Since the Sirens: Zombie's 2nd Bite Edition: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Books 4-6

by E. E. Isherwood

  “Naw, my real name is Haylee. You don't have to call me by my literary handle.” She stuck her hand out.

  “And I'm Lana Peters. Please don't call me princess.” Both women laughed while they shook hands.

  “Travis here had talked you up.”

  Travis had his arms tightly wrapped around Haylee.

  “Yeah, he does that. He likes to pretend the whole thing was my idea, but he was a big part of it, too.”

  Liam had a chance to compare the two leaders of the Patriot Snowball. He was a tall man with a red-beard, the demeanor of a soldier, and the look of an auto mechanic. She was about average height for a woman, very pretty, with no hard edges or mannerisms. Almost dainty. Far from the look of a leader or a fighter.

  “You're too modest, dear.” Travis looked down at her. “Liam is Lana's son. She never told him your story,” he said mischievously.

  “Seriously?” Her face scrunched up, as if it were incredible. “You? You haven't told your own son what this movement was all about? What we did?”

  Lana appeared defensive. “It's complicated. My husband, Jerry, was the face of our little cabal. He died a few days ago. I've not really...been the same. I didn't want to bring him into this world, too soon.”

  “Oh, I'm so sorry.” Haylee broke from Travis and hugged Lana. Liam expected waterworks from the two women, but they were tougher than him. He surreptitiously wiped a tear away.

  When they separated, Haylee offered to continue.

  “I'll give you the short version. There are any number of TV documentaries about me, though almost all of them were shot and edited to make me look like an idiot with no idea what I was fighting for.” Her sarcasm was palpable.

  She faced outside the window as she spoke.

  “I was a high school history teacher. That's my secret. If you don't know history, you're a clean slate ready to accept what any fool politician or the politician's education machine wants to feed to you as the truth. Most of America today has no idea who was President ten years ago. Some have no idea who is President today.”

  She looked at them over her shoulder. “I don't mean today today. I mean when things were still normal.”

  Looking outside once more, she went on. “Without knowing why, young people fell into line with what media told them was cool, told them which candidates they should vote for, and how they could get the free stuff that was coming to them. They were never told who would pay for it, or what would eventually happen when other people's money ran out—as it always does. This has been going on for fifty years, actually. I stood up and said the toughest word in American politics: NO!”

  She turned fully around. “Liam, did you know about any of this as it was happening? The Patriot Snowball started in the bitter cold of January of this year. Where were you?”

  He thought back. Either he was in school, or playing his video games after school.

  “Um, what do you mean?”

  “I want to know why you don't know about the greatest movement in American history. It happened while you and your peers had access to the most powerful communications tool in existence. The Internet should have been swimming with news about the movement. It was, if you knew where to look.”

  He strained to remember anything about the events she referenced. If he was pressed, he might admit to remembering someone talking about a big march at school, but that was a stretch. He may have overheard a teacher, but he'd never spoken directly to any of his friends about it, nor had he ever heard the term Patriot Snowball until well after the sirens.

  “I can tell by the look on your face you weren't informed about it. That's my point. The media tried to mock me. My first interview with that reverend was a joke. They made me look like a crackpot. Later interviews were taped and then either edited to a few sound bites, or simply discarded. It wasn't until we were in Ohio, with tens of thousands of marchers filling the highways, that they had to cover it. And even then they tried to paint us as disgruntled veterans looking for handouts, instead of what we actually were.”

  “And what were you?”

  “I'm glad you asked.”

  2

  “I've never been a boat rocker, though I studied plenty of examples from world history. I studied nobodies who stepped in and did what needed to be done. Not that I ever advocated publicly prior to my first step. That's why no one would have expected me to lead a national movement.”

  Liam would agree. She looked exactly as you would expect of a kid-friendly school teacher.

  She sighed, as if she'd told this story a million times.

  “The thing is, I could see firsthand how our education system failed my students. I'll give you the most salient example.” She looked at Liam. “Do you know who Clarisse McClellan was?”

  Liam shook his head.

  “Guy Montag?”

  Another shake.

  “Ray Bradbury?”

  “He was a writer...I think he wrote about Mars.”

  “Well, pretty good. More than most of my students knew. Clarisse and Guy were characters in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. It's a book about how history can be scrubbed, but more importantly it's a book about how willing we—the people—will accept, and even facilitate that scrubbing. I saw this in my students. Clarisse corrupted the main character—made him think for himself, of all things—and for that she was killed. The firemen were responsible for burning books. Books were outlawed...”

  She looked at Liam with sad eyes.

