Run (Book 2): The Crossing

by Rich Restucci

  “This is not good news,” said the doctor. “We found a man and his teenage son the other day. They had been in with the group from Lincoln, and they said it didn’t go to well for them. Apparently one of the leaders of the group liked one of the women that was in the guy’s group. The family was invited to dinner with the top brass of the organization, then they disappeared. The guy tried getting the rest his group to leave, but they wouldn’t go. He cut out with his kid when they were on a scavenging detail.”

  “I would like to talk to this man.”

  “He wouldn’t come with us,” Teems said. “We gave him some food and water, but we couldn’t spare any weapons. He thanked us and we went our separate ways.”

  “Okay, we can talk about that later, but first let’s save my friends.”

  A map was spread across the hot hood of the red pickup. “There’s a small access road here,” one of the men pointed to a winding red line on the map. “It’s only three hundred feet away from the house, but you can’t see it through the corn. That means they won’t see us coming and we can get out quick.”

  Teems and Seyfert nodded. They all jumped in the truck and drove toward the access road. Ed was unwrapping a new CD to put in a new boom-box they had appropriated. He noticed Seyfert looking at him. “Eight D cell batteries would have been a small price to pay a year ago, but they’re almost priceless now. Can’t just walk down to the convenience store and grab them anymore.” He fumbled with the boom box for a second more and then the most horrible sound (other than a zombie) that Seyfert had ever heard belted from the machine.

  “That’s the music you guys were talking about?” he shouted over the cacophony. “It sounds like chainsaws cutting through steel!”

  “That’s why they call it heavy metal boy!” Teems shouted from the driver’s seat, which was immediately next to him. All the others were now singing: It seems what's left of my human side is slowly changing in me. Will you give in to me?

  Several minutes later Ed was putting the now silent boom-box in the middle of the road. The truck was pointed away from it, and they were ready. Teems gave a double thumbs up and Ed pressed the play button and cycled through the song numbers until he found the one he wanted. A rumble came from the box before the lead singer screamed. Then Ed increased the volume and ran for the truck.

  “Damn that’s loud,” Seyfert said.

  “I turned that shit up to eleven!”

  Teems’ grin went from ear to ear. “Every rotter in a mile radius will be listening to the musical stylings of Disturbed up close within the hour.”

  “Don’t they attack the radio?”

  “Nope. Sometimes they’ll touch it, but they never hit it or pick it up. They just kind of wander around looking for who’s singing.”

  Plates on your ass bitch! Plates on your ass!

  Teems put the truck in gear and they drove back toward the crossroads. Seyfert looked in the mirror and noticed an undead farmer in blue overalls mosey out of the stalks and stare at the boom-box. He couldn’t tell if it was the same one who he had seen in the corn earlier.

  18

  Dallas was awake but woozy when Rick dared a peek into the first floor of the now stairless farmhouse. No zombies were immediately visible, but there was some shuffling going on down there, so he knew where they stood on that score. He looked through the back window in Amy’s room, and through the front window over the farmer’s porch, and couldn’t see any of the dead around.

  He was thinking that this would be a perfect time to make a break for it when a red pickup came skidding to a halt outside in the dirt driveway. Several armed men dressed in biker’s gear were in the back, and Rick had time to think Oh shit! before a familiar face jumped out of the passenger’s side of the vehicle.

  “Do you need a God damned engraved invitation? Come on!” Seyfert yelled at the house.

  “Rotters,” one of the men in the back of the truck yelled, and two shots rang out. “Clear the house,” yelled someone else. Three men and Seyfert entered the house and one more shot was heard. “Rick! Come on you guys, we don’t have time to screw around!”

  Chris and Anna poked their heads over the second floor railing. “Nice to see you, Jarhead!”

  “Dammit woman,” Seyfert said with a smile, “how many times I gotta tell you, I’m a SEAL! Get your asses down here, this is a rescue!”

