by A. M. Geever
“Jesus,” she said.
“Still just Doug,” Doug quipped.
Connor watched her grin until she looked his way.
“Did you see the bodies in the cars?” she asked Doug.
Doug nodded without looking up. “Yeah.”
“That’s not a good sign.”
“None of it is a good sign,” Doug agreed. “But there’s nothing to do for it. We pay attention and work the problem in front of us.”
Miranda nodded, then looked at Connor. “Did you see anything else?”
Connor shook his head no, thinking of his close call with the trap. Now he was a liar, too, like all the other men Miranda had ever trusted.
“We backtrack to here and take Glenwood Drive,” Doug said. He nudged Delilah’s nose away from the map as he folded it, then stood and held it for them to see. “It goes all the way into Scott’s Valley. We can get back onto the highway from there.”
Miranda frowned as she studied the map. “That’s mostly two-lane mountain roads.”
“It’s the least amount of backtracking. The next place we can get through is back here, at Summit.” Doug jabbed at another point on the map. “That looks like a smaller road.”
Connor scoured the twisting green lines of the map. “A small road like that might be gone by now. The first route is more direct.”
Miranda looked at Doug, then shrugged.
Doug grinned and nodded.
Decision made.
A spike of jealousy pierced Connor as he watched their silent conferral. Doug got Miranda in a way he feared he never would. Doug always knew what she needed—what to say and how to say it—while he stumbled in the dark, kicking land mines. They turned and walked purposefully to the Humvee, so smoothly they might as well have been one person. They even made the same knickering sound to call the dog.
“I’m jealous of a priest,” Connor muttered as he started after them. “Fucking hell.”
Fog snaked down the hillside as Doug motioned everyone to the Humvee. Connor glanced back and saw Delilah sniffing and pawing where the side of the road and jagged lip of broken concrete and rebar met.
A tingle of alarm scraped against Connor’s brain. Delilah was not always as quiet as they might like, but she was otherwise obedient to a fault.
“Come on, Delilah. Let’s go.”
Delilah didn’t budge. The fur along her spine bristled. Her lips began to twitch into a snarl, and a low growl rumbled in her chest. Connor looked across the blown-out road again, fear mingling with an adrenaline rush. Wisps of fog slipped past the dog.
“Delilah,” he said, more stern this time. “Come.”
Delilah ignored him. She crouched, as if ready to spring.
Connor walked quickly, praying the road did not collapse. Where the hell are they, he thought, scanning the trees on either side of the road, but the fog between them got thicker by the second. Two steps away from the dog, he heard noises. Scrabbling sounds, like a small animal shaking a bush as it passed by.
His finger alongside the trigger of the assault rifle itched as Connor grabbed Delilah’s collar with his other hand.
“Goddammit, dog. Come on!”
Delilah began to bark. Five feet in front of her, a wasted hand snaked over the lip of the road and gripped the twisted rebar.
Connor looked at the grasping hand in horror, then down at his feet.
They were under the road.
Behind him, Miranda whistled for Delilah. Connor ran into the fog toward her voice.
“We have to move,” he shouted. “They’re under the road! We have to move now!”
“Connor, where are you?”
Connor ran toward Miranda’s voice. Delilah flashed past him. He heard doors bang open as Miranda came into view. He could see the Humvee now, see his comrades scrambling inside.
“They’re under the road!”
“What?”
The moans began.
The Humvee was already moving when Connor jumped in after Miranda. He was behind the front passenger seat this time, near the center divider. Was that movement he saw in the abandoned cars on the other side or was his mind playing paranoid tricks?
“Where are they?” Mario asked as he grabbed Delilah’s snout to stop her barking.
“They’re under the road,” Connor answered. “It was a ledge by the missing part, but we couldn’t really see under it.”
“It’s a mile to the turn, so look sharp! We can’t miss it,” Doug said from the front seat.
“You were over there for ten minutes,” said Seffie. “Why did it take so long for them to react?”
“We backed up from the edge because we thought it might be unstable,” Connor explained. “Maybe they were farther back, too.”
Connor glanced again at the cars on the other side of the divider since he couldn’t see through Gabe’s footrest to look for the turn. A bang on the roof made him start with alarm.
“The turn is just ahead,” Gabe yelled.
The Humvee slowed slightly, then took a sharp left. The remnant of the street was narrower and more cluttered with cars and debris than the highway. Mike slowed their speed rather than risk crashing as they bounced and jolted along. Grasses, trees, and shrubs filled the abandoned yards of enormous McMansion-style houses, forlorn with neglect. Connor opened the Humvee door and latched the carabiner clip on his belt to the loop inside the door as he stepped out on the running board. As they descended from the highway, the fog wasn’t as thick, but the landscape still felt ominous. Moans seemed to come from all directions, but mostly from behind. He ducked back inside.
