Zombie Road | Book 8 | Crossroads of Chaos

by Simpson, David A.

  He hoped she would come; he wasn’t sure he could do it on his own. He depended on her to guide him through all kinds of mundane things like the space suits and maneuvering in zero G and even how to operate a fission powered stove. He’d be lost without her. She could speak a hundred languages and knew how things worked. She’d said some of the races would want to eat him. It would be good to know who they were. She knew much about the rebuilt galaxy; she’d been monitoring their communications for hundreds of years. She could pass for being alive if he worked with her, gave her some pointers like not shutting down whenever she was faced with a conflicting decision. She needed to pretend to breathe, too. And blink. It was kind of creepy watching her stay perfectly still and stare into nothing.

  Jessie stood and looked closely at her as she remained motionless, still as a statue. The emerald green of her eyes stood out in the pale face, the three scars were on her cheek and her hair was two tone like it had been when they first kissed in the swimming pool of an abandoned house. Her lips were slightly parted and he had a strong desire to taste them, to see if they were the same as the real girl.

  The one who had turned undead. The one who had burnt up. He shuddered, felt the cold of her thick blood oozing over his hands and nearly screamed when the machine Scarlet turned her head to look at him.

  “Yes.” she said. “I will accompany you. There is a ninety-nine-point seven percent greater probability of your survival if I do.”

  “I find your lack of faith disturbing.” Jessie said as he breathed in and out noisily but he was grinning. “Show me around this thing. How do I operate the gun turrets?”

  14

  Train to California

  “Last look at civilization for a while.” Griz said as they passed through Ocotillo, over highway 8 and headed for the long stretch of railroad that cut through the mountains. It was late afternoon and he was in the galley chopping onions for their dinner. The trip down from Lakota had been mostly uneventful. They tore through a herd of a few hundred thousand shambling husks south of Albuquerque and left a trail of bodies for miles but it had been smooth sailing besides that. The Lakota train crews had been running armored locomotives through the major cities and leading massive hordes out to the desert to dry up and wither away for months.

  “Carl said this is where it’s going to get dangerous.” Bridget said. “This is all uncharted, nobody has been down these tracks since before the fall.”

  “Yep,” Scratch said imitating the college kid’s voice, “a hundred tunnels and rickety wooden trestle bridges, rail beds cut into the side of the mountain with thousand foot drops only a few feet away and who knows how many earthquakes there have been since last year.”

  An armored train was the only way to make it to the ocean and get the thousands of soldiers out again. They could hold on for a few more weeks, maybe even a month or more, but the Admiral had made it clear that they wouldn’t survive much longer. They were already on their last stores of rice and beans and spent most of their time fishing or casting nets. There still wasn’t enough.

  They had all watched over Carl’s shoulder as he drove them down the tracks on his train simulator game and pointed out different areas to be aware of for potential rock slides. He said the sim was accurate right down to the steepness of the grades and the path through the mountain would be the most dangerous. Once they were clear, they could run the rails to Tecate then cross over into Mexico. It was the quickest route in unless they wanted to go up through Los Angeles then cut back down. The game didn’t have any sim maps of other countries they could traverse but an overhead view of the California map showed the Mexican lines ran along the northern border and crossed back over into the States at San Ysidro. There was a wide swath of wilderness area along the Tijuana River that ran all the way to the coast. It was a five-mile-long protected area on the American side of the wall. No buildings, no industry and no people. The border wall would keep the undead from the overpopulated Mexican side out and the nearest houses on the American side were miles away. The soldiers should be able to come quietly ashore, sneak up the shallow river and slip aboard the train.

  “The only unforeseen is what the Mexicans did with their trains.” Carl said. “In the States, the fail safes shuttled them off to sidings leaving the main tracks clear. I don’t know what the protocols are south of the border. You may have to push them ahead of you and hope there aren’t so many clogging the tracks you can’t move them out of the way. Remember, the trains will plow through most anything but if you get stopped with thousands of zombies piled up around you, you might not get moving again until you can clear the tracks. Blood and guts are slick, the train will just sit there and spin.”

  The mechanics down at Tommy’s shop had worked overtime to reinforce the biggest locomotives they had, a pair of AC6000’s diesel electrics which put out 6,000 horsepower each. They would be able to shove a lot of cars ahead of them. The train Tommy put together for them had a pusher and a puller locomotive, a sleeping car, the dining car and eight triple decker autorack cars equipped with hundreds of seats pulled from school busses. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable ride for the soldiers but it had porta potties on every level and it was only for a week or so. Carl had also pointed out the areas where they crossed rivers or ran along big lakes. There would be a few opportunities to get out, stretch their legs and get a bath if there weren’t any hordes nearby.

  Gunny slowed the locomotive to a crawl, sent spotters out front with binoculars and tensions ratcheted up as they started the long, slow climb through the Santa Rosa Mountains. They were checking for rock slides across the tracks or wooden bridges damaged from flash floods or earthquakes. Even though they were only going about twenty miles an hour, it still took a while for a few hundred tons of diesel locomotive to come to a stop. A small horde had followed them out of Ocotillo and was stumbling along in their wake. They hoped the desiccated shamblers would lose interest and follow the tracks back down once they had passed through a few tunnels and around a few horseshoe bends. There was nothing more annoying than trying to get some sleep with a few hundred undead slapping against your window.

