Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies | Book 3 | Firestorm

by Baker, Scott M.

  “You’re right, but you’re still crazy.”

  “I won’t argue that.” Chris flashed Alissa a flirtatious smile that she ignored. “At least we know we’re safe from being overrun by deaders for a while.”

  “What about those coming from nearby towns?” Nathan asked, his tone no longer aggressive.

  “I hate to admit Chris is right,” said Alissa. “The other towns nearby are small and were already evacuated on our way up here. I doubt we have anything to worry about.”

  “We should probably check out the rest of town to be sure.” When no one responded, Chris added, “Agree?”

  Alissa shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” Nathan thought a moment. “I’ll take the lead.”

  Chris smiled. “Roger that.”

  As Chris and Alissa climbed back into their vehicle, Nathan pulled in front and headed deeper into North Conway.

  Everyone averted their gaze as they passed Memorial Hospital, none of them wanting to remember the nightmare they had endured there.

  The rest of the town seemed the same as the northern portion. Every place that had been used as a refugee camp showed evidence of a massacre. The only deaders still in the area were cripples crawling toward the fire. By the time they reached the southern outskirts and passed the mineral springs, the number of mobile deaders had increased, but not by much, seven or eight of them stumbling north. They approached the two vehicles. Nathan ran over the closest.

  “You were right about the deaders coming in from other towns,” Nathan’s voice came over the radio. “Should we turn back?”

  Alissa picked up the radio. “No need. The back road to the cabin is up ahead. Turn onto West Side Road.”

  Nathan turned when they came to the street and accelerated, with Chris keeping pace, heading back to the cabin, and leaving the deaders far behind.

  * * *

  The moment Dickson pulled into the parking lot of Memorial Hospital it became obvious that someone else had been here before them and left one hell of a mess. Corpses lay scattered around the parking lot in front of the shattered main entrance. The building out front, the one designated as the Orthopedics Center, resembled a war zone. Scores of bodies of the living dead lined the front wall, some with crippling head wounds, others having been run over by a large vehicle. Several of the windows had been broken out. As the convoy cruised by, deaders inside the building tried to crawl out the broken panes or get to them through the glass still in the other windows, churned into a frenzy by the food passing by.

  “This isn’t gonna work.” Carter’s voice came over the radio. “There’s too many of those things in there.”

  Dickson picked up his radio. “I want to check out the ER, first. If it’s overrun, we’ll try somewhere else.”

  As he placed the radio back on the dashboard, Nora pointed to the right. “It’s in back.”

  Dickson turned right and headed for the rear of the building. As he expected, carnage had ravaged this part of the hospital as well. Three ambulances sat askew outside the ER entrance, the rear doors open and dried blood covering the interiors and the ground. As he pulled up to the doors, deaders inside the lobby staggered toward the glass walls, banging against them to get out. No way would he risk going in there.

  Shifting into park, Dickson climbed out of the Hummer, telling the others to stay in the vehicle. As he walked back to the Chevy, Stratman and Carter joined him.

  “What’s up?” asked Stratman.

  “There’s too many deaders in there.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Carter stared at the glass walls. “We should be able to take care of them.”

  Dickson shook his head. “It’s too risky. We’ll find what we need at one of those docs in a box.”

  “We won’t find the good stuff like morphine,” warned Carter.

  “I know, but—”

  What sounded like three rounds of gunfire interrupted the conversation.

  “What the fuck was that?” asked Stratman.

  “Cut the engines,” ordered Dickson.

  Williamson shut down the Chevy. Stratman ran his fingers across his neck, signaling Elaine to do the same, which she did. Dickson yelled to Nora, “Kill the engine.”

  She leaned out the window. “What?”

  “Kill the fucking engine! Now!”

  Nora did. Silence fell over the area. A few seconds later, three more gunshots broke the stillness.

  “Stay here until I get back.” Dickson ran for the Hummer and whipped open the door. “Everyone out.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Joel.

  “Do what I fucking tell you!” He crawled in and switched on the engine as the rest jumped out. “Get out of sight until I get back.”

  A single round fired as Dickson swung the Hummer into a U-turn and headed for the main road. He pulled over against a copse of trees along the driveway, parked, and waited. Only a few minutes elapsed before two vehicles passed by heading south on Route 302. No one spotted him. He waited a few seconds and then inched the Hummer to the edge of the exit, advancing enough so he could keep track of the vehicles and not be spotted. When they disappeared around a bend in the road, he pulled out and followed.

  Dickson slowed at the bend and eased out enough to observe the other vehicles, which were a quarter of a mile ahead of him. He waited until they veered right at the next curve before racing down, slowing when he approached it, and staying concealed until they disappeared again. This cat and mouse routine went on for several miles until the two vehicles reached the southern outskirts of town, crossed over the Saco River, and turned right where Route 302 merged with Route 113 West. Dickson raced down to the intersection and inched out, leaning forward against the windshield to spot them.

  “Fuck.”

