Inspiration struck. He turned right, heading north.
His only real scare came when a burly guy tried to grab him. He figured a casual observer might think he was running from the law—or what passed for it in the park—and had tried to make a citizen's arrest. The guy managed to get a hand on his jacket, but he spun and let it slide off. It took real skill to keep the shotgun in his hands while he pulled that maneuver, but he managed. When the man saw the gun, he put up his own hands in a “Sorry, bro” gesture. Liam let the jacket drop.
Finally, he ran up the small hill he'd seen while taking his bath. As expected, the young fellow refused to pursue him, and instead stayed well behind while flinging insulting names and dire warnings about their next meeting.
He felt bad for using the black people as his shield, and he hoped his actions wouldn't get them in trouble in some way, so he kept running through their area, though with more care so as not to stir any resentments. If he managed to piss them off, he'd be out of places to run for help.
All I want is to find Victoria. Is that too much to ask?
6
Next, he stopped at Hans Grubmeyer's mansion to get ammo for his street sweeper. By an agreement between the old man and the Patriot Snowball movement, he'd consented to let them—
Am I “them”?
—use the supplies in his home in exchange for allowing him to call his people to deliver the Tiger tanks to him. Something they never did...
He decided to go in through the back door. Unsure if it would attract attention to himself, it seemed the stealthiest way to enter. The threat of the greasy runner kept him in the proverbial shadows.
Plus, he realized all the ammo was stacked on the back porch. He searched the pallets of boxes until he found a huge tower of shotgun shells. With much effort, he tore the wrapping and a paper box so he could grab a few shells. The first two went in his gun; the rest he stuffed in his jeans pockets until they bulged like chipmunk cheeks.
He walked in through the back door, expecting to find one of the Polar Bears. They were supposed to be guarding the place.
“Hello?” he called. Then, thinking he was being funny, he continued, “Honey, I'm back from the Zombie Apocalypse.” If Victoria was here, he wanted her to hear the funny Liam she'd been missing.
He wanted to hear her laughter.
The hallways were exactly as he remembered them. Despite the size of the mansion, the walking paths were narrow crevices because boxes of supplies were stacked to the ceiling everywhere there was floor space. All paths led to the front room.
He saw the foot on the ground and cradled his shotgun. A quick look behind him—for an ambush—showed nothing. The foot faced down, like someone was dead on the floor. Already committed, and having announced himself loudly, he continued to look around the corner so he could see into the main room.
Bodies were everywhere.
Oh God.
The two Polar Bears he'd met before he'd left were dead. They'd been pushed to one side of the room, but the nasty black pool of blood beneath them suggested they'd been dead for a while.
There were several of the infantry-ninja characters he associated with the NIS. He was surprised to realize he recognized them. One was the bodybuilder woman he'd seen the previous morning when they first got to the tanks. The other was Cliff Hammerich. He appeared to be dead as he sat up against a bunch of wooden crates, but he held a large wooden box over his outstretched legs.
Liam was going to investigate when he saw a light-colored long-sleeved shirt hanging on the back of a folding chair. In a room full of military equipment and dead soldiers, it stood out like a flare in the darkness.
Cautiously, he crossed the living room until he could reach for the shirt. He held it to his face and took a deep breath. In that instant, he knew who's it was. Was she dead in this house, or had she gotten out?
The shotgun felt great in his hands. It was a pretty good weapon for sneaking around the tight spaces of the mansion. He eyed the various hallways out of the room, wondering if there was an intelligent way to conduct a search. While looking down the left hallway, his eyes fell once more to the box on Cliff's lap. It seemed to call out to be opened.
“What were you trying to protect?” he quietly asked.
It was about the size of a breadbox. He gently lifted the lid. A white piece of paper sat on a bunch of rags.
“Dear Elsa. You lose.”
It meant nothing to him, so he gingerly pulled the towels and cloth rags out of the box. He didn't know what to expect, but the digital readout of numbers counting down was among the last.
“15...14...”
He sprang up, suddenly doubting which way he should run.
Go back where I know it's safe, or go out the front?
He decided to try the front door. It was locked. It wasn't just locked, he realized, it had been boarded shut.
Use the window!
Hans had shot through the open window when they first met. He knew it was big enough to escape through. But someone had placed a wire mesh over the windows and screwed the wire to the wall.
“Oh, shit!” he blurted.
The whole place had been made into a fortress.
Unsure how many seconds he had left, he took off for the rear of the house. He spared one second to grab Victoria's shirt on his way out.
His Zombie Apocalypse danger meter was pegged in the red zone. But while escaping an exploding house was the first mission, he also couldn't help think about falling and hurting his ankle. Once again, even something as innocuous as a sprained ankle could get him killed. He lost a second or two because of his extra care, but he whizzed by the porch full of ammo—the danger meter found a few extra bars—and headed straight into the palatial backyard.
His goal was a lone ancient pine tree in the middle of the grassy landscape. Fifty feet away.
He was halfway there when the first explosion rocked the house.
Keep going!
A second later a second tremor shook the ground. Each moment he expected a great fireball would reach out and smother him in death.
