Revelations - 02

by T. W. Brown

  “What’s that say?” Kevin pointed to a green sign on her side of the road.

  “West Main Street, two miles,” Heather said.

  They rounded an easy dog-leg and could see the off-ramp that would take them to West Main Street. A long, arched overpass would take them up to a vantage point where Kevin could get a better look around. Light was seeping across the landscape, darkening shadows in some places, but illuminating their surroundings at the same time.

  “We need to hurry,” Kevin said as he floored the SUV’s accelerator. At the top of the overpass he came to a stop. “Now!” he turned to Heather and nodded.

  Hitting a button, she rolled down the window and climbed halfway out. Aiming the orange pistol skyward, she fired. There was still enough gloom for the flare to create a very visible blue-white ball of phosphorescent light. The brilliant glowing beacon slowly began to drift west with the morning breeze as it floated towards the ground. Heather ducked back inside.

  Kevin was looking around, getting his bearings. Straight ahead was a huge cloverleaf intersection (well, a three-leafed clover anyways). But the overpass he was on was as far as he could go on this road. The sign above told him he was on Highway 79. The problem was the bridge immediately ahead, prior to the distant cloverleaf. Or…more accurately, the lack of a bridge.

  “We’ll use the on-ramp there and double back down onto Main,” Kevin said.

  Looking east, he could see a city skyline in the distance. It wasn’t terribly impressive, but it was still a city. His mind flashed back to Pittsburgh. His idea to swing through there as a tribute to George A. Romero had been poorly planned and executed even worse. This time, he was rolling into a much smaller city. But he also had a plan. As if on cue, he caught movement in the rearview mirror.

  “There they are,” Kevin announced, and slipped the Suburban back into drive.

  “So you think they saw us?” Heather asked, craning her neck to try and get a look.

  “Pretty sure!” Kevin instinctively flung his right arm across, grabbing Heather’s shoulder as he slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel to the right. “Big, white Suburban sitting all alone atop an empty, elevated overpass as the sun rises, catching every piece of chrome on this beast and turning it into a giant reflector? Yeah, they saw us.”

  “That’s why you pulled up there and waited?”

  “We need them to follow us.”

  “Do you have any idea how we’re gonna get out of here?” Heather was surprised at how empty the streets were. Everywhere she looked, she saw bodies, many of them had bloated and burst long ago. There was garbage; lots and lots of garbage. But as far as zombies…she didn’t see—

  “Oh my gosh!” Heather breathed. Up ahead was a sign: Main Street Bridge. Dangling from every single light-post was at least two, often more, zombies. Somebody had taken the time to string them up. Littering the ground were several headless bodies, as well as bodyless heads. That meant that eventually, the strain was too great and the head probably popped off like she’d done to countless dandilions as a little girl growing up.

  Across the bridge they drove, Kevin whispering something about being grateful for small miracles. The Suburban bounced and shook as it drove over the multitude of heads and bodies. “Why?” Heather asked.

  “Probably wanted to keep one way open into town from this side,” Kevin answered.

  Heather frowned, puzzled. “No, why would somebody hang up all these zombies?”

  “Oh,” Kevin’s voice was shaky as they were both jounced about, “I don’t have even a tiny guess.” He glanced up in the rearview mirror as they reached the far side. The city center of downtown Newark was about six blocks ahead. Only, it was as if somebody rang a dinner bell for the city’s undead because they were coming out from everywhere.

  “Grab the bag and be ready,” Kevin said. “And hang on, because this is gonna be hairy. Ready?”

  “Okay,” Heather agreed after reaching over and pulling the huge equipment bag into her lap.

  Kevin floored it as he saw a caravan of vehicles pull up to a stop on the overpass they’d vacated a few moments ago. As they roared along West Main Street, a large building loomed in the distance. It looked like a courthouse or something surrounded by a huge park. A huge statue of some sort was a black silhouette as the sun continued to rise higher, just cresting the roof of the building.

