was very near the top of that structure. More of it was revealed, the closer they got to the windows.

  One of the other rooms was dark. If it had windows, they'd been covered over. The interior light illuminated some of the people in there. The headphones and other blinking LED lights suggested they were working with computers or radios.

  They walked through what was once a rather elegant dining area, or restaurant. The round tables had been stripped of their silverware, but they still retained fancy centerpieces and their white tablecloths. Several people sat around the tables quietly talking. Many watched as they were directed forward by the guards. It struck him that they were all normal-looking men and women, dressed like they'd just come off the street of any pre-disaster day.

  “You can both sit here.” The man had led them to a small table right against a window. Liam took his seat but turned to take in the view before either man could say a further word.

  On the forty-second floor they were about two-thirds as high as the Arch. He could see the entire structure from the feet to the tiny slitted windows on the top. The gleaming stainless steel twinkled in the sunlight. The late morning sun cast a shadow underneath that leaned slightly in his direction.

  Beyond the Arch he had the perfect view of the Mississippi River and all the bridges that had once crossed it. There were several ruined bridges to the north, but his eye was drawn to the Poplar Street Bridge to the south. That was where all the barges and debris had been caught when the span of the bridge had dropped into the river—which was responsible for his soggy adventure with Grandma and Victoria. Now only remnants of the great blockade remained, mostly in the form of driftwood and an old barge container wrapped around the remaining concrete pier on the near shore. The interstate on the far shore was empty, as no one wanted to get into St. Louis back when the bridges were closed. Anyone lucky enough to get caught in Illinois just kept on driving to who-knows-where. Cairo, maybe.

  The new bridge was being built across the river. From a point on the other side near a large grain silo, barge after barge had been lined up side by side and a metallic covering was placed on top, from one to the next. From as high as he was, his best guess was the new bridge would allow two big trucks to travel next to each other. The long barges allowed plenty of room for the makeshift roadway, and he estimated there was plenty of room for more roads
if they had enough decking.

  He saw the crumpled crane parked on the floating platform just downriver from the main bridge. Silent testimony to one small success of his day.

  On the near shore there was a lot of construction, too. A huge platform and a short section of roadway linked to the Missouri side of the river, as if waiting for the rest of the bridge to arrive. Liam tried to count how many they were short, but found it hard to measure. In the end he decided they were about seventy-five percent across. A few barges were tethered together upstream. Their destination was pretty obvious.

  Finally, on the far shore he got a good look at the small vehicles—small from his vantage point—hunkered in the trees above the water. The huge Abrams tanks crouched like lions, their guns trained on the Missouri side.

  “Liam!” Lana practically shouted in his ear as she leaned over the table.

  He snapped to the inside of the room.

  “Gosh, it's like you're five again.” She said it without malice, but Liam was embarrassed.

  “I was...distracted by all that.” He pointed outside.

  “I want you to meet the leader of the Polar Bears here in St. Louis.”

  He stood up to accept a handshake from a full-bearded man with well-groomed red hair and piercing gray eyes flanking a thin nose.

  “It's a true honor, young man.”

  2

  “Liam, this is Travis Rhoads. He's one of the leaders here.”

  The man's hand swallowed his and squeezed it with a manly grip. His beard and mustache hid his lips, but his cheeks rose as he smiled. His eyes tried to smile too, but they didn't quite rise to the occasion. When the greeting was over, Liam noticed the Golden Retriever at the man's side. He bent down without thinking to pet the dog.

  “This is Chief. He's my best pal.” He reached to scratch behind a shaggy ear.

  “Who's a good dog?” Liam felt his own smile explode as he swept his hands over the clean coat of the retriever. He didn't even mind when his face got licked in return. In the three or so weeks since the zombies arrived, he'd had no time for the simple pleasure of petting a dog. It reminded him of better times…