Cajun Zombie Chronicles (Book 2): Island Dead

by Smith, S. L.

  “What the hell, man?” Justin said looking as Isherwood’s face which looked very pale, despite all the layers of encrusted blood.

  “It was, uh, they were all sorta bound together, you know?”

  “What?” Justin repeated. “What were bound together?” He was feeling the panic rise in his chest, as he watched the fear grow in his friend’s eyes – the same friend who had just walked a pipeline to hell and back.

  “Zombies – what else? They must be holding onto each other as they’re pulled downstream. It’s like the limp neck of a dead Brontosaur – er, Brachiosaurus – drifting back and forth down there.”

  “Okay, I feel better.” Justin said exhaling.

  “Why?” Patrick said aghast.

  “Because my boy, Isherwood, over here just took time to correct the dinosaur’s name. Can’t be that panicked, if he’s thinking like that.”

  Their conversation abruptly ended as bodies began pounding against the boat.

  “Faster!” Isherwood called out, as he pinned a zombie face down and plunged his sword into its skull. “Get over there before they start falling.”

  Padre mostly ignored Isherwood’s instructions. He was having a hard enough time keeping the boat away from the bridge pilings in the choppier water under the bridge. Anything could be hiding in the shadows under the bridge. He didn’t want to slam the boat into a hidden shoal of mounded up bodies.

  “Don’t!” Patrick called out, pushing the barrel of Micha’s rifle aside. Micha had been aiming the rifle at a zombie he’d thrown down onto the deck. “Don’t shoot that thing down through the boat. Are you crazy? Your family’s down there!”

  Micha shook his head as if he’d been caught in a trance. “Oh man, sorry. My bad.” He stomped on the zombie’s neck instead and quickly shoved his hunting knife into the creature’s temple, instead.

  This time, most of the zombies hadn’t fallen in the boat and were deflected into the water. There were only four to contend with. Justin, Patrick, Isherwood, and Micha each picked a zombie, like it was a pickup game.

  “Sweet,” Justin was saying as he let the torso and then the legs of his zombie tumble over the side of the boat. “Mine was wearing a ‘Feel the Bern’ t-shirt. That was pretty satisfying. You got wonder, you know?”

  “About what?” Patrick asked.

  “How all those guys felt about gun control, you know, in the end.” Justin said, shaking his head. “Gun free zones must’ve been a feeding frenzy.”

  “Unless they were all zombies to start with.” Patrick said with a wry grin.

  “Heads up!” Padre interrupted them. They again took cover under the canopy and waited for the bodies to fall. There was a slap of meat against the canopy and then a splash.

  Just before the meat started hitting the canopy, Isherwood thought he heard something. A voice. “Hey,” he called, but no one noticed.

  “That’s it?” Justin interrupted. His loud voice easily overcame Isherwood’s somewhat softer voice. “Just one? I don’t like this. That was too easy. We’re probably gonna have a Bingo Bikini Beach Blanket Party waiting for us back at the camps.”

  “Bingo what?” Patrick was saying.

  “Easy?” Isherwood grunted. “Tell that to Missy and – man – poor Marshall.” A wave of guilt rushed over him, and he completely forgot about what he had heard.

  “Dude, you know –” Justin started.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just still cranked up. Like I’ve been living on caffeine for a few days. Look at my hands. This is just stupid.”

  Padre was nodding. “We need to get back and fast. This is a traumatized group and it’s on the verge.” As Padre was speaking, Isherwood glanced sideways at Micha. He knew something wasn’t right with that kid. He had been pressed into some crazy situations, sure, but Micha’s response was just off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “Speaking of trauma,” Patrick said. “We’ve still got that feral child locked up in the transport. God knows what we might be returning to.”

  “Yeah, let’s just ditch the boat and get back on the land as fast as we can.” Isherwood nodded.

  Justin winced. “I hate to just beach this boat. It’s a nice boat and it’s an escape route if things go sideways on the land.”

  “If we see a good place to dock past where we parked, we’ll take it. If not, we just go for it.”

