Cyrus leaped out of the SUV, grabbed her by the shoulders, and dragged her to the passenger’s side. He shoved her inside and circled back around. The zombies who didn’t find room at the banquet table headed for Cyrus, who tossed his rifle into the back seat, slammed his door, and slipped the transmission into gear.
He punched the accelerator just as the first contaminated hand touched the rear bumper.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The truck made it to the border of Umstead Park before Rocky had to ditch it at a gate on Graylyn Drive.
Arjun had ridden shotgun with Sydney sitting in the middle, and he was proud that he now had an actual gun, even if it wasn’t a shotgun. The others had piled into the cab, with Hannah alternately following them and bringing up the rear on her motorcycle. As they gathered at the gate, Hannah rode her Kawasaki through the woods to bypass the obstacle and headed up the trail on a scouting run. The others walked through the forest for several miles, alert for any sounds, but only heard the stirring of birds and chattering of squirrels.
“Peaceful out here,” Sydney said. “You’d never know it was the end of the world.”
“I don’t like nature,” Arjun said.
“What’s the problem?”
“Bugs and snakes and diseases.”
“But no zombies,” Jacob said.
“Not yet,” Rocky replied. “But the day’s only half over.”
They came upon a wrecked bicycle, its front wheel hopelessly warped and some of the spokes smashed in. They saw no sign of its rider, although Sonia spotted some blood on a rock and a pair of cycling sunglasses in the leaves. Soon came the roar of Hannah’s motorcycle in the distance, and she pulled up and killed the engine.
“I checked the ranger station and a lodge,” she said. “Deadsville. Literally, in the case of the lodge. A few corpses in sleeping bags.”
“Guess nobody felt like vacationing once they heard about the Klondike Flu,” Sonia said.
“Ironic, since this would’ve been one of the safest places to be,” Meg said. “Not many carriers.”
Hannah pushed her bike along a downhill stretch and they soon came to a small lake. The boathouse was locked but a number of canoes and kayaks were stacked on a wooden rack beside it.
“Faster to go across than walk around,” Sonia said.
Arjun didn’t like the idea. He couldn’t swim, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
Rocky pulled a multipurpose tool from his pack and spent fifteen minutes sawing and clipping through the security cable. Sonia tried to break into the boathouse for life jackets and paddles, but it was windowless and the wooden door was too stout. She searched a refuse pile around back and found two boards they could use as paddles.
Soon they had two canoes in the water. As they boarded, Hannah told them she’d meet them on the other side of the lake, staying in touch via walkie-talkie. Arjun almost asked her for a ride—she needed a spotter, didn’t she?—but he was reluctant to leave Sydney. He wasn’t even sure Hannah would be able to find them, since she’d have to detour several miles.
He kept his eyes fixed on the far shore as they crossed the lake. The water was nearly still, with a slight breeze at their back. The clouds that had haunted them for days had thinned to allow the afternoon sun to spill onto them. With Rocky paddling, Sydney leaned back and closed her eyes, her head swaying back and forth with the rocking of the canoe.
Sonia paddled the other canoe, and Jacob and Meg talked quietly, their voices carrying over the open water. “You think zombies can swim?” Jacob asked his mother.
“I don’t know,” Meg said. “They might hold some vestigial memory of it—‘vestigial’ means rudimentary or residual—but they don’t seem to have any higher thinking functions. If they did swim, it would purely be instinctive. But since they don’t need to breathe, I suppose they could walk under water.”
Arjun sat up straight and studied the murky depths around the canoe. He had an image of a mottled, gray-green hand, complete with an algae bracelet, rising up and clamping onto the gunwale. Its body weight would tip the canoe, and then the others would swim away while Arjun sank down to where the other zombies lurked on the muddy bottom.
If I live through this, I’m putting that scenario into a videogame.
“If they can’t breathe, how do they make sounds?” Rocky asked. “I’ve heard them grunt and groan and growl, and sometimes it sounds like something’s clicking in their throats.”