  Rick showed up with Dallas, and they passed the three sniper rifles down. Low whistles came from two of the men dressed in leather when the saw the guns. Anna dropped down and Seyfert caught her, Chris followed, and then Rick helped Dallas. Soon all four were clasping hands with their friend, and they were rushing for the door, Dallas on unsteady feet.

  “There’s food in the pantry,” came a shout from the kitchen. Two of the bikers ran into the kitchen and another shot was heard. Then another. They came running back out in less than a minute with their friend, and all jumped in the back of the truck. “The basement’s full of rotters,” one of the leather clad guys said, “we couldn’t get all the food.”

  “Forget it,” said the burly driver. “Is everybody in?”

  “Yeah, Teems, hit it!”

  “I see dead people,” a middle-aged man with glasses said from the back seat and pointed back toward the homestead. He was the only one save the friends from Alcatraz not dressed in biker garb. Exhibiting extreme patience, the driver put the vehicle in gear, did a three point turn, and drove back toward Route 20. Several undead had lurched into view near the house and seemed confused as to which way to head, after the truck or the music. They kept turning their heads, some eventually going in each direction.

  Dallas, Chris, and Anna had gotten in the back of the truck with the other men, but Seyfert had Rick get in the cab. “Rick, this is Ed and Doc, and the guy driving is Teems.”

  “Thanks for the rescue, Mr. Teems.”

  “Just Teems, and you’re welcome.” He extended his hand toward Rick, who accepted it. Teems didn’t take his eyes from the road when he asked: “Didn’t you say there were two more Navy guys?”

  “Yes, they’re in a vehicle. They drove off to try making the dead follow them. We haven’t heard from them since.”

  “Well I’m not going to lie, that don’t sound too good. We’re going to have to find them too I guess, huh?”

  “You’ve done enough for us, Teems,” Rick said. “We couldn’t ask you to do any more.”

  “Been over this with your soldier friend, Rick, you don’t have to ask. The way I look at it, humans have become an endangered species. As long as we don’t throw away our lives needlessly, we should save as many as we can.” He looked in the mirror. “Your friend back there, the big fella, he ain’t bit is he?”

  “No, he took a blow to the head, he should be fine in a day or two.”

  “I’ll take a look at him when we get where we’re going,” the doctor piped up. “A concussion could be serious with no treatment.”

  The doctor did just that a half hour after they arrived at their destination. A large concrete service building poked out of the fertile Nebraska soil. It was a depot for combines, tractors, and other large farm equipment. There were no fences or gates, but Calvin had been correct, the building itself was indeed a fortress. Two huge steel garage doors and one smaller door opened on the front of the building, and a service window was already being boarded up. There were men on the roof with binoculars and hunting rifles. The exterior of the place had the look and feel of an armed encampment. A diesel and gasoline pumping station adorned the left side of the depot, with one pump each.

  The interior was enormous; a hangar-like structure with multiple levels, a kitchen, an extremely large work area, and two full-size bathrooms complete with multiple stalls, showers and lockers.

  The newcomers were welcomed with open arms. Anna was playing with some kids, and Chris was helping to get a wind-driven generator working with a few of the bikers. Dallas was laying down on a steel medical table and the doctor diagnosed him as having a
mild concussion. Rick and Seyfert were yet again in front of a map, but this one was framed, and attached to the wall in one of the upstairs offices. The map was a series of aerial photos strung together to make a large chart of the area. They were pointing at different locations with their index fingers and talking about each one.

  Seyfert looked at his surroundings again. “What is it?” Rick demanded.

  “This place. I understand the need for the vehicle lifts, and all the tools, and even a bathroom, but what the hell are medical facilities doing here? What kind of tractor repair depot has medical diagnostic equipment, and a wind-farm for power?”

  “Wind-farm?”

  “Yeah, look,” Seyfert pointed again at the chart. He traced his finger from the depot along a blue line to a series of poles half a mile away. “Those are windmills. They must power this whole facility.” The structures Seyfert pointed at were difficult to recognize as windmills until Rick looked at the shadows on the ground. He could see the shadows of three huge blades in varying positions at the top of each pole and he understood.

