“Vern was my uncle. He’s dead. I must’ve dozed off. I’m very tired,” I told him.
He eyeballed me with that same grin that said he didn’t believe me but didn’t care to pursue the topic.
“You got a name or is it just sir?” I slurred through my swollen lips.
“Watch yourself, Georgie,” he said as he plucked his cigar nub out of his mouth and spit a gob of brown phlegm at my feet.
“You look like you went a round or two with the champ but I’d be glad to give you a few more bruises.”
He was silent for a moment as I stared at the disgusting glob of spit on my tennis shoe.
“Name is Brady Morgan. I was a captain in what was formerly the Minnesota Air National Guard. Now there’s just a handful of us left. Other than that I’m the captain of a bunch of fuck-up wannabe soldiers that I’ve picked up along the way,” he said bitterly.
“So it’s Captain Morgan then?” it hurt to sneer but I managed it anyway.
“Georgie,” he said, “I’ll give you that one but it’s a one-time act of mercy because you don’t know better. You ever partner that tone and my name again, I put a bullet in your ass, golden ticket or no. Am I clear?”
I nodded. I felt he was very clear.
The caravan was approaching the intersection of Broadway and Central Avenue at a crawl. Navigating around clumps of zombies, pushing them aside or running them over as needed. This was the closest I’d been to the city since before the undead appeared on the scene.
The lead vehicle came to a stop and the entire caravan followed suit. The area up ahead was clear of traffic but the undead were everywhere. They began to converge on us until I could only see rotting faces in the windows. They pressed in tight slapping the windows and rocking the SUV with the sheer force of their numbers.
Captain Morgan didn’t appear the least bit nervous as he put his radio to his mouth and ordered his men to engage something called the sonic barriers. The driver hit a button on a contraption on top of the dashboard.
The entire vehicle began to hum a tone so low I could feel it in my chest. I closed my eyes to find myself awash in sickly green light. My head started swimming and my stomach cramped up as I gasped and opened my eyes.
“What’s the problem, Georgie?” Morgan was looking at me with an alarmed expression. “You better not sick-up in here, son. I swear I won’t have it. I’ll throw your ass to the dogs out there, you hear me?”
I could tell he was nervous about the potential of getting puked on but I was beginning to think he was full of shit. I could strip naked and give him a lap dance and he wouldn’t kick me out of the car.
I took a few shallow breaths and wiped cold sweat from my brow. I noticed we were moving forward again at a slow steady clip. I had been too focused on my own reaction to notice but the SUV and the caravan now had a clear five-foot zombie-free zone on all sides.
The zombies on the edge of the barrier were like thousands of mimes practicing perfect glass-box routines. My closed eyes revealed the invisible barrier to be the green energy that had made me queasy. It was pushing back an endless sea of icy blue as far as my imagination could see.
“Why didn’t you use that barrier thing before, like back at the store?” I asked Morgan.
“Everything takes power, Georgie. Even the cool new toys I was given. You get caught in a crowd like this and one of the little sonic machines goes dark…you’re the toast on a shit sandwich before you can say pass me the toilet paper,” he replied.
The caravan wound its way down Central Avenue. The road completely free of cars and other obstacles. I was troubled and confused by this, wondering who had managed to keep this area free of traffic in the presence of what had to millions of undead. I noticed from the corner of my eye that Morgan was watching me. As we crested the last hill near University Avenue I knew why.
If my face didn’t hurt so badly, I’m sure my jaw would have dropped. The city of Minneapolis was lit up like…well, like normal.
My good eye felt moist with tears as I stared in shock, unbelieving and profoundly sad, like it was a trick of the light or a mirage. I now knew the source of the strange glow I’d witnessed on occasion from my house. Astronomers everywhere must have been spinning in their graves every time I had written it off to heavy moonlight.
Morgan had been watching for my reaction. Testing to see if I’d been to or from the city since “Z” Day. I must have convinced him this was my first visit downtown in a good long time because when I looked at him his features visibly softened and he slumped in his seat.
“It’s real as rain, Georgie. Ain’t it the damnedest thing you ever saw?” he said softly.
For once he sounded human.
“But how?” I stammered.
“The fuck if I know, I haven’t been in the city itself since last May before it all started. I figured maybe I’d get some answers from you but I’m guessing you don’t know shit.”
A cold chill swept through my body as I looked at the brightly lit city. The glowing Gold Medal Flour sign seemed to mock me from across the river.
“So if you guys aren’t making camp in there, where are you staying?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said.
“Yes I would, that’s why I asked. What’s it going to hurt? You’re turning me over to them anyway. I’m sure they already know where you are.”
He grunted and said, “I guess there’s no harm. We’re the fucking army, we’re holed up at the old armory off of County Road I.”
“I thought that place was decommissioned years ago?”
“It was. It’s a fucking shithole but we make do.”
In the distance I could see the entrance to the 3rd Avenue Bridge had been completely closed off with giant steel barriers. They were tall as oak trees, thick and impenetrable, spanning the gap starting at the pedestrian walkways on both sides.
On top of the barriers were powerful spotlights, a shit-ton of razor wire and platforms wide enough for a multiple people to walk on. Guards could be seen watching the caravan approach.
They stood like shadowy specters behind the spotlights. The zombies parted as we drew closer to the brightly lit area in front of the bridge.
“Not your people then?” I asked.
“Ugh. Fuck no,” he mumbled dismissively.
Morgan flipped through several static-filled channels on his radio until he found the one he wanted. People were chattering back and forth regarding some type of perimeter check protocol. He cut in over their transmission.
“Bridge Tower 1, this is Captain Brady Morgan of the U.S. Army do you copy?”
“Go ahead, Captain,” came the tinny reply.
“Please inform whoever is in charge that I’ve acquired the package.”
“Are you certain you have the right person? If I alert Command to this and you’ve got the wrong man, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I’d bet my life on it Bridge Tower.”
“Be certain you just did, Captain. Pull it up and round it off, I’ll radio it in. Best keep those barriers on, she’s a hungry group tonight,” the man chuckled into the radio causing Morgan’s lips to turn up in distaste.
“Fucking traitors,” he muttered under his breath.
We came to a small intersection in front of the bridge. The lead vehicle did a U turn and the entire caravan followed the leader until we’d formed a large circle, the sonic barriers keeping the wide center free of zombies.
“Get out, George,” Morgan said as he opened the door and let in the cold night air.
I pulled on my door handle and stepped into December’s finest, my breath coming out in great puffs of steam. As much as I enjoyed the fetid scent of the millions of undead surrounding us, my weary body was already missing the heated comfort of the SUV. I stood next to Captain Morgan in the center of the circle as his men fanned out and formed a loose perimeter around us.
I was keeping a close eye on the men walking the platforms while I shuffled from foo
t to foot trying to stay warm. Morgan blew hot breath into his cupped hands. The platform guards hadn’t changed their activities since we arrived. It was as if we weren’t there.
“What now?” I asked him.
“Now we wait,” he replied impatiently, “By the way if you run I will shoot you.”
I assumed this would actually not be the outcome if I ran but I considered his warning highly superfluous anyway. I had no intention of running, I was far too cold and sore and more than a little tired.
He chuckled to himself and gestured to the zombies waiting outside the circle of vehicles.
“Where you gonna go,” he said, “Fuck it! Run if you dare, Georgie!”
I thought I understood him then. He was a bully, plain and simple. He was pissed by the snarky attitude of the man on the radio teasing him from safety up on the bridge and now Captain Morgan had to lash out at someone. Obviously that person was going to be me.
I didn’t give a shit about him, I had eyes only for the city, lit up like a lighthouse on top of Hope Hill. How did it happen? My sense of foreboding about what lay inside the city and was now coming for me was so strong I could almost taste it.
“Who are we waiting for?” I demanded.
“You’ll see.”
Time ticked away, my blood slowly congealed from the cold. I hated waiting. Abhorred it actually, waiting was an exasperating form of torture for me. By my estimation I made it three whole minutes. I let out a deep sigh.
“How long do we have to wait?”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye.
“Are you always such a bitchy asshole?” he grumbled.
I was processing several possible responses and coming up blank. My retort bank was empty but then I was tired and crabby so it made sense. It didn’t matter anyway as the sound of a helicopter could be heard approaching from somewhere within the city. The men on top of the barricade finally stopped their endless patrolling and stood at attention waiting for the approaching chopper.
It flew in low over the bridge coming straight out of the city. Morgan’s men spread out further to make room for it to land in the center of the circle. It hovered over us for almost a minute blowing a small tornado into our faces. Blinding light from one of its searchlights spotlighted me as it began to lower to the ground.
My heart was pounding madly away inside my chest and I was no longer cold as adrenaline pumped through my body. I suddenly didn’t want to meet the people in the helicopter. I didn’t want to know why electricity burned in the city while the rest of the world was dark and dead. Suddenly all I wanted was to be anyplace but in the center of that circle.
The dull roar of the massive horde and the chopper nearing the ground was making it difficult to hear or talk but I leaned over and shouted into Captain Morgan’s ear.
“Captain, I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“What?” he looked at me confused.
“I said, I will take you up on your offer,” I shouted.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
We locked eyes and I gave him a slow wicked smile. Realization hit him but it was too late. I shoved him as hard as I could with both hands sending him ass over tea kettle.
The helicopter touched down with a slight hop. I saw the door open and one booted leg emerge. I gave the person my best two-fingered salute and broke into a dead sprint heading for the nearest edge of the circle.
One of Morgan’s men was blocking my path, his gun raised and pointed at my face. He didn’t shoot me, I knew he wouldn’t. Morgan had made it clear I was the ticket inside the city. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to intercept me.
I faked left then right but he wasn’t fooled. He stood his ground like a veteran linebacker. He dropped his gun and crouched at the waist, arms stretched out to meet me in a text-book tackle. I pommel horsed him doing a painful version of the splits.
All he had to tackle was air as I dove headlong over the hood of a pickup truck. I toppled off the other side and twisted my ankle as I fell to the ground. With no other option, I crawled through the sonic barrier and between the legs of two zombies. The horde swallowing me whole like a kelp in the belly of a massive whale.