  As they roared through an intersection marked by the signs above the useless stoplights as, “W. Main St” and “S 4th St” Kevin yelled, “Hold on!” The SUV powerslid left. Immediately outside Heather’s window was some sort of emergency clinic. Parked up on the curb was a large, military transport truck.

  Empty.

  “Did they already beat us here?” Heather turned to Kevin, a look of fear on her face, “Are the bad guys already here?”

  “That truck is empty,” Kevin answered. “Hang on!” Skidding around the corner, they turned right on Church Street and slammed on the brakes in front of a huge department store. Next to it sat an office building.

  “Out!” Kevin ordered.

  Heather saw a few zombies stumbling towards them. She had to trust Kevin. If not now, then never. He obviously knew something…had an idea. Well, she’d followed him this far…

  “C’mon!” Kevin climbed out peeling off his flannel shirt and tying it to the steering wheel. As she closed her door, a loud explosion sounded from someplace near. She shrieked, causing most of the nearby zombies to focus solely on her.

  “Down that alley is where we’re heading,” Kevin said. He drew his knife and cut a strip from the T-shirt he still wore.

  Heather looked down the dark, cluttered alley. There were too many places for zombies to hide—and worse were those partial ones that dragged themselves along the ground.

  “Are you sure you want to go down that way?” Heather looked around. More zombies were climbing out from the fronts of buildings up and down the street.

  Kevin was at the rear of the Suburban. He’d climbed under it! She heard some scraping and scratching from under the vehicle. “Kevin?”

  “Yeah?” His hand jutted out from under the idling vehicle, patting the ground. She nudged the sledge hammer close, wondering when he’d grabbed it, and what exactly he was doing with it.

  “You need to hurry, those things are getting close,” Heather warned.

  “Uh-huh, I can smell ‘em,” Kevin said. A solid tap sounded. Once. Twice. Kevin scrambled out, handing Heather the sledge. “Stow it in the carry bag and hand me the flare pistol case.”

  Heather did so, watching intently between Kevin scurrying quickly back to the still-open driver side door, and the closing distance of the growing horde of zombies. The Suburban began to roll forward, slowly at first, but picking up speed as it headed down the street. The smell of gasoline snuck past the stench of the undead, and a dark trail of liquid followed the big SUV up the zombie-infested street.

  “What did you do?” Heather asked as Kevin dusted himself off.

  “I punched a hole in the gas tank, then wedged in a strip of my shirt. There’s still gas leaking, but the shirt is soaked and dragging on the ground,” Kevin explained as he pulled a flare from the box, then handed the box to Heather.

  “Where on earth did you come up with an idea like this?”

  “Wile E. Coyote.”

  The vehicle was almost two blocks away when Kevin ignited the flare. He dropped it next to the stretch of gasoline, then grabbed the big bag from Heather, pushing her towards the alley.

  “No guns,” he said as they waded into the darkness.

  He tried every door as they moved along. A few zombies had already turned in, and were stumbling in a slow pursuit. Something stirred in a pile of garbage as the two hurried past, but they didn’t wait to see if it was a zombie or simply rats. At the end of the alley they reached a solid, brown metal door. Kevin tugged it, not surprised to find it locked.

  “Where are we gonna go?” Heather turned and gasped, nearly t
wo dozen of those things were closing in on them.

  “Step back,” Kevin warned and unslung the shotgun.

  “I thought you said no guns.”

  “Right about now, it’s okay,” Kevin chuckled.

  A loud ‘whump’ sounded from out on the street. Several of the zombies paused, turning towards the new sound. An explosion came and Kevin fired. The sound of metal clattering to the ground quickly followed. Kevin yanked open the door, bracing for the possibility of a zombie stumbling out.

  Nothing.

  “A break…finally,” Kevin sighed and moved inside. “Great.”

  “What?” Heather came in on his heels.

  “Mannequins.” he shoved a pair of the plastic constructs over with a hollow clatter. “Figures…it has to be mannequins.”