  *****

  About ten minutes later, everybody was back topside and preparing to make a run for the vehicles. “Just get the anchor line ready,” Isherwood was calling out. “We can at least tether the boat to a tree or two, just in case.”

  “Whoa,” Patrick said, as the boat pulled into view of the same beach they had only barely escaped earlier in the day. The sun was now dangerously low in the sky and threatening to disappear behind the trees. The backyards of the camps looked just as they had left them. The water was still unnaturally still, but the zombies that had dived in after them, they quietly hoped, must be long gone. One end of the little pirogue that they had ferried an unconscious Isherwood in was just peaking above the waterline. This gave them a reference point as to the depth of the water.

  “Whoa,” Justin echoed Patrick. They were amazed to see that the whole area was empty of zombies. The whole swarm must have migrated southward following the boat.

  Isherwood was nodding approvingly, too. “Nothing on the land and I don’t see any little fingertips reaching up out of the water.”

  “Yeah, let’s just test that sentiment.” Patrick said. He was reaching over the side of the boat with one of the rifles and tapping the surface of the water with the stock.

  “Don’t you think the boat’s engines would’ve set them off if they were there?” Justin asked.

  “Oh.” Patrick nodded dejectedly. “Right.” But even as he said it, the hands and heads started rising from the water.

  Justin’s eyes grew wide. “Weird. It was the paddle, not the engine.”

  The girls drew back in fear. They had been sitting along the side of the boat and now edged up closer to the captain’s seat. Micha raised his rifle, as though preparing to fire.

  “Whoa, dude. Hold up on that.” Patrick said, gently lowering the barrel of the young man’s rifle. “Don’t want to draw in any more, right?” Micha nodded distractedly in response.

  Isherwood was at the bow of the ship, holding what was left of the anchor line. He studied the submerged zombies for a moment. “Looks like it’s only a few. Probably the ones too stuck in the mud for the current to pull away.”

  As he said it, Padre killed the engines and let the boat coast into the increasingly shallow waters at the back of the line of houses. They could now just make out the line of vehicles parked on the road beyond.

  “Wow. This could’ve been a lot worse.” Patrick said looking at the zombies that had gathered around their vehicles.

  “There’s only – I don’t know – maybe twenty?” Justin agreed. “There’s almost that many of us.”

  *****

  Isherwood jumped off the front of the boat and charged up the bank, splashing through the shallows. He didn’t seem too concerned about encountering zombies. His boots rose above the water level. He turned and began pulling on the anchor line as soon as he got a decent grip on the dry ground. His efforts turned out to be mostly futile. The boat was just too large from him to have much if any effect. He quickly realized this and began running the line to the closest, biggest tree. The trees weren’t very thick this close to the shore, but there were three cypress trees growing not far apart. He ran around the copse of trees with the anchor line twice, ducking when he recrossed the line.

  Padre and Justin began tossing the bags onto the shore, while Patrick helped Micha carry Missy to shore. The girls tried jumping over the last couple feet of water and nearly lost their balance, but Eli was there to steady them. He, too, was wearing high rubber boots.

  By the time they were all ashore, Isherwood was beyond the houses and had capped the firs
t zombie. The crowd behind him was beginning to draw the notice of the zombies surrounding their vehicles. They barely noticed Isherwood stalking up and into their midst. This may have been due, in part, to the layers of zombie filth that Isherwood was still covered in. He had neglected to wash himself off during the boat ride. After catching a glimpse of what was in the water, though, he wasn’t about to dangle his arm into it.

  A trickle of zombies were soon headed to the disembarking party. Isherwood was at the rear of it. He was soundlessly mowing down the zombies at the back of the line, like Gary Cooper in Sergeant York. There were only two zombies left, a lady in what was left of a pant suit and man with a mullet, by the time Isherwood had rejoined the group. Isherwood’s blade relieved the dead man of his unfortunate hairstyle before putting his body to rest.

  As Isherwood was sheathing his sword – both were now back in place across his back – he noticed the remains of the first zombie he had killed with the sword in this yard. He had sliced through its skull perfectly after Marshall’s expression of fear had alerted Isherwood to its presence. Marshall had then found the keys to the boat in the man’s pockets.

