by Gwynn White
He pushed Grandma with renewed enthusiasm.
They were several hundred feet farther down the trestle when a massive bomb blew up close behind their group. Once again the shockwave hit them, warmer and with much more force than before. He turned around to see what had been hit.
“Oh, crap. I hope everyone got out of there,” he said, not knowing if anyone heard him.
A large plume of smoke churned upward above the tunnel they'd recently vacated.
There was too much smoke and debris to see much of anything in that direction. As curious as he was, he knew time was critical in getting as far away from the action as he could.
He and Victoria did the only sensible thing they could. They ran like their lives depended on it.
Behind them, the nightmares kept falling.
The explosions never let up, but after several more minutes of walking, they could tell the military wasn't walking their barrage farther to the south. Though safe was a strong word to use, he felt they were at least safe from those big bombs. The group they were moving with had become spread out, but all were on the tracks heading in the same direction.
They were on a narrow railroad trestle, well above street level. The sick thinned out the further south they walked, coinciding with the increasingly complicated street patterns in the warehouse district below them.
While he walked on the high trestle, he had time to watch zombies catch their human prey below. It pained him to see it—helpless to interfere—but he had to know what they were dealing with.
A pair of zombies had caught up to a man walking with a leg injury. He had a pistol, but he unloaded the last few rounds killing the first of his attackers. Liam paid special attention to how that played out, thinking of the pistol in his own waistband. The man tried to parry the second zombie, which he was able to do pretty effectively for several minutes, but with his injury, he could never get away before it was back on him.
The man appeared to look for a weapon to use, but he was on a wide-open street, with only paper and other debris around.
The man finally ran out of energy. He was so close to a fence, he might have been able to jump it and get away, but it looked like he just gave up. Death descended upon him and made short work. Unlike most movie zombies, this one wasn't eating brains or pulling out intestines. Instead, while blood sprayed profusely, the man screamed terribly as the thing chomped on his neck. Then, to Liam's shock, the zombie seemed to spend time preening itself, lapping up the fresh blood as best it could.
“Don't waste food, there are starving kids in Africa,” his mom's voice warned.
He was several minutes down the trestle when he looked back at the victim. He expected to see him reanimating, but the man still lay where he fell. His blood-soaked attacker had gotten up and walked quite a way toward the spectacle near the Arch.
After pushing Grandma for a good ways, the trestle came to an end near a parking lot filled with old trucks and rusted metal debris. It was his last chance to observe any changes.
He asked Victoria to stop. He studied the dead man for several minutes while Victoria and Grandma drank some water. He was about to give up when the man sat up.
Liam froze in fascination.
The new zombie looked around, though Liam didn't see any people near it. Soon it was up on its feet. A few moments later it got lost in the buildings.
“I just saw a zombie wake up. It took him about five minutes to change,” he said clinically. “They drink blood, I think.”
“Blood? You said they were zombies. That means brains, right?” Victoria asked.
“It would appear all the books and movies were just fiction, though some of them do seem to eat parts of the victim.” He was thinking about a certain foot sitting in a certain car. “No one had actually seen a zombie until this plague came along in real life. I think it helps people to think of these sick people as something less than human. 'Zombie' has become synonymous with brainless—hopelessly ruined—humans. It was only natural they would also eat brains, as a subconscious way of reinforcing what they already lack. That's why I wanted to see what happened in sequence and how long it took. I think these things are more like vampires than zombies. They are clearly drinking blood while spreading the infection.”
“So they're more like Vombies or Zampires?” Victoria grinned at him despite the morbid topic, then winced from stretching her bruised mouth.
“Hmm, I hadn't thought about it. Vampire-Zombies. VZ's? Like Veee-Zeee's. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds kind of like another word for poop,” she said with disgust.
“Yeah, let's forget that. VZ could stand for Venezuela. Maybe we call them ... zuellas?”
Victoria said it, testing it out. “Zuellas. Yeah, I like it.”
“Grandma, what do you think of calling these things zuellas?”
“I think you two should have more respect for the dead.”
Properly chided, Liam resumed pushing, and Victoria followed his lead. Eventually, she added an addendum to their musings. “Whatever you call it, you should have tried shooting it to save the man. It was the least you could've done.”
“Believe me, I would've, but my little pop gun couldn't hit a barn at such a long range. My odds of hitting it and hurting it were effectively zero. Remember I told you only a direct shot to the head at close range will kill a zombie?”
“Yeah.”
“Besides, Liam has to protect you, my girl. You each must stay focused on what's important now. Don't get distracted by things you can't change. Know when to help your fellow man, but don't do anything that could endanger each other.”
She was essentially telling him not to be that guy and do something they'd all regret. He knew it was good advice, even if he was prone to such regrettable actions. He held his tongue.
Victoria was similarly silent.
“Why are you two looking at me like that? I know I'm just the old lady along for the ride, but I'm also an observant woman. I see the way you two look at each other; worry about each other. Even new friends can care about each other. It's OK. I get it, even if you don't.”