“They’re coming.”
They rounded a sharp corner and the road straightened out. The Humvee picked up speed. Connor heard a pop, then another. The Humvee began to slow down.
“Mike, let’s go!” Doug cried.
“It’s not me,” Mike barked, frustration filling his deep voice.
The Humvee lurched to a halt.
Connor pushed the door open, Miranda close behind him. Mike was already on his knees as Connor dropped to look under the Humvee. Bright-yellow straps were wrapped around the axles like stretched out pieces of chewing gum, all connected to a round disc pulled taut against the Humvee’s undercarriage.
“It’s a SQUID,” Mike said. He deflated like a balloon. “This thing isn’t going anywhere.”
“What the hell is a SQUID?” Connor asked.
“It explodes straps that wrap around the axles to stop speeding cars. Police used to use them,” Mike said, distracted, as he got to his feet. He started scanning the street. “We need a different vehicle.”
Doug and Mario popped up on the other side of the Humvee.
“Grab what gear you can,” Doug commanded. “We’ll fall back and secure a house if we have to.”
Connor turned to Miranda. She had dropped the stone-faced mask she wore earlier. Her blue eyes flashed with determination.
“I’m sorry about before, Miri. I wasn’t saying that about you.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
She turned away and leaned in the Humvee door to grab provisions. Connor didn’t see any zombies behind them as he joined the others at the back of the Humvee, but the moans grew steadily louder. Gabe crouched in the cargo area, pulling out magazines for the .50 cal as Seffie yanked their supplies out of the opened back door. For a precious minute they devoured everything in front of them like hungry sharks, stuffing pockets and rucksacks until they bulged.
Gabe lobbed his rucksack at Doug.
“Take my bag,” he said. “The serum vials are in there, back center zipper pouch. I’ll get on the gun and buy you some time.”
Doug looked at Gabe for what seemed an eternity. “Thank you.”
Gabe shrugged and flashed an insolent smile. “De nada, Padre. No hard feelings. I’ll catch up when I can.”
Gabe climbed to his perch.
Doug said, “Let’s go.”
Delilah raced ahead. Seffie tripped and stumbled unde
r the weight of her overloaded rucksack, but Mike pulled her upright. Doug seemed to take his lead from Delilah, veering them off the road to follow the path the dog blazed. Just before Doug ducked into the brush, the deafening chung-chung-chung of the .50 cal erupted behind them.
Connor looked back. A tidal wave of zombies shuffled around the bend in the road. The vanguard crumpled under Gabe’s gunfire, slowing the press behind them. Gabe aimed at the largest concentration of zombies, but it was not going to be enough. There were too many, coming from all directions, and zombies never got tired or winded.
Connor’s feet struck the ground. His lungs emptied and filled. The sharp report of the .50 cal remained steady and controlled, but he could feel Death’s breath tickle the back of his neck.
35
All she could hear over the rush of blood in her ears and the rasp of her breath were moans. Connor’s stride matched her own. Slowing down, she thought, they never slow down. Delilah ran at Miranda’s side, inches of pink tongue exposed from her exertions.
Miranda risked a look over her shoulder. They were in sight again, hundreds of zombies, tripping and lurching toward them, getting closer. Gabe had slowed the hoard down, but it wasn’t enough. The fleeing humans were attracting zombies from other directions, too. A few times, they had needed to dispatch one that got too close. Soon they’d all be too close.
“Son of a bitch!”
She saw the downward arc of Mike’s machete. Disgust and fury filled his face, darkening his brown eyes almost to black. Mike yanked his leg free, checked his ankle, and kept running.
Miranda glanced down as she passed the spot. A wasted form still in a diaper, like a grotesque child’s toy, its head cleaved in two.
Connor slowed as he looked. “Oh God, a baby.”
“That hasn’t been a baby for a long time.”
She yanked on his arm and he picked up the pace. Ahead, Doug scanned the houses along the street. Zombies straggled down from the forest on all sides. They only had a few minutes more before they would be surrounded.
Given the housing bubble and building boom in the years just before the ZA, Miranda could not believe they had managed to get stranded in an old neighborhood like this, full of one-story cottages set far apart amongst the redwoods on a twisty mountain road. They would have been better off back in one of the newer houses where the Humvee got stuck. They needed to get above ground level.
They reached a spot where the narrow road crossed another. “Got one!” Doug yelled. “The blue house!”
Miranda could see it: a plain mid-century house with blue vinyl siding. The house sat at the top of a steep rise, but the prospect of refuge energized everyone. Sensing the group’s excitement, Delilah raced ahead, then backtracked to bark encouragement.