  “...and my students didn't think that was a bad thing. Sure, they felt bad Guy and Clarisse got mixed up with the law, but they truly believed the “authorities” were looking out for the people. The book was written in the nineteen-fifties, but it very nearly described the dumbing down of people on social media. It was as if he knew that once we started sharing memes and trading “likes” on inflammatory headlines instead of reading books, we'd be ripe for separating our present from our past. Once that happens, well, anything is possible. People become blank slates, willing to accept what they're told. My students had been so well—indoctrinated is the word I often use—that they accepted the social order in Fahrenheit 451 because the people were happy, safe from conflicting and divisive opinions, and had everything they needed. The ending was overlooked, of course. That is the fiction, in their minds.”

  She laughed. “And the one thing he got wrong in his book was the role of the professors. Instead of being guardians of knowledge, they've become the firemen. They want dumb kids out of high school. Then they can fill their heads with more mush. You can't trust a single one.”

  “Jason Hawkes said he was a college professor,” he challenged.

  “Yeah, and he's Guy Montag...or close to it. I'm Clarisse—a freethinking teacher in an industry designed for conformity. But don't worry. Plenty of teachers broke free with me.”

  She cleared her throat. “This is the official story.”

  A smile to Travis.

  “In the early morning cold of Boulder, Colorado, in January, I got out of my car on the highway after it was shut down by a popular group of paid grievance protesters. At first I was angry they kept me from getting to my job—teaching children—but as I talked to them and listened to how ignorant they were, I got angry at the system for allowing such idiots to gain the favor of the national media. These were the people who were proud to believe the lies.”

  She stepped next to Travis, and put her arm around his waist. “And who do you think was in the very first car in that ten-mile-long traffic jam those a-holes created?” She squeezed, making the association.

  “I don't read many books, I'm afraid. I go by “The Terminator,” he said with a mock Austrian accent and some laughter.

  “Anywayyy, I got into an argument with one of the protesters, which was caught on someone's camera phone. Little did I know it was all filmed by a news network, but they hid the tape. Har de har the joke was on them because I got pushed down to the ground by that wench and it was caught on tape by a citizen
. That's what people remember. The simple history teacher getting tossed down by the ignorant, paid rabble-rouser.”

  She giggled. “Travis got out of his car, picked me up, and together we organized the people and vehicles behind us to force that entire group off the highway so we could get real citizens moving again. We provided the blueprint of how to break the group's grip. Even the news couldn't spin it away as it happened, which was why they had to ridicule me when they finally got an interview.”

  “So how did you start marching?”

  “That is a long and complicated story.” She seemed to think on the issue.

  Lana interjected. “You can tell him about Rose. She's Liam's grandmother.”

  Haylee looked at her. “You sure? OK, then. I met her at a town hall meeting. She was my congresswoman, newly elected, and she came to Boulder to get a feel for the wants and needs of her constituents. I was there to ask her about the national movement I knew was fake, but she wouldn't take my question. Later, a representative of hers pulled me aside, said she recognized me, and let me know Rose wanted to talk to me privately. Needless to say, that meeting went really well and we kind of helped each other with the idea of marching on Washington. I started walking the next day.”

  “And she walked all the way to Leesburg, Virginia,” Travis said proudly.

  “Actually, I made it to the Oval Office, but that's not important. Leesburg is where a few small airplanes sprayed the entire march with what we found out later was the plague that started this whole thing.”

  “So you didn't release the plague on Washington? That's what the news says.”

  “Helll no. We were marching to change the direction of politics, not murder a city, or a nation. Murder my own students for crying out loud. I'm aware they're trying to blame us for all this destruction, but you can tell by their problems in West Virginia they haven't been very convincing.”

  “The TV says they are being swamped by zombies.”

  Haylee smiled. “Yeah, they would say that, wouldn't they? But there were cameras on the ground when the planes went over us. We knew. Now, with two versions out there, which do you think people believe? That our group was marching peacefully when sprayed? Or the other version, where we were the aggressors? It's no contest. Those aren't all zombies attacking the convoy. Word is spreading, even in the Apocalypse, along the East Coast. They've been abandoned by the government. The people who created the plague, and a lot of innocent people in the government and military who had nothing to do with it, are now targets for the angry mob. They use TV and radio to try to deflect some of that anger on us, but it isn't working as they hoped. That's always been their mistake. They never understood the people they served.”

  She spoke that last sentence with emphasis.

  “I was told by two members of the National Internal Security that the President gave the green light to drop the plague on you guys. If we could prove it, somehow, we could broadcast that truth and send the remains of the government into hiding.”

