Forget the Alamo: A Zombie Novella

by R. J. Spears

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t think either one of us want me shot while I face you.” He turned away from me. “And I know it doesn’t matter, but I don’t want it in the head, so aim for the back of my neck. That should keep me from coming back. Okay?”

  A thousand miles and years away is where I wanted to be. Away from zombies, away from people, away from everything. In just a few short days, I had gone from a relatively safe job to holding a shotgun to two men’s back in one night, having to decide whether I would kill them or not. Sure some would say it was a mercy killing. Some would say it was the humane thing to do, but not one of those sons of bitches was here now.

  My grandma used to say, “If if’s and buts were candy and nuts, it’d be Christmas all the time.” My grandpa was a little more cynical and just said, “Grab your ass and be happy.”

  Life isn’t always easy and waiting wasn’t going to make it any easier. I drew up the shotgun and pulled the trigger in one fluid movement.

  Despite the overwhelming roar of the flames coming our way, the blast still seemed like someone had planted dynamite charges in my ears. Gentry pitched forward onto his face and was still. The shotgun felt like it weighed a thousand pounds and I let it fall to my side, wisps of smoke wafting off the barrel mixing with the smoke already swirling around me.

  For a few seconds, I looked off into the flames roiling in the distance. The flames looked alive, leaping into the sky like angry tentacles lashing the darkness, burning it away in an epic battle of light versus dark. For now, the flames were winning. Big time. But in the end, darkness always wins.

  The sound of a horn from inside the building broke me away from my thoughts. I hefted the shotgun and jogged around the building and inside.

  Joni opened the door for me when I stepped beside the bus. I looked up at her soot stained face and saw a fighter. I had trouble holding the look, my mind swirling in fatigue.

  A voice deep down was whispering that I should stay and wait for the flames. That I didn’t deserve to go on with these people. Call it guilt. Call it the lack of a will to live, but my feet didn’t want to make that step up into the bus. Something tugged at my insides on a physical and emotional level pulling me down into a hopeless pit of darkness.

  Joni searched my face, jumped up from her seat, and came down to me. As gently as a mother tending to a child, she reached out a hand and cupped my cheek, pulling my eyes up to hers.

  “Grant, you’ve done enough tonight,” she said. “Let us take you the rest of the way. Okay?”

  I nodded as she dropped her hand from my face and took my hand in hers, guiding me up the stairs and onto the bus. I collapsed into my seat, closing my eyes.

  Someone whispered, “I think he’s crying.”

  I was too bone tired to cry.

  I heard the sounds of feet shuffling up the aisle towards me.

  “You did a man’s job tonight.” It was Mack. He squeezed my shoulder.

  “Thanks for everything you did for us,” Sammy said.

  “May God bless you, Mr. Grant,” Rosalita said and kissed my cheek.

  The engine revved a little and the clunk of the transmission going from park to reverse stopped the procession of people in the aisle.

  “Everybody take a seat, I’m backing us out of here,” Joni said. The people hustled back to their seats and she backed us out.

  A horrible scraping, metal-against-metal sound screamed from the roof as the corrugated metal tore into the bus. It sounded like a robot being tortured with a giant pair of angry pliers.

  Joni worked the bus against the resistance, giving it more gas, but the building held on tenaciously, not wanting to let go of us. She played with the bus, moving it into drive then reverse several times, trying to free the bus. This went on for several minutes before someone screamed at the back of the bus.

  “There’s a zombie back there,” a voice shouted.

  “Fu--,” Joni started, but looked back to her kids. “Screw it,” she said as punched the gas. The bus jerked backward and more than a few people emitted startled yelps. The terrible metal tearing sound started again, increased in volume, then ended with a resounding shriek. When I finally opened my eyes and looked up I could see the night sky through a gaping, ugly tear in the roof. A few people gasped. When I looked forward, I saw the opening of the building looking like an uneven gaping black maw, slowly closing down as the building collapsed. A zombie lay flattened on the ground from our quick departure.

  “Sorry about that folks,” Joni said. “It looks like you’ll be riding in a convertible tonight.” She winked at me and the darkness in me lifted a little.

  There was no Gentry to guide Joni out, but Sammy knew enough about the south side of town to help us avoid large tangles of abandoned and wrecked cars. Along the way, we saw small groups of zombies, but the sightings were sporadic. If they were anywhere near the road, Joni swerved to take them out to the cheers of more than a few people on the bus.

  She was just about to take out a small group when Mack shouted, “Wait! Those are live ones.”

  Joni slammed on the brakes and cut the wheel hard. The world tilted and everyone’s equilibrium went wonky. The tires screeched on the pavement and the bus started an uncontrolled sideways slide. The “live ones” in the road were coming up fast. The father stood with his arms spread wide in a protective gesture as if that could actually stop ten tons of metal. We do what we can even if it is mostly futile.