Two more blasts, and this time he sensed the heat, though it sounded like the explosions were still inside the house.
He was feet from the tree when he finally got what he expected. A massive explosion ripped out the back of the house and he felt a hot barbecue grill blast of heat on his bare back.
He jumped for the safety of the tree.
His only thought was whether Victoria was burning inside.
Chapter 5: Bathed in Fire
Liam woke up against the protective barrier of the gigantic pine tree. He'd found the only cover in the entire yard he could reach before the house exploded, and it saved him.
Thank you, Mr. Lodgepole Pine.
A prayer of thanks to God was on the tip of his tongue when a man in a military uniform popped through the shrubs near the back of the large yard. A black battle rifle pointed menacingly in his direction. Liam's sad-looking shotgun lay in the grass a few feet away. He'd let go of that, but had held Victoria's shirt during the explosion and subsequent cook off of all the ammo—a show which continued even now.
Six more soldiers appeared. He recognized the whir of a small drone hovering nearby, though they kept it out of sight. The men kept their distance from the house fire. Most took a knee, but one man jogged through their line and covered the distance to him. He kept the tree between himself and the fire.
Liam was too surprised to say anything as the man approached.
The Marine was far less jovial than their last meeting. Weeks ago, back at Camp Hope, Liam and Victoria had “escaped” into the woods, rather than help the military.
“Mr. Peters,” he said with maximum hostility.
Over the days and weeks of the disaster, he'd had his run-ins with the United States Marine Corps, and he'd discussed it endlessly in the down times with Mel, Phil, and his father. One thing that had come up was the proper battle cry. It was different for each bran
ch of the military. He had no defense for what he'd done, so he was left with falling on his sword.
“Oorah, sir.”
“Don't give me shit, son.” Lt. Colonel Joseph Brandyweis strode next to him and looked around the trunk of the great tree so he could see the ruins of the mansion. He whistled. “I knew you were trouble. I just knew it. You teenagers are nothing but.” He turned back to Liam. “The world is burning in disease, and my task is hunting down a snot-nosed punk kid who seems to be at the scene of every big fire—and here you are causing the damned things. Is this all you've been doing?”
“Sir, I didn't cause this. It was—”
“Save it. I can't trust a word you say. Not after that stunt back in the woods.”
“I gave you that phone number!” He was a little more emotional than he wanted. But it was true he did give him the phone number of where Grandma Marty was being held. He didn't want that overlooked.
“Son, do you know how many of my men died because of that phone number?” His tone was only slightly less hostile.
Liam had a pretty good guess. He'd seen the bodies of the Marines, not to mention he saw the other V-22 Osprey crash in Busch Stadium while his plane dusted off stuffed with survivors. That was a question he didn't want to touch.
“I had no idea any of that would happen,” he said with proper contrition. Then, hoping with all his will he could change the direction of the conversation, he continued. “How did you find me? I've been...lost. By myself. For days.”
The colonel studied him. Liam switched places and imagined what he must look like. He'd cleaned himself up, but only superficially. He still had no shirt on and carried angry red welts from being stuck a dozen times by the tagging darts. His blue jeans were muddy, bloody, and dirty. His once-colorful running shoes were now drab brown. His hair was probably standing straight up like a troll doll.
He innocently ran a hand through his hair, as he wondered if it had been burned off in the explosion. His fingers ran through actual hair, causing him to sigh in relief.
“You look like hell, I'll give you that,” he said while scanning both sides of the yard. “And where's your girlfriend? She involved in this, too?”
Liam felt the sting of emotion. The mere thought of Victoria had caused him to tear up in front of the Polar Bear leaders when he was in their headquarters. He was not going to let that happen, ever again. Instead of being sad at his separation from her, he let himself be angry.
“No. No, she's not,” he said without really knowing the truth. “I've just spent days trying to get to Forest Park because she's supposed to be here. I walked up to this house because she was helping an old man here as his nurse last time I was with her. I found a bunch of—”
Can I trust you?
“—National Internal Security assassins lying dead on the floor of the place, along with some of my friends, and when I opened a box sitting on one of the assassin's laps, it had a curt 'Dear Elsa' note and a bomb inside. The only thing of Victoria's I found inside was this shirt. She wasn't in there,” he said with authority.
He expected an angry reply. Braced for it.
“What do you mean, a 'Dear Elsa' note?”
Liam was surprised. “Well, um, there was a note written on a paper inside the box. It said 'Dear Elsa. You lose.' though I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.”
“I don't know, either. But there is a Ms. Elsa Cantwell running the show in Cairo, Illinois. In fact, I had to avoid her to get my last Osprey in the air.” He looked at Liam with what he read as sympathy. “Everyone is stretched thin out here. Me and my boys are operating at the limits of our authority. Your grandma said you were risking your life to find a cure to this mess. She believed it. I didn't believe when she told me, but I've been thinking about it ever since. You've been at the center of every disaster my unit has had since the beginning. You should be dead ten times over. Here you are standing outside another firestorm.” The building behind them continued to flame up and cook off ammunition. “For the love of God, will you tell me what's driving you to always be in danger?”
