“Are you sure?” Wanda asked, worry gnawing at her insides.
“I’m sure,” Tom said. “The corridor is pretty narrow, so only a few of them can come at the door at once.”
“Good,” she said, folding her arms across her chest with a visible shiver. “That was pretty close.”
“Yeah, we were lucky,” Tom agreed, walking toward the edge of the building.
Wanda followed him, her arms clamped around her waist. At the rim of the roof, she paused with one boot braced against the concrete edge. The sky was clear, and the moon hung far above her head, illuminating the streets below. They were five stories up. That allowed for a clear view of the city stretched out around them, and she let her gaze to pan across the area.
The town was filled to the brim with zombies. They were crammed into every inch, the edges overflowing with stragglers. They moved with single-minded determination, forcing their way through the city center without regard for any obstacles. They swarmed over vehicles, park benches, dumpsters, and each other alike. They didn’t care what stood in their way. The only thing they cared about was moving forward, one laborious step after the other.
Now and then, a ripple of excitement ran through the horde as the infected stumbled upon something living. A cat, dog, rat, or human, it didn’t matter to them. A quick yowl, bark, or a scream, and it was all over. Blood ran red in the alleyways.
The noise swelled above the crowd and washed over her. It tugged at her nerves until she wanted to huddle down and cry. It was almost as bad as the smell, and she quickly tied her bandanna around her mouth.
“Where did they all come from?” Wanda asked, pressing one trembling hand to her lips.
Tom shrugged, a helpless gesture. “I don’t know. They’re coming from the south.”
“Migrating, perhaps?” Wanda asked.
“Maybe. They were pretty scarce during the cold. It could be that they’re returning with the coming of spring.”
Wanda paled. “If that’s the case, we’re doomed. Winter was tough enough without hordes of migrating infected to deal with.”
Tom sighed. “I pity anyone caught in their path.”
“Screw them; I pity us. How do we get down from here?” Wanda asked.
“We don’t. We stay put until they move on,” Tom said, shrugging off his backpack. “Once the streets are empty, we can bail down the fire escape.”
“Whenever that might be,” Wanda said with a shudder.
“Well, we might as well make ourselves comfortable. It’s going to be a long wait,” Tom said, sitting down.
Wanda followed his advice. He was right. They weren’t going anywhere. Not until the horde continued on its way. She chewed on her lower lip as she settled onto her blanket roll. “I’ve never seen so many in one place. Not like this. Do you think we stand a chance, Tom? Does humanity?”
Tom stared at her for several seconds, his shoulders drooping. “I don’t know, Wanda. They outnumber us a hundred to one. Probably more. Unless someone, somewhere can pull off a miracle, this could be the end of humanity.”
Tom’s words sent a cold shiver down her spine, and Wanda pulled her knees up to her chest. They had an ominous ring to them, and for the first time since the apocalypse began, she felt truly helpless.
The end of humanity.
***
Jacksonville, Florida; 11:29 am
Rikke dropped to her haunches with her back pressed to the side of an abandoned car. She dragged a younger girl and boy down beside her and pressed one finger to her lips. Arely nodded, her baseball cap shadowing her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. Though only thirteen, she knew what to do, and kept silent while Rikke peered back the way they’d come. Beside her, Eli was as quiet as a mouse, his darting brown eyes the only sign of his fear.
With a despairing shake of her head, Rikke sank to the ground, “There’s too many of them. They’re everywhere. We can’t keep running.”
“What do we do?” Arely asked.
“I don’t know,” Rikke admitted, her stomach churning. This was her worst nightmare. Arely and Eli were her responsibility. She was in charge of their safety, and despite all the obstacles they’d encountered, she’d managed to keep them alive.
Eli tugged at her shirt before signaling to her in sign language. “I have an idea.”
“What is it?” Rikke signaled back, eager to hear his thoughts. Though still a child at ten years of age, Eli often noticed things she and Arely missed. She surmised his lack of hearing had sharpened his other senses. That, and the fact that he was insanely intelligent, meant he’d often saved their butts in the past.
