Alissa waited for a deader to take her down.
Yelling caught her attention. The noise came from the northern span. Seven State troopers stood beneath the green-painted truss. Three brandished their sidearms while the other four held pump-action shotguns. The female trooper on the end called out, “Let them get closer and make every shot count.”
The female trooper raised her shotgun, aiming it at Alissa.
Alissa kept running but raised her hands above her head and frantically waved. “Don’t shoot. I’m not infected.”
“Then get out of the fucking way.”
Alissa swerved right, running along the outer barrier.
The horde closed to within thirty feet of the police line when the troopers opened fire. More than a dozen deaders dropped, were shredded by shotgun shells, or propelled backward into the other deaders. The volley caused nowhere near enough damage to stop the charge. The troopers never broke rank. Maybe they figured the onslaught would disperse them, which might have been true if those things were human. Maybe they were too stunned to think clearly. Not that it mattered, for the deaders swarmed over them like a tidal wave. The ones in front brought down six of the troopers and tore into them, the screams of the dying drowned out by the frenzy of the living dead. Only the female trooper giving the orders survived, having realized the fate that would befall her team a second before it happened. She broke into a run, a few yards behind Alissa. Being the only two living things in sight, the rest of the deaders closed in on them.
Two State troopers stood in center of the bridge, one holding a detonator and the other, a tall Latino, holding a megaphone. Alissa rapidly closed the distance despite the burning in her chest and lungs. The Latino trooper started yelling, “Haul ass! Haul ass! Haul ass!”
Alissa harnessed every ounce of strength and surged forward. When she reached the Latino trooper, he stepped in front of her and blocked her path. Unable to stop, she tried to swerve around him, but he sidestepped her and reached out for her arm, nearly yanking it out of its socket.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m trying to get off the bridge.”
“I can’t allow that.” The Latino trooper withdrew his sidearm from its holster. “You’re infected.”
“It’s okay,” panted the female trooper as she approached. “She’s with—”
Two muffled explosions went off on the bridge a hundred feet to the south. They had intended to destroy the southern supports to one span of the upper level, dropping that end onto the lower level, creating a roadblock below and a gap above that would prevent anyone getting into or out of Boston. This would also make it easier to repair the bridge once the outbreak had been brought under control. However, intent does not always translate into practice. Whether through fear or being rushed, the engineers who had planted the explosives used too much, in the process weakening the supports that suspended the lower level. When the southern end up the upper span dropped onto the one below, the combination of the weakened structure and the weight of the upper span caused the lower one to collapse as well. Both spans, each one hundred feet in length, broke free and plummeted into the Mystic River, bouncing off the concrete support column before splashing into the water. The deaders continued their frenzied dash, flowing off the southern span like a waterfall of dead flesh, freefalling into the river. Alissa heard the splashing of the bodies as they slammed into the water.
Alissa started walking north. She made it only a few feet when the Latino trooper raised his firearm again. “Stop or I’ll be forced to shoot.”
“Cut the shit, Rodriguez.” The female trooper approached him. “You can see she’s not one of them.”
Rodriguez spun the firearm and aimed it at the female trooper. “How do I know you’re not infected.”
The female trooper stiffened and her demeanor went from annoyed to furious. “You put that fucking gun away or I will—”
The span they stood on, adjacent to the one that had collapsed, vibrated, followed by the cracking of cement and the straining of steel. Alissa dashed for safety. Rodriguez chased after her. The southern end of the span dropped, slamming into the deck below. The female trooper cried out as she rolled down the length of the collapsed span and plummeted into the river, joining the flow of deaders still racing lemming-like to their doom. Alissa had crossed over to the next span. Rodriguez had not and, when it collapsed, he fell. He had forethought enough to reach out and grab the northern end, preventing himself from sliding to his death. Alissa rushed over to the edge and fell prone, staring over the side at the river two hundred and fifty feet below. She extended her arm.
“Take my hand. I’ll help you up.”
“Don’t let me die.”
“I’ll try.”
The other two troopers came up beside her. One dropped prone and reached over the edge to help his friend as the second lifted Alissa off the cement and gently nudged her away, joining the other trooper in trying to save their friend. Alissa had withdrawn thirty feet when a sharp, metallic groan cut through the silence. A moment later, the second section collapsed, taking the three State Troopers with it. It pancaked onto the span along the lower level and dislodged it. Both plunged into the river.
Alissa responded with the only logical course of action available. She spun around and ran north as fast as possible before the rest of the bridge came apart. It suffered no further structural collapse, not that it mattered to Alissa, who did not stop until she had reached the on ramp from Chelsea to the upper span. Slipping off her backpack and placing it on the ground, she leaned against the cement guardrail and slid into a seating position. Leaning her head back against the cement, she closed her eyes and concentrated on catching her breath, which took several minutes.
Her gaze focused on the portion of the bridge that had collapsed. Slowly it dawned on Alissa. She was the last one out of Boston, at least via this route. After what she witnessed, she hoped none of the deaders made it out otherwise no one would be able to put an end to this. Her mind wandered to the thousands of people trapped inside and the….