  “It does seem a little odd,” Rick agreed with furrowed brows. “The walls are double thick concrete, and the garage doors are like nothing I’ve seen.”

  Seyfert nodded. The seaman looked over the catwalk and spotted Teems moving a box of stuff. “Teems! Where’s Calvin?”

  Teems looked around and nodded his chin to his left. “I’m here,” the mechanic shouted. “What do you need?”

  “You, could you come up here for a sec?”

  Calvin showed up in short order and looked confused. “What’s busted? I should tell you that I don’t know shit about computers.”

  “That’s okay. How did you know about this place?”

  “I used to drive by here on my way to Sturgis and back on my bike. I live… lived in Ohio.” He looked away for a moment. “Ohio is bad now.”

  “Did you ever see anything…weird here?”

  It was Calvin’s turn for furrowed brows. “Weird? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, any strange vehicles, or did the road close down near here?”

  “Nope, nothin’ like that. I drove by all the time, and thought that the place looked a little like a castle. When all this,” he waved his hand around, “happened, Teems came and got me, and we high-tailed it out of Ohio using back roads. We got to Sturgis, but it was overrun, and the Army was shooting people up there, so we left before they could decide all bikers were degenerates and tried to shoot us. I thought of this place when we hit Nebraska, and we came almost straight here.”

  “Not all bikers are degenerates, but you sure as shit are.” Teems had come upstairs and was leaning against the door frame. “What’s going on?”

  “They were just grillin’ me about this place.”

  Yet another furrowed brow. “What about it?”

  “The place is an actual fortress,” Rick said. “Look at how it’s built, and it has its own power source, and I’m guessing water too.”

  “And medical stuff way beyond what a tractor shop should have,” Seyfert added, “and lockers for fifty, and I swear,” here he pointed to a shelf attached to a wall, “that is a rifle rack.”

  Teems stuck his lower lip out. “Don’t look like one.”

  “Because you’re thinking of horizontal display racks for rifles, that one is vertical, to store more in less space.”

  Teems tilted his head. “Yeah, it could be. But so what? Maybe they were hunters.”

  “What would they hunt? Are there bears in the corn? Deer?”

  “What difference does any of this make?” demanded the big biker. “We’re here, and we’re safe for now. Also, don’t we have to find your friends?

  “We do.”

  “Then let’s talk about that.”

  They moved on to a conversation about what could have happened to the LAV. That particular vehicle would be hard to stop, and only a huge ditch or a break down or heavy ordnance could stop it. They hadn’t heard any explosions and the LAV had just been serviced the month before. Insofar as ditches or cliffs, they were in Nebraska, and it didn’t get any flatter than this. A big hole in the ground maybe, but who would have a big hole in the middle of their cornfield? Besides, they had last seen the LAV driving down the middle of the road. The conversation lasted a half hour before they decided what to do. The entire time Seyfert couldn’t shake his feelings of unease about the building they were holed up in.

  19

  “We’ve had bad luck with airports,” Rick told Calvin. “We lost a man, technically three, at an airport.”

  The doctor rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand your apprehension, but this is just a dirt runway with a small building and a fuel truck. No hangars, no tower, and no zombies. I would call it an air field. It’s your best bet.”

  Rick looked again at the digital photograph stored on a small point and shoot camera, and passed it to Seyfert. The viewable image was of three small single engine planes, a biplane, and a small helicopter off to the side of a very small outbuilding. Calvin, Ed, and Seyfert had reconnoitered the airfield when Calvin had remembered it was down the road a piece, as he had put it. It was entirely zombie free, and only two miles away. Several undead had been shot from the roof of the tractor depot as they made their way toward it, however.

  “And you can fly that bird? You’re sure?” Seyfert demanded of Calvin.

  “I was a helo mechanic in the army. I thought it was a good idea to learn how to fly, so yeah. I can use a cyclic and a collective.”