  They entered the darkened room, made worse by having just been out in the morning sunlight. Kevin pulled the blasted door shut, looked for a way to secure it, and quickly gave up on the idea. He took the lead, moving toward a slightly open door awash with the glow of daybreak. They came out into what looked like a dress shop.

  “Whoa.” Heather paused, running her hand over a short, black strapless.

  “C’mon,” Kevin urged.

  “Just looking,” Heather grumped, dropping the hem and continuing through the quiet, empty store. “Figures,” she added after seeing the tag in a beam of sunlight.

  “What figures?” Kevin reached the glass door that served as the entrance and looked out onto the street. The glow to the right indicated where the Suburban continued to burn.

  “Stupid dress was a size two.”

  “So?” Kevin tried the door. It opened out!

  “Nothing.” Heather looked out at the zombie-filled street. “How the hell are we gonna get out of here?”

  “Don’t you see?” Kevin pointed.

  “All the zombies?” Heather shrugged.

  “They’re moving away from the fire!” Kevin pointed again. A crash from the back caused them both to turn.

  “They better hurry because we got company.” Heather instinctively slid the shotgun off her shoulder.

  “No shooting,” Kevin warned. He went to the door they’d come through and pulled it shut, “Besides, we’re moving.”

  “But they’re still out there,” Heather insisted.

  “Yep, and some have come up the alley, we’ll have ‘em goin’ so many directions.”

  “What about the guys who were chasing us?” Heather asked, grabbing Kevin’s arm before he could open the door.

  “Part of the plan,” Kevin said. “The zombies will be goin’ every direction. No doubt the explosion brought some more from the surrounding area. There is a building across the street, a bank, and if we can get in and up to the second floor, we can building hop to the restaurant beside it. Both look untouched. We stay low, and wait this out.”

  “But the bad guys?” Heather insisted.

  “They’ll be way too busy.”

  “I hope to God you’re right.”

  Kevin opened the door. A zombie staggering past the entry turned and got Kevin’s knife in its eye. They ran across the street, Kevin clearing the path, shoving any nearby walking corpse aside as he went. Along the way he scooped up two large pieces of broken brick. He flung one at the window of the bank. A loud crash turned heads. Spinning, just before he climbed through the open, gaping hole, he threw the other back at the dress shop’s display window.

  Over the groans of the dead and the roar from the wreckage of the flaming SUV a block away, a new sound carried. Vehicles and gunfire. Perfect, Kevin thought as he led Heather into the bank. He followed his hunch and hurried to a door to their right. Naturally it was locked. There was another door across the lobby.

  “You go to that one, we shoot on three!” Kevin ordered. “And hurry, Shaw’s men are close.” Heather did as she was told, glancing nervously as the first zombie stumbled through the broken window. “One. Two. Three!”

  They both fired. Sure enough, Kevin’s door revealed a hallway, and a flight of stairs. By the time Heather crossed back, four more zombies tumbled in.

  “They’re on us,” Heather cried.

  “Perfect,” Kevin huffed as he led them up the stairs.

  They reached the upstairs hallway and discovered several office doors. One by one, Kevin began to kick them in. Fortunately, the frames were flimsy and the doors were weak. Heather joined in helping.

  “Get ‘em all!” Kevin yelled over the sound of a nearby explosion.

  That done, he glanced in each one until he saw what he was looking for: a ceiling hatch. A solid hit with the butt of his shotgun as he stood on the desk did the trick. Reaching up, he pushed the large bag through the hole, poking it the rest of the way with his shotgun. Next, he pulled himself up into the crawlspace, then reached down and pulled Heather up.

  “Now what?” Heather whispered.

  “Find our way to the roof,” Kevin answered. “You go that way, I’ll go this way. Make a hissing sound or something if you find something.”

  “How am I supposed to see?”

  “I realize it’s dark,” Kevin said, “but you can feel around, plus there’s enough ambient light to see somewhat.”

  They started to move apart when the sound of gunfire right outside made Heather grab Kevin. She didn’t seem inclined to let go.

