Apoc Series (Vol. 2): Silence of the Apoc [Tales From The Zombie Apocalypse]

by Wilsey, Martin (Editor)

  “I have, as well,” Shintaro said solemnly.

  “Well, where can we drop you guys?” Maxwell said breaking the tension.

  “We are trying to get to the George Washington Bridge,” Shintaro said.

  “Guess you know about the tunnel, then, huh?” Shepard said.

  “No, what happened?” Shintaro said.

  “These things caused a bad accident,” Maxwell stated. “A tanker truck flipped and exploded. The Lincoln’s become a dead end.”

  “Why not any of the other bridges?” Shepard asked. “Or do you want out of the city altogether?”

  “Yes,” Shintaro said. “I do not want to go into the other side of the city. That would be no safer.”

  “You’d be right,” Shepard said. “The other boroughs aren’t faring any better.”

  “All right,” Maxwell said. “Riverside drive it is.”

  He stepped on the gas and pushed anything out of the way with the huge plow and pure muscle of the vehicle. Shepard popped off a few shots at a few infected that got too close to the truck. Maxwell ran a few of them down. The crunching and bumping as their bodies were pulped by the truck were unsettling. Shintaro told Sarah to keep her eyes closed. The child had seen and been through enough. These men had no qualms about taking a life. Living or dead.

  Maxwell swung out onto Riverside Drive, taking the turn very sharply. The truck’s wheel struck an oncoming car knocking it out of the lane. Shintaro was starting to see the relationship between the two soldiers. Maxwell was the driver; his skills were obvious. He navigated the streets of the city as if it were a video game he had played a hundred times. Shepard was the sharpshooter. He took his targets down with almost mechanical efficiency.

  They raced along Riverside, moving in and out of any space no matter how small. Maxwell let out a slight laugh every now and again as he almost crashed or collided with another car. “You have no idea how many times I’ve driven this road,” Maxwell said, smiling, “and wanted to drive it just like this.”

  Shintaro could see the bridge in the distance. They were close. So close. Maxwell veered sharply to the right onto another road. Which one it was Shintaro could not tell. Around him, the city was awash in violence. Fires burned, cars collided everywhere, and the dead—the dead hunted and killed, adding to their swelling horde. This city’s final hour was coming. He could tell that. These two men could tell that. Who were they? This gnawed at Shintaro. Why would they help them? Was the American government activating sleeper agents that had been dormant, awaiting a calamity such as this?

  “Almost there, folks,” Maxwell said as he passed cars on the shoulder. “We appreciate you driving with 9MM Taxi. Tips are appreciated.”

  A sudden jolt sent Shintaro’s head into the back of the driver’s seat. He shot his hand out to secure Sarah between himself and Emiko. As Shintaro looked out of the window, he saw Maxwell had just bulled his way through a two-car accident. The drivers yelled at him and made rude gestures. As Maxwell came to the upper level of the bridge, he had to slow down. Traffic was gridlocked with nowhere to go. Even his plow would do him no good.

  “Shit,” Maxwell said, slamming his palm into the steering wheel. “Looks like you folks may have to walk from here. Unless you want to sit here with us a little longer.”

  “We will walk, Mr. Maxwell,” Shintaro said, unbuckling himself and Sarah. “Thank you for getting us this far.”

  Shintaro handed Maxwell his card. “In case you men ever need anything, once this is all over,” Shintaro said, “feel free to call on me. I owe you a debt.”

  “No need, bud,” Maxwell said, taking the card. “We get paid for this kind of shit. Hell, Shepard there would do it for free.”

  All three smiled as Shintaro exchanged nods with the two men and exited the truck. Sarah, Emiko, and he began their long walk across the bridge.

  “You suppose that guy knew how to use that sword of his?” Maxwell asked, looking at Shepard.

  “Damn,” Shepard said. “As good as you are at driving, you’re blind to details. The guy was covered in blood and not a scratch on him. ’Course he knew how to use the damn thing.”

  “Woulda been a handy guy to have in a fight, then,” Maxwell said, sighing. “What now, big guy?”

  “Throw this big bitch in reverse,” Shepard said, checking his weapon. “And let’s get back to what we get paid for.”

