Slow Burn Box Set: The Complete Post Apocalyptic Series (Books 1-9)

by Bobby Adair

  Whatever the Smart Ones were doing at that moment, they weren’t leading the charge after us. Whites were all over the clearing, most in a state of confusion, some looking at us and more than a few moving to follow.

  Across from us, at the tree line from which we’d come into the clearing, two helices of Whites were exiting and making no move at all toward the fresh feast at the bunker doors. They were still on target.

  Murphy tossed a grenade at a small cluster of disinterested Whites not far from us. They’d be in the path of the helices coming out of the woods. A distraction for some of them, perhaps.

  He dug another grenade out of my bag, pulled the pin and took off through the woods.

  Just as the foliage grew thick enough to obscure any view of the clearing behind us, the sound of howling and crashing came from somewhere off to our right. And it was so damn close. Murphy stopped and looked at me, asking in urgent silence if I could pinpoint the direction.

  With the shrieking Whites everywhere, I felt no compunction about yelling. “Throw them up high over the trees in the general direction! We don’t have to come close to anything! The noise will disperse them for a moment!” I heaved a grenade with all the force I could put behind it.

  Murphy lofted two grenades into high arcs in the same direction. Before the first explosion sounded, we both had more grenades in our hands and were pulling the pins as we barreled through the trees with no idea where we were heading. We were running for our lives. That’s all either of us were thinking in that moment.

  When we broke out of the trees again, under a blanket of stink, we were back in another field covered with decaying carcasses. A large building lay off to our right with corpses piled high near the walls, probably the last stand of those who had died at Camp Mabry.

  Several vehicles sat about, some military, some civilian. One was an armored Humvee with the front doors swung open and a machine gun mounted on the top. Nothing in the world could have been a more beautiful sight.

  On the far side of the clearing, several hundred Whites were coming at us, both organized and not. Behind us, in the trees, the infected were thrashing their way through. Off to our left, two long helices were inter-spiraling toward us.

  Murphy said, “We’re so fucked.”

  I shouted, “The Humvee!” I ran, knowing without looking Murphy would be right behind.

  It was another race we had to win. It was the only thought I could afford to entertain.

  My legs carried me faster than I thought possible, and when I was just ten feet from the Humvee, with dozens of Whites closing in, I tossed both of my grenades in rapid succession. Murphy did the same and jumped in through the driver’s door. I hopped in the passenger side.

  The infected were closing fast. We had to get moving.

  The wet ground would compromise our traction. We’d be dead if they hemmed us in.

  I slammed my door and set the battle lock just as a White bounced off the glass.

  Murphy already had his door buttoned up and was waiting for the diesel’s glow plugs to warm up.

  “Murphy, let’s trade places.”

  “What? No time.”

  “God dammit, just do it.”

  Under the duress of my urgency, Murphy squirmed up out of the driver’s seat and tried to push into the back to let me get around, but the back of the Humvee was stacked full of boxes.

  It was awkward getting past one another in the cramped space. We earned more bruises for doing it quickly. But we could afford the bruises. We could barely afford the dozen seconds it cost us. As soon as my butt hit the driver’s seat, the glow plug indicator flashed off and I cranked the engine. The Humvee rocked against the impact of several more Whites. The engine rumbled and I mashed the accelerator.

  The Humvee lurched and started to roll.

  Across the hood, I saw Whites coming toward us from all over the clearing. I plowed into them as I turned the wheel to angle away from the buildings. They thudded against the grill with crunching bones and desperate screams as I ran them down. The mob was thick enough to slow the Humvee and Whites were climbing on top. But it wasn’t thick enough to stall us.

  “You know where we’re going?” Murphy hollered.

  “Yeah.”

  Rolling out of the muddy field, our tires finally grabbed asphalt and we accelerated down a long straight road.

  “Where?”

  “This way.”

  One of the infected fell off Murphy’s side, rolled across pavement, and tumbled over the rocky grass.

  As the mass of Whites receded behind us, up ahead a group of a dozen infected stepped out of the cedar forest on the left. I let my foot off of the accelerator and braced myself for the impact of the bunch as I guessed they’d all jump in front of the Humvee or charge it from the side. But they didn’t. They walked purposefully toward the road, stopped and stared. It was more than weird.

  As we passed, the closest of the group was just two feet outside of my window, glaring at me with cold, cruel eyes.

  It took a second for recognition to kick in, but as I looked at him over my shoulder, I was sure it was Mark. Fucking Mark.

  My toe touched the brake. Murphy felt the deceleration and shouted, “What the fuck, man?”

  “That was fucking Mark.”

  “Mark? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “That was Mark back there. The one right by the road.” I looked back and forth across the road and the grassy shoulders. I could make the turn and go back to run his ass down.

  “Dude, it wasn’t Mark. Just keep going.”

  The Humvee was slowing. Mark was standing in the center of the road by then, daring me to come back.

  Oh, to feel his bones break on my bumper.

  Breathe.

  Think.

  My experience at the hospital, trying to drive that Humvee through the mass of white bodies, was a lesson that screamed at me not to be tried a second time. It was by little more than luck I made it out of that one alive. If I did a U-turn to go back and run down Mark, and if there were Whites in the trees in sufficient numbers, they could trap us on the wet ground. We’d die.