  “Okay,” Kevin flipped the hatch shut. “Change of plans. Just follow me.”

  Heather didn’t ask any questions as shotgun blasts mixed with automatic weapons fired down below. The two reached a corner, and Kevin moved to put his back against the wall. He pulled Heather in close, her back nestled against his chest. He kept his arms wrapped around her and they sat…listening to the chaos.

  The sounds of shouts, gunfire, screams, and the steady undercurrent of noise from the undead continued. Sometimes it moved away, other times, it seemed directly beneath them. At one point, a huge explosion rocked everything. Kevin could feel the girl break into sobs on occasion, but he couldn’t hear them.

  It continued for hours. Then…slowly…gradually…it faded. There was silence. It began to grow darker. Kevin went to move and realized that the girl in his arms had fallen asleep at some point. Oh well, he thought as he settled back into place, we can stay put until tomorrow. Eventually, he drifted off as well.

  18

  Breaking Point

  “No,” Dr. Zahn insisted,“I haven’t heard even a slight whisper or rumor.”

  “None of the outposts we were in touch with at Serenity reported any instances of immunity?” I tossed the rock I’d picked up at some point into the stream.

  I’d left Jamie and Barry in charge of dealing with the four new arrivals and ‘escorted’ Dr. Zahn away from the cluster of people and across the field to the picnic area. My head was spinning at this new and unsettling revelation. That was clearly a bite on the man’s arm. And it was healed…mostly.

  “Not once have I seen or heard of anybody bitten by one of those things who didn’t turn within seventy-two hours,” Dr. Zahn repeated for the…was this the fifth time or the sixth?

  “But you would agree that is a bite?”

  “Why would the person lie about being bitten? Most people lie about not being bitten.”

  “That would mean this stuff isn’t a hundred percent communicable.” I slumped down on one of the benchseats at a faded red picnic table. “Jesus…it’s like The Stand.”

  “Excuse me?” Dr. Zahn gave me that puzzled, slightly annoyed look. The annoyed part was simply because I’d used a reference and she didn’t get it. Smart people hate it when you have to explain something to them.

  “A Stephen King book. Best thing he ever wrote,” I started. “It was about a government bio-weapon that gets loose from a facility and kills off almost everybody. But it’s only like ninety-nine percent communicable. Anyways, some folks have a dream about an old black woman, the good guys. The others dream about the man without a face, the bad. The survivors clique up and there’s
a big good versus evil thing at the end.”

  “And good won?” Dr. Zahn raised an eyebrow.

  “Pretty much,” I nodded. “Look, it’s way more than that, but I’m just sayin’ that the zombie bite isn’t a definite…like we thought.”

  Something dark and unpleasant was trying to build in the back of my mind. It was a pressure that I could physically feel.

  “That means we might have to reconsider our policy on people who’ve been bitten,” Dr. Zahn said.

  And with those words, the dam burst. It came in a flood. That girl on the first night at the gas station, the nameless, faceless, men, women, and children I’d seen taken to the tent to be put down back in Serenity, Jack, and that man yesterday …Stephen. The man who, after several hours, showed no symptoms…unlike his two companions. The ones at Serenity I couldn’t really do anything about, but as far as the three individuals I’d killed (Dave didn’t count, the reasons were different as was the guilt)…

  No, I thought, I hadn’t killed those three. I murdered them. And even if I could talk myself down from the girl, from Jack…even if I could distance myself from what I’d witnessed at Serenity…there was the man, Stephen, whom I’d shot. The man was bitten at the same time as his two companions—that I’d also killed while they were still alive—but he showed no symptoms. The girl definitely had, even before they left us, I’d seen her eyes.

  “The eyes!” I blurted.

  “What?” Dr. Zahn jumped. I think she’d been saying something.

  “The eyes,” I repeated. “The way they look all bloodshot, but in black. That’s the key.”

  “How do you know?” Dr. Zahn was asking, but I could tell she was actually listening to me rather than looking for a way to challenge or debunk my hypothesis.