  They made it to the Goat Canyon Trestle Bridge before Gunny brought the train to a stop and they decided to call it a night. The undead chasing them up the tracks were miles behind, it was too dark to see very far ahead and it was as good a place as any to shut down and get some rest. He overshot the last tunnel and backed the last few cars into it. It was tight, barely a foot of room between the sides of the cars and the rock walls. If the undead caught up sometime in the night, they’d be stuck at the end of the train, bunched up in the tunnel. A little reverse action would eliminate them once and for all. Ahead of them was a long wooden trestle bridge that had been built in the thirties then another tunnel beyond it. Carl said the bridge should be fine to traverse, they weren’t very heavy, but it would be best to check it out in the day light before committing to the seven-hundred-foot span.

  Gunny stood on the forward platform of the locomotive and sipped his morning coffee as the sun turned the mountainous desert terrain from monochrome shades of blacks and grays to baked brown. Griz came out of the cab door with his own cuppa joe yawning loudly. He stopped scratching at his beard and dropped his hand to his gun as soon as he spotted the weird contraption blocking the tracks on the other side of the gorge just outside the tunnel. He took his cue from Gunny, who was relaxed and leaning over the railing, and went back to scratching at his beard. It was softer and smelled better than it ever had before since Debbie had gotten him some beard oil. The stores in town were getting fancy with all kinds of luxury items now that Cobb had all the basic necessities coming in regularly. Since she liked the way the Viking Gorilla sandalwood smelled he used it every day despite Scratch’s wiseass remarks.

  “What’s that all about?” he asked as he scanned the mountaintops looking for silhouettes. Looking for people with guns aimed at them.

  “Not sure.” Gunny said. “I tried to appr
oach him but he shook his head, pointed at the bridge and then his watch. I think we’re waiting on someone.”

  Griz noticed the track then. One of the rails had been moved a few inches so it didn’t line up with the rest. A train would derail and tumble over the edge if it tried to go over it. The spikes that had held it in place were neatly lined up on a cross tie waiting to be reused. The contraption the man sat on had obviously started out as a motorcycle but it had been converted to run the rails. The arm that stretched to the opposite rail to stabilize it was on a pivot so the machine could be easily turned around to go in the other direction or disconnected and the bike could be used on roads. It had banks of long, thin batteries where the engine used to be and solar panels on the open air roof that provided shade. Griz grabbed the field glasses Gunny had been using and scanned the horizon, the boulders and anyplace else someone could hide.

  Nothing but scrub and rocks.

  He finally zeroed in on the man on the machine and saw that it was only a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen with loose, flowing clothes. Something similar to what they wore in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. His hair was dirty blonde and pulled back in a ponytail. There didn’t appear to be any guns on the machine but there were rifle shaped things that could have been some kind of weapon. The kid wore complicated looking bracers that looked more like something out of a science fiction movie than knights of the round table and they could faintly hear Bastilles voice coming from a radio.

  “No wonder they knew we were coming.” Griz said in disgust. “That guy has no idea of operational security. I oughta have Debbie throw his ass in jail.”

  “1st amendment.” Gunny said and sipped his coffee. “But you’re right. I’ll be having a little chat with him when we get back.”

  “Good. I’m going to check the backtrail.” Griz said. “Make sure they haven’t boobytrapped the rear entrance of the tunnel behind us.”

  “Already did.” Gunny said. “It’s clear. That kid on the trike is the only person around.”

  The others joined them and just as they were getting impatient to do something, they saw the beam of headlights coming through the tunnel on the other side of the gorge.

  “Positions.” Griz said and the crew dispersed. Hollywood and Bridget hurried to the rear to watch for anyone sneaking up from that direction, Scratch and Stabby casually leaned on the mounted .50 calibers and Griz picked up the binoculars again to scout the mountaintops.

  The kid on the trike dismounted and talked briefly to the men in the car. It had arrived with only a whisper, the modified Tesla running nearly silent on the rails. One of the men waved and the three started across the bridge.

  “Old gray headed guy is in charge.” Griz said quietly. “Kid is probably just a scout. Big guy is the security. If things go south, take him out first.”

  They were dressed in loose fitting sand-colored clothes, suitable for the desert heat. Like the kid, they wore electronic gizmo bracers on their arms and both had headsets with eye pieces. They weren’t armed and didn’t seem particularly unfriendly but just the same Gunny didn’t leave his guns behind when he opened the gate and climbed down the ladder.

  “President Meadows I assume?” the older man asked and held out his hand as they approached.

  “Yes, sir.” Gunny said as he shook but noticed the big man kept his distance and kept his eyes roving, alert for danger.

  “I’m Chairman Simon.” He said. “This is William and Xavier. Welcome to Utopia, formerly the great state of California.”

  “Okay.” Gunny said and nodded to the big man and the kid. “Thanks. What can I help you with?”

  “You can get us what we need, maybe make up for what you’ve done.” The big man said and glared at him before returning to scan for snipers.