  Murphy was trying to look back to see what he could, but the crates and boxes in the back of the Humvee blocked most of his view. “All of those bald-headed motherfuckers look alike, man. Let’s be smart and get the fuck outta here.”

  The Humvee shook against several impacts.

  I looked forward and cursed myself for focusing so much on Mark that I never saw them. Whites were pouring out of the trees on our right, already climbing on top and trying to destabilize the Humvee with their weight.

  Chapter 7

  The Humvee was picking up speed again.

  “How many on the roof?”

  “More than one!” Murphy shouted. “How the fuck should I know?”

  I mashed the brakes hard. Murphy hit the dashboard as three naked, white bodies rolled down off the hood. I accelerated again and ran them over.

  The Humvee picked up speed and we passed the bulk of the ambushers.

  Several were still clinging to Murphy’s side of the Humvee. I swerved and scraped them off on an abandoned car.

  And we were free.

  Occasional Whites came out of the trees in front of us, a stupidity that cost them their lives. Some tried to catch us from the side. We were moving too fast by then.

  Murphy exclaimed, “Holy shit!”

  I tensed and jerked my head around to look.

  Nothing.

  Murphy was grinning.

  “What the hell, Murphy?”

  He nodded toward the back of the Humvee.

  “What, the boxes?”

  “Jesus must love us. It’s all ammo and shit.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. Do you know how to get back upriver from here?”

  I laughed out loud. “Yeah, but you’re not gonna like it.”

  We reached the base’s southern gate and turned onto 35th Street, headed west. />
  “This is the way to Sarah Mansfield’s house, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Man, don’t smile like that. You’re worrying me.”

  “We’re not going to Sarah’s house.”

  “Cool, man.”

  The fork in the road was just ahead. Right led up the crest of Mount Bonnell. Left led into the country club parking lot. It was time to commit. I cut the wheels left and entered the country club grounds.

  Murphy was alarmed. “Dude, there’s nothing down here. We can’t get out this way.” He turned in his seat. Whites were coming out of their hiding places behind us.

  I swerved around the driveway, ran down a few of the infected, got to the parking lot and lined the Humvee up with the boat ramp. “Hang on.”

  That’s when Murphy figured out what I intended to do. “I can’t swim,” he said.

  “I know.” The Humvee pitched forward as it rolled onto the ramp and I braked to slow it a little. I didn’t want to hit the water so fast that we’d be injured by the impact. A giant white splash exploded in front of us and my chest hit the steering wheel as my body was thrown forward. I pressed my foot to the brake more firmly but not enough to stop us as we rolled down the boat ramp.

  Before I knew it, the water was up to the bottom edge of the windows and running in through the floor drains and inadequate door seals.

  Murphy was freaking out and trying to open the door, but it wouldn’t open.

  I expected that. “Be calm. Be calm.”

  “Goddammit, Zed! Goddammit!” He was panicking.

  I lowered my voice and spoke slowly as I reached over to put a hand on Murphy’s shoulder. “Be cool, Murphy. Be cool.”

  “I can’t get the Goddamned door open.”

  “Be cool, Murphy. It won’t open.”

  He spun around in his seat, near frantic. “What the fuck?”

  The water was more than halfway up the windows outside, then only a few inches from the top edges of the doors. The six ton vehicle, still rolling slowly down the boat ramp, lurched to a halt when I pushed the brakes all the way down.

  The water inside was up over our legs.

  Murphy stood as much as he could and tried to get his face as close as possible to the roof.

  “Goddamn you, Zed.”

  “Murphy,” I said calmly, “we’ve stopped. The Humvee isn’t going to roll any deeper into the water. We’re still on the ramp. We just need to wait a second before the doors will open.”

  “They won’t open.”

  “They will open. Just not yet.”

  “We’re gonna drown.”

  “No, Murphy, we’ll still have air up by the ceiling when the water stops rising. Look at where it is near the tops of the windows. Once it’s level inside with the water outside, we’ll be able to open the doors.”

  The water had risen to my chest at that point and I deliberately got up out of my seat to get my face near the ceiling.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do. Okay? Trust me.”

  “You should have asked me to trust you before you drove the damn truck into the fucking river, because I would have told you hell, no!”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  “I swear to God, Zed, if I don’t drown…”

  The water was nearing the ceiling and Murphy was nearly hyperventilating.

  “Be calm. It’ll be okay.”

  The water stopped rising.

  Moments passed before Murphy figured out I was right. The rising water had stopped. He looked at me, surprise etched into his face.

  “Try the door. But be careful. You don’t want to fall out into the river. You can’t swim, remember?”

  “Like I’m ever gonna forget that.”

  Murphy turned away from me and reached down to pull on the handle of his door. It opened with ease. He stuck his head out and looked around. “I’ll be damned.”

  “You gotta trust me sometimes, Murphy.”

  “Okay, lucky charm, what’s next?” He pulled his head back in. “We’re in the middle of the marina and about a hundred Whites are back there on the ramp and more coming.”