Grandma shifted in her chair as if getting ready for a long speech.
“I've been watching things carefully since Liam and I left my house. Sure I've slept a lot, but I've also seen a lot. I listen more than you know, even when my eyes are closed,” she chuckled. “But you kids have to be aware of the new reality here. Society is going to break down. It is breaking down. You've just seen it break down. The only thing we can do—you, me, Victoria—is go on surviving day after day. We should try to stick with these good men and women, but that won't last unless we all get well outside the city. There are just too many infected people here.”
She paused for just a moment. “You two have to care for each other. Avoid distractions. It won't be easy, but it's easier if you can tolerate being around each other. I think you do,” she completed her statement with a denture-filled grin.
Liam blushed. Victoria's face was bruised and swollen already, so it was difficult to read her, but he noticed a hint of a smile breaking through her distorted facial muscles.
“Just promise me one thing,” Grandma continued. “When my time comes, don't either of you risk yourselves for me. I won't become your distraction! Please promise me.”
Victoria only said “uh huh,” without enthusiasm. He also tried to remain vague, only committing to “I'll try.”
Would he leave Grandma to such a horrible fate?
He was ready to tell himself he would never, ever abandon her. But for the first time, his life or death equation was more complicated. What if he had to choose between Grandma and Victoria? Sure, she was a girl he'd just met, but he liked her and liked being around her. He figured that was enough of a foundation for mutual survival, and—? He pictured himself having to choose. It hurt even to think of it.
He resolved that he was going to ensure Victoria and Grandma got out of this together, and if possible, himself. He could not pick one li
fe over another.
Yeah, I can live with that equation.
The group of survivors who had escaped from the tunnel came back together near sunset about a mile or two south of the tunnel. The trestle had gently brought them back to street level, but they were a good distance from any pursuit. Human stragglers kept coming down the trestle, but precious few were from his group.
Liam was dismayed to learn the captain wasn't among the survivors. Repeated radio calls came up empty. Officer Jones was there, as was Hayes. Most of the families and children appeared to have made it, but the number of officers was much reduced. There were a few of the gang members still left, as well as a healthy grouping of regular citizens with firearms.
Left leaderless, the group was suddenly faced with competing interests. Many of the families of the lost officers were understandably distraught. The surviving police were embedded with their loved ones.
The yuppie-looking guy, with his wife and daughter and her spastic border collie, spoke first. “I live pretty close to here and have seen nothing but destruction since I left the house this morning. We should try to swim across to Illinois. There's no way we can escape the number of sickos we saw back at the Arch. They're going get through the warehouse district, then swarm this direction and eat us. Even if the Army kills every last one of them at the Arch, there's still a whole city of them to the west of us. We can't outrun them all.”
Liam could empathize. He'd thought about swimming ever time he looked at the river.
“O fa-show. We ain't getting' wet, yo,” said one of the pistol-packing gang men. Liam noticed a couple of young children were attached to him, as well as a woman who appeared to be their mother; an older woman was holding her arm, making three generations.
The big police officer, Jones, said Osborne intended for them to keep moving south—until they got clear of the city. He was going to uphold that course of action.
Another guy, one of the hunters, seemed anxious to travel into the city. If he didn't know better he'd say the man had lost it—he wanted to hunt the zombies to help clean them out of the town. No one seemed anxious to link up with him.
The discussion went on, occasionally punctuated by a snap of a rifle. Infected were wandering everywhere now, though not in force. The bombs to the north acted as a zombie-magnet of sorts. Victoria moved him off to the side.
“Well partner, what are you thinking?”
“I'd vote to stay with the largest group going south. It's where we need to go, for one thing, and I trust the captain knew what he was talking about. I can't imagine he'd have wanted us to swim to Illinois or head back into the depths of the city. What do you think, partner?”
“I agree with you. Our best bet is to stick with a group and move south. As much as I want to go back to my dorm and grab my Bible and a fresh pair of clothes, there's no way I'm going back into that mess.”
He couldn't deny he was secretly happy she had decided to throw her fate in with his, but he also suffered some serious guilt about feeling anything good while the city itself was being consumed by a tenacious disease. He was unsure if that made him a good person for feeling bad or a bad person for having thought it in the first place.
This, Grandma, is why I'm unsure about religion. It makes you feel guilty about everything!
“Sounds like we're in agreement, then. Let's see who we're going with. Looks like a decision has been made.”
The main group was splintering. The majority, including the core unit of police officers and their families along with a few of the pickup gang members and armed civilians, were heading south as planned.
A few men and women threw in with the local who wanted to swim to Illinois. A couple of families were going, but mostly it was single people, many without weapons. They decided they were going to give the river a shot when it turned dark. They said the only hope was to get out of the city as fast as possible, and the water was the quickest way. None of them believed the Coast Guard would shoot them.