  It was all fitting into his long-term plan to write the book on the true story behind the Zombie Apocalypse. Who pressed the button. Who knew about it. Who—eventually—cured it. That last part was still TBD—to be done. Well, all of it was TBD.

  “When the mist fell over us, we thought it would be tear gas or some other non-lethal chemical agent. After we all inhaled it—we didn't plan on needing gas masks—everyone felt relieved it had no effect. It wasn't until the next day people began to get sick. It was bad, but it wasn't what you see today. The flu-like symptoms started to spread through the crowd like wildfire, eventually breaking the back of the march and doing a fine job of sending us all home on public transportation, aircraft, and so forth. By the time we all made it home, we'd likely infected half the nation.”

  “But no one turned into zombies?”

  She laughed at the word. He was used to it. “No. There was no taste for blood in the air.”

  “Hayes told me—he was one of the NIS researchers, he said he created the flu that dropped on you—that his plague was designed to get you all sick, and nothing more. But it interacted with two other diseases floating around. The combination of the three is what resulted in the zombie outbreak.”

  “Well, that adds up at least. It was a week later when we started seeing reports of problems in the eastern cities. Those closest to the virus released over Virginia.”

  “So we can say for certain the Patriot Snowball movement didn't release the plague?” Liam asked tentatively, like he was taking an order from a customer at a diner.

  “Absolutely not. Though one could argue we were the reason for the plague being released. If we'd not gone to Washington, maybe all this wouldn't have happened.”

  My old friend “unintended consequences.”

  He didn't think they could blame themselves for the actions of a malicious government, or at least a portion of government. His book would be right on this point, if nothing else.

  Lana touched Liam on the arm. “I think we need to focus on the here and now. The holdouts from the government, led as best we can tell by agents of the NIS, will soon be here in St. Louis. They want this city, for the same reason we do. It's centrally located in a country that soon will be dependent on ground transportation or river transport, and has some natural choke points to hold off the zombie hordes. We need to figure out if there's any way we can prevent that convoy from crossing that river—either by the bridge below us or one of the few still standing.”

  “If Liam can get us to those tanks, we might have a chance,” Travis offered.

  “Liam?” his mom asked, still holding his arm gently. “Is that something you feel comfortable doing?”

  No.

  “I'll think about it. This is all a lot to absorb.”

  “I know how you feel,” Haylee added, “I was teaching high school and then leading a group of ex-military jugheads—”

  “Jarheads! But I prefer grunts, dear. We don't want those dirty Marines,” but he smiled widely as he said it, like it was their joke.

  “OK, I herded these cats across the country. I had no idea what I was doing. It took someone behind the scenes to get us all where we needed to go. Kept us fed. Kept us on the right roads. Watched out for roadblocks, hostile towns, and managed our social media connections.”

  As she spoke, she looked at Lana, who smiled in return.

  “Mom?”

  He knew it was true. His dad's letter said as much.

  3

  “I already know my mom was important. I've known since I read my dad's letter.” Here, with these people, there could be no secrets.

  He thought back to the first time he read his father's words.

  I'M SORRY.

  SO. THE TRUTH. I PROMISED I WOULD GET TO THAT.

  THE TRUTH IS OUR FAMILY HAS BEEN IN THE FIGHT FAR LONGER THAN THIS SPRING. I SWEAR ON MY HONOR I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT ANY OF THIS BEFORE YOUR GRANDMA ROSE CALLED ME, EARLIER THIS YEAR. BUT, YOUR MOTHER KNEW…

  WOW. WHERE DO I BEGIN?

  YOUR GRANDFATHER ALOYSIUS SERVED AS AN INTELLIGENCE OFFICER IN WW2. AFTER THE WAR HE FOUND EVIDENCE OF HORDING OF MILITARY EQUIPMENT BY PROMINENT GERMAN FAMILIES, BUT HE WAS UNABLE TO DISCOVER ANYTHING MORE THAN WHISPERS. HE TRACKED IT DOWN FOR SEVERAL YEARS ON HIS OWN TIME, SCOURING GERMANY FOR WHAT HE WAS SURE WAS A CONSPIRACY BY THE NAZIS TO STORM BACK OUT ON THE WORLD.

  HE KEPT HIS NOTES HIDDEN, AND ONLY SHARED THEM WITH HIS SON, YOUR GRANDFATHER CLYDE. CLYDE POKED AROUND AS PART OF HIS JOB IN THE OIL INDUSTRY, AND HE DIED UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES IN THE ALPS.