“My hunch is some sort of autonomic action of the lungs, another leftover instinct from their days as living people. Even though their lungs aren’t working, some air is circulating when they open their mouths. To be honest, we won’t know more until we actually get some specimens on the autopsy table.”
“Yuck,” Sydney said, not opening her eyes.
“Don’t you think researchers have already done that?” Sonia asked. “The CDC or Walter Reed?”
“Who knows? In the wake of the outbreak and the chaos, we haven’t seen many signs of order and control. Promiseland was one example, but even there, the military and FEMA seemed a little disorganized and overwhelmed. Survival is the main priority, and I’d guess most people are still figuring out how to do that.”
“The ones who are left,” Jacob said.
“We’ll have to fight this thing on multiple fronts,” Meg said. “We’ve already seen the military is going to just blast the problem out of existence, no matter how many innocent lives it costs. Reverend Ingram is willing to close his doors to people in need. The government doesn’t really exist anymore—no offense, Sonia.”
“None taken,” Sonia said. “At least people will stop accusing us of wasting tax dollars.”
“Yeah,” Rocky said. “I haven’t been paid in a week.”
“And that’s just the short game,” Meg continued. “We’ll need forensic analysis of the dead, virology profiles of the flu strain, and a database of observable zombie behaviors.”
“Don’t forget whatever came up from those graves,” Jacob said.
This kid’s turning morbid. But I can’t really blame him. “Nobody’s forgetting,” Arjun said.
“Even if we figure them out and find a cure, there might be millions of them across the globe,” Rocky said. “Maybe even billions.”
“And once we beat them or fix them, we’ll still need to rebuild the infrastructure and get the electrical and communications grids back up. Just clearing the roads would take months, if not years. We’re a long way from normal.”
Sydney giggled. “That would make a cool song title. ‘Long Way From Normal.’” She started humming a smooth melody and tapping on the side of the canoe.
“Don’t do that,” Arjun said. Did a shadow move down there in the murk?
“No fun allowed?” she asked drowsily.
“Paddle faster,” Arjun said to Rocky. The shore was still a quarter of a mile away.
“Do you hear Hannah’s bike?” the soldier asked.
“No. Just a bad feeling.”
“Feelings aren’t facts,” Meg said. But both Sonia and Rocky paddled faster anyway, the slim pieces of lumber dipping and splashing in a steady rhythm.
“I have this theory,” Sydney said. “You can tell everything you need to know about a person from their favorite Beatles song. We’ve been hanging together for a few days but we hardly know anything about each other. I’ll go first. ‘And Your Bird Can Sing.’ A John Lennon stoner song.”
“It’s ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’ for me,” Sonia said, panting a little from exertion. “A John Lennon acid song.”
“I’ll bet yours is ‘Yellow Submarine,’” Sydney said to Jacob.
“Are you serious? That’s kid’s stuff. I’ll go with ‘Paperback Writer.’” He made a da-dadda-da noise in imitation of the bass line.
“Paul McCartney wrote that one,” Sydney said.
“Whatever. It’s a killer song. And Mom likes Paul, too. Her favorite is ‘Let It Be.’”
“He sings that one like
an angel,” Meg said. “And with that beard and those dreamy eyes…mmm.”
“Wait ’til I tell Dad he’s got some competition,” Jacob said, and the mood turned solemn for a moment as they all contemplated his absence.
“Well, Paul’s nearly eighty and he’s probably a zombie now,” Sydney said with forced cheer. “What about you, Rocky? I bet it’s ‘Rocky Raccoon,’ right?”
“Hell, no,” the soldier said. “They called me that in basic training. Hated it. My favorite varies, but these days I’ll go with ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun’ since it’s helping me stay alive. What about you, Arjun?”
“Uh.” Arjun stared down into the water. Every ripple and shift of light seemed like a monster.
