by Gwynn White
He and Victoria got Grandma to the safe side, then stood at a point so they could see the approaching storm. The organized police line was able to fall back in good order, ensuring nearly all of the train survivors made it. As each rank of officers crossed to the near side, they fanned out to cover their brothers and sisters still out on the span. It was a rare thing of beauty in the chaotic escape.
The last of the men filed onto the near shore. The bridge itself was crammed full of the undead. Some slipped off the sides as their numbers swelled. The constricting crush of infected funneling onto the narrow railway bridge insured bullets couldn’t miss. He again thought of the Greeks at Thermopylae, wondering if he accidentally paid too much attention in Social Studies class. The horde advancing on them were not flesh-and-blood Persians, however, and the infected continued to swarm, undeterred at any losses, willing to climb over piles of their peers collecting on the near end of the bridge. He saw an endless procession of zombies arriving on the far side. There wasn't enough ammo here to kill them all.
The large crane came to life and moved the giant wrecking ball first backward a considerable distance, and then forward, then backward again. It reminded him of Jones preparing to hand off Grandma. It appeared to be the final piece of Officer Phil's plan. The crane had huge black letters with the name of the construction company: Badrovik.
The wrecking ball slammed into the side of the bridge, directly over the concrete support pier jutting up from the muddy water below, knocking many of the zombies over the side while ripping up a good portion of the decking and rails. The second hit sheared off the rest of the top deck and left a gaping hole where scores of the mindless horde tumbled in. The final few blows hit the pier on the near shore, and the middle of the bridge sagged into the water. It was ugly, but it worked.
The remaining zombies were visibly agitated at being denied the most direct route to their victims, but he felt he spoke for everyone when he silently gave them all the finger. Victoria, seeing what he was doing, copied him. That small act of defiance made him feel much better. Much better than when he did the same thing to that sports car driver back on Grandma's street.
A few zombies still standing on the shortened near piece of the bridge were quickly eliminated, along with a handful on the muddy bank below. Some continued to pour off the end of the blown bridge and were swept downstream or sank to the bottom. The rest seemed to know the battle was ending, and they turned around to look for easier pickings.
The gunfire died down. Dust and debris floated everywhere. The remains of the bridge jutted out of the rushing water below. The current moving through the wreck made a metallic howl as it resonated on some of the hollow girders wrapped around the pier. It almost drowned out the sounds of moaning—and screams—coming from the remnants of humanity on the far side of the river.
He took the opportunity to speak to his two lady friends.
“I say we take a five-minute break.”
“That sounds heavenly.” Grandma said, “I need to sit down again.”
They placed her on the ground up against the trunk of a large sycamore tree, then each took a seat flanking her. She had dug out her rosary and held it tightly to her chest, much as she had when he first saw her in her bed several days ago.
Phil came up to join them.
Liam stood right back up. “Officer Phil, this is Mrs. Martinette Peters, my great-grandmother.”
“Oh Liam, my mother was 'Mrs. Peters.' Please call me Marty,” she said to Phil with returning good humor.
“Do you mind if I sit down and talk to your great-grandma alone for a few minutes?”
“Grandma, you OK with that?”
She gave him a silent thumbs-up sign.
Victoria got up to join him, and they walked off, away from the bridge.
Liam looked back in the direction they'd come. Small groups of living people were coming out of hiding, trying to swim across the small river, trailed by zombies who sank to the bottom. Most swimmers made it. Some were unlucky and were snatched from below. Shooters on the police side supported as best they could.
“I'm never going to St. Louis again,” he flatly declared, as he tore himself away from the carnage.
He walked side by side with Victoria further down the railroad tracks, out of the immediate vicinity of all the police still around the bridge. It gave them some time to talk in peace. As they walked in the open, they each noticed the other with their hands on their guns.
“I guess we're veteran survivors now. Tending our weapons like our lives depend on them, huh?”
Liam knew she was right, although he still didn't feel like a survivor. More like a lottery winner after seeing all the people who didn't make it. Where did that huge crowd at the Arch end up? He couldn't even imagine.
“So, what's next, partner?” She had a broad smile as she said it.
He gave her an exaggerated inspection from her feet up to her head. He shook his head at her. “Nope. You aren't the same girl I found lying on the grass. You've gotten over your guilt and have gone out of your way repeatedly to save me, Grandma, and who knows how many others. I think you've made up for any shortcomings you may have imagined for yourself when this whole plague-thing started.”
Victoria winced at the word guilt but was quick to respond, “And you aren't the awkward boy who ran me over and practically hid behind your grandma. I've seen you do some amazing things the last couple of days that would have made most guys wet their pants in fear.”
“Well, it may surprise you to know one thing that still makes me whiz in my drawers is asking a pretty girl out on a date.”
She gave him a sideways glance but hid her reaction and kept walking and talking. “What are we planning to do next? Do we stay with the police we met at the Arch or strike out on our own with Grandma?”
