Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Siren Songs

by Isherwood, E. E.

  Liam took Phil down into their cramped basement. The biggest room contained a small television set and a few chairs on a red shaggy carpet. It looked like it had been designed in the 1970's and hadn't been updated since. There was a small room off one side which Liam explained had the HVAC equipment for the house. And he told him there was another room hidden from view. Phil was unable to locate it by just looking around.

  The entire back wall was decorated with vertical wood paneling. But there was one section of paneling that broke away from the rest when Liam adjusted a small shelf on the slab. It allowed the section to fall forward so he could set it to the side. It revealed a normal-sized doorway leading into a small twelve-foot by twelve-foot room. It wasn't a secret room per se, but Liam's dad had apparently removed the door and put the wood paneling over the entire wall to hide what was behind it. Someone would have to be very observant to realize the footprint of the basement didn't match that of the upstairs. Liam's father had explained it would help hide the room from casual thieves, which at the time was his main concern. He wondered what his dad would say about looters?

  Phil pulled a flashlight off his utility belt, then stepped inside and whistled in amazement. It was part-food store, part-sporting goods store, and part-armory.

  “I love your dad's flag collection.”

  The first thing inside the door was a tie-down holding several flag poles with flags attached. Liam recognized most of the flags because Dad loved to fly them when the weather was nice—American flags, the POW-MIA flag, and a variety of other colorful flags. He also saw some historical flags he suspected were affiliated with one political movement or another, though his Dad never flew those as far as he could recall. One had a snake, another had a polar bear, and a third had what looked like a porcupine.

  Beyond the flags, the most attention-grabbing things were the guns.

  “Wow, you know under Federal guidelines your dad would probably be classified as a domestic terrorist. I know a lot of people who wouldn't appreciate all that ammo your dad owns.” He was pointing to shelves and shelves of ammo. “Me personally, I never understood politicians' fetish with controlling ammo. If you practice shooting you know you can go through thousands of rounds of ammo in a busy afternoon of training. Your dad's ammo supply would no doubt give those type of people conniption fits. All those guns sitting over there would cause them to fill their drawers.” He gave out a hearty laugh, “Me? I'm just jealous.”

  Liam knew his dad had been stockpiling food, but he'd no idea he had also been stockpiling guns and ammo. His dad had always had guns, and shooting was practically the only activity they could all do as a family, but even Liam was surprised at the numbers of guns he was looking at now. He recognized a dozen or so AK-47's, a couple AR-15s, and maybe five or six tactical shotguns of various makes. There were other rifles and handguns he couldn't identify.

  It reminded him of a thought he had earlier that same day.

  Did my dad know this collapse was coming?

  His first instinct said he was being insane. His dad was prone to go on tirades against the government, especially the two-party political system—he often joked it was really a single party with two faces. But he never even hinted he would ever take up arms against the government or was otherwise involved in anything related to survivalism or...rebellion. Was that what this stash represented? Conspiracies and secrets were the stuff of fiction. Though how many other parents had secret rooms stuffed with guns? Liam recalled one book he read about a man who defends his neighborhood somewhere in Chicago. His brother lived with him and had an arsenal just like this one. At the time he thought that book was a flight of fancy—but it turned out it was frighteningly realistic. Looking at all the guns put a lot of things in proper context in many books...

  “Well, that settles it. We have to defend this house. This cache is too valuable to surrender to looters. Your dad was a genius to hide it like he did.” He reoriented on Liam as he spoke. “Liam I'd like to stick around with you and help you and your family defend this. I can't imagine anyway safer right now, and I feel my fate lies with you after what happened this morning on the bridge.”

  Liam didn't have to think about it. They all agreed on the need to work together. The guns and ammo nearby were going to be keys to everyone's survival. Liam knew his father would like Phil.

  The molecules are starting to gather.

  They sealed up the room again, making sure it was tightly shut and they placed a chair in front of the wall so it all looked completely mundane before they went back up the steps.

  The only thing that didn't make sense, if his dad did know the collapse was coming, is why his he sent him to live with Grandma. If he knew how bad things were going to get, why didn't he have her come to live at his house?

  As his dad was fond of saying, “You'll need a tinfoil hat to solve that mystery.”

  5

  Marty, Phil and Liam had some near-stale bread, a few bags of potato chips, and other consumables from the pantry. Everything had been emptied out of the freezer and refrigerator. Probably because the power had been out for so long. Mom and Dad must have done that before they left.

  It was near dusk when a loud banging noise came from the front door.

  Phil pulled out his service pistol and Liam did the same. Liam whispered he was going to look out the peephole in the door, but Phil advised against it.

  “No! If they're bad guys they might shoot you through the door. You need to go to the front window and look out from behind the drapes. Do it slowly so they don't notice you.”

  Liam was able to move to the front window by crawling along the floor. A shadow passed in front of the window for a few moments, as if the person who had rung the bell was now looking inside the house.

  “Hey, Jerry! You in there?”

  Liam recognized it as his neighbor across the street.

  “You still want to look out the front. Study the scene. Make sure he's alone.”

  Liam did as instructed. He was slow to pull back the curtain, and spent several moments watching the big man standing on his front porch. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

  Phil seemed satisfied, though he didn't put his gun away. He merely held it at his side, slightly behind his leg so it wouldn't be seen by anyone walking through the front door. “Tell him you've unlocked the door and that he should walk through slowly and then shut it behind him.”

  Liam did as instructed, and the neighbor did the same. Soon he was standing in Liam's foyer with a bunch of questions.

  “Hello, Mr. Poole, sorry for the trouble, but we aren't sure what's going on around here. We didn't want to take any chances someone was forcing you to knock on our door.”

  “Hmmm, well I guess I can understand. The world has gone sour, that's for sure. But where's your dad? Who's this guy?” He was pointing to Phil.

  “This is Phil. He helped us get out of St. Louis—Grandma and I.” He had the good sense to not mention Phil was a police officer from the area's least favorite town. Maybe Mr. Poole wouldn't even know about Arnold.

  “Got out, did ya? Me and Virginia tried to get out, too. We'd been staying at our son's house up in Oakville and decided to try to return here. I don't know why we didn't just stay with him. Ginny and I were stuck at that hellish blockade on the interstate. We hit traffic, stopped, our car got blocked in, and that was that. Lots of people were out and sitting in the grass or in the shade of the nearby trees, but we needed to stay comfortable so we sat in our car, even though the jam was never going to move again. We had nowhere else to go you see. I guess we were there for maybe twelve hours. Ran out of gas to run the air conditioner just a few hours in. More and more people kept showing up, each new person had tales of those zombies that were taking over the city up 'n St. Louis. Soon there were so many people at that roadblock, and so many of them were panicked from the dead folks walking behind them, they started shooting at the police on the other end of the highway bridge. So much shooting. Then the zombie
s showed up. Not a lot mind you, not at first, but everyone with a gun was shooting at them—and none of them with a whiff of sense about how to properly shoot firearms.”

  He paused for a moment, as if steeling himself.

  “Anyway, one of those idiots put a round into my car and it struck Ginny in the back of the head. Poor girl died on the spot. Once that happened I just got out and started walking around. I guess I was hoping I'd catch a bullet too. It was so loud. So many guns. Some facing the zombies. Many facing the police. I don't even remember how long that went on. Hours maybe. As luck would have it, I couldn't get myself shot. I did however see a zombie with his face attached to the neck of a dead woman about the age of Ginny. It was horrible; it was chewing through her neck… Let me tell you, that woke me up. I found a gun that had been dropped by someone—dead perhaps—and was more determined to get myself offed. I couldn't figure out how to turn the rifle on myself so I did the next best thing. I began walking toward the roadblock.”

  Mr. Poole pointed to a chair in the front room. “Mind if I sit down?”

  They all moved into the front room and sat where they could. Grandma had been sitting in the kitchen, listening, but as they settled in Liam helped her sit down with them.

  “As I was saying, I had that rifle in my hands—not even sure if it had any ammo—and I began walking over the bridge. I had to weave around many of the cars parked on the first half, but the police had ensured no one could drive past some concrete barriers they'd placed smack in the middle of that thing. I just helped myself across those barriers and began walking across the empty side of the bridge—pointing my gun in the direction of the police. I hoped it was only a matter of time before they cut me down.”

  “Ha! Those bastards tried. They shot around me. In front of me. Maybe they intended to miss. But soon there were other men next to me. Others with equal desperation. First just a few, but then dozens. They'd been sitting amongst those first cars, probably waiting for a sign to try to cross the bridge and get up close and personal with the people on the roadblock. I was the idiot who got the whole thing rolling.” He gave a hearty but tired-sounding laugh at the thought. “I don't think those police really wanted to shoot us. I'm so large and long in the tooth, I didn't even make it to the roadblock itself before everything was over. Some of the police fought and died there. Most jumped in cars and fled. Some surrendered—but that didn't turn out well.”

  Poole took a deep breath.

  “I've spent the rest of today walking home on the interstate. I've been asking myself whether I wanted to live the whole time. I thought I could just walk into a ditch, lay down, and wait to die. Some people were already doing that, especially people my age. It was so depressing. They looked so pathetic. In the end I understood Ginny wouldn't want me to die that way. I struggled down the highway, and just when I thought I was going to die anyway of exhaustion, I was getting water from a bucket dropped from an overpass. That helped me get through the last miles to make it home. I wanted to talk to your dad to see how he was faring. He always struck me as a guy with a plan.”

  Yes, he struck me that way too.

  “I guess you all should know the refugees are just outside the subdivision now. They're spreading out on every side road they can find. Some followed me in. Probably trying to find shelter for the night. I'd expect they'll be thick on our street before nightfall.”

  “After spending the whole day with them, I might let a few stay with me tonight. I really don't think I should be alone.”

  Liam didn't know what to say. Losing his wife must have been traumatic, but Liam couldn't think of any scenario where he'd invite random people to stay in his house overnight.

  Does that make me a bad person?

  After a few minutes of small talk, Mr. Poole stepped back out the front door to head home. He refused an offer from Phil to stay with them. Liam was glad, but felt guilty for the feeling. He looked down the street in the direction of the main road, disappointed to see the first refugees were entering the subdivision and had already begun knocking on doors.

  Liam watched Mr. Poole walk away and found himself intensely disliking the man. He knew he was being unfair. Poole himself said he was leading a procession of refugees—and now they were walking up this street. Liam felt he deserved a break after reaching his own home.

  It's just not fair.

  Chapter 5: Melissa

  The sun was getting ready to tuck in for the night, but Liam's group was busy. Grandma had been able to catch a nap, as had Victoria. Liam felt like a zombie; he hadn't gotten any quality sleep since he was inside the Arch. There was no time now. Refugees had been trickling up the street for a couple hours, but the flow had become steady as dusk approached.

  They were going to hunker down in the house and ride out the wave of refugees. The main dilemma was whether to interact with them or lay low and only get involved if the situation called for it. Mr. Poole had said he wanted to be with them directly, so they knew the house across the street would have refugees inside.

  “It would be dangerous to invite people into the house, even people we knew were harmless. Once it's known we are a safe harbor for these people, it will never let up until we are overrun.”

  Liam wasn't about to argue with Phil and his years of experience dealing with the public, but he had a hard time wrapping his arms around the notion they couldn't help anyone. After all, they'd seen Mark help people up on the bridge a few hours earlier. “Can't we help a few of them like Mark up on that bridge? It seems un-neighborly to ignore them.”

  “The difference is that Mark was helping them so they'd continue down the highway. Because there weren't many options for the crowd, it worked out well for Mark. He said he was doing it for all the right reasons, and I respect his efforts, but the net effect is that he pushed a few more people into this neighborhood rather than his own. Now these folks are at the end of the line for the day. They've been out in the open and running. They've finally reached relative peace and quiet. There is no way to encourage them to keep moving. Amongst all those sheep you see, there are wolves. Those wolves burned Arnold to the ground. Those wolves are hungry. I'd bet my pension they are out there. We have to be ready to meet them.”

  Victoria was probably the least likely to want to interact with dangerous people, after her close call with two of them back in the Arch, but even she seemed unwilling to completely turn her back on the families and kids now walking up their street. “Can't we help a few of them—maybe out on the grass so they don't have to come inside—so we can show the rest of the refugees that we're good people? It seems like that would be better than constantly slamming our door on them.”

  And that was the crux of the problem. It all came down to appearances. Should the group present a house that appeared antagonistic to the desperate people walking by or should they show a softer side, appearing friendly to them. Phil was unwilling to interact with the refugees at all. Liam and Victoria indicated they wanted to at least acknowledge them so as to be seen as friendly.

  That left Grandma. “Phil, I trust your judgment. I really do. But I've been among those people for several days. If I was walking—or being dragged—up this street after a long journey on a dangerous highway, I think even I would be angry at any house that purposely ignored our plight. Won't you reconsider? I really think we should be unanimous in whatever we do here tonight.”

  Phil looked outside for a long moment. Weighing the options.

  “You guys aren't going to let me say no on this, are you? Look, I hear what you're saying. I wasn't out among those people so I'm probably not the best person to judge them. However, I'm a safety guy. Can we agree on helping them without allowing them to come inside the house? Once they're inside, we may never be able to get them out again.”

  “So what do you guys want to do?” Phil asked.

  Liam wasn't ashamed to say it; Mark from the bridge had rubbed off on him. “Why don't we provide a safe patch of grass and some clean water for th
em? Surely we can spare water to help them out? Mom and Dad filled our bathtubs with water before they left. They were really thinking ahead—and planning for a long outage.”

  Everything came together quickly once they had the framework sketched out. They were unified in their plan of trying to help the refugees out in the front yard—outside the house—by providing water and a place to lay down. Phil suggested they make it clear they would also provide security for those folks to further reinforce the notion Liam's group was “the good guys.” They all agreed the plan made the most sense given the circumstances.

  “I think even my dad would like this plan.”

  The final piece depended on finding the right kind of refugees. It reminded Liam of his own selection process days ago where he scanned the crowd at the Arch to find the least intimidating people so he could get Grandma under a shade tree. He selected a tree with a couple families and one harmless looking sleeping woman on the ground. That young woman turned out to be Victoria.

  I chose pretty well.

  He was beginning to believe reading all those zombie books had given him an edge in decision making under the stresses of the Zombie Apocalypse.

  2

  It wasn't quite dark, but the shadows were long on the street and it was getting hard to see the characters walking their way. They decided they had to make a decision soon or they'd have trouble determining good from bad.

  “Right there! Those folks walking with those kids.” Liam pointed to a group of about twenty moving together.

  Phil looked out the front window, then he and Liam walked out the front door and across the grass of the front yard. Liam noticed refugees were sitting in many yards already. They were staying close to the street, as if unwilling to impose on the owners while simultaneously staking out the patch of ground they needed to survive the night. Liam's front yard had no trees, so it was one of the only yards not occupied. They were about to change that.

  Phil did the talking. He stayed in the yard so as to give them some space from the people in the street. “Excuse me. Would you folks like a place to rest for the night? We have a safe yard here.”