  “Fair enough. That bird will only hold two, so it’s you and me. Teems, may we borrow your truck for one more jaunt? We’ll need a driver and a man to ride shotgun too.”

  “Of course. I’ll drive.”

  “And I’m yer shotgunner,” drawled a voice from behind them.

  “Dallas,” Rick said with a smile, “nice to see your lazy hillbilly ass is finally up.”

  The big man pointed to a bandage on his head. “I busted my noggin, Hoss. Shut it.”

  “Which is exactly why you should be laying down,” the doctor interjected. “I can’t properly diagnose your condition with this equipment, but I can tell you for certain, you took a nasty whack and probably have a concussion.”

  “A whack says the quack. Damn, doc, I coulda toldja that. I’m fine.”

  Seyfert shook his head. “He’s right, Dallas, you shouldn’t even be up let alone going on a foray.”

  “I’m goin’.”

  “What if you pass out when you’re needed?”

  “Then I’m et. I’m goin. Take three in the truck, but I’m goin.”

  Teems was grinning. “Now I’m a big man, but this fella here is downright large. I for one ain’t telling him he can’t come.”

  Forty five minutes later, Dallas and Teems were talking about college football while they fueled a Robinson R22 helicopter outfitted for crop dusting. Ed and Rick watched the area with a hunting rifle and an M4 as the big men worked, using an almost full fuel truck to accomplish the task. Calvin had already removed the wires holding the rotors to the ground, and was using a clipboard he found in the cockpit to fill out an included pre-flight checklist. It only took minutes to fill the chopper with fuel, and Calvin gave a thumbs up when he was ready. He hopped out of the vehicle with a small yellow tube and added a little fuel to it.

  “Checking the fuel is all,” he said to no one in particular. “We’re ready,” he announced in short order. They had done a radio check, and the helicopter could be heard on all the radios, but the throat microphones could not be heard by the chopper. “Security reasons,” was all Seyfert would say. The good news is that there was a full radio room in the depot and the bird could receive loud and clear using that equipment.

  “You ready, Navy?” Calvin shouted to Seyfert, who was speaking to Rick.

  Seyfert came trotting back to the Robinson. “Will the roof at the depot hold this helicopter?”

  “That roof would hold a 747. Didn’t you see that b
uilding?”

  “Okay, when our recon is done, we fly back and land on the roof. Rick will take the fuel truck back, and then you guys will have a helicopter at your disposal too.”

  “Good plan. Let’s fly.”

  Goodbyes were said, and then the helicopter lifted off. The trucks wasted no time in leaving either, and they drove back toward the depot. No signs of undead had been seen at the airfield. For the few minutes of time they spent there, it was like the plague had missed that small patch of land. Until they got in the air.

  Looking down into the vast sea of yellow stalks, Calvin could see dozens of shapes crashing through the corn toward where they just were. In minutes, fifty or so undead would be on the runway.

  Seyfert must have seen them too. “Jesus, they really are everywhere.”

  “Yup,” Calvin said into the headset. “You should see where we came from. Ohio was thick with them. Thousands upon thousands.”

  “I came from San Francisco, but I never really went into the city, we went around it.”

  “Roger that, Navy, where do you want to look for your buddies?”

  “They were travelling east the last time we saw them.” Seyfert held on as the chopper banked to the left and climbed. Seyfert was scanning out the right side window of the helo with his binoculars not three minutes later when he heard Calvin’s voice over his headset. “There’s your huckleberry.”

  The biker was pointing down the highway toward a crossroads a mile or so away. The LAV was indeed there. It was pulled off to the side of the road with the rear hatch open, and three large fires were burning next to it. Even from a mile out and three hundred feet in the air, Seyfert knew that the greasy columns of smoke could only be one thing. Bodies. What really got him thinking was the military checkpoint complete with Abrams tank and Bradley fighting vehicle that had most assuredly held up the LAV. There was no sign of Androwski or Stark.

  There were two school buses parked to the side of the road, and they appeared to be full of people. A large tent was in front of the buses, with several personnel in black fatigues strutting about near it.