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

by E. E. Isherwood

  Victoria, looking at the unlocked helicopter, spoke as she ran to catch up. “Aren’t you worried someone is going to steal your ride?”

  “Eh, what are the odds of the finder being able to fly a helicopter? We’ll be fine.”

  Victoria wasn’t sure. “We’ll be fine” was code for “I have no idea.” But there was no other choice. At least they weren’t bullet magnets on the ground.

  Things became more chaotic as they crossed the fields on the Missouri side of the river and reached the narrow, two-lane bridge which linked their side with Illinois. Several people ran down the middle of the bridge—away from town. Women and children, mostly. The children were ushered with yells and screams to keep moving. Often they were crying madly—young and old kids.

  Crossing the old bridge gave them a look below. The brown river was choked with barges. There were more than she could count. It was almost possible to walk from one side of the great river to the other...they were piled up that badly. Cairo had taken capturing the runaways to a whole new level.

  A giant plane came in over the bridge low, and slow. She recognized it from their many earlier encounters. A V-22 Osprey. It swooped in above the town then tilted its wings as it descended—changing from plane mode to helicopter mode. It went behind some trees in the foreground of her view, so she didn’t know where it went down. She assumed it was part of the evacuation effort and was glad to see it.

  Distracted by the plane, that’s when she saw a group of people walking a ramp onto a single barge near the middle of the river. It was hooked to a lone towboat, like they were preparing to depart. The people on the move appeared to be elderly, and that was all she needed.

  “There! Those people. We have to check that out.”

  Jane, when she saw where she was looking, held out her rifle so she could look through the scope. After a moment’s worry that the other woman was going to shoot down at the people, she realized what she was doing and used her own scope in the same fashion. Sure enough, they were elderly.

  “Why are they walking to that boat?” Jane asked.

  “I don’t know. But if they're as old as I think they are, we have to assume Grandma is down there somewhere. And we have to hurry!” The people were close to their getaway boat, and no one appeared to be following them. They’d walked across several adjoining barges which were lashed together—she had experience jumping over such boats—and it wouldn’t take them long to get inside the last one.

  “All right. It’s worth a look.”

  Dang right, it is.

  3

  They had no incidents getting over the long bridge, past a group of men organizing a roadblock at the far end, or getting down to the floating parking lot of barges. The one they sought was still moored to the others as they approached. They had weapons drawn.

  “What are we going to do if there are guards?”

  “What makes you think they’ll have guards?” Jane asked, with apparent skepticism.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that every time I walk into one of these situations, someone points a gun in my face? Ringing any bells?”

  “That was one time,” Jane said with an attempt to lighten the mood.

  Victoria was angry but kept it inside. The rifle in her hands was her insurance card, this time.

  “After you,” she motioned to Jane.

  The barge was one of the big ones. About two hundred feet long and fifty across. It was covered by a long series of metallic toppers, so she couldn’t see what was inside the hold. The elderly people had gone in on one side, where there were steps. On the far end, the barge had some tall antennas and a large satellite dish sitting on the open deck. That was curious enough to warrant checking out the boat, as no other barge she’d seen had such accoutrements.

  Jane didn’t hesitate, though she gripped her rifle tightly, and held it to her face as she moved closer to the steps to go down into the hold.

  Victoria studied the towboat at the other end. The windows of the bridge wrapped all the way around the superstructure of that ship, so the captain could see the entire river, but she couldn’t tell if anyone was watching them from inside.

  I’m sure this is all just a friendly checkup.

  The stairs down were made of fresh wood like they’d been built for this one thing. She followed Jane, who’d gone the ten or so feet to the bottom. She stepped off so Victoria could stand next to her.

  The people she’d seen earlier stood nearby as a group. They looked scared and tired. One or two had taken seats against the metal wall of the hull. The lighting was dim, but white LED lights lined the floor everywhere she looked.

  When they got close to them, they lowered their rifles.

  And old man met them as they neared. “We surrender.” Some chuckles followed from the others. If Liam were here, he’d criticize them for surrendering. He’d want them all to be armed, so two girls wouldn’t have the drop on them.

  “Sorry, what is this place?”

  “Can’t you see? It’s a hospital?” the old man answered.

  Victoria looked again. She’d been so focused on the threat posed by the unarmed people; she didn’t see the rest of the interior. It was two hundred linear feet of beds. Each bed had a light hanging down from above it, though only a few beds had patients in them.

  She and Jane walked around.

  “It really is a hospital,” Jane agreed.

  They both stared in wonder. Having a hospital out on the river meant it could go anywhere to provide services. It would be a great asset to anyone fighting against the zombies who, so far, didn’t have the ability to swim and board ships like this one.

  “Who’s in charge?” There were no nurses or doctors to answer Jane’s query. Just some sleeping patients and the group of newcomers. “And how did you know to come here?” Jane continued.

  Victoria looked back, waiting for the answer.

  “A young woman told us to get over here straight away. She said this was part of the official evacuation effort.”