“Can you even name one?” Sydney teased.
“I like those early ones. With the ‘Ooh, yeah, yeah, yeah’ stuff.”
Sydney laughed. “You seriously don’t know any of them?”
“Of course I do,” he lied. He didn’t know the names of those convoluted songs. It was easier just to repeat someone else’s favorite. “‘Paperback Writer’ is pretty cool. Good lyrics.”
Before anyone could ask him to recite the lyrics, Sonia said, “So that’s three for John and three for Paul.”
“I figure you’d like George Harrison because of the sitar stuff,” Sydney said to Arjun. “Or is that racist?”
“It’s culture, not race,” Arjun said.
“George needs some love, too,” Meg said. “I’m changing mine to ‘Here Comes the Sun’ because I could use some optimism. Tie-breaker. John wins.”
They were nearly to the shore now. In Arjun’s anxiety over exposing his ignorance, he’d forgotten about the monsters. Maybe Sydney was a genius after all.
The thrumming of a small engine sounded through the trees, and Hannah emerged from the forest about a hundred yards up the shoreline. She waved and rolled through the marshy ground to meet them. When they landed, she gave them an update on her run.
The park was largely empty, but she’d come upon a ranger’s truck and a couple of more bodies. These were apparently dead of infection, since they exhibited no external wounds, but Hannah couldn’t rule out the possibility of a double suicide, since they’d died holding hands.
Arjun suddenly remembered the title of a Beatles song—“I Want to Hold Your Hand”—but he kept his mouth shut.
“Okay,” Sonia said. “Do we backtrack to the ranger’s truck, or walk out of here using the trails?”
“Trails might be better,” Hannah said. “I only saw two roads leading out of here, and they both go to main highways. And the trails are too narrow for a truck.”
“Sounds good to me,” Meg said. “What about you, Jacob? Rested enough?”
“Yeah,” he said. Arjun was jealous of his youthful energy. “But first…Hannah, what’s your favorite Beatles song?”
She looked at their faces and realized some game had gone on in her absence. “‘Paperback Writer,’ of course.”
“Hooray!” Jacob leaped toward her and gave her a high five.
They walked for perhaps a mile, Hannah idling far enough ahead on her motorcycle that the noise wouldn’t draw attention to the group. Then she cut her engine and the hush made it seem like they were the last people on Earth.
“She must’ve found something,’ Rocky said. “Let’s go see.”
They jogged as best they could, considering the gear and supplies they carried, and soon came upon Hannah. She stood amid a cluster of tents that were shredded and sagging. A campfire smoldered with black charcoal, a tiny wisp of smoke rising from the ashes. Food trash and beer cans were scattered around the site, and some clothes hung from a piece of rope strung between two maple saplings.
“It hasn’t been long,” Meg said, stooping to check the heat of the fire. “Where did they all go?”
Rocky and Hannah swept their weapons around in slow arcs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rocky said. “They probably didn’t leave voluntarily.”
Sydney peered into one of the tents. “Guys?”
Arjun looked over her shoulder. Two mutilated children lay on a blanket, their skeletons nearly stripped clean. Scraps of organs and intestines were draped around the bones. Arjun fought down a knot of nausea.
Sonia took a look. “All right. We’re out of here. Now.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I found some crackers,” Kit said, her head inside an office closet.
“Those are communion wafers,” Bill said.
“They’re stale as hell,” Kit said around a dry mouthful of them.
“I thought you were looting the Whole Foods.”
“It’s not looting in a disaster,” Kit said. “It’s gathering supplies, especially if you’re white. Those two creepers out there jumped me before I had a chance to hit the snack aisle.”
“Well, I don’t want to be here when the sun goes down. And I can’t shoot them from the belfry because of the angles and the overhang. They don’t seem to be giving up.”
Something fell with a clatter inside the closet. “What was your plan before I came along? Just sit up there until you ran out of ammo and starved to death?”
