Zombies vs Polar Bears: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 5

by E. E. Isherwood

  The zombie continued ahead, pushing into Liam, but the gun's impact had blunted the attack.

  The rifle was no use in close quarters combat. Inside the reach of his arms, the zombie was too close to hit again with any force. The rifle did, however, provide a buffer between the teeth of the zombie and his own neck. He was able to use it to hold off the stumbling creature until he could ensure it wasn't going to strike. The hit to the head had dazed it, if such a thing was possible with the sick, and Liam used the extra seconds to readjust himself so he could get out of its reach and bring the rifle back around for another hit.

  The longer the struggle went on, the more disoriented the zombie became. Its face was horrible to look at—the blood was running freely, splashing Liam's clothes.

  Liam figured he had things well in hand when he tripped on a rail. He was closer to the train tracks than he thought. He fell backward and the zombie man fell with him.

  His back flared in pain as he hit the uneven rocks below, and the weight of the man only added to his misery. The rifle he'd been using as a wedge had moved and he was shocked to feel the barrel of the gun on his own neck. Though the gun was jammed, it scared him to his core.

  Liam reached into his own pocket while the horrible image of the man above him shifted, always searching for somewhere to bite.

  Can they bite if their teeth are busted out?

  Good one, Liam. Put that in your book!

  The man didn't notice as Liam brought the Glock to bear next to his head. Liam hesitated. The target was directly above his own, and shooting the zombie would be messy.

  If the infections spread by blood alone…

  He closed his eyes.

  He fired once.

  6

  Liam stood up in the sunshine of the day. His entire chest was covered in blood, and he could feel it on his head and face, too. He'd already gotten splashed by blood as the zombie fought him, so firing the gun didn't seem relevant to that score. However, he didn't count on being doused in the red gore.

  Is this the end of my run as a hero? I never wrote a word of my book.

  He waited. The noise of the tanks behind him felt miles away.

  Removing his shirt, he used it to wipe his face and clear the worst of it. Some of it, he was dead sure, had to have gotten in his mouth or in his eyes—both death sentences in zombie fiction. He counted in his head, thinking of a zombie movie where the man counted off how long it took for the infection to take root, though he had no idea who he'd tell if he arrived at a number.

  A distant pair of explosions shook him.

  Or rather, two nearby explosions. His ears absorbed the sound and he woke up to the fact both Tiger tanks had fired their main guns. Zombies from the city had weaved their way through the warehouses and now he saw them in the corridor where the tanks had been parked.

  “Run, Liam!” he shouted to himself. “You aren't a zombie!”

  With nowhere to go that was safe, he ran for the tanks. They had to be safer than taking on a crowd of zombies in hand-to-hand combat.

  Time seemed to be running slow as he slung his rifle and accelerated toward safety.

  The dull roar of the big guns remained, but he could also hear the screams and yelps of the zombies as they finally saw prey. That drove him on.

  He tried to concentrate on the fact he was jumping over train tracks, as each one represented one more vector of death in the Zombie Apocalypse. He didn't think he was ever going to lose that fear.

  As he arrived at the tanks, they fired again. The blast was loud, and the swirl of fumes from the gun barrel engulfed him as he ran up the side. With a cough he managed to jump and pull himself up onto the decking. His mom's tank was on the right of the other, and both were turned slightly toward the left. The gun barrels were aimed in the same general direction…

  He could see the ruins of a railroad bridge and the downed interstate bridge just to the north. There were a few lingering pieces of the blockade he'd escaped days ago, but mostly the collapsed decking hid in the jagged surf of the fast-moving water. Beyond was something Liam had trouble piecing together. It looked like barges had been lined up side-by-side and the military put a sturdy deck on the tops so vehicles could cross. It was completed to about two-thirds of the way over the river. Twenty or so of the barges huddled under the new span.

  Towboats were moving others into place, and a big crane sat on a purpose-built barge for construction. The two tanks were firing on that crane as puffs of smoke came out of holes in the backside of it.

  Another shot went out from the tank below him, then the whole turret swiveled a few inches. The gun had a new target. He leaned on the edge of the turret, intent to get inside, but movement caught his eye on the far bank, just above where the new bridge joined with the shore. His worst nightmare faced him.

  He opened the top hatched and yelled into the interior as loud as he could, hoping his mom would hear.

  “There are tanks on the far shore.” Then, thinking of the military jargon his dad liked, he added, “They're at eleven o' clock!”

  “I told you to get off—” Her voice stopped, obviously distracted.

  A puff of smoke appeared across the brown Mississippi. His back of the napkin guess put it at a mile away. He froze as he waited for what he knew was coming.

  In quick succession Liam saw two explosions at the front of Jason's tank. He didn't wait around to find out if Jason's crew jumped out. His concern was much closer.

  “Mom! Get out of there.”

  As an answer, her tank fired another shot. He didn't care where it landed.

  “They're shooting us!”

  He heard her yell something back, but over all the noise he didn't know what it was. Something punched through the floodwall nearby, indicating a return shot was close to its mark. The zombies spilling out from between the warehouses behind him seemed like a high school pep rally compared to the M1 Abrams tank or tanks firing at them.