  Both vehicles were gone. A cross street sat not far away, which meant the drivers had either turned there or had spotted him and were preparing an ambush. He was willing to take that risk. Dickson rushed forward and pulled into the intersection. The cross street to the left extended straight for hundreds of feet. The road to the right, West Side Drive, was the one they had taken earlier when entering town. There were no vehicles on either one. Shit, they must have continued straight. Dickson chased after them. Because this road wound its way through the countryside, he never caught up with them, assuming they must have turned off one of the many dirt roads or driveways he passed.

  Luck broke Dickson’s way when the road merged again with Route 302. He spotted the two cars a mile to his left rounding a bend in the road and set off in that direction, tracking them the same way he had back in North Conway. However, after several miles he lost them and threw caution to the wind, bringing the Hummer up to almost seventy miles per hour. If he came across them, he’d either turn around or, if confronted, tell them he was on his own and passing through. That never happened. After several minutes, Dickson entered Twin Mountain. He drove through to the opposite side of town without spotting them and pulled over onto the shoulder.

  Dickson took the map off the dashboard and studied it. He last spotted the two vehicles at Hart’s Location where Route 302 made a sharp turn to the north. He assumed they hadn’t traveled this far. If right, that left a twenty-mile stretch of country road they could have turned off, which narrowed his search significantly. If wrong, fuck it, no harm done.

  Throwing the map back onto the dashboard, Dickson swung the Hummer around and headed back to the rest of his group.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alissa smiled as the two vehicles pulled up the driveway to her cabin, happy to finally be home. The recon had been successful, at least as far as gathering information. Only a few deaders remained in the area, so they didn’t have to be concerned about being overrun by a swarm of the living dead. On the downside, they now had to worry about that rampaging forest fire on the other side of the mountain. While it posed no immediate threat, unless the area got some rain soon, it could become a problem in the future. She would worry about that later. Ri
ght now, she wanted a drink and to pet Archer.

  As the four of them parked their vehicles, Miriam rushed out onto the front porch. “I’m so glad you guys are back.”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Not at all. Steve picked up someone on the radio.”

  Alissa and the others ran into cabin. Steve sat at the dining room table listening to a battery-operated radio. He had a notebook in front of him in which he jotted notes. Miriam stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders.

  “What’s up?” asked Nathan.

  “I got bored reading, so I decided to listen through all the channels on the radio. For shits and giggles.” Steve smiled. “When I did, I came across this station.”

  They all listened. Nothing played.

  “I don’t hear anything,” said Alissa.

  “You will. There’s a delay between each broadcast.” As Miriam spoke, the high-pitched screech of the Emergency Alert System alarm sounded. She pointed to the radio. “See.”

  The alarm lasted fifteen seconds and stopped. A moment later, the message began.

  This is Colonel Jonathan West of the Maine National Guard, 521st Troop Command. I have recorded this broadcast and am running it on a continuous loop to let any survivors of this crisis know you are not alone. We have established a secure facility in Maine near Islesboro on Warren Island in Penobscot Bay, geocoordinates 44 degrees, 18 minutes, 30 seconds North and 68 degrees, 54 minutes, 12 seconds West. We have established a defensive perimeter, are well armed, and have sufficient supplies to last several months. We are not a refugee camp. I repeat, we are not a refugee camp. We are a fully functional group that is attempting to build a sustainable base of operations to not only protect ourselves from deaders and bandits, but also to gather enough forces to begin taking back this region. Civilians can contact us at 121.5 MHz and any surviving military units at 243.0 MHz. That frequency is manned around the clock. If you are willing to work together in a safe community to preserve what little we have left, you’re welcome to join us. If you need assistance getting here, we may be able to help. If you’ve established your own community, we would love to contact you and figure out a way we could work as a team. In any case, you’re not alone.

  The broadcast went dead. Thirty seconds later, the EAS alarm interrupted the silence. Steve turned down the volume.

  “I ran across that station a little over an hour ago. There are three more stations carrying the same recorded message, but their signals are weak or garbled, so I’m assuming this is either the strongest signal or the one closest to us.” Steve picked up the notebook and held it out. “I’ve copied the text verbatim.”

  Chris took the notebook, read the transcript, and passed it along to Nathan. “It’s good to know there are other communities out there.”

  Miriam became animated. “Are we going to join up with them?”

  “No.” Alissa, Nathan, and Chris answered simultaneously.

  Miriam appeared crestfallen. “Why not?”

  “We don’t know if they’re legit,” answered Nathan. “Suppose we go there and find out it’s a labor camp?”

  “But the man making the broadcast is a colonel with the National Guard.”

  Steve reached up and squeezed his wife’s hand. “Hon, anyone can claim to be what they want over the radio.”

  “Besides,” added Alissa. “Even if the compound is real, I’ve seen what happens firsthand when the virus spreads. If one person is bit, that entire compound could be turned within an hour. We’re much safer here. We have everything we need.”

  Miriam turned to her husband for support. He shook his head. “I’ve got to agree with them. I’d rather be here than in a camp, no matter how secure it might be.”

  With a sigh, Miriam accepted the inevitable. “Shouldn’t we at least let them know we’re here?”