Somebody was shooting at me as I shoved my way through a tangle of sketchy arms and legs. I could hear the sound of gunfire, albeit faintly. My face was suddenly on fire as a lucky bullet passed through the crowd and made contact with my face.
I screamed, my fingers tipped with red as I felt the nasty burn on my cheek. This was the second time I’d been shot. It was nowhere near as painful as the bullet I took to the shoulder but I still almost fainted.
The distance between myself and the men behind me was growing but the chopper was searching for me as well. I could see its bright spotlight crowning the tops of dead heads as it passed over the area in a big circle. If they followed me in their vehicles as well then I was screwed.
With their green energy machines out of range, the zombies responded business as usual to my commands. The effort to have them adjust for me as I passed through the crowd was almost nothing.
A large brick building loomed ahead. If memory served me well, it was a high-end apartment building. My plan was to get inside and try to lose them there. All of the sonic devices I’d seen so far had been attached to vehicles, so I didn’t think they could follow me on foot. It was a gamble but I figured my chances at remaining free were inside with zombies occupying every inch of available outdoor real estate that my eyes could see.
Chapter 34
“Tegan’s Hope”
I emerged through the densely packed crowd right up to the edge of the brick building. The big picture window in the first-floor unit looked like the Kool-Aid man had run through it. I gingerly edged past the splintered remains of a barricade that had long since given up the ghost. The large room I stepped into was filled with cold, damp wintery air and the undead. I sent them out so I could have a moment to myself while I tried to catch my breath and think.
I was sitting on the shredded arm of a musty, water-logged sofa, as the zombies shuffled out by twos and threes through the open hole in the wall. I glanced around the room with my flashlight. It looked strangely familiar. While I had driven by this particular building a thousand times, I had never been inside. The feeling wouldn’t leave my brain, I definitely knew this room.
Frustration mounted as I studied the cold decrepit place. Dirty brown carpeting covered the floor. The remains of various end tables, smashed lamps and figurines were strewn about the space. A television in the far left corner of the room was mounted on a wall. Somehow it had survived the carnage unscathed. Then I saw it, a print titled, Evocation of Butterflies in a cheap black frame. It hung crooked on the wall next to the television. This was my dream! Daisy had been in this room sitting on the very couch my ass was currently parked on!
I scrambled to my feet and began searching for any sign of what happened to her. The room I was in yielded nothing but some possible blood stains that could have been Daisy’s blood but also could have belonged to anyone who had been with her when the zombies breached.
The rest of the main floor included a kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. They were a mess but I learned nothing useful in them. Back in the main room I took a moment to check outside, aside from a metric ass-ton of zombies, I saw no one else. I ducked back inside and made my way to the staircase leading up to the second floor.
Zombies were terrible to look at, awful to smell and could be startling on occasion but I was way past being afraid of them. Yet still I took the staircase slowly, my nerves on edge as I stepped around a few bodies on the stairs. My heart was pounding and my guts felt loose. I didn’t want to find her dead and mutilated in a dank upstairs bedroom. More than anything, I didn’t want her to be a zombie. I would rather not find her at all if that was the case but yet I needed to know. That need kept pushing me up the slick wooden staircase.
On the third step from the top I found a shriveled huma
n ear. It had been torn crudely from its owner’s head days ago. I reached down with a trembling hand and for some reason decided to pick it up. It felt rubbery, yet brittle and smelled like fish. Yes, I put it to my nose and took a nice deep breath, to this day I couldn’t say why. I placed the ear carefully into the chest pocket of my coat and continued up the stairs.
I came to a darkened bullet-riddled hallway, my tiny flashlight revealed three doors and a moldy, water-damaged ceiling. There were several very dead bodies between me and the door at the end of the hall. In whatever kind of room lay beyond that door, a lone zombie was pounding away, trying futilely to get through to my side.
I couldn’t see it but I knew it was there, courtesy of my ZSP. I knew I would walk up and open the door and it would be her, my sweet, crazy Daisy, all zombied up. I didn’t want to see that. Dread filled my body from head to toe as I moved toward the door.
As I put my sweaty palm on the knob, the zombie on the other side stopped moving.
Shit, I didn’t want to open it.
I thought about what I would do if it were her. The right thing would be to put her out of her misery but I didn’t think I could do the right thing. Hell, what if she were still pregnant and there was a dead baby inside her belly? I could’ve tortured myself that way for hours but at my core, underneath all my romantic notions, I am extremely pragmatic.
I opened the door.
The man came stumbling out in a fury of bottled-up energy. He had me pushed up against the wall before I could spit but then he just held me there.
Relief washed through me in spite of the horror fest that was standing in front of me. It wasn’t Daisy! Unless she’d undergone a sex change operation and several plastic surgery sessions since we’d parted but I was pretty certain this wasn’t her.
I shoved his arms away from me and gave him a good once over. The thing in front of me looked familiar but it was hard to tell for sure if I knew him. His face and arms looked like blood-red taco meat with extra salsa. I examined him for several long moments but then it hit me. Even after a horrifying death he still maintained that same dead-eye dick stare.
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