  At the last possible moment, Joni jerked the wheel back to the left and the bus miraculously corrected out of the slide as we glided past the group of “live ones.” Disaster averted, Joni brought the bus to a quick stop, then backed up to beside the family. They huddled together in the street, the father still standing in front of them, the mother hugging the two kids close. Joni put the transmission in park, leapt from her seat, opened the bus door and headed outside.

  Rooted in my seat by an overwhelming sense of fatigue and emptiness, I watched as she started shouting at the family standing stock still in the road.

  “What are you idiots doing standing in the middle of the road?”

  They didn’t say anything.

  Mack stood and rushed down the aisle, but stopped and turned to me. “Hey Grant, give me the shotgun.”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “Give me the gun,” he said.

  I only shook my head. It was a bad idea. This night had had enough shooting.

  The father broke from the group and started toward Joni. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his hands out in front of him in gesture of surrender. “We just saw the bus coming and we were afraid you wouldn’t see us if we weren’t in the street.”

  “I thought you were dead,” Joni said, but shook her head. “I thought you were zombies.”

  “We’re not.” That was obvious, but they looked so tired and dirty that they could easily be mistaken for the undead.

  “I can see that.”

  “We’ve been running from the zombies all night. We just wanted to get a ride.”

  Joni started to say something, but then stopped, obviously flustered. “Well, go ahead and get on.”

  A woman who must have been the mother, broke past the man and rushed forward to give Joni a hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  The father ushered the two kids onto the bus, a girl who looked to be about ten and a boy with a limp. I guessed he was around fourteen. They all looked worse for the wear. In brief introductions we learned that they were the Meeks. His name was Bill and his wife’s name was Freda. The kids were Eric and Carla.

  Mack glowered at me for a good minute after my refusal to give up the shotgun, but edged out of the aisle to let the family pass. Just as the father tried to move by, Mack moved less than subtly into the aisle to block him.

  “Any of your family bit by one of those things?” Mack asked.

  “No, no,” Bill said.

  “Why’s your boy limping?”

  �
�We were trapped in our basement. The zombies got in the house. I had to break a window and we climbed out. He cut his leg getting out.”

  “You sure about that?” Mack asked, moving into the man’s face.

  Bill started to speak when someone screamed on the left side of the bus and a bloody hand slapped against the window. A zombie with mangled and bloody hands clawed at the window, trying to get in at the delicious fleshy morsels inside. It left broad strokes of reddish-black blood across the window.

  Joni punched the gas and both Mack and Bill stumbled down the aisle. Mack fell back into the seat he had recently vacated and Bill, his head down, made his way to his family at the back of the bus. The zombie receded into the distance behind us, arms outstretched, beseeching our return.

  It was smooth sailing for the next ten miles. There were only a few zombies wandering aimlessly along on the side of the road. Joni left them alone this time. The family we had taken aboard exchanged their own war stories with our group, but in the end, they were simply astounded that we had made it out alive. After a few minutes, exhaustion overtook everyone with many of them closing their eyes. Some even fell asleep. I could swear I could hear Mack snoring, but I was too tired to turn around and look.

  We were outside the city limits with empty farm fields on each side the road. The fierceness of the fires behind us gave the fields a warm glow. The bus, despite all its battle scars and being opened up like a tin can, still ran smoothly as we cruised along. The gentle hum of the tires worked in almost a hypnotic way, lulling me down into a light dose.

  We were about to enter a little town called Jourdanton when Joni slowed the bus to a stop. The slight change in momentum brought me back to full consciousness.

  “We’ve got a roadblock,” she said. It looked to be about 200 yards down the road. Dark figures moved in the shadows and a set of fantastically bright spotlights shone in our direction.

  Everyone waited. Waited for me, but I was drained, wasted, and just plain used up. The pregnant pause stretched on a while longer before Sammy broke the silence.

  “Who is it?” He asked.

  “It looks military,” Joni said.

  “Do they look hostile?” Mack asked moving up beside me.

  “I can’t tell,” she said. “What would make them look hostile?”

  “Look for bodies in or along the side of the road,” I said, finding just enough reserves to speak.

  “Well, I’m glad you joined the conversation,” Mack said.

  I wanted to punch him for the thousandth time tonight, but lacked the strength to follow through.

  “It’s too dark to see much of anything beside that bright freaking light shining in my eyes,” she said. “But I don’t see any bodies. Should I move up?”

  “They may try to shoot us,” Mack said.

  “They’d have probably done that by now if they wanted us out of the picture,” I said.

  “They still could,” Mack said.

  “Why would they?” Sammy asked.

  “Because we could be zombies,” Mack said.

  “Yeah, a busload of zombies out for a tour of the countryside,” I said. “Ease up and let’s see what they do.”

  “I’m not so sure we should do that,” Mack said. “I say we make a run for it.”

  “Make a run for it!?!” I said. “Make a run for it. We have the mobility of a barge and the speed of a hippo. We try anything but go to them and they will shoot us. Move up.”

  Joni looked to Mack and then to me and shrugged. She turned back to the front and eased the bus forward. She flipped on the emergency flashers and said, “Just to be safe.”