“We hide in there,” he answered, pointing to an RV further up the road.
Rikke surveyed the vehicle with a thoughtful frown. It was parked next to the pavement, completely intact, and the windows were tinted. “Maybe. What do you think, Arely?”
Arely bobbed her head. “It’s worth a try.”
“Alright. Follow me,” Rikke said, sprinting toward the RV. She kept low to the ground and used every bit of available cover she could find. The kids stuck close to her side, neither making a sound.
She reached the vehicle and tested the door. It swung open with a slight creak, and she peered into the interior with wide eyes. Her knuckles tightened on the handle of her ax, but nothing jumped out to attack her. Still, she needed to make sure it was safe. “Arely, wait here with Eli while I check it out.”
“Okay,” Arely said. Her baseball bat rested against one shoulder, and her mouth was set in a determined line.
Rikke climbed up the steps and walked to the back, every sense on high alert, but she needn’t have worried. The inside was empty, with nobody in sight, either living or dead. The only sign of the previous owners was a glass of water on the counter and a couple of open suitcases on the bed. She guessed whoever it was had left the vehicle to hunt for supplies and never returned. Their loss, our gain.
“It’s clear. Come inside,” Rikke called in a low voice. As Eli and Arely entered the RV, she looked around. “Arely, close the door and all the curtains. We need to secure this place in a hurry.”
Through the back window, she could see the horde moving their way. They were still a fair distance off, but it wouldn’t take long for them to reach the RV. Once they did, Rikke and the kids would be trapped inside. Their only chance lay in remaining hidden. I hope this works.
Rikke turned back to the front and searched the cab for anything useful. A sun visor caught her eye, and she covered the front windshield from undead eyes. The keys were still in the ignition, and she engaged the central locking and parking brake.
Arely had closed the side door and rushed about drawing the curtains shut and dropping blinds. Eli made a beeline for the toilet, not even bothering to signal his intentions. The faint tinkle of liquid caught her ears, and she couldn’t help but grin. Nature could not be ignored even in a crisis.
She squeezed past Arely in the narrow kitchen, knocking over the glass of water by accident. It fell to the floor and shattered. Already in motion, her foot landed on the jagged pieces. The sharp edges cut through the worn soles of her shoes, and she screamed as they pierced her flesh.
Immediately, she cut off her cry of pain and clamped her lips shut. Through tear-filled eyes, she stared at the oncoming horde, praying they hadn’t heard her. After a couple of seconds, she heaved a sigh of relief. The infected kept moving at their usual pace, but her relief was short-lived when she noticed her shoe was soaked with blood. It’s worse than I thought.
“Rikke, are you alright?” Arely asked, her eyes huge in her thin face.
Rikke gritted her teeth together and hobbled toward the nearest seat. She fell onto a leather-clad bench that curled around a breakfast island and clung to the edges. Pain lanced up her leg with the slightest movement, but she strove to look normal.
“Don’t worry about me, Arely. You need to close those last few curtains,” Rikke said, waving her hand toward the windows in the back. “Ma
ke sure they’re shut properly, especially the big one in the back.”
“Okay, but what about your foot?” Arely asked, hesitating.
“My foot can wait. They won’t,” Rikke answered, pointing toward the advancing horde. “Now go.”
Arely rushed off to obey while Rikke lifted up her injured limb with a pained grimace. A big shard of glass stuck out from the bottom and leaked blood in a steady stream. She gripped the edges of the glass with shaky fingers. “Damn it; this is going to hurt.”
She pulled as hard as she could, and the edges grated against her flesh as it pulled free. A gush of blood followed, and she was left feeling dizzy and nauseated. After a couple of seconds, she scraped together the courage to remove her sock and almost passed out. The cut in her foot was deep. A long gash that nearly bisected the tender flesh in the middle. “Dear God, this is bad.”
She rummaged in her backpack until she found a roll of bandages and duct tape. It was all she had, and it would have to do. By rights, she needed stitches and disinfectant, but she had neither.