  “Okay. Listen, I’ve got to swim over and get the boat before they start coming up the docks and get on it. Are you going to be okay if I leave you here for a minute?”

  “Whatever, man. I’m cool. Just get the boat. And just so you know, I’m going to punch you in the face when this is over.”

  Chapter 8

  I worked my way around the nearly submerged Humvee until I was on Murphy’s side. The pontoon boat was tied to a dock at least a hundred feet from that side. The mob of Whites collecting on the shore was growing rapidly. I took my pistol and extra magazines out of my pocket and lay them on the roof of the Humvee. The extra pounds of grenades in my Hello Kitty bag would make for hard swimming so the bag stayed on the roof of the Humvee. I kept the knife.

  I inhaled deeply three times before submerging and using my feet to push myself off of the Humvee’s fender. I intended to cross the distance completely underwater. Any surfacing would get the attention of the White mob and might lead to their welcoming me when I reached the boat.

  Staying just a few feet beneath the surface, I stroked with my arms and scissor kicked my legs. The wails of the Whites barely transmitted down to me through the water, which was noisy with raindrops falling on the surface.

  Surrounded by cold green, I had nothing to guide me but the hope I could swim in a straight line.

  As the distance dragged at me, my lungs cried out for oxygen.

  The need for breath grew and doubt sat itself on my shoulder and whispered faithless, discouraging words.

  But to come up for air was to advertise my presence to the Whites. To come up for air was failure. It was tantamount to stranding Murphy in the Humvee in the middle of the river.

  I stroked through the cold green.

  I thought about my buddy, Benny, the one I’d eventually beaten up in junior high. The summer before that, we were at the community pool with a couple of other kids from the neighborhood. We were all standing on the side when somebody said, “I’ll bet you can’t swim all the way across underwater.”

  Without even taking a moment to brag, I dove into the pool and glided under the surface, kicking with my legs and using my arms to pull myself along as I watched the black lane markers pass beneath. I reached the other side of the pool, popped up and turned around. It was easy but my friends were amazed. I swelled with pride.

  Benny, however, was having none of it. “I can do that.” He dove into the water and followed my path.

  My pride dribbled quickly away as Benny’s wiggly form beneath the water closed the gap between us. The last smidgen of that pride winked out of existence when Benny’s grinning face popped out of the water beside me.

  The little fuck had made it.

  The guys on the other side of the pool started to talk. I climbed up out of the pool, looked at all my buddies and said, “Well, watch this.” I drew a deep breath, dove back in, and swam the width of the pool again. Only this time, instead of stopping at the other side, I turned, pushed off of the wall and, starting to feel a compelling need for air, swam across the width of the pool again.

  I made it all the way back across and popped up next to Benny, breathing deeply to get some fresh air back in my lungs. The guys were back to being amazed.

  But Benny wasn’t giving up. He’d felt the pride too when the boys seemed amazed at the initial feat. The chance to feel like a winner is a rare thing. Benny was determined to feel it again. He climbed up out of the pool. The boys were making noise. They were spectators to a challenge and loving it.

  Benny drew a few deep breaths just as I had, shot me a defiant look and dove into the water.

  I climbed up and sat on the edge of the pool, so I could better see Benny’s shimmery form beneath the wavy surface. Just as before, he made it to the far side of the pool without coming up for air. And just as I had, when he
reached the other side, he turned underwater, pushed off and swam the distance back.

  On the way across, I wished he’d come up for air and grant me the victory. But he didn’t. He wanted victory as badly as me. Or so he thought.

  When Benny emerged from the water below me after swimming two widths of the pool, the boys cheered and shouted. They were impressed with us both, but I wasn’t willing to share the victory. I drew in deep breaths and prepared myself to try for three.

  Benny saw what was coming next and climbed up beside me.

  It was then that one of the kids from across the pool scoffed, “You can only do it because when you dive in, you go halfway across the pool before you have to start swimming.”

  True. But fuck that kid, anyway. I shrugged and jumped down into the water. “I can do it either way.”

  Some other kid said, “At the same time. Do it together.”

  I looked at Benny. Do or die, buddy.

  Benny, with a touch of worry on his face, jumped into the pool beside me.

  I hollered back across the pool. “Somebody has to say ‘go.’” I grabbed the lip of the pool’s edge with one hand, pulled my legs up, planted my feet on the wall, and positioned myself for the biggest push I could.

  Benny watched me and followed my example, letting no advantage slip by.

  From across the pool, I heard, “Ready. Set.”

  I looked at Benny. He looked at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking. It didn’t matter. I was going to win the challenge or I was going to suck in a lung full of water trying.

  “Go.”

  Off we went.

  In an ideal world, the challenge should have been each of us against ourselves to see how far we could push ourselves beyond our beliefs and fears. But that world is a fantasy. Nothing like it has ever existed, nor will it.

  Under the surface, I watched Benny and kept even with him as we swam across the pool.

  When we reached the other side, it had indeed taken longer without the advantage of diving in. I was feeling the stress of insufficient oxygen in my blood.

  I made my turn and started to swim back, expecting Benny to quit at the turn. When I looked though, he was coming up beside me. He hadn’t quit. Persistent fucker.