He slowed down as he formulated a response. “I have to get to my parent's house. They don't live far from here. My dad is kind of an expert at survival and stuff, so finding him will help us a lot. Besides, I can show you all my dorky rock n' roll posters, my retainer, and my pocket protector.”
They both laughed.
“My parents are in Denver. I don't know that I'll ever see them again.” She said wistfully. “Maybe someday I'll try to get out there if things ever get back to normal. I don't think they ever will, though. I'm going to be stuck in your home state of Mizzer-y. No offense.”
Her body language conveyed a sense of deep despair. Not that he blamed her. She obviously missed her family. That would be a blow to just about anyone. He admitted to himself he would follow her to Denver if she asked him to go. He found himself suddenly unwilling to part from her. He figured now was the time to cheer her up.
“I got you a present,” he said with renewed energy.
It immediately brightened her face, bruises and all. “Really? When did you have time to go shopping? The stores are all closed.” She gave him a painful-looking grin, but her smile didn't diminish.
“Well, I didn't buy it, but I didn't steal it. I think it was abandoned when I acquired it.”
“I'm intrigued.”
“Close your eyes and hold out your hands and I'll give it to you.”
She peered into his eyes for a long moment but did as he asked, smiling happily. He pulled the item from under his untucked shirt on the non-gun side of his waistband. He gently put it in her hands and invited her to look at it.
It was a small, travel-size Bible.
“You were looking for one when we met, so naturally, I've been trying to find one every minute of the day since then.” He smiled to be funny but admitted it was pretty near the truth.
Victoria was tongue-tied for several moments. He knew that was not an easy thing to do.
“Thank you, Liam.” She said it in an almost reverent tone.
“It's only the New Testament. I'm working on getting you an Old Testament. I've got scouts roving the countryside as we speak.” Again, he laughed at his joke to make himself feel less
self-conscious that he was trying to do something nice for a girl and doing his best to keep it casual and avoid any hint of guilt-tripping that might make her sense he wanted anything from her in return. He wanted to do something for her that didn't involve shooting sick people in the head.
“Liam, it's absolutely perfect. Truly, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”
Whoa!
“Where did you get it?”
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would get him in trouble.
“I saw it in the train engine when we were up in there the first time, and I ran up there—”
Here comes full disclosure.
“—I ran up there that last time we were running from the zombies with Grandma. I figured it was the final chance I'd have to get it for you. I didn't know we'd live past the bridge. I felt it was worth the risk.”
“Well, your feelings on this matter were completely wrong. Nothing is worth risking your life like that. Consider this a slap on the wrist.” She took his hand and tapped it playfully. “But I do 100% appreciate this, and I'll treasure it.” Her smile was infectious.
They strolled on the gravel road for another couple minutes, then turned around and walked back. They both agreed it felt weird to be so far from Grandma or lots of people with guns.
On the return trip, Victoria surprised him by holding his hand.
Totally worth it.
When they reached Grandma, she was done talking to Phil. He was giving her a big hug, and let go as they got close. His face was flushed red; he'd been crying some more.
“I don't know how your grandma did it, but she answered my prayers. She really did. Thank you both. I, uh, need some time alone to process this. Please excuse me.” He walked off, avoiding eye contact as he went away.
“Grandma, what did you tell Phil about his wife?”
“I don't know if I understand myself. Somehow, I knew to call out her name and the name of his daughter and share their desire to get us across. I had one more message, but that was just for Phil. I'm having trouble remembering how I knew it, though. I'm old, you understand,” she said with an expression that conveyed “And that's all I'll say about it.”
“Grandma, I think we just witnessed a miracle. There's no other way to explain how that happened.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
She said it with a big sigh, then settled herself against the tree as best she could.
He had to admit it was nearly providential the way he found Victoria from out of the tens of thousands of people in the Arch grounds. That she would turn out to be such a critical person in helping him and Grandma get out of the city. And the one big favor he did in return was helping her find a Bible, and that a Bible turned up where it did, when it did. Was it all a divine mystery, or just a lot of amazing coincidences?
He still had trouble believing in God, but he desperately wanted to believe in something. He craved the same fearless faith as these two women.
Maybe Victoria was put here to help me find my way spiritually?
His anger at being “dumped” at Grandma's house by his father had long since dissipated. If anything his parents had done him a favor by putting the two of them together at precisely the same time the world fell apart. It almost seemed his dad anticipated what was going to happen. Almost like he knew.
Wait. What?
He dismissed it as absolute rubbish. His father was always spouting off—he would claim he was “discussing intelligently”—things like government conspiracies, media collusion, and military-industrial scheming. But those were just silly theories.
Right?
He was 99% sure it was all bunk. But the last 1% was elusive. His whole worldview fell apart if that rounding error couldn't be sorted. But his dad saw the government as the bad guy. Always. That mindset might be believable if he were reading one of his books on zombies, but in the real world it seemed completely insane. All his book learnin' did nothing to help him recognize real zombies until they got up in his face and tried to bite him—so he couldn't necessary trust those books as his guide anymore. He looked over to the police back at the bridge—the people who just saved them—and realized they were the government. He wanted to believe they represented help, not some massive internet-fueled conspiracy. He resolved to keep his eyes open; to prove his father wrong. He wanted to toss out that last percent of doubt.