“Only if we can get away from this fire.”
“Deal.”
2
Later, after moving a few backyards down from the burning home, he sat down on with the Lt. Colonel, and—as he had with the Polar Bears—explained much of what he knew about “the outside.” The only difference was he didn’t want to give away his mom’s role or the existence of the Patriot Snowball headquarters nearby. He painted the patriots with a light brush.
Brandyweis held a long, penetrating stare after his tale was done. Liam pretended to adjust his new black t-shirt, which had been liberated from a nearby abandoned mansion by one of the Marines. It had a picture of a honey badger, which he thought was hilarious. Still, he tried to meet the man’s glare, if only to convey that his story was mostly true. He didn’t lie. He just left certain parts out.
“So you went into a nightmare quarry filled with zombies based on an anonymous text message from someone in Utah? Son, are you having me on?”
“It’s true. We already had videos from Colonel McMurphy showing how dead people had been infected and became zombies, too. I think he was terrified of them. We were pretty sure those experiments were taking place near the national cemetery by that mine. And they were,” he said confidently.
Brandyweis held his cloth cap in his hand and slapped it against his knee. “Dammit. I was hoping you’d have something actionable.”
“You could go in the mine and see the graves for yourself. There are a lot of zombies down there.”
“So you keep telling me,” he said with skepticism. “Almost as if you want me to go down there and never come back.” Though the words were biting, he made it clear he didn’t believe Liam would do that.
“No, I wouldn’t recommend anyone go back down there...ever. I’ve never seen that many zombies in one place. Although—”
He’d left out that the cavern deep inside the mine was filled with military hardware and a big security vault door. While he still didn’t know the relationship between that room and the Patriot Snowball, he was ninety-nine percent certain they had nothing to do with it. They’d lost men investigating it, too. Yet, trusting Brandyweis had its own hazards.
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s just that I did see that many zombies in one other place. The research facility where I rescued my grandma. The zombies stood around the base of that building like they were lined up to get into a rock concert. Victoria and I zip-lined across them from a bridge, but there were thousands upon thousands, in one big group.”
“Zip-lined?” He eyed Liam again as if waiting for the big crack up. When Liam managed to hold his stare, he went on. “And that’s where the big pile of elderly is located?”
“Yes, Douglas Hayes and his research team were doing experiments at the top of the structure, and they dropped the dead people down into the lobby. It was one of the more gruesome things I’ve seen.”
“OK, at least I know you aren’t making that up. My team reporting seeing the same thing when they were in there. But they came in through the sewers...” He stopped talking. They both knew the fate of that team of Marines.
Brandyweis held his ear as he listened to his comms gear. He quietly replied “Affirmative” but continued to chat with Liam.
They sat on some patio chairs while behind another large mansion.
“I sent my boys into that tower thinking it was a legitimate research facility. We followed up on the phone number you gave us. Our intel said that phone was inside, and you said your grandma—and your phone—would be with Hayes. We even knew Homeland Security had rented the building for a year before the disaster—while the structure was being built. I had no reason to suspect we’d be ambushed by a damned research team.”
He sighed deeply.
“I’m not going to make that mistake again, but the world keeps getting more and more dangerous. If we’d found you a few minutes earlier, we mi
ght have followed you into that mansion and me—and my team—would now be dead.”
So would I, don’t forget.
“I’m beginning to think you lead a charmed life or something.”
Liam was quick to react, having had the same thoughts recently. “No, sir. I’m not charmed. My dad died from a stupid leg wound a few days ago. My girlfriend has gone missing. My grandma is probably dead if Cairo is under siege. Hell, my whole family is on a government kill list—”
He hadn’t intended to bring that up.
“—and, uh, one of my friends got blown up by a fifty-five-gallon barrel of explosives.”
“Back it up. Tell me about this kill list.”
Liam didn’t want to reveal anything he knew abut the Patriot Snowball, and though he was related to one of the primary leaders of the group—his Grandma Rose, who was also a congresswoman—he steered in another, less truthful direction.
“When I was in the Riverside Hotel to rescue my grandma, there was another guy there. A guy I think helped to kill your Marines. His name was Duchesne. He, uh, never said his first name. When he found out who I was, he said my whole family was on a kill list. Though he and Hayes were part of the same organization, Hayes said he removed my family from the list. The two argued about it.”
An embellishment of the truth, if ever there was one. After speaking it, he briefly thought about his own book. Once written, and with everything placed in sequence, would people like Brandyweis hate him for stretching the truth like this? Was history always written like that?
“Any idea why your whole family would be on a list?”
“They didn’t say.”
It’s OK to lie when you're protecting your family.
3
“I’ve got to make my move, son. I can’t park my oversized rescue plane for more than a few minutes here in the city, or it will get overwhelmed with refugees looking for a way out. There are a hundred gawkers watching your mansion burn. But I can’t have it flying around waiting for me, either. I need you to tell me what comes next, and we’ll go there together.”
Since the Sirens: Zombie's 2nd Bite Edition: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Books 4-6 Page 63