  “Padre,” Isherwood whispered. “You got the boat keys?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, nodding to a pocket on his cassock. “Why?”

  “Let’s put them back in here.” Isherwood said pointing. “That’s where Marshall first found them.”

  Isherwood looked back at Padre. Padre held his gaze and nodded.

  “Come on, y’all.” Justin grunted, holding a couple bags. “You expect me to do all this shepherding myself?”

  They were all climbing the small hill leading up to the vehicles. Zombies were beginning to appear down the road. The sound of moans was growing louder from the direction of the bridge.

  “Ah, come on! Really?” Patrick was calling out, neglecting to whisper.

  A couple of the others shushed him. Isherwood and the rest of the original crew, though, quickly saw what Patrick was complaining about. Old Blue was gone. There was the troop transport still in the center of the formation with Isherwood’s Jeep and Justin’s Escalade parked on either side and the Humvee behind. But Old Blue, which always sat at the head of the line, was gone.

  “Uncle Jerry is gonna be pissed.” Isherwood was chuckling to himself. “But I’d much rather lose a truck than another person.”

  “Old Blue basically was a person, you jerk.” Justin was struggling to deal with the moment. “Can’t we have a moment to mourn him? For pity’s sake!”

  “We may yet see Old Blue again.” Padre said as he opened the back doors to the troop transport. He held one hand poised over his sidearm. “He’s probably just on a recruiting trip.”

  Padre looked inside the dark transport. The sun was now beneath the trees, and the light was quickly fading. The girl was still strapped onto the ironing board. As he climbed into the truck, he noticed that the food and water hadn’t even been touched. The girl looked funny, though – not like she was sleeping. His eyes were slow to adjust as he stared at the girl’s face. He shivered suddenly, as his eyes finished adjusting. She was staring at him.

  Padre took the girl’s arm. It was limp as though she was sleeping. He strapped the girl’s arm back to her side. He reapplied the gag, as well as a cross of holy water on her forehead.

  Moments later, the girls, Micha, Missy, and Glenn were all loaded into the back of the transport. Padre gave them all strict instructions not to unstrap the girl “no matter what happens.” Isherwood decided to bring Eli, instead of Micha, along with him in his Jeep.

  “But wait,” Patrick said. “Who’s gonna drive the transport now that Marshall’s – uh, I mean –” He let his words trail off awkwardly. Between Padre, Justin, Patrick, and Isherwood, none of them really knew how to drive a truck that big.

  “I’ll do it.” Glenn said. He suddenly seemed stronger. Maybe it was the food finally taking effect, or maybe it was again being needed. Before anybody could object, Glenn had climbed back out of the transport by himself. “Micha ride with me in the cab.” He said, and that was the end of it. They quickly dispersed back to their vehicles as the next wave of zombies was suddenly upon them.

  All the engines miraculously cranked back to life. Isherwood’s jeep took the new lead spot in the convoy. All they could see now were clear roads ahead.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: LIVONIA

  “This is Isherwood. Anyone there? Over.” Click-shhh.

  After a long pause, the radio static chirped to life. “Ah, hey. Yeah. This is Le’Mark. I’ll go get her.” Click-shhh.

  “Oh hey, buddy. Good to hear you up and about. No problem. Just tell ‘em, we’re on our way to deliver the package. Over.” Click-shhh.

  “The what? The package? Uh, over.” Click-shhh.

  “Sara’s family. We’re incoming and we’ve got the whole LaGrange family with us. Over.” Click-shhh.

  “Oh wow. Okay. I’ll go tell them. They’re all at the Rectory. Over.” Click-shhh.

  Isherwood led them north out of the Sherburne Wildlife Refuge and back east on Highway 190. He decided to avoid the side roads and drive as much on the highway as possible. He just wanted to get home. The strategic part of his mind was worn out. Besides, the sun had now completely gone down. Street lights no longer illuminated the roadway, though in Louisiana, there weren’t many street lights to begin with. It was now very dark along the roadway.

  They had avoided the highway on their way to Whiskey Bay, sticking to the side streets. They had spent so much of their time clearing roadways. The highway was actually much clearer than the side streets had been.