No! she chastised herself. Don’t dwell on them. You’re not safe yet.
Alissa still had to make her way home, a trip of about twelve miles. The worst part, she had no idea what the situation was outside of Boston. For all she knew, the deaders could have escaped the city from other directions and were spreading across the state. Normally she would consider herself paranoid for thinking that way but, after today, she would rather be overly cautious than dead. With luck, she might be able to hitch a ride part of the way home. In any case, she would never make it back to Nahant unless she got her ass in gear.
Alissa stood. The pain on her left side caused her to wince. At least it didn’t affect her breathing, which indicated no internal damage. For the first time in hours she also noticed the throbbing in her right hand where the pinky had been dislocated. Unfortunately, she had lost the bag with the medicines, bandages, and blood samples; she sure could use those pain killers now. And she really needed a jacket. Her clothes were soaked with sweat from all the running and, now that the sun had begun to set, the weather grew colder. She would be freezing by the time she made it home, although a bad cold would be a small price to pay for being alive.
It suddenly dawned on Alissa that she stood by the on ramp from Chelsea. She peered around the guardrail, crouching and being careful not to be spotted. Three police cruisers sat at the entrance, blocking the path. The six officers wore riot gear and carried pump-action shotguns. On the other side of the street sat an Army National Guard two-and-a-half-ton truck. Civilians filled half the back deck while two guardsmen stood ten feet away, each brandishing an automatic weapon. Though hard to determine from this distance, none of those detained seemed like looters. They ranged in ages from young kids to the elderly. A few of them she recognized by their clothing when they were ahead of her on the bridge before the deader attack. The police examined everyone for wounds. When a person passed inspect
ion, they were allowed through the checkpoint and ushered over to the truck where troops helped them on board. Alissa assumed they were under detention after escaping from the city and would most likely be taken to a center until the crisis blew over. She remembered the news reports from New Orleans after Katrina and had worked with a nurse who went down there with FEMA to assist those who had survived the hurricane. The stories she brought back were horrifying. No fucking way would she let herself be taken to one of those hell holes.
As Alissa watched, one of the younger cops checking out a man in his early to mid-thirties suddenly stepped away and reached for his sidearm.
“Jesus Christ, he’s infected.” The officer’s excited tone spooked the others, especially the civilians, worsening the situation.
“I’m fine.” The man raised his hands. Palms open, to chest level.
“You’ve been bit.” The scared officer raised his weapon and aimed it at the man’s chest.
A woman and young girl about eight years old were next in line, presumably his family. The girl cried and hugged her mother, burying her face against her mother’s waist. The woman pleaded, “Please don’t shoot him.”
An older police officer with greying hair stepped up beside the younger one, positioning himself in front of the latter but not in the line of fire. “Calm down, Bill. What’s going on?”
“He’s been bit.” The young officer pointed with his weapon. “He’s going to turn.”
The older officer faced the man. He kept his manner calm and reassuring. “Is that true, sir?”
“Yes, but it didn’t break the skin.” The man pulled his collar aside, revealing teeth marks. “See. It’s not even bleeding.”
By now everyone else bordered on panic. The police and military had their weapons drawn and ready, most aimed at the man, several drawing down on the other civilians waiting at the checkpoint or in the back of the truck. The older officer attempted to diffuse the situation.
“Everybody, calm down.” He stepped over to the infected man. “Can I see the wound, please?”
“I f-feel fine.”
“I understand, but I still need to assess it.”
The man looked over to his wife. She nodded. He leaned forward, allowing the older officer to examine it. Indentations from the teeth were noticeable but most had not punctured skin. However, the two incisors had broken through, small trickles of blood oozing from the wounds.
The young officer aimed his weapon. “See. I told you he’s infected.”
“Holster that weapon now or I’ll relief you of your duties.”
As the young officer unwillingly obeyed, the older officer directed his attention back to the man. “How do you get that?”
“On of those… rioters… things… attacked my family while we were trying to get out of the city.”
“Were any of your family bitten?”
The man shook his head. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I have to isolate you.”
“No!” yelled his wife.
The officer held up his hand, warning her to be quiet, and kept his eyes on the man. “It’s merely a safety precaution. If you are infected, we can’t risk having you infect others.”
“What about my family?”
“You’ll all go the same center, just you’ll be kept in confinement until we’re certain you’re safe. Your family can check on you whenever they want. Is that acceptable?”
The man relaxed a bit. “It is.”
“Good. I’m going to take you to the squad car to keep you isolated. Okay?”
The man went with the officer.
“Daddy!”
The little girl broke free from her mother and rushed toward her father. He went for his daughter, trying to tell her everything would be okay. The sudden movement panicked the younger officer who fired three rounds, all of which struck the man in the chest. His daughter stopped and shrieked at the sight of her father dead on the ground. Most of the civilians screamed, terrified that they would be next, a fear not alleviated by the police and military training their weapons on them.
“God damn it,” yelled the older officer. “Everybody, stand down. John, take Bill’s weapon away from him.”