  “All of you?” Victoria probed.

  The others nodded.

  She walked tentatively into the area of beds. There were probably ten long rows of them. The first patient she could find was also an elderly woman. Not Grandma. That got her running. Out of all the beds, maybe ten percent had people in them. The cool hull seemed to help with temperature, but it was still humid—most patients were sweating as they lay there.

  But, more troubling, was the fact they were all attached to wires and a type of harness over their heads. They seemed to be out of it.

  When she’d run up and down all the rows, she was satisfied Grandma was not among them. She didn’t know if she was happy or sad at the realization. These people had to be safer than those in danger of being overrun by the horde.

  She returned to Jane with a question on her face.

  “I don’t know what this is. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Victoria, pointing over her shoulder, replied, “Actually, I’ve seen something like it. I, uh...” Her attention was stolen by movement at the front of the barge.

  A black drone had floated down the stairs and hovered silently, out of the way. Another came in behind it. And a third.

  “Friends of yours?” she asked Jane.

  The angular machines hovered at the base of the steps, as if waiting for orders.

  “Nope. I have no friends,” she replied with finality.

  Chapter 15: Fighting Retreat

  Marty tried to get out of her chair, but her back was, as Liam would say, toast. She sat in the darkness of the cozy old home with her kinda-sorta captor. Debbie didn’t say she was a prisoner, but she wouldn’t help Marty up so she could leave. It was a request she refused over and over, until finally she went into the other room, pulled some bedding and a pillow into the family room, and went to sleep at Marty’s feet. Now, even if she could pop out of her chair with the help of magic, she wouldn’t be able to step over or around Debbie without rousing her.<
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  The saddest part was the girl seemed to be deeply asleep—even the distinct whining of a tank barreling through the neighborhood didn’t bring her around. When it came by, Marty believed it had gone through the backyard, but as the night dragged on she doubted what she’d heard.

  So, she did the only sensible thing for her situation.

  “Al, you better talk to me when I fall asleep,” she whispered.

  She woke with the sun high in the morning sky. Rays of sunshine raked the empty kitchen, reminding her of many pleasant years of cooking and baking in her home. Who owned this house before the horrible zombies came here? Was that person still alive, somewhere?

  And Al? He never showed up, though she remembered many of her dreams from the night before. They were “normal” ones, though, not those induced by Al and his dream-within-a-dream routine. It wasn’t relief she felt, however, as now she needed him more than ever. She was alone—Liam and Victoria were still up the river on their boat—and the general had hinted things were going to get bad in the town. He didn’t say she should leave, but that was written between the lines.

  At her feet, Debbie’s bedding was an explosive mess of sheets, pillows, and comforters all over the floor. It was too hot to need any of those for sleeping under, but she probably needed them to cushion herself on the hard floor. Whatever it was for, she wasn’t among the wreckage.

  “Debbie?” she said cautiously. She needed the girl but wanted her to be gone, too.

  No response.

  She called louder to the same effect.

  Time to do this myself.

  In an act that immediately reminded her of that first day in her St. Louis living room, she cautiously rose to her feet, using the arms of the chair as her guides. Her rest the night before had helped her back, but not as much as it would have with proper sleep in a proper bed. Sleeping in a chair brought out new soreness in her body.

  Once on her feet, she looked for her cane. Or, she thought, even that darned walker. But this was a home for youngsters. The only cane recently inside had been her own, and she managed to misplace it.

  Pretending she was only 99, she grabbed the arm of the chair and moved to the wall. She wall-walked to the front door.

  “Where will I go?” she said to the empty room, talking to herself exactly as she used to do back home. She giggled at the realization. She was, after all, still alive. For her, that was a thought worth celebrating.

  “Who would have thought,” she mused, “that an old lady like me would be in a pickle like this. Looking for a walker when so many zombies are upon us.”

  That sobered her.

  The front door was flimsy wood and opened easily. With a few stumbles, she reached the edge of the front stoop so she could see the world outside.

  It was worse than she feared. Because several lots had no houses sitting on them—the old town had been stripped of many over the years of decline—her view of the scene allowed her to see several streets over. People were running on her street, on the next street, as far as she could see streets further into town. All of them were heading to the south—away from the battle in the north.

  In her yard, she saw a swath of destruction emerge from the side of the house—dual troughs of dirt had been torn from the thick grass. The cause of that mess sat in the lot across and down the street a few houses. One of the tanks from the levee had driven there, apparently through her backyard, and it came to a rest under the impressive canopy of a towering old tree.

  Two streets over she happened to glimpse Debbie walking between a pair of hobbling elderly women. Everyone else was going south, but her direction was against the grain—toward her stoop.

  It gave her a moment to ask what could drive the young girl to collect more elderly. It was almost as if she was doing a service project of some kind.

  “Save the elderly people from the zombies,” she chuckled. “Well, not this old bird.”