“I didn’t have a plan. I just wanted to kill as many of those things as possible.”
“Hey!” Kit said, ducking back out of the closet with a grin. “This is what I call gathering supplies.”
She held up a glass decanter of ruby red communion wine. Bill shook his head. “You’re a minor, plus I don’t want to be dragging a drunk around when it’s time to scoot.”
She frowned and placed the decanter on the desk next to a Bible and brass candelabrum. “I’ll just leave this here in case worse comes to worse.”
The sun had sunk low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the pews. The pounding on the doors had grown softer but the blows were just as frequent.
“There are probably half a dozen at the front door, and maybe three or four at the back,” Bill said. “Sounds like our two buddies invited some friends over for dinner.”
“So do we just try to plow through them?” Kit gave a sly grin. “Or maybe you provide a distraction while I make a run for it?”
“Why not the other way around? Just because I’m old doesn’t mean my life is worth less than yours.”
“Plenty of people would disagree,” the girl said. “We’re the future.”
Her purple eye shadow was smeared and faded. She’d obviously not put much effort into her look since the outbreak. Bill imagined she’d spent a lot of time wondering what other people thought, despite her sullen belief that no one cared.
“I have an idea that might keep both of us out of arm’s reach,” Bill said. “Instead of fighting our way through, we’ll use their hunger against them.”
“No way am I going to be bait.”
“All you have to do is open the door, and then run past the altar and down the aisle. I’ll be hiding right hear behind the wall, and when they come after you…” He levered his finger as if pointing a gun. “Bam bam bam.”
“You make it sound so easy. What if I’m in the line of fire? What if they scatter instead of running in a straight line? What if you keep shooting them in the head and they don’t stop? What if one of them smells you and ignores me? You’ll be too busy saving your own ass to worry about mine.”
“I already had that opportunity,” Bill said. “Don’t make me regret the choice I made.”
“Like I said, I could’ve gotten away.” Kit stomped around the room, looking up at the darkening sky through the window. “I’d be miles from here by now.”
“Do you have a better plan? Stay in here until I starve to death, and then you can play cannibal?”
“You’re probably tougher than a buzzard. Besides, if I wanted to be a zombie, I would’ve let them catch me already.”
Bill patted the Winchester. “I’ve got five rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. I won’t have time to reload. If more than six come in, I guess that’s when we try to p
low through them.”
“What about those two that you already tried to kill?”
“If I blow their whole heads off, they’ll have to stop. And they wouldn’t be able to bite, anyhow.”
“Let’s do it,” Kit said. “Anything’s better than spending another hour with you.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Bill exited the office and stood to one side at the back of the altar, hidden by shadows. “You ready? We have to do it fast before the ones in the front catch on and come around to see what all the fuss is about.”
Kit didn’t answer for a few seconds. Bill peeked around the door jamb and saw her talking a gulp of the wine.
“For luck,” she said, walking to the door. She rattled the handle and turned the lock. Bill took up his position again.
“Come and get it!” she yelled, followed by the creak of the door opening. The soles of her sneakers slapped across the office floor and then she was past him in a blur. The shuffling and growling filled the office as the deaders shoved their way into the church. It sounded like there were more than four. Bill was tempted to look but that would upset the plan.
Kit was so fast that she reached the far end of the aisle before the zombies stepped onto the altar. Bill decided she was right—she could’ve outrun them if he’d have just left her alone. She doubled back halfway to the altar, cupped her hands, and yelled, “Well, what are you waiting for, dumbasses? Tastes like chicken!”
A wizened gray head poked out of the office, followed by a stooped figure. It was the one he had shot earlier, bits of skull sheared away to reveal a withered knot where the brain had been. The deader pawed at the door jamb, head tilted as if sniffing the air. The others pushed it from behind and it clambered out onto the altar. Three more burst in behind the old-timer, stinking and rasping and juddering, moving faster.
Revelation: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Arize Book 2) Page 6