  The old man grimaced, made an apologetic half shrug and continued.

  “We would like to know your full itinerary while you are in our country, how long you’ll be staying and the route you plan on using.”

  “Your country?” Gunny asked and worked hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  “That’s right.” The big man spat. “OUR country. You and your kind abandoned us. You left us to die. You dynamited the roads and bridges so we couldn’t escape and you haven’t done a damn thing to help us since. You’re leading in millions of undead with your damn trains, the deserts are full of them so we couldn’t go into YOUR country if we wanted to. You turned your back on us, you and your new coalition of city states, and we owe you nothing.”

  “William.” The old man said and placed a hand on the big man’s arm. “We agreed to handle this diplomatically so please, allow me to talk with President Meadows. I’m sure we can come to an understanding.”

  “Talk then.” He said and muttered under his breath.

  He stormed off towards the armored Tesla and spoke quietly into his headset. There were others and Gunny was pretty sure they were ready to pull more rails if the talks didn’t go well. Or worse, collapse a tunnel, there were still quite a few to go through before they reached the desert floor.

  “You’ll have to forgive William.” The man said in a grandfatherly way. “He lost his entire family because of a bridge that had been destroyed.”

  “I’m sorry.” Gunny said. “We tried to warn people. It was months after the outbreak and we announced it on the radio for weeks before. We blew the bridges and passes through the mountains because it was the only way to keep the hordes out. If we hadn’t, we would have been overrun. We were holding on by a thread back then.”

  “I understand.” Simon said in his soothing, caring voice. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made. Some must die so that others may live. Were I in your position, I may have done the same but it doesn’t change the fact that you trapped us here, many died when they came to a dead end and had to abandon their cars. The hordes caught up to them and tore them to shreds or they perished in the desert.”

  Gunny remembered the violent, chaotic month when the outbreak first happened. The convoy from the Three Flags, the battle for Lakota, the mad dash to get the walls built and then feeding and caring for all those people. He’d sent radio messages from the first week about where they were going and had invited all to come. They’d broadcasted that they were shutting down all the roads and bridges across the Mississippi and along the western mountain ranges. Men had volunteered for the missions to keep the hundreds of millions of undead out of the central states and many never made it back. It was the only way for some remnant of the country to survive. If anyone was trying to escape from California, it would have been by car and they should have heard the transmission. Gunny listened to the man wax philosophic about choosing who lives and who dies and didn’t interrupt. Like a slick politician, he took a kernel of truth and twisted it into something else. He’d get to the point, he’d get around to his demands in his own time, after he thought he’d laid enough guilt. After he’d elicited sympathy for all those poor, lost families the president’s decisions had killed.

  Gunny felt no remorse. He did what he had to do and if he hadn’t, the whole country would be dead. The central states wouldn’t be well on their way to rebuilding. There wouldn’t be walled cities, trade routes, crops planted and cattle being raised.

  Gunny kept his tongue in check, a trait Lacy didn’t think he possessed. The Californians held all the cards at the moment. He had no doubt they could stop the train and he didn’t think they could get a convoy of trucks all the way to the ocean. The few reports he’d had told of millions of undead, massive uncountable hordes milling around the cities on the coast.

  Gunny offered to resettle them to the central states, supply transportation to any of the walled cities, but was firmly refused. Simon eventually got to his point. He would allow the trains to pass through his territories but they couldn’t come back the same way without reassurances. They would be leading thousands of undead back to their settlements and he needed promises they would backtrack and eliminate the threat.

  “
Done.” Gunny said. “We’ll clean up our mess.”

  They spoke at length as the sun climbed, talked of the dangers of the trip and came to an agreement.

  “And you are sure, one hundred percent positive, your plan will work?” Simon asked before he stuck out his hand to seal the deal.

  “No.” Gunny said. “Nothing is one hundred percent but we’ve gotten pretty good at leading the hordes. You have my word we won’t lead millions in. We’ll take care of them.”

  The gray-haired man nodded and finally shook the proffered hand.

  “And there is one other minor thing we need from you.” he said. “A trivial matter, really, but we require it to ensure your safe passage.”

  15

  Guns

  “That’s it?” Hollywood asked as Gunny introduced them to Xavier and the list he was carrying. “They didn’t have to sabotage the tracks, all they had to do was ask.”

  The boy sat in the dining car with them after they loaded his rail rider. He was a little enthralled and kept sneaking glances at Bridget as Gunny explained how things were going to be if they wanted safe passage on the rails. Simon wanted guns. He wanted to be able to arm everyone in his community.

  “They knew an awful lot about the Navy and what they carried onboard.” Gunny said. “Some of his members are vets and they’re demanding all the small arms and crew serve weapons.”

  Griz shrugged. They obviously didn’t know Gunny very well. Why shouldn’t a community be able to defend itself? There was no need for the strongarm tactics, Gunny would have happily traded guns or anything else they needed but the Californians didn’t trust them. Simon had made vague threats about removing a few sections of rail a mile ahead of them or burning down one of the many wooden bridges they had to cross if he didn’t get what he wanted. He’d basically said he’d kill them and destroy the train. But in a polite way.