  With that, Maxwell threw Agatha into reverse and headed back down the ramp they had just come, once again hitting the two cars involved in the accident.

  Shintaro and Emiko held Sarah’s hands once more. “Those men turned out OK,” Emiko said, as they half ran along the side of the bridge.

  “For once, today,” Shintaro said, “we caught a break. We’ll try to get a taxi once we get to the other side. The Palisades Parkway will take us further into the state. There is not much up there besides one or two smaller cities.”

  “I hope you are right,” Emiko said. “We must get this child home.”

  “We will,” Shintaro said, sparing a glance at Emiko. “Then we will find our own way home.”

  At mid-span, there was a five-car pileup. It blocked the whole road, with one of the cars resting atop two others. They would have to climb the wrecks. He only hoped no one had died. They moved through the stopped cars and went to the left lane. There was a safe place to traverse the cars. They ran over to the spot and Shintaro scanned the other side for any dangers. He lifted Sarah onto the hood of the now-ruined car. “Emiko,” he said, offering his hand to help her up as well, “go to the other side and help Sarah down.”

  Emiko stepped gingerly across the smashed hood of the car. She jumped down on the other side and motioned for Sarah to come to her. Shintaro hopped up onto the car so as to not leave the ladies alone on the other side for long. He looked around as Emiko held Sarah’s hand while she jumped down. Another car had hit the right side of the bridge. A taxi was stopped a few feet away, the driver door open, and the engine was running. Shintaro thumbed his sword from its scabbard.

  The traffic on this side of the accident was light, as no one else could get through. Emergency services had not arrived yet; they were spread too thinly as it was. Shintaro was no thief, but the opportunity of a car to get them away from the city was all too tempting to pass up. This was a desperate time unlike any other. Some decorum had to set aside for the sake of survival.

  “Hello?” Shintaro called out, trying to track down the driver of the taxi. “Stay behind me. We’ll be taking that car one way or the other.”

  He crept closer to the taxi. He saw the driver of the car beyond slumped over the wheel. Blood streamed from a cut in his head, no doubt caused by the collision with the bridge. When they neared the taxi, Shintaro held his hand out for them to stay where they were. He saw a stream of blood coming from behind the back tire on the other side of the car. Shintaro went around the front of the car and saw what he had feared. Four of the infected had murdered a man. His abdomen was ripped open, and his organs had been consumed. He saw one of them eating his liver and two others fighting over each end of his intestines, as the fourth ate what might have been one of his kidneys.

  Shintaro backed away slowly and silently. To draw their attention was to get one of them killed. He would not have that. He went to the other side and spoke to Emiko in hushed, hurried Japanese. “When I tell you,” he said, “get Sarah into the car and then yourself. Close the doors behind you if I do not make it in.”

  He knelt down, careful to keep an eye on the other side of the taxi. “Teacup, listen to me,” Shintaro said. “We must be very quiet. You are going to get into the car with Ms. Emiko. I will be right behind you, OK?”

  Sarah nodded her head, determined but frightened. Shintaro slid his sword out, slowly and quietly. There was no time for a draw. These people would be on them before he could enter the car and he knew it. He would save Emiko and Sarah even if it cost him his life, which it looked like, this time, it would. “Go,” he told Emiko.


  Emiko nudged Sarah, and the girl climbed into the open door, trying to make as little noise as possible. As Sarah climbed into the passenger seat, and Emiko the driver’s seat, another infected slammed his body into the side of the car, snarling at the two women within. It was the taxi driver. Shintaro cursed himself for not taking him into account. “Close the door!” Shintaro yelled, as Emiko settled into the driver’s seat. She slammed the door, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “Come at me you, you bastards!” Shintaro roared, as he took his sword in a two-handed grip and set his stance.

  The infected that had been eating the liver was the first at him. Shintaro brought the sword down vertically and chopped into the man’s skull. He dropped immediately, and the taxi driver was on Shintaro. He put his blade up like a staff and the driver bit into the metal of the blade. Shintaro pushed back against the man, the blade cutting into the cheeks of the infected attacker. The other three were making their way around the car. Two went in front, and one was climbing over the car on its roof.