  The Tiger lurched. He'd never been happier in his life to move. It began to back up, and as it did, he threw himself into the turret compartment where he'd been before.

  He'd dropped his bloodied shirt, so he scraped his back on the way down. That was the last concern on his taxed mind.

  I'm going to die in a wink and not even know it.

  Another explosion rocked him. His mom was cursing as she continued to reverse. He pulled the hatch shut above him, then fell into the seat and held on. In seconds he found his headphones and put them on.

  “Keep going Lana. Get out of here,” Jason was yelling. How he was still alive was a miracle.

  “Did we get it?” his mom asked over the radio.

  Liam felt the hull rotate. The beast was turning around so it was aimed back into the city. He sensed they were behind the floodwall, out of sight of the lethal tanks across the river.

  “Yes. The crane fell. We got it.”

  “Good,” she replied. Then, softly: “That one's for you, Jerry, my love.”

  After everything he'd just seen, he had no frame of reference of what to say in response. Even with tanks, they'd been tossing peas at the big steel monster making its way across the river. Taking out the helper crane was likely the best they could hope for, but at what cost? U.S. tanks fired at them, a multitude of zombies bared down on them, and they were nowhere near where they should be.

  I get into worse troubles when Victoria isn't around...

  He almost laughed.

  Chapter 13: Warthogs, Tigers, and Bears, Oh My!

  “Mom. What's going on here? We're supposed to be getting those things to protect Forest Park, not shoot at bridges.”

  I sure as hell have no business in a war.

  Cliff said boys like him had fought in Tiger tanks for the Germans back in World War II, and it seemed impossible. Killing the odd zombie to stay alive was one thing. Using tanks, shooting at cranes, and playing soldier was something completely outside his comfort zone. He experienced an irrational compulsion to jump out and
make a run for it...

  He propped himself up so he could look outside using the vision ports. Ahead, they were entering the gap between the same two warehouses they'd used as cover earlier. Only now the narrow roadway was filled with zombies. They'd followed them from the roadway and had been funneled into the tight space between the two buildings.

  The twin exhausts of Jason's tank belched out black fumes as it accelerated into the…

  “Oh God,” was his mom's reply.

  The Tiger plowed into, and over, the horde. Whereas the tread of the tank carried the blood and goop of a single zombie as they arrived, now each wide tread spit out a disgusting mixture of clothing, dark red blood, and the light speckles of broken and smashed bones.

  “Hang on, Liam.”

  The crowd was so thick most of the infected were either smashed outright, or pushed down underneath the center of the tank. Some survived by accidentally hugging the walls of the warehouses as the tanks passed. A few found their way onto the decks. Those in the middle trough popped back up as Jason's tank passed over them or they fell sideways in the grime and remains of their smashed brothers and sisters. The worst were those who had been halved…

  Liam looked away as the tank shuddered. His tank smashed the injured and the few still standing.

  For many seconds he listened to the sickening crunches and the shrieks of the second deaths happening to the zombies. Even for him it was too much. He smashed his headphones over his ears as he tried to block out everything else.

  “Lana. You there?”

  “I'm here.”

  “I've got an issue. I...uh…can't see out my vision slit. These bastards have clogged it. Blood is dripping inside the leaky seals above me. Mike can guide me, but I'll need to stop, somewhere.”

  Liam focused on pressing the headphones. A jarring motion followed a sliding action as his mom's driving skidded them around on the materials below. The machine bumped into a wall. He felt the turret rotate automatically. A brief movement...

  He had to look. With great resolve he took in the destruction. Jason's Tiger was getting hung up in the mess. On each side he only had a foot or two to spare—he judged the tank had to be 10 feet across—and the zombies in front of the tank were either getting sucked under or pushed up onto the deck. It was like walking into deeper and deeper water at the beach.

  Lana drove her tank into the back of the other, then throttled up. The movement of the turret ensured the main gun didn't hit the tank ahead. It reminded Liam of the Valkyrie pushing the dead engine ahead of it.

  “Just aim straight, Jason, we'll push through.”

  More active zombies made it onto the lead tank, and some began jumping onto his own, now that the two were essentially one. Where he could see the walls next to them, they were smeared with blood at the forces pushing against them.

  Even after all he'd seen, he felt his stomach gurgle. His disgust of blood was rekindled.

  “When we clear this corridor, I need you to lead.” Jason laughed like he was having fun.

  “Understood. Out.” Lana was all business, perhaps because she had the same view as Liam.

  A climbing zombie managed to get in front of Liam's vision port.

  Panic mode made him do silly things. He called out. “Mom, zombies are on our roof,” but he said it in sing-song, as a child would do when telling on someone.

  Item 519 for things I never dreamed I'd say in real life.

  Before Lana could reply, they emerged from between the buildings. The lone zombie he could see on their deck remained stationary, as if trying to hold on. Another fifty yards, around a couple turns, and Jason's Tiger slid to a stop. Lana drove herself up alongside. He was able to see the other tank, and a few walking zombies, through a side vision slit. Jason had opened his driver's hatch, used a handgun to knock down a couple of the closest zombies, and wiped the mess off his tiny window. He motioned for Lana to continue while he spoke in his microphone.