  They were able to drive right in to Livonia. This is where Isherwood, even before the Apocalypse, would turn north to drive into St. Maryville. This is what he intended to do this time, as well. At least it was.

  The headlights of Isherwood’s Jeep suddenly illuminated a familiar sight. Even from a quarter mile or so away, he knew the vehicle’s distinctive shape. He could almost still see the blue beneath all the black spray paint.

  He continued another furlong or so, halving the distance to the truck, and stopped. The convoy formed up behind him. It wasn’t just Old Blue in the roadway.

  “Alright, now I understand why the roads are so clear.” Justin said. He and Patrick had left the Escalade and were standing behind the Jeep with Isherwood and Eli. The rest were staying in their vehicles for now.

  Just beyond the familiar shape of Old Blue, illuminated by the headlamps of all the vehicles was a wall of stacked cars. The vehicles were stacked like bricks in overlapping rows. The wheels and tires had been stripped off and most of the roofs had been collapsed for stacking. There was a gate of sorts blocking a hole in the wall. It was a reinforced eighteen-wheeler that seemed to serve as a portcullis.

  “It looks like it’s still unfinished.” Patrick said pointing to a point on the wall just beyond where the headlights were shining. The wall there shifted from two cars high to three.

  “Maybe the builders went the way of the zombie.” Justin said.

  “I don’t know,” Isherwood was shaking his head. “What about Old Blue? He didn’t drive himself there.”

  “Weirder things have happened.” Patrick joked.

  “Probably what happened – whoever took Old Blue wanted to keep going and couldn’t get past the barricade, so they climbed over or through and continued on foot. Or maybe found another vehicle on the far side.”

  “Hey,” Padre said walking up to join the huddle. They looked to him as though expecting him to say something, but he just stood there silently.

  “What’d’you think, Padre?” Isherwood asked. “What’s the play?”

  Padre looked to each of their faces which were sharply illuminated in the headlights of the troop transport. He seemed to be considered Isherwood’s question. “We’re all tired, right?” He finally answered. “What if we just call over to them? They might’ve just thought the truck was abandoned, like everything else in this world. They migh
t even be potential allies. Heck, y’all might even be related.”

  Justin snorted. “The odds favor it ‘round here.”

  “I think you’re probably right.” Isherwood nodded. “It’s entirely possible the wall has been abandoned or, I should say, overrun. But cover me, alright?”

  “Definitely,” Justin said. He already had his AR at the ready.

  Isherwood didn’t walk too far. He kept behind the driver’s side door of the Jeep. “Hello?” He said. His voice didn’t come out clearly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Anybody here?” He noticed out of the corner of his eye that a zombie or two were beginning to stagger out of the thick brambles beside the road. There was a railroad track that ran just south of and parallel to the highway. The headlights and the engine noise were bound to attract more. He sensed movement on the road behind him and guessed that either Patrick or Justin had gone to dispatch the zombies before their numbers began to grow overwhelming.

  “That’s close enough, buddy.” A not-unfriendly voice called from the wall. “I’m guessin’ you’re sayin’ we stole your truck.”

  “I’m not real upset about that, actually. I just figured you needed it more than we did – or thought it was abandoned.” Isherwood answered. “I’m mostly hoping that you’ll help us get past your wall. And –”

  “You from around here?” The voice interrupted.

  Isherwood paused before answering. He didn’t want to give too much information away to a stranger. “Yeah, not far from here. I was actually just retrieving my in-laws from Whiskey Bay.”

  “Whiskey Bay?” The voice repeated. “You mean, uh – shoot. Hey, Phil. What’s them folks’ name down there?”

  “You mean ol’ Jimmy LaGrange?” A second voice answered.

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s him.” The first voice responded. “They had a mess of ‘em. The LaGranges. No, wait – Jesse LaGrange, not Jimmy. You know ol’ Jesse, buddy?”

  Isherwood nodded, wincing inside at how he’d had to kill what was left of the man earlier that day. “Of course. We’ve got his brother, Glenn, and his family with us right now. I married his daughter.”