A hand tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked up into the somber eyes of Eli. He held out a bottle of bleach, and she took it with numb curiosity. “Bleach?”
“For the infection and the smell,” he signaled.
“The smell?” Rikke asked, confused for a moment.
“The zombies. We don’t want them to smell the blood,” he answered with silent intensity.
“Good thinking,” Rikke muttered. Squeezing her eyes shut, she doused the wound with the bleach. The moment the liquid touched her exposed flesh, it kindled a raging fire that burned through her nerve endings until she wanted to scream out in primal agony. But she couldn’t. Instead, she bit down on her jacket as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Within seconds, Arely was there. With efficient care, the girl wound the bandage around Rikke’s foot, following it up with the tape until it was as stiff as a board. Eli mopped up the blood on the floor, tossed the bloody sock and cloth into the washbasin, and doused everything with more bleach until the RV reeked to high heaven.
Less than a minute later, the horde reached the vehicle, and the three fugitives inside fell into a state of frozen fear. The sound and smell of decaying corpses filled the interior until it became all they knew. Their hearts jumped in their chests, and their minds quailed beneath the assault on their senses. An assault that would last for hours.
As the worst of the pain faded away, Rikke opened her arms and gathered the kids close to her. There they stayed, huddled around the tiny breakfast table as thousands of zombies streamed past them. They broke upon the vehicle like a wave on a rock, surging around the sides. The RV rocked back and forth, the suspension creaking beneath the onslaught. Thankfully, the brakes held, and so did the door. As long as they remained hidden, they’d be safe. For the moment, at least.
***
Savannah, Georgia; 10:31 pm
Tamara raced down the sidewalk, her entire being focused on gaining the corner up ahead before the horde spotted her. It was past midnight, and dark clouds obscured the moon. She used the brick wall of a nondescript office block as her guide. The fingertips of her left hand brushed against its rough surface, and she prayed there weren’t any obstacles ahead to trip her up. If she fell, she was done for.
The thick rubber soles of her sneakers muffled the sound of her footsteps. It was the only thing saving her so far: that, and the poor visibility. So far, the zombies hadn’t spotted her because they couldn’t see or hear her. It could change at any moment, though. The smallest mistake: a cough, a stumble, a beam of bright light from the moon above would be enough to doom her.
She reached the corner of the office block and dashed around it only to come to a screeching halt. The clouds above had shifted, revealing a sliver of the moon. It illuminated the street ahead enough for her to make out the barest details. Infected filled the opposite end of the block, a vast body of roving predators. A shapeless mass filled with teeth and claws, searching for a helpless victim to rend limb from limb.
Tamara ducked behind the nearest object, a minibus that had crashed onto the sidewalk and clung to its crumpled body. It was a dangerous position, open and exposed. She had to move, but where?
Her roving gaze fixed onto a narrow alleyway across the street. It appeared to be empty. At least, she hoped it was. Either way, it was her only hope, and she shifted closer until she reached the tail end of the minibus. She could go no further. Not without the cover of darkness. Dropping into a low crouch, she waited.
And waited.
With every second that passed, the zombies drew closer, moving in on her position from two sides. Terror spurted through her veins, but she dared not make a run for it. Not yet.
A chill breeze swirled around her collar, and the clouds above drifted across the bright face of the moon. Immediately, Tamara lunged across the open street, praying she wouldn’t be spotted. She’d almost made it when the light returned, and she jumped the last few steps into the safety of the alleyway. Thank God.
Without waiting, she dashed through the narrow corridor and headed toward the other side. Surely, it would be empty. The horde couldn’t have reached that far. Not yet. Hope filled her breast. Hope that she’d be able to find a hiding spot. An open shop or office. Anything.
Instead, she stumbled to a stop when she spotted more zombies milling around in the street ahead. Their low groans filled her ears, and the smell of their decaying bodies washed across her nostrils.
With a muttered curse, Tamara dropped to her haunches behind a metal dumpster. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs, and her cells cried out for oxygen. Her frantic gaze searched for an escape route, but there was none. Bitter tears burned her eyelids as she realized the truth. She was trapped. Is this how it ends? Caught like a rat in a trap?