Miranda grabbed Delilah’s collar as they stopped on the small stoop.
“Miranda, Mario, Seffie, clear the second floor,” Doug panted. He stood in front of the door, handgun drawn. “The rest of us will clear the first.”
Mike opened the door. Doug and Connor ducked inside.
“I’ll take point,” said Miranda.
She paused inside the door, squinting into the shadowy interior. Except for a layer of grime and an overall sense of neglect, the house seemed intact. Doors banged and intermittent shouts of “clear” came from other rooms as Doug, Mike, and Connor checked the first floor.
The stairs creaked beneath Miranda’s feet as she, Mario, and Seffie hurried to the second floor. At the top of the steps, four closed doors ringed a central hallway.
“That’s probably the bath,” said Miranda, gesturing to the door opposite the stairs. “I’ll take the room on the left, you two get the ones on the right. Whoever gets back here first, check the bathroom.”
Seffie and Mario moved into position.
“Now.”
The doors behind her banged open as Miranda pushed the door in front of her open. The room was suffused in gloom apart from narrow strips of light seeping in around the curtains. She pressed her back against the wall and slid over to the window. Filmy light filled the room as she tugged the curtains open.
Miranda jerked when a shot rang out from across the hallway, then Mario called clear.
There was nothing in this room. No furniture, no bodies, not even a rug. The sliding doors of the empty closet were missing.
“Downstairs clear!”
“Clear,” Miranda called as Seffie did likewise. She shrugged out of her heavy pack and dropped it to the floor.
“Bathroom’s clear, too,” Mario told her as she entered the hall. He swayed, his eyes unfocused.
“Upstairs clear!” Miranda yelled down the stairs. She turned back to Mario and Seffie. “Are you okay, Mario?”
“I’m fine,” Mario said. He took an unsteady step toward the stairs and collapsed.
Miranda darted to Mario’s prone form on the floor. His eyelids fluttered as she and Seffie knelt beside him. His pulse below his jaw was strong and steady against her bandaged fingertips. He opened his eyes and looked around, confused.
“What happened?”
“You passed out,” Miranda said, her nerves too frayed to pretend she wasn’t worried. Mario dying was all they needed. She pushed his tangled hair out of his eyes so she could make sure his pupils weren’t uneven.
“I’m fine,” he said, waving her away, but his clammy gray skin did not bolster his credibility.
“You lost a lot of blood when you got shot, and you’re probably dehydrated,” Miranda countered. “And you have rib fractures.”
“I wonder how that happened. I’m not going to die, Miranda. Not soon enough to suit you.”
Miranda recoiled, remembering what he had said at the reservoir. She had made a mess of things. She was angry with Connor. Mario was furious with her and the feeling was mutual. She hadn’t heard the hiss of the missiles soon enough when they were ambushed, and Naomi and Gabe were dead because of it.
“Stay put, Mario,” she said. “Listen, just this once.”
“It was usually the other way around.”
But he stayed, so Miranda joined the others downstairs. Mike and Connor pushed an upright piano against the front door. Delilah pranced around them, unhelpfully underfoot.
“Delilah, come!”
Miranda looked through the living room picture window. Delilah hopped her front paws up on the sill to look out and began to bark. Zombies were already teetering onto the porch.
“Get upstairs!” Doug yelled from the hall. “Miranda, let’s go!”
Miranda continued to stare out the window. A sea of zombies swirled around the house, as far as she could see. She stood transfixed by the churning mass of death that surrounded them. When a hand touched her arm, she startled.
“Miranda,” Connor said. “Let’s go.”
Mike stood on the landing, as if he might need to cover their retreat. Delilah’s nails clicked against the hardwood as Miranda took the stairs two at a time, Connor and Doug right behind her. When they reached the landing, it was empty. Miranda’s panic was instantaneous, even though she knew nothing could have gotten to Mario and Seffie. Then Seffie stepped into the doorway of the room closest to the bathroom.
“We’re in here.”
“I’ll start checking vantage points,” Mike said. “See if we can figure a way out of here.” He disappeared into the room opposite Seffie.
“Do you want the honors, Miri?”
Doug tossed a grenade up and down in the air. Even with the pin in place, playing catch was not a smart way to handle a grenade, which Doug knew full well. His insouciance soothed Miranda. Someday she’d have to figure out why his recklessness made her feel better, but not today.
“Be my guest,” she said, shaking out her arms to dispel the tension that filled her body as she backed up toward the rooms where the others were.
“Everyone stay put,” Doug called out. He moved into the doorway of the bedroom at the top the stairs that Miranda had checked earlier, pulled the pin, a
nd rolled the grