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

by Isherwood, E. E.

“I must get home.” Returning home was important. She desired it the most.

  She moved to her own front door, to the left of Marty's. It was unlocked, but was stuck—as usual. She gave it a good shove and it pivoted inward for her. She swung it shut, and looked up her steps. The steep wooden stairway was looming in front of her. The bright lights in the entryway and on the stairwell were hardly registering.

  “I'm coming Mary Beth.”

  She held on to the bannister as she took each step one at a time. She pulled herself with her hands as much as she used her legs. Several times she became so dizzy she nearly let herself go. She giggled again, this time at the irony of surviving a grievous neck wound, only to die falling down some lousy steps. A pause was necessary at the top. She fell to her knees, depositing blood on the floor.

  “I'll clean that up later, don't worry Marty.”

  Angie dragged herself to her door a few feet from the steps. The handle was a convenience to help her regain her feet. It was unlocked. She tumbled through.

  Eying her bedroom, she wobbled in that direction.

  I'll just put myself to bed. I'll feel better in the morning.

  3

  “You sure this worked?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn't it? We saw she was bitten, then she went inside her house. I'd say that's a job well done.”

  “Yeah, though we both know HQ won't like it if we don't get this thing correct. Using infected victims to kill people isn't exactly a tried and true method of assassination.”

  “That's why it's so perfect. We can take care of this list and no one will suspect a thing. That will make the boss very happy, don't you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess. This test scenario did go better than I thought. Shame about the girl though. She wasn't on our list.”

  “Let's not mention that in our report huh? We'll just tell them the package was delivered to Marty Peters. She'll be dead by morning.”

  “Who's next?”

  The man pulled out a smartphone, and scrolled through his text messages.

  “Looks like they want us down south. A couple of high-priority targets. Jerry and Lana Peters. The grandson of the soon-to-be-deceased Ms. Marty Peters. They live down in Jeffco.”

  “Aw hell. The sticks? Let's do that in the morning. We only have a couple more days before the world goes to shit. I want to enjoy some R&R in the city, ya' catch my drift?”

  The van's driver stared out his window at the house across the street. He wondered if Angie would do as she was supposed to. Surely the old woman in the lower level couldn't escape her own sick nurse. It was truly the perfect crime. But he knew the world was ending. His organization was helping it along. All the more reason to enjoy one more night of normal.

  “OK, but you're buying the first round. Tomorrow we hunt some more.”

  Chapter 11: Camp Hope

  Liam was embedded with a gaggle of elderly survivors from the government camp run by the CDC, Homeland Security, or whatever. It didn't matter now because the camp was just a smudge on the landscape after the aerial incineration. His concern was how to get both himself and Grandma home, while doing right by the others who had escaped with them.

  They had walked out from the camp, maybe a mile at most on the road, and everyone seemed beat. Many had taken a seat on the metal guardrail. Grandma was leaning heavily against his side, indicating she was also spent.

  There was nothing hospitable where an unusual group like this could find safety for a night. The highway ran in both directions to their right and left, the camp they'd just left was behind them, and across the roadway was an even larger piece of woodland preserve, though Liam couldn't remember what it was called. He did know it tied in with a large Boy Scout reservation just down the interstate.

  Hmmm. That's an idea.

  The safest call was to hole up inside the fence of the camp from which they'd just emerged. At least they knew there were no zombies inside the fence yet, unless the Chicagoans climbed out prior to the fireworks. However, Liam was worried Hayes and the military men would come back to check the status of the trashed camp, and they'd be recaptured. He wanted to be far away.

  By his estimation, the most sensible course of action then was to cross the highway and get into the woods. Spend the night in the forest resting so they can move again tomorrow.

  But the old folks didn't like the idea of spending time traipsing around in the woods. “We have to find a police station or fire department. They can call us an ambulance or something.”

  Another older woman agreed, adding, “Surely we aren't a threat to anyone. Perhaps someone on the road there will give us some food and water?”

  A third person said, “I ain't goin' into no woods.”

  The conversation was subdued—none of them wanted to follow Liam's path. They were convinced they would find help by going toward “civilization.” Liam didn't know about help, but he knew the chaos would be stronger if they went toward the urban core. Better to lay low out in the sticks. He did worry about finding food and water.

  “Grandma. What do you want to do?” He was speaking quietly so the nearby group wouldn't hear their discussion.

  “I know I sound like a broken record, but I'll do what you tell me to do. I trust you to find us the safest and best way home. You're the one who has to carry me.” She chuckled at that.

  “But maybe it's safer to stick with the group and go back into town?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Besides you, no one has any weapons. No one at all has food or water. I think this group is going to be a burden on anyone they cross. I'd not expect much sympathy, either. None of those people down on the highway look anxious to have more mouths to feed.”

  Liam watched the sad lot moving down the highway. None seemed very healthy. “I want to get you to safety across the highway before we're captured again. I think Hayes will be back.”

  “I'm really tired, Liam. My legs are shaking as we stand here. But I'll try to get across that highway with you.”

  Liam thought one or two would go with him, but there was a kind of groupthink and once they'd convinced themselves help was just a little ways back into town, they were unshakable in their desire to go that way.

  As everyone stood up, one man near the middle of the pack seemed to sway heavily as if he had a head rush. He fell backward—and slammed hard to the tarmac. He was one of the men who shared the ride in the MRAP earlier that same day, though Liam couldn't remember his name.

  He was holding Grandma so he couldn't run over to check on him, but another man bent down to confirm he had passed. A couple of the men made the effort to drag the man off the pavement and into the tall weeds. It was what passed for burial these days.

  Grandma softly prayed for the man as they walked toward the highway. “Goodbye, Ralph. Rest in peace.”

  “Amen.”

  The bulk of the main group was already moving up the side street, heading back to the suburban sprawl. Their fates diverging, Liam was ready to focus on the task at hand.

  As was his custom, he tried to find a gap in the people walking down the highway so he'd have the least chance of interacting with anyone. In the old days he did this out of habit because he didn't like talking to people, but now it could be considered a matter of survival. He had to time things right because Grandma only had one speed: slow.

  A man passed on a bicycle. Rifle slung over his shoulder. He gave one quick glance in their direction; he kept pedaling.

  Suits me fine.

  He made his move after the biker was well away. They emerged from the weedy shoulder area and began moving across the first two lanes of traffic. There were people far to the left, but even with Grandma inching along, they'd clear the road before they made contact.

  This area had very few cars, and was mercifully clear of dead bodies. They stumbled into the middle, which was a grassy depression between both directions of the interstate. It was lined with a strong cable to prevent vehicles from crossing between the lanes. The wire was
about three feet high.

  “Grandma, can you step over this?” He asked the question, but was positive she would find it hard to step over a shoebox given her condition.

  He had an inspiration. “Here, let me step over first, and I'll lift you over with me. When I pick you up, try to put your feet behind you, like you're praying.”

  He was able to hold her while he stepped across, then he turned around and bear-hugged his 104-year-old companion, gently lifting her over at the same time. She cooperated as best she could, and together they crossed the barrier.

  “Liam, I'm very dizzy.”

  He looked both ways. People were getting closer. He considered carrying her, but knew that was dangerous for a lot of reasons. “Let's just get over there and then we can rest. One more set of lanes.”

  He didn't wait for her. He held her as she walked next to him, and he tried to provide as much support as possible. Even so, they ran into a few dirty travelers walking by, though again when they saw the young boy and old woman they made no effort to bother them.

  Liam's paranoia was telling him the reason they weren't interested was because they carried nothing of value—except for his gun, which was hidden from view. If they were carrying a bucket of chicken the entire highway would no doubt be his friend.

  Or my worst enemy.

  They found their way into the weeds on the far side of the highway and Grandma practically collapsed. Liam felt they needed to be further into the woods, so no one could see them from the road.

  “I've got to sit down, Liam.”

  He geared up for something he would have never considered doing a week ago, no matter how much he wanted to. He was going to tell her no.

  “Keep moving. Our lives depend on it.”

  “I can't. I just can't.”

  “You can. You have to.”

  They made it a dozen yards when Grandma slumped over in his arms. He had to stop and turn to her as she fell over like a fainting damsel. He kept her on her feet, and began dragging her as he walked backward. Her oversized orthopedic shoes were secure to her feet, so they provided good cushion while he pulled her over the rough ground. They were at the threshold of the woods and there was no stopping.

  In the previous world, the sight of anyone dragging a body would be enough to require a call to the police. Today, if anyone happened to notice them, it favored no extra attention. People ignored him and went on their way.

  Liam finally had her far enough into the woods where the highway was no longer visible. He was running out of energy, too. His poor diet and bad sleep habits the last few days were grinding him down.

  “Here you go, Grandma. I'm so sorry I had to drag you like that.”

  He set her up against a stout oak tree.

  She was out cold. She was also suffering from the poor food being served in the Zombie Apocalypse. He didn't have a crumb to give her.

  He sat down next to her, intending to keep silent vigil.

  2

  Marty woke in a dream. She was a veteran of these vivid episodes.

  She looked around but didn't see her husband. He was a mainstay on all her previous dreams—or nightmares depending on which ones she was thinking about.

  Maybe I'm not dreaming.

  She was in the woods where Liam had dragged her. In fact, Liam was still at her feet. Asleep against the tree. He was translucent, like a ghost. She looked at her own hands and arms, but couldn't see through herself. She was real. Or he was.

  “Liam. Are you awake?” She reached down to shake him, but he wasn't just transparent, he was hollow, like a projection. “OK Al, where are you?”

  Again she raised her arms. Instead of the thin and wrinkled skin she was used to seeing, her arms were a little more full. A little more...young. Not teenager young, but she had been in her body for 104 years and knew its wear marks. Perhaps a spritely 90.

  Her body wasn't tired, and she felt fine in this place. She started walking the little ways back to the highway. It was the same mess it had been when they crossed it. Cars. Bodies. Junk. No one was visibly walking in the night air, though the moon was helping illuminate the scene.

  There was a campfire, with several men and women—all translucent like Liam—sitting around it. She felt compelled to go check it out.

  They were some of the well-worn travelers she had seen passing this way earlier in the day. She couldn't hear what they were saying, and she was quickly distracted by a young girl walking from the other side of the group. She was the only person who noticed her walking up to the fire; she was also the only one solid like her.

  “I saw you come out of the trees. Are you my guardian angel? Momma says we have angels looking out for us, even in the bad times.”

  The girl was saying the word “angel” in a funny way. She said ahn-gyel, as if the word was foreign to her. She cringed at the condition of the poor thing; she appeared to have been having rotten luck. It's enough to be traveling at the collapse of mankind, but the girl had a bald head and a sallow look. Cancer? Something serious to be sure.

  “No, dear. I'm no one's guardian angel. I'm just an old woman out for a walk. Who are you?”

  “I'm Clara. I've been walking all day looking for my mom and grampa. Do you know where they are?”

  “No, I don't. I'm sorry. How old are you, Clara?”

  “I'm this many.” She held out her hand with four fingers. “But I'm almost this many!” Again, the fingers came up, five on display this go-round.

  “That is very nice, Miss Clara.” Marty knelt down in front of the child, an act impossible to do at her age.

  Dreaming or really sleepwalking this time?

  “Can you tell me, what are you doing out of bed?”

  The little girl appeared to think about it. “I get up sometimes when I'm asleep. My mommy made me go to sleep and I saw her and grampa in my dream. Grampa was OK. I was OK. But then the bad man came in and pushed me down. I had to go away. Why did he do that? Where's my mommy now?”

  The tone of her questions made her appear every bit as scared and weak as she probably felt. Her sickness only added to her misfortune. Marty couldn't make herself ask the child what disease had made her sick. She didn't want to make her feel bad. She figured they would both be disappointed when they got back to their bodies after being in this place.

  “Oh Al, why did you show me this poor girl?”

  “Who are you talking to, lady? Can I talk to them, too? Are you talking to Grampa Bart?”

  She held her pose, expecting Al would make himself known. When nothing happened she let out a soft sigh. “I sometimes have a friend—”

  “Grandpa Bart? Is your mom by chance named Janey?”

  “My mommy's name is...mommy. I think Grampa calls her Janey. Do you know where to find my grampa? He said he was going bye bye.”

  She had her answer. It had to be the same man. Marty last saw Bart laying on the floor in the back of the MRAP. He'd been asking for his granddaughter Janey the whole miserable trip. Now this little girl was looking for her too, as well as Grandpa Bart. Liam told her about Bart's fate as they escaped the camp, but she wasn't about to tell this sweet little girl her beloved grandpa was gone forever. But she was troubled by the need to lie to her.

  “I'm not exactly sure where your grampa is right now, my child. Do you know where your mommy is? Maybe she can help you?”

  “My mommy comes to my dreams too. And Grampa Bart. We play together. Grampa is so silly. But where are they? I'm scared.” She was talking quietly while using her right hand to pull at her right ear. It was a nervous affectation.

  “Come, my dear. Sit with me a while. We'll—”

  As she stood there talking, her little friend winked out of existence.

  “—be just fine.”

  Marty didn't wake with a scream. She simply opened her eyes and was sitting on the ground against the tree. Most uncomfortable. Liam was next to her, just as he'd been in her dream.

  Her mind was swirling with questions abo
ut what she just witnessed. But there were no answers to be found in the dark and buggy forest that night.

  3

  They woke early on the morning of the eighth day since the sirens. The late June air was already heavy in this wooded area, and heating up. With nothing to eat or drink, they were immediately prepared for the continuation of their journey.

  “We need food and water.” Marty was standing against the tree, looking marginally more stable than she did last night.

  “Can you walk if I hold you?”

  “I guess we have to try. Don't want to die in this forest.”

  Ain't that the truth.

  But where should they go? Liam knew this area to a degree because of his time in Boy Scouts. Beaumont Scout Reservation was over the hill and in the valley beyond. He'd been there many times growing up, as his dad was a Boy Scout leader and had insisted Liam participate. It gave him an opportunity to do things “in the real world” as Dad would say. Tie knots. Fish. Camp. Survive.

  “If we can make it over this hill, I think I know where we can find clean water. The Boy Scout camp has an artesian well that should still be pumping out water. After that we can work on finding some food.”

  The only tools Liam had to work with were his pistol and his pocketknife. He used the knife to fashion a crude wooden cane for Grandma. He would hold her on one side, and she could use the cane on the other. That way they might be able to minimize the strain on her leg muscles while they went over the hill. He briefly toyed with the idea of making a stretcher to pull her behind him, but he knew it would take him a long time to fashion anything of that scale. Better to get as far into the woods as possible while she could still perambulate.

  The woods were rough on Grandma. Many times Liam asked her to sit down on a rock or log, and she never rejected him. He knew he was pushing her hard going this way, but they had no better options.

  To keep her mind off her struggles, Liam tried to keep her talking. He laughed at the irony after all the years of avoiding speaking to her. She recalled many things Liam classified as minutia from her life, but she also recounted her experience from the previous night.