  For the umpteenth time tonight, we collectively held our breath, waiting to die. Previously, it could have been zombies, bus crashes, or being immolated. Now, we could be shot to death by friendlies. The one thing that remained true is that you never get used to it. My adrenaline, which I had thought was depleted, surged again as I gripped the shotgun.

  When we closed the gap to one hundred feet an amplified voice broke the quiet night air, “You in the bus, stop where you are.”

  Joni brought us to a stop a little too abruptly, tossing people into the aisle or against the seat in front of them. A few of them cried out in shock or pain.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  What we already thought was bright went up ten levels as we shielded our eyes from the brilliance of the additional lights that flashed on.

  “Grant, what do we do?” Joni asked, but I could tell she was reluctant to ask.

  Her night had been every bit as bad as mine and she had just lost a child only days before. The worst action she had probably ever seen in her life was angry parents at a soccer game and she’s laying her life on the line to help save us. Here I was, closing down on her and the rest of the group. Could I be any more of the selfish ass?

  “Open the door,” I said, standing and coming up the aisle.

  “You can’t go out there,” she said.

  “Open the back doors too,” I said.

  “What’s going to happen?” Mack asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “But we need to be ready if they start shooting.”

  “They’re going to shoot us?” Rosalita asked. “Dios mios.”

  “If they can firebomb the city and they think we might have any infected onboard, then I don’t think they’d hesitate to shoot us. Joni, you’ve got to open the door. I have to go out there and tell them we don’t have any infected with us.”

  Her hand hovered over the release for a moment, but she relented and opened the front door.

  “Let’s get this party started,” I said, setting the shotgun down at the top of the stairs.

  “Why are you leaving the gun?” Sammy asked.

  “We’re not shooting our way out of this,” I said.

  “I can back us out of here,” Joni said.

  “No more running,” I said. “At least not yet. If they start shooting, see if you can back up. If they take out the tires, then get everyone out the back.” I stepped off the bus into the bright lights.

  “Grant, be careful,” Joni said then closed the door.

  If being careful was stepping out in front of a whole platoon of heavily armed, and most likely, tired and trigger happy soldiers, then I was doing it. I put my hands in the air and started walking down the center of the highway toward the lights. They were so bright that I had to look down at the road to avoid being blinded.

  It was eerily quiet. My footfalls on the road surface were the only noise beside the bus idling behind me. Well, that and the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.

  I made it about twenty feet when the bullhorn voice went back to work, “Sir, please stop where you are.”

  I stutter-stepped for about three paces, but kept walking.

  “Sir, please stop or we will have to open fire.”

  I continued on.

  “This is your last warning. Stop walking. Now!”

  A sharpness in his tone made me stop. That and the sound of several rifle’s safety’s being clicked off.

  I had cut the gap down to thirty feet. Despite the lights, I could see figures moving in darkness. Silhouettes of soldiers took up positions while others aimed their rifles at me.

  “My name is Grant. I am an American citizen. I am unharmed and am not infected.” Holding my arms up as high as I could, I spun around in a gentle circle allowing anyone behind the barrier to inspect me.

  “Where did you come from?” The voice asked.

  “From San Antonio,” I said.

  “We bombed San Antonio.” The voice lost some of its authoritative tone.

  “Yes, you did. And we were there.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “Barely.”

  “Sir, that is not helpful.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot.” I dropped my arms. “We took the bus that you now see and we drove the hell out of there.”

  “Are there any infected on the bus?”

 
; “No.”

  “We’ll be the judge of that.”

  “So, you’re not going to just shoot us?”

  “Have everyone get off the bus and walk down the highway to the barrier.”

  “No one is getting off that bus until I look you in the eye so I can be sure your men won’t mow my people down.”

  “You don’t make the demands here, we do.” All the authority came back to his voice.

  “So, there is no law here? You can shoot us just because you think we might be infected?”

  “We are under martial law, sir.”

  “And that’s how you bomb a city with survivors still in it? And that’s what you’ll tell our families after you shoot us?”

  That hung in the air for a good ten seconds.

  “Bombing the cities have stopped the spread. We’ve cut it off just south of Austin.”

  I found that hard to believe, but I really didn’t know the extent of the bombing. If they took out San Antonio then other cities could have been hit, too.

  “But that leaves us in the infected area, right?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What’s your job here?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. My best guess was that he and his soldiers were here to clean up any loose ends and that didn’t bode well for us because we were loose ends. But we were still alive so something had to be at play. Since we were striking up a rapport, I decided to press my luck. “What is your name, soldier?”

  “Colonel,” he said and I nodded towards his direction. “Colonel Watson.”

  “Okay, Colonel Watson, you sound like a reasonable man. I would imagine that the orders to bomb the city came from much higher up. Am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the only reason I’m probably alive right now is that you might have had some problems with the orders to bomb American civilians.”

  “Sir, it’s been a long night.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Something cracked in the Colonel’s voice and I heard the bullhorn click off. Then I heard a chuckle come from behind the barrier. It quickly transitioned into laughter and that passed through more than a few of the soldiers.