  THAT'S HOW YOUR GRANDMA ROSE CAME TO OWN THE NOTES FROM BOTH MEN. SHE TOLD ME GRANDPA CLYDE FOUND A CACHE OF WEAPONS IN A REMOTE ALPINE VILLAGE AND—THIS IS SOMETHING I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE—THAT THE WEAPONS AND VEHICLES WERE PART OF A GLOBAL EFFORT TO SAVE THE HUMAN RACE FROM THE APOCALYPSE. CAN YOU IMAGINE? THAT SOUNDS LIKE THE PLOT OF ONE OF YOUR SCI-FI MOVIES. EXCEPT HERE WE ARE, RIGHT?

  ANYWAY, ROSE SAW SOMETHING IN YOUR MOTHER AND PASSED TH
E NOTES AND HER THOUGHTS WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE. YOUR MOM SAYS IT WAS BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T WANT ME TO GO OUT AND GET MYSELF KILLED. IRONIC, HUH?

  THEY WORKED TOGETHER FOR A FEW YEARS, AND FIGURED OUT THERE WERE CACHES IN THE UNITED STATES, CANADA, AND AUSTRALIA, TOO. PROBABLY RUSSIA. IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH NAZIS.

  THIS ALL CAME TO A HEAD WHEN YOUR GRANDMA ROSE WAS ELECTED TO OFFICE. SHE WAS PAID A VISIT BY A NASTY GROUP CALLED THE NATIONAL INTERNAL SECURITY THAT THREATENED TO KILL HER AND HER ENTIRE FAMILY IF SHE DIDN'T PLAY BY THEIR RULES. THAT, THEY SAID, WAS HOW THEY CONTROLLED THE ENTIRE GOVERNMENT. BY FEAR.

  YOUR GRANDMA ALREADY SUSPECTED SOMETHING LIKE THAT WOULD HAPPEN, AND SHE WAS PREPARED. WITH YOUR MOM'S HELP SHE BEGAN TO ORGANIZE GOOD PEOPLE TO THE CAUSE, AND EVENTUALLY ROSE BROUGHT ME IN. THE ENTIRE PATRIOT SNOWBALL MOVEMENT WALKED BY OUR FRONT DOOR HERE IN ST. LOUIS AND I NEVER KNEW IT WAS YOUR MOM GUIDING IT. SHE'S THAT GOOD. SHE WANTED TO PROTECT YOU AND I IF SHE WAS FOUND OUT.

  GRANDMA ROSE REVEALED HERSELF AT THE END, WHEN SHE THOUGHT WE'D WON. THE PRESIDENT MET WITH THE LEADERS, BUT WE ALL KNOW HOW THAT TURNED OUT. THAT'S HOW WE ENDED UP ON THAT HIT LIST OF NAMES.

  ONLY NOW, ON MY DEATHBED, DID SHE TELL ME THE TRUTH OF HER ROLE. SHE MAY CUT OUT THIS PART OF THE LETTER IF I'M NOT ALIVE TO HAND IT TO YOU. SHE'LL DO WHAT'S BEST FOR US BOTH. SHE LOVES YOU VERY MUCH AND ALL HER SPY STUFF (SHE HATES THAT TERM) IS BECAUSE SHE WANTS YOU TO HAVE A FREE COUNTRY AGAIN SO YOUR CHILDREN DON'T HAVE TO LIVE IN FEAR OF THEIR OWN LEADERS.

  IT'S REALLY THAT SIMPLE.

  MY LEG IS HURTING SOMETHING FIERCE. I HAVE TO END THIS HERE. I'LL TRY TO WRITE ANOTHER LETTER TOMORROW IF I FEEL UP TO IT. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. YOUR MOM AND I REALLY LIKE VICTORIA. I HOPE YOU TWO SURVIVE, TOGETHER.

  PLEASE DESTROY THIS LETTER, LIAM. IF THIS WAS FOUND BY OUR ENEMIES, IT WOULD INCRIMINATE YOU IN A DANGEROUS WAY. RIGHT NOW, THEY DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU AT ALL, THOUGH YOU ARE A POTENTIAL THREAT. IF YOU SHOW UP ON THEIR RADAR YOU MIGHT BECOME A LARGER THREAT TO THEM.

  GOOD LUCK,

  DAD

  Sorry dad, I think they already know all about me.

  He felt the crumpled paper in his pocket once more. He read it every free chance he got. It was getting soft from how many times he folded and abused it. To destroy it was to destroy the last remaining piece of his father's life. To save it was to save a piece of him, even though it put his own life in danger.