  With great care, she stepped out onto the front walkway and made her way to the street. Once there, she knew she would get assistance. It embarrassed her to do it, but almost no one would pass an elderly woman swaying in the middle of the roadway.

  To her surprise, many people did pass her with not so much as a look.

  Oh, heavens me. Things are bad.

  But, with great relief, she felt someone grab her arm.

  When she looked at her helper, she thought it was just about the last person in the world she expected.

  2

  “General! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m planning,” he said curtly.

  With the whole town running in terror, and the leader of its defenses on her elbow, she didn’t dare bring up her trivial problems.

  “Actually, this is called a fighting retreat, Ms. Peters. Elsa bombed me yesterday so I had to move my vehicles into the town. We've been fighting with spears at the ditch all night. Now I have my people in a line behind us, trying to go door to door to evacuate what we can before the zombies catch us.” As if to emphasize that line, he shoved her to go faster—beyond her comfort zone.

  It struck her that this might be where her story ends. After a few paces of fast-walking, she stopped him.

  “General, I’m not your concern. Leave me here. Protect these other people.” She pointed back to Debbie, who was at that moment walking over the lawn to the house she just left. “That girl helped me get out. She's trying to help others escape. She needs your help, more than I do.”

  He looked back, but only for a moment.

  “You aren’t going to understand this. I’m not sure I do. But Elsa wanted you dead. There's a reason for that. Whatever that reason is, that makes me inclined to refuse her wish and save you myself.” His eyes conveyed the seriousness of that statement. “Now are you going to walk with me, or not?”

  She’d lived a long and happy life. Though she admired his sentiment and shared his desire to deny that woman anything, she couldn’t be responsible for dragging him down while trying to take care of a spent soul like her. She did her best attempt to pull herself free, intent on doing a movie-quality evasion of him. Of course, she came nowhere near pulling it off.

  “Leave me be.”

  His response was rapid and decisive.

  Before she knew what was happening, she was in his arms.

  “Oh! No. Put me down, please.” Her words carried no weight. They were as light as she was in the strong arms of the military man.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I was taught to always honor my elders, and I admit this is borderline disrespect. But we’re in danger of losing the whole town because of that woman’s actions, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk away and leave you to die when I could easily save you.”

  Marty didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t make him put her down, even if she wanted to get violent—which was never going to happen. As with a sizable portion of her later life, she was now being swept up in events, and totally dependent on another human being for her care.

  Al, why didn’t you answer me?

  In those moments she reflected on Al’s absence. Was he giving her a message? Was it up to her what she did next? That seemed right. He could have given her a destination, and she would have done anything in her power to get there. But he didn’t work like that. The being masquerading as her late husband liked to be mysterious. She laughed a little at the more-than-obvious thought.

  So where would a mysterious being want her to go? Liam would be looking for her. She was sure of that.

  I didn’t leave him a note!

  The realization stunned her, but the more she thought about it—

  I still don’t know where I’m going.

  “Dear Liam, I left the house in the arms of a general. Points unknown. Best wishes. Grandma.” That thought was as accurate a note as she could leave at the moment.

  The general wouldn’t take her back to that house, even if she begged.

  “I can hear them, general,” she said softly. The yelps of the
zombies carried on the air.

  “Marty, listen to me. The lines are about gone. The town is going down. I’m going to leave you somewhere safe, but you have to trust me. I’m going to get you out of here, and then we can see how you and Elsa fit together. Deal?”

  “Are you giving me a choice?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then. Carry on.”

  She would be on the lookout for her escape. Wherever he was going to put her, it would not be safe. And worse, it would endanger others. She’d spent too long already allowing people to fight for her, and die for her. Liam, especially. She was as proud of him now as she was ashamed at her own selfishness through all this bother.

  It wouldn’t be suicide to let myself get caught, would it? Not if I tried, for a little while, to escape them.

  Her mind was aflutter with competing life directives when she finally saw what the general was going to do with her.

  Chapter 16: Chloe

  John knew how it would end. Always did, once he saw the zombies coming over the interstate. And every death was the result of Elsa—and whatever group she worked for—and her abandonment of these people. Deep down he wanted to walk away from this fight so he could prepare for the next one, but, alas, that wasn’t going to happen.

  He'd gotten Ms. Peters to a safe spot. One victory among a string of fighting defeats.

  “Sir, everyone who’s getting out is behind us.”

  “And we have nowhere to go,” he replied.

  “Sir?”

  There were two bridges on the southern tip of the peninsula on which the town of Cairo had been settled. Today it was essentially an island, since the ditch linked the two rivers on the north side. It had been filled with bodies, so maybe that disqualified it from being an island. A strange thought given the gravity of the situation.

  There were hundreds of barges floating around the town, as part of the recovery efforts of the past several weeks. He could have jumped any one of those, cut it loose, and gotten his men out. But not the equipment. That’s why he’d made every effort to get his surviving tanks, Humvees, and Bradley’s to the southernmost bridges. But now that he was there…