The last little group was with the crazy hunter. He somehow recruited a young family and a second hunter to go with him. They stood clear of the main group already, gathering their things. The husband was a bit on the heavy side like exertion was foreign to him. The wife was very attractive and in much better shape. Their two young kids—one girl and one boy—looked to both be about kindergarten age.
Seems fishy they would want to go back into the city, Liam thought. He couldn't help but get involved, even though he hated having to interact with the hunter guy.
“Are you sure you guys want to go into the city? My girl—uh, my friend here—came out of the city and she said she'd never go back because it is so incredibly dangerous. What are you hoping to do in that direction?”
The hunter had his shotgun over his shoulder with his finger on the trigger, like safety was a dirty word to him.
“Easy. We're gonna find a nice warehouse full of food to barricade ourselves in. Then live like kings until help arrives.” He looked sideways at the young mother as he said it.
“I thought you said you were going to hunt zombies?” Liam said with skepticism.
He looked at him like he'd just thrown down a personal challenge.
“What's it matter to you, boy? I changed my mind. Big people can do that.” He had a kind of leer to him that exuded ill intent. His facial hair was filthy, as were his teeth.
Liam just couldn't let it go, though he looked around to ensure some police were still nearby.
He spoke directly to the couple with their two young kids, “It would be better to stay with the largest group. Maximize your odds by sticking together. Stay with people who will protect you as long as they can.”
The crazy guy laughed. And laughed. And laughed. He started walking. Over his shoulder, he said “Come on Mr. and Mrs.—let's go find that building. He's just a dumb kid. We'll protect you fine folks.”
He didn't know what he said that was so funny, but he noticed the young family drifted back toward the main group. It was a small victory.
The other hunter seemed OK leaving with the crazy man; he started to follow. The mad hunter did stop when he noticed the family wasn't dropping in behind. Liam watched as he pulled his shotgun off his shoulder and held it at a much more dangerous angle. He suddenly realized how exposed he'd become. He could get shot by an insane guy just for existing.
The hunter looked at him intently for many seconds, then hocked up a loogie and spit in Liam's direction. To his relief, the man turned around, laughing as he walked away.
“Better hope our paths don't cross again, boy.” The hunter said it quietly enough not to be heard by the police, but Liam knew exactly what he meant.
Victoria grabbed his elbow, drawing him back to begin following the main group.
His mind raced. How many more stupid people were being taken advantage of by opportunists? Did chaos and disorder cloud people's judgment? Were people so far out of their comfort zone now they no longer knew how to function? Even at his age, he knew enough not to pair up with a seedy guy with a powerful gun. Not when the police are in your own flaming group! He realized he was talking about that guy again. Only this time it was that family, and they were trying desperately to get themselves removed from the script.
He felt himself getting angry, so he tried to temper it.
I saved the lives of that family.
Too bad they don't even know it.
He had very little time to celebrate.
The swimmers started walking away, and the main group resumed its trek south. Officers and gang members alike took point or covered the rear. He and Victoria each grabbed a handle and pushed the wheelchair between them. He saw the metaphor now that he viewed Victoria as his partner. They were all in this together, joined by fate through an elderly woman who, until recently, he couldn't stand to be around.
A massive industrial rail yard lay ahead, draped in the deep shadows of twilight. He hoped safety was waiting for them.
It had alread
y been three days since the sirens.
14
Intermodal
Marty was lying on the bridge, near a lone green sports car sitting on the deck with her. As she stood up to gain her bearings, she realized she was in San Francisco. The distinctive Golden Gate Bridge was far out over the bay. She was on another large bridge, braced by metal girders high above, though she had no idea what it was called. It was a bright and sunny day, and the crisp blue water was beautiful.
“I'm dead, and I've gone to...San Francisco?” she said with confusion.
Her husband's avatar was next to her.
“Hello again, Marty. No, not dead yet. You're on the Bay Bridge, by the way.”
“You can read my mind?”
“Read? No, I'm in your mind. I'm with you, inside your head. I hear your thoughts as you think them in this place.”
“Where are we?”
“That's a very interesting question, my dear. San Francisco, California.”
“Al, even I know that. I can see the Golden Gate right there; you know what I meant.”
“I suppose I do. You should ask Liam. He knows this place. You and he are developing a special bond which I'm happy to encourage.”
She searched her feelings. Of course, she shared a special bond with her great-grandson, though their relationship of the past few days was turning out to be quite different than the previous years of Liam's life all put together. Maybe something was changing.
“This is a dream, right?”
With a gleam in his eye, Al gave her a big smile. “Are you sure?”
“I remember going to sleep in the rail yard after the kids wheeled me down the railroad tracks away from that horrible battle at the Arch. Unless I'm mistaken, I'm still sitting in my wheelchair, asleep. That means I've got to be dreaming, or sleepwalking, or something like that, right?”
“You are asleep, but not walking. Let's leave it at that for now—we can't afford to get into the weeds. Some things you have to take on faith, I'm afraid. While we're together, I want to show you this car.”