  The car tires screeched as Emiko put it into drive. She rammed into the two in front, running them over and dragging them a few feet before she stopped. The one on the roof was thrown clear and landed awkwardly on its left leg, snapping it clean. The bone was protruding from the skin. Of the two she had run over, one stirred. Its arms were clearly broken, and its left leg was mangled. Despite this massive trauma, it still tried to crawl towards where Shintaro struggled with the last of the infected. The other’s head had been caught under the front driver’s wheel and crushed like a ripe fruit.

  The taxi driver brought Shintaro to the ground. He snarled, bled, and drooled all over. Shintaro’s sword had stopped cutting into the man as it hit his spine at the back of his head. Its snapping was awkward but still dangerous. He was so preoccupied with his attacker he failed to notice Emiko walking up behind them. She raised her right arm, and the front of the taxi driver’s head exploded onto Shintaro’s chest and face.

  He threw the twice-lifeless body off of him and sat up. He looked at Emiko, who held a nickel-plated Smith & Wesson revolver in her hand. The barrel still smoked and the report of the weapon was still ringing in Shintaro’s ears. “Where did you find that?” Shintaro asked, surprised and amused.

  “In the glove compartment,” Emiko said, smiling. “Remember. Every American has a gun.” They both laughed.

  A woman smashed into Emiko and rode her to the ground. She lost her grip on the gun, and it went sliding under the taxi. The infected woman bit deep into Emiko’s neck. She screamed in agony as the woman tore a chunk of flesh free and chewed it.

  “NO!” Shintaro screamed and in one fluid motion got to his feet and beheaded the woman in a clean swing.

  Emiko lay on the ground clutching her neck. The woman had missed the jugular, but the wound still bled profusely. Shintaro turned as he heard movement around the crashed cars. Seven more of the infected were climbing the wreck and coming straight for them. Shintaro became possessed. He met the attackers, and in a rage slew all seven before they could overwhelm him. His breathing was labored as he heard over a dozen footsteps running from the other side of the cars. “Emiko, we have to go,” Shintaro said, as he turned.

  Emiko stood looking at him. Blood had ruined her blouse and run down her leg. “Get her to her family, Wakayama san,” Emiko said, wiping the blood from her mouth. “Thank you for always being a gentleman and a man of honor.”

  With that, Emiko ran. Before Shintaro could stop her, she had made her way to the side of the bridge and climbed the railing. With one glance backward, she smiled, and then she was gone. Her jump outward took her clear over the side and head first into the river below. Shock and shame took Shintaro. Tears welled in his eyes. “I was supposed to get both of you out safely,” he said to no one.

  The noises behind him interrupted his grief as he remembered Sarah was still in the car. The little girl was crying uncontrollably after witnessing Emiko’s sacrifice. Emiko had always been smart. She had been too good to just be Shintaro’s secretary. Now that potential was gone. He swiped his sword to remove the blood and sheathed it as he ran to the car. He put the sword next to Sarah and closed the door. He put the car in gear and took off as three of the infected reached the back of the taxi. They still ran after them, too far gone to realize they could never catch up.

  ***

  A week later, driving a different car, Shintaro wiped his eye as a tear came out.

  “Are you OK, Mr. Wak?” Sarah asked from the passenger seat.

  “Fine, Teacup,” he replied. “Just something in my eye.”

  “Ms. Emiko was a nice lady,” Sarah said.

  The child was very perceptive. Perhaps even too much for her age. Losing Emiko pained him emotionally and as a man who had responsibilities. He would not fail with Sarah. “That she was, little one,” Shintaro said, smiling for Sarah’s sake. “That she was.”

  They still had a long way to go before Shintaro returned Sarah to her family. Elmira was a long way from here. How long it would take to get there, he could not say. It all depended on how many obstacles they encountered. Where they just left should have been an hour and a half drive by normal standards. Normal standards, however, had been thrown from the playing board. He would have to find gas eventually. Without power, he might even have to find another vehicle altogether if gas was not readily available.

  The world had changed in a week. To think of all the little things people took for granted that were now gone. The world had taken a step back by over a hundred years. Simple things like electricity and phones were taken out of the equation. Perhaps permanently. It was a whole new game of life. Shintaro was making the rules up as he went along. He just hoped that no one was playing the game better than he was.