Tamara shook her head and muttered below her breath. “No way. Not a chance. I’m not dying today. Not like that.”
She ran her hands across the side of the dumpster and tested the lid. It lifted up easily enough, and she probed the inside with questing fingers. It was filled with plastic bags, but there was enough space for her to crawl inside.
Without wasting another second, she clambered into the metal bin. The smell made her eyes water, and she nearly hurled on the spot when her hand landed in something soft and squishy. An insect crawled across her face, and she slapped at the offending creature with a surprised yelp only to clamp her lips shut with a horrified gasp. Be quiet!
Cushioned by the waste below, Tamara curled her body into a protective ball. She closed the lid, leaving only a tiny gap for fresh air. With her fingers pressed to her lips, she waited.
It didn’t take long for the first infected to stumble into the alleyway. Within minutes, they were bumping and grinding past the dumpster in growing numbers. The bin shook and shuddered, and she clung to the lid with both hands until her muscles cramped.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and fear played tricks on her mind. She longed to burst from her hiding spot and make a run for it. Anything would be better than just lying there doing nothing. They’ll find me. I know they will. I’m a sitting duck.
But, she didn’t move. Didn’t act on the wild impulses that would’ve caused her certain death. Instead, Tamara closed her eyes and thought of happier times. Afternoons filled with sunshine and laughter. Days before the dead rose to plague the living. This will pass. They will pass. All I need to do is wait.
***
Maria Guadalupe Espinoza used to be a beautiful woman before the Vita virus took control of her brain and body. In many ways, she still was if you could ignore the obvious signs of decay. Her high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and smooth brow spoke of a proud heritage, and her waist-length hair rippled down her back like an ebony waterfall. Unfortunately, her golden skin had taken on an ashen hue, and her full lips were drawn back in a predatory grimace.
It was in her hometown Dallas where she first heeded the call of the horde. A large group str
eamed in from the south, driven by the virus. Restless and hungry, she fell into their midst and followed the front runners east until they met up with another, larger horde from Austin. Together, they shifted to the north-east, their trajectory placing them on a collision path with Fort Detrick. Unbeknownst to Maria, another group of infected were moving up from Florida, making their way to the north. Together, they numbered in the tens of thousands with more swelling their ranks each day—an army of the undead.
None of that mattered to Maria. All she cared about was the need to feed. It drove her ever onward in the search for food, and instinct told her it would be more abundant in the warmer climes. She didn’t realize she was being controlled by the virus and its need to make more of her kind. She didn’t know, and if she had known, she wouldn’t have cared.
A rat dashed across her path, bewildered and trapped by a cage of feet and legs. Many hands reached for the rodent, but Maria swiped them aside with an angry snarl. Her fingers closed around the fat, wriggling body, and she lifted it to her lips. Her ravenous teeth bit into its warm flesh and tore off a mouthful. The rat squealed in agony before another infected latched onto its head and ripped it clean off. Within seconds, there was nothing left but a single bloody claw that was quickly trampled into the dust.
Maria’s hands dropped back to her sides, and her brain returned to a fugue state. Barely aware of her surroundings, she continued on her way, bare feet dragging across the tar. She was part of a larger being now—an amorphous beast with thousands of arms and legs motivated by a single purpose: Feed.
Chapter 1 - Alex
Alex raked up the last of the dead leaves into a gigantic pile of red, gold, and brown. All around him, the burgeoning signs of spring showed in the green buds on the trees and the cheerful twitter of birds flying overhead. A warm afternoon sun beamed down on the fertile earth, and the smell of freshly churned dirt filled his nostrils. “That should do it.”
With a sigh of satisfaction, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He’d done enough for the moment, and it was time for a well-earned break. He walked toward the porch and leaned the rake against the railing before sitting down on the top step. His chest ached where he’d been shot, but he ignored it as part of the healing process.
Rise of the Undead (Book 6): Apocalypse Z Page 2