Alissa ducked behind the retaining wall, stifling her own fears that threatened to overwhelm her. She could understand things falling apart in Boston where the outbreak occurred, but not out this far. During her career she had met enough police and military personnel to know that these people did not panic easily. That meant the situation had to be much worse than even she imagined. That also meant that no one was safe anywhere near the city. She needed to get home as quickly as possible.
Chapter Fifteen
Alissa walked for less than a mile, still on the elevated highway, when she came upon two vehicles pulled off to the side in the breakdown lane—a Hertz van which had rear ended a VW Pissat. The accident did not seem bad enough for anyone to be hurt. They most likely were abandoned when the evacuation occurred. Making her way over to the Pissat, she checked the front and back seats. Nothing but a baby’s car seat and a stuffed zebra in back, some McDonald’s wrappers and bags in front, and a bottle of water in the cupholder. Finding the driver’s side unlocked, she pulled it open, popped the trunk, and closed the door. Various items packed the trunk. Rummaging through it, Alissa found nothing of use. A case of Cherry Coke. A few used paperback novels, mostly trashy romances. Containers of oil, anti-freeze, and windshield wash. Yes! She found a sweatshirt with a hood buried at the bottom. She yanked it out. It bore the alligator head and blue and orange logo for the Florida Gators. Even more important, the sweatshirt fit. Now she wouldn’t freeze on the walk home.
As Alissa slid it over her head and pulled it down around her waist, lights approached from the north. A State Police squad car cruised the highway, its high beams on and its blue lights flashing. Maybe she could arrange a ride home. Then she spotted a second set of headlights behind the squad car belonging to an Army National Guard two-and-a-half-ton truck. Shit. Rather than helping those who escaped, the bastards were rounding them up.
Closing the trunk, Alissa took the backpack and circled around to the right of the Pissat, lying face down between the car and the guardrail. She contemplated pulling the Glock from her waistband in case she needed it but decided otherwise. She would never be able to outgun two Staties and God knows how many guardsmen. Instead, she lay low and prayed they would not find her.
The squad car pulled to a stop adjacent to the Pissat.
“Is anyone there?”
A few seconds of silence.
“I said, is anyone there?”
A different, accented voice said, “I told ya there was nothing.”
“I saw the light go on in the car.”
“Ya saw a reflection. Come on. Let’s finish this run and get back to the station.”
The passenger door to the squad car opened. From her view underneath the Pissat, she saw two feet step onto the cement.
“Where are ya going?”
“I want to make sure no one’s hiding in the car.”
“For Christ’s sake, will ya get back in—”
“All available units. Proceed immediately to I-93 North in Somerville.”
“What’s going on?” asked the accented voice.
“The infected broke through our barricades and are attacking Sullivan Square. The units there are about to be overrun.”
“On our way.” Then, to the trooper standing outside the squad car, “Ya heard the lady. Come on.”
The trooper climbed back in as the driver switched on the lights and siren. Both vehicles sped away, heading south toward Somerville. Alissa waited until she could no longer see their taillights before getting up. She needed to get back home before the entire metro area fell apart.
Alissa’s first chance to get off the highway undetected came when the elevated portion merged with the ground near Chelsea High School. She climbed over the guardrail, made her way down the embankment, a
nd continued to the intersection where she stopped to get her bearings. She stood on Source Street. That name sounded familiar. It took a few seconds but she remembered. Waze had taken her this way once when the police closed the Revere Beach Parkway due a traffic jam. If she turned right one block onto Everett Avenue and followed that a few blocks to Broadway, she could take that road right into Revere. From there, it was only a short jaunt home.
She walked for five miles through residential neighborhoods, shocked at how little activity she saw. Only a handful of people were out and about despite the early evening hour. She came across three families hurriedly packing their belongings and pets into their vehicles, obviously preparing to evacuate. Most of the homes she passed had lights on; through the living room windows she noticed TVs tuned to the local or cable news, which did not surprise her. Whenever a disaster or tragedy occurred, more people tuned in to find out the details, especially when so close to home. She wondered if the media reported all the facts, or if they were even being told what was really happening.
Alissa found a similar situation when she reached the Revere Beach Parkway. A dozen vehicles traveled the road, usually one of the busiest in the area. Businesses remained open, although few cars filled the parking lots. Only a handful of people were at the local restaurants and Planet Fitness. It felt more like midnight than dinner time. Only Home Depot had a packed lot and a booming business.
When she finally reached Revere Beach, Alissa felt the first sense of relief she had all day. A few miles across the sound sat Nahant, the island where she lived. From this distance it appeared normal. Lights shone in windows and the island seemed peaceful. A far cry from what she had experienced. It presented a sharp contrast to the beach itself. Normally vibrant and filled with pedestrians, even in winter, tonight not a soul strolled the sidewalk and not a single car parked or cruised the road. She sat on the seawall and pulled the hood over her head to deflect the cold blowing in from the ocean. Removing one of the bottles of water from her backpack, she unscrewed the top and took a long swig, then listened to the soothing sound of the waves lapping against the shore.
Nurse Alissa (Book 1): Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies Page 8