  “Keep going. You know the way.”

  Lana threw it into gear and the tank pulled ahead.

  While the tank got to speed, a new sound came from inside. A beeping noise repeated on the other side of the turret where Annie had been sitting. It was getting picked up by his own microphone, causing feedback.

  As he leaned over the breech of the main gun, he saw the old tank had been fitted with a modern video screen. The view was from above.

  “The drones!” he said to himself.

  “What is that, Liam?”

  He was unable to respond right away. The video looked down on the two tanks from high above. He could see the path they'd just traversed—it was a bloody nightmare of crushed bodies, ruined survivors, and a good number of stragglers tripping and sliding in the wake of the two metal monsters. But the beeping coincided with a flashing indicator at the bottom of the screen. It said “Airspace Warning,” though it gave no clues what that might mean.

  “I'm trying to figure it out. I see us on this video monitor. It says airspace warning in big red letters.”

  “Oh crap.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means the drones aren't alone up there. Hang on, we have to get to cover.”

  He decided to slide himself over the middle of the compartment so he could sit in Annie's chair and get a better look at the video equipment. The acceleration felt good—it meant his mom was true to her word in getting them closer to cover. If something unfriendly was above them, he doubted he wanted to know what it was.

  The screen was fascinating. It was like watching a video game. The two tanks lumbered along the old warehouse streets, often running over clumps of loitering zombies, while trying to head north and west into downtown. Most of the great traffic jams were further out from the city center, but there were a fair number of abandoned cars on the main paved streets. Neither tank tried to crush any of the cars—though it was something he sincerely hoped they'd do.

  “Liam. If you can see us on the monitor, can you tell me which way is better ahead? This street splits in two directions coming up.”

  The drone wasn't flying high enough to see both options ahead. He could only see a block or two beyond the intersection. Even that gave him enough information, however, as the way to the right was pointed directly at the Gateway Arch. A place he did not want to go…

  “Go left. The right is a dead end.”

  “Got it.”

  The drone hovered above them and moved as they moved. It was like a trained guard dog.

  The beeping continued as they made the left turn, but the camera suddenly shifted to a different perspective. A second image appeared on a split-screen. That one was pointed directly at the Arch grounds, and Liam got a good look at some kind of construction project under the monument. It seemed to be linked to the nearby river crossing, as if both were part of a larger effort for the Mississippi River waterfront there.

  But the camera wasn't looking at those things. His attention was drawn to two tiny shapes moving toward them. They were small and black. Liam had seen similar flying craft for the past several weeks, especially in this part of downtown.

  Send in the drones.

  2

  The ballet above them was impressive to watch. As he lurched along in the stuffy and cramped turret of what he hoped was an invulnerable tank, the drones danced around each other in the air above. As the camera angles sat side-by-side, he figured out both drones were up there, and the drones from Jason's tank had to be up there somewhere, as well. The two enemy drones had to be from the Arch bridgehead. He could only guess who was in charge of those.

  With a reverent tone, he spoke into the mic. “The drones are fighting above us.”

  Jason's voice responded. “They're programmed to protect us. One is used for guidance and target acquisition, but the other is designed to watch the sky and sync up with the reactive armor.” He cut out for a second, then returned to the channel with some cursing. “Mike, can you see them yet?”

  Jason's assistant r
esponded. “Negative. I'm getting word two A-10s are scrambling from the Downtown St. Louis Airport just across the river. They'll be here in minutes.”

  “Can we shoot them with our guns?” Liam blurted out on the radio.

  Jason laughed. “Not unless you're incredibly lucky. We could barely hit that huge stationary crane, and we had help from our computers.”

  Liam often said he was a lucky kid. Maybe this was what he was supposed to do? Spin the turret, find a target, and blow it out of the sky.

  Sounds like an impossible shot from a stupid movie.

  He had no intention of dueling two Warthogs—the most lethal tank killers in the air.

  “We have to split up. Head for the tall buildings up ahead. We should be able to make it,” Jason said. Liam was stuck on the use of the “should” word. As in “This should have been a quiet drive back to Victoria.”

  The computer screen showed the two tanks diverge. Jason turned north toward some apartment high rises, while their own tank headed for a large open parking lot.

  “Mom. Is that where we want to go?”

  The tank's engine screamed. The iconic clinks and clanks of the treads underneath had become white noise with everything else going on, but he noticed all of it now as he sensed their vulnerability. The drone footage showed them crawling—slowly—over the empty parking lot. Row after row of white parking spaces passed below them. An odd zombie roamed here or there, but none were in their way.

  “No, not at all. I want to get us across this lot and underneath that highway.”

  With the drone it was hard to look ahead, but now he could see the edges of Busch Stadium—the site of his recent escape from this very city—and the elevated east-west highway to the south of it. It would give them excellent cover as long as they stayed below it. He could see—

  A flash of something black. With wings. Right on the camera itself. The downward-looking drone wobbled dangerously and then went offline. That side of the screen went to static. At that last moment he could have sworn he saw...a huge bird's talons.