  6 The Dead Walk by J. L. Smith

  POW!

  Bill sits bolt upright on the small cot in the jail cell he’s been stuck in since the dead began to get up and walk and eat the living.

  With his ears ringing, he gets quickly to his feet and takes two big steps over to the cell bars and sees Deputy Burke—or rather what’s left of Deputy Burke—slumped against the back of his desk chair across the room, with only the lower portion of his head and face left intact. His eyes rove down to the shotgun lying on the floor nearby, and he hangs his head and sighs. He feels sorry for the man, the man who wouldn’t let Bill out of his cage for the better part of two weeks because he was convinced that the National Guard was going to show up with guns blazing and set things straight. It hadn’t seemed to matter that the news broadcasts had stopped maybe a week after everything started, and the sounds of gunfire, or any other form of resistance, had ceased not long after that. It was a small town, after all, and once the “zombies”—as the news reports had begun calling them—started spreading, it hadn’t taken more than a day for it to be overrun.

  And they weren’t like what you’d think they’d be. They weren’t slow, shambling menaces who beat weakly at the windows. You couldn’t just walk right past them at arm’s length to safety. Bill saw some dumbass with a camera get about ten feet from an old woman who had fallen while fleeing and hit her head on the curb. At first, she just seemed disoriented, but once her eyes locked onto the gawking idiot with some kind of far-off wildness, she moved as fast as anyone Bill had ever seen, practically pouncing on the guy, and tearing at his flesh—tearing it away—and eating it by the handful.

  And you didn’t have to be bitten or scratched or anything to come back. Bill hadn’t known that until one of the news broadcasts had said so. When they’d heard that, Bill had tried to use it to his advantage, to convince Burke to let him out and let him go, but Burke rightly pointed out that he’d still be safer with Bill inside the cell. It was a long shot, Bill had known.

  “You’re safe from me,” Bill says, “but what about from yourself?”

  He stares in awe at the grotesqueness of the mostly headless man, and only after moments begins to realize that he may be even m
ore fucked now than he had been.

  “Oh, shit…” Bill says quietly. “The keys…

  “Where’re the fucking keys, Burke!?”

  By the dim light of an oil lamp—the power had gone out two days before and never come back on—Bill’s eyes search frantically about the Sheriff’s office, hoping that Deputy Burke had the goddamn common decency not to take Bill with him when he decided to play his pussy card and cash out.

  “Where’re the keys, you fucking PRICK?”

  Bill kicks the cell door and then staggers back, wincing. With a knot of dread in his stomach, he plops down onto the edge of the cot and tries to think.

  “How the hell am I gonna get out of here?”

  He ponders the question for several moments and then sighs. “I’m not…” he says quietly.

  With a groan, he gets to his feet and steps over to the toilet—which hasn’t been flushable in a few days—and unzips. The only sound inside the office is that of piss splashing down on the reeking load he absolutely had to drop the night before. While he tries to ignore the horrid stench, he half-heartedly wonders if that was why Burke did it.

  Maybe he just couldn’t take the smell…

  Bill chuckles in spite of himself, shakes it and zips up. He instinctively steps over to the small sink, and immediately remembers that it will do him no good. But when he glances down amusedly at the dry basin, he realizes that it just might after all.

  “Holy shit…” he mutters quietly. He glances back over his shoulder, to mostly-headless Burke, and then turns his eyes back down to the basin—and the ring of keys that lie therein.

  ***

  Bill stands at the back door to Sheriff’s office. It’s been locked for days, and it’s a good heavy door made of steel, but he can hear the zombies just on the other side of it in the alley behind the building. He listens silently to the sounds of dead things moving about just inches away from him and looks down at the twelve-gauge shotgun in his hands. He’d only found a couple of boxes of 00 buckshot shells in the gun locker behind Burke’s corpse. He’d topped the shotgun off, filling the magazine and loading the chamber, and then pocketed the rest loosely. He could fully reload once and then he’d be out. The Deputy normally would’ve had a sidearm as well, but Bill had seen him lose it out in the alley the day it all started. Brief thoughts of maybe trying to retrieve it skirt Bill’s mind, but he knows it’s a bad idea; they are just too damn fast.