  “That might not be a bad idea,” agreed Chris.

  Nathan shook his head. “It’s better we keep as low a profile as possible.”

  “I thought as a cop you’d want to let the authorities know where we are.”

  “I don’t want to deal with some gung-ho asshole who thinks he’s in charge and demands the rest of us fall in line, or somebody who wants to rob whoever calls in. Until we know more about this Colonel West and who his group is, our safest bet is keeping a low profile.”

  Chris turned to Alissa. “Do you agree with him?”

  Alissa’s mind kept on going back to Hurricane Katrina and how New Orleans fell apart after the storm passed. She remembered the stories of the local police shirking their responsibility to take care of their own families or, in some cases, joinpng in the looting. Of how the authorities evacuating the city were complete dickheads and forced people to leave their pets behind, something she never would have done to Archer. Of the nightmare stories about what happened in the Hippodrome, the “safe haven” set up by the authorities for those displaced from their homes. The one image that always stood out, maybe because Paul harped on it all the time, was that the only people in the area who were truly safe were those who banded together to protect one another. She thought they were right then and felt the same way now.

  “I do. We have a good arrangement here and I don’t want to screw it up.” Alissa cut off Chris when he tried to protest. “I think we should check them out to see if they’re legit in case we need them in the future but, right now, the fewer people who know about us the better off we are.”

  “How will we check them out?” asked Kiera. “Are we going to send someone there?”

  “No need to.” Alissa directed her next question at Steve. “Do you know how to work a ham radio?”

  “I haven’t used one in ages, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”

  “Paul has one stored in the closet. Break it out, set it up, and start listening in and see what you can pick up on local chatter.”

  “Can do. I assume you want me only to listen in and report back to you.”

  “Exactly. Don’t reach out to anyone under any circumstances.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Steve gave her a mock salute.

  Alissa felt uncomfortable. She didn’t like being in charge, but better her than someone else.

  Without saying a word, Miriam turned and headed outside to the deck, closing the door hard behind her.

  “Did we say something wrong?” Nathan asked in all seriousness.

  “PMS,” answered Chris.

  Steve snickered.

  “Screw all of you.” Alissa left the table and followed Miriam outside.

  Miriam stood by the railing, her elbows resting on top, crying. Alissa approached slowly so as not to startle her.

  “Is everything okay?” Alissa mentally kicked herself. If things were okay, Miriam wouldn’t be crying.

  Miriam wiped the back of her hand under her nose. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so emotional.”

  “That’s fine.” Alissa placed a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to talk?”

  Miriam sniffed. “I agree with you and the others. We need to keep a low profile. I just liked the thought of my kids growing up with other kids. Little Stevie has no one his own age to play with and Kiera’s becoming a Tomboy.”

  “For what it’s worth, she’s a huge help to us.”

  “Thanks.” Miriam forced a smile. “I know that. I always thought that, when Kiera turned fourteen, I’d be preparing her for her first date, not for a search and destroy mission against deaders.”

  “At least you know Kiera won’t let the deaders give her a hickey.”

  Miriam stared at Alissa, unable to believe what she had heard. Then, as the absurdity of what Alissa said struck her, she chuckled. Alissa joined in. After a few seconds, both women were laughing so loud the men were staring at them through the windows.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I still don’t understand why we’re out here,” said Nora.

  Dickson resisted the urge to slap her. Nora was good in bed, but slow in the head. Truth be told, she didn’t do
very well at the former. It frustrated the fuck out of him that he already had gone over all this with them.

  After giving up the search yesterday for the other vehicles, he had returned to the hospital, picked up the team, and found a service station to rest for the night. Then he explained to them that the people they had encountered were most likely encamped along that twenty-mile stretch of road and they needed to find out where. Last night they understood, or at least claimed to. How fucking difficult was it to comprehend? Parked out in the open at the David Path Trail parking lot was not the time to question what they were doing.

  “I told you already. We’re trying to figure out where that other group is holing up so we can take over their place.”

  “I get that,” replied Nora. “What I’m saying is, there can’t be that many side roads leading into the mountains. Why don’t we check them all out until we find these people?”

  “That would draw attention to us and make them suspicious.”

  “Big deal. We find them, take them out, and take over their camp.”

  Dickson rubbed the bridge of his nose. The bitch gave him a headache.

  Carter took over. “Easier said than done. They were driving new vehicles and one of them, probably all four of them, had semi-automatic weapons.”

  “So do we,” protested Nora. “And there’s eight of us versus four of them.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? We can’t go barging in. We have no idea where they are, how many there are, what they have in the way of weapons. Plus, they have the advantage of being on the defense. If we try it your way, the chances are fifty-fifty we’ll get our asses handed to us. Do you understand now?”

  “Yes.” Nora spat the word with as much venom as embarrassment.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” asked Rebecca.

  Dickson picked up the briefing. “Anything that narrows down where they are. Smoke from a fire, people walking along hiking trails, barking dogs, anything that indicates people. Once we find them, Carter and I will check them out and we can go from there.”