For now, he was 100% sure he had to come up with a plan for their next move. He still had a deep fear he'd end up being that guy and step on a rake at the worst possible time, but after all he'd just seen and done—and survived—that irrational fear was receding. He had to be smart in looking ahead.
He'd been guiding Grandma the past four days, and he admitted it would be nice to hand her off to Mom and Dad—the “professional” caretakers. But even if they arrived at his home this afternoon, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with her. After all, she wouldn't be around for much longer. Would she? He recalled a phrase she'd once said in her sleep. Something about living to be 120. Rather than fear of spending more time with her, he found anticipation. If things got back to normal and she lived that long, he'd celebrate each birthday with real zest. If things got back to normal ...
Victoria bumped him with her hip to get his attention. He'd been staring at the dwindling action on the far side of the river.
“Do you see our friend Hayes anywhere?”
He looked around. “I can't say that I have. I don't remember him being in the group crossing the bridge either, though I wasn't taking a head count. He could have made it across and then run off. Maybe he swam across. Or he could have made a run for it when we were on the other side. He seemed pissed these police officers wouldn't let him pass.”
“If he made it, he'd probably still be yelling at the cops,” she said with glee. “I don't think he did.”
“Hayes was an idiot trying to be something he wasn't. He would have been pretty stupid to run off alone just because he felt slighted. No one can survive this thing alone. Look at us. We just barely made it with a whole army helping us.”
They let that percolate for a while. Grandma was fast asleep again, up against the tree. She had one arm over Liam's backpack, always protecting it.
Victoria reached for his hand and pulled him gently from the orbit of Grandma. She set down her new Bible next to Liam's pack, where it would be safe.
“Grandma's sleeping against a tree, just like you were when we met.”
Victoria laughed, “Does that mean I have to smash her fingers, or are you the expert?”
“I still feel horrible I did that to you. I don't think she would like me if I let that happen to her.”
Victoria smiled broadly; a lovely look, even if she was wearing too much coal dust and bruises for makeup. “I think she would forgive you, just like I did.” She kept pulling him around the bulk of the massive tree trunk. “There's a question I want to ask you, now that it looks like we might live beyond this conversation.”
The police and survivors near the bridge were blocked from their view. She let herself lean back against the bark, arms at her sides, and put her right foot partway up the trunk, so her leg was bent at an angle, pointing directly at him. Her dress hiked up a little, revealing her knee, and he saw it was jet black with coal residue. A testament to all they'd survived. Her posture, positioning, and proximity had him thoroughly confused.
Victoria compounded his confusion by asking, “I was wondering if you could tell me more about the shadow government?” Her effusive smile was contradictory to the serious question.
What in the hell does she mean?
He remembered their discussion earlier—it felt like weeks ago—thousands of zombies ago—dozens of departed acquaintances ago—untold dead bystanders ago—a train ride from hell ago—he told her if she said the code phrase “shadow government,” he would kiss her on the lips.
Clueless Liam from four days ago would never have figured it out.<
br />
Survivor Liam of today returned the wide smile and kissed the girl.
Maybe the Zombie Apocalypse won't be so bad.
In the moment, he felt alive. Energized. Unafraid of the suburbs.
What's to fear, when you're traveling with two bad-ass heroines?
If you plan to continue with this series, there’s an epilogue…but I suggest you stop here if you don’t like cliffhangers and don’t plan to continue.
Thanks for reading!
Epilogue
Jerry huffed with fatigue as the green street sign caught a glint of light from the explosive nighttime sky up ahead. Another fuel tank. Another gas station. Another block. The whole city was on fire. Just like his lungs.
“I'm going to throw up if we don't get there in the next few minutes.”
Lana, his wife, responded in the ear bud. “You're the runner, dear husband, so quit yer' whining."
They walked a few seconds more before she could read the sign. "It's your lucky day, this is her street." She tacked on a relieved laugh.
He was tempted to thank God for getting them there, but this trip had taken what little faith he had and buried it under a pile of bodies. At that moment it was just him and Lana, and a whole lot of luck. Knock on wood, his son Liam would be where he was told to stay earlier in the summer. Otherwise, the past twenty-four hours of nightmare would have been for nothing.
Grandma Marty would NEVER let him go out. And she wouldn't go out, either.
The thought comforted him.
Without planning it, they'd stopped near the street sign. A last pause before the push to the summit. The climb had been long and depressing. They'd left home with rifles, plenty of ammo, and all the skills and knowledge of years of surfing internet websites devoted to precisely the situation in which they were now mired. It was grid down. It was societal collapse. It was the end of everything. They'd run with crowds of refugees. They'd fought alongside groups of survivors when the undead massed in opposing little armies. Inevitably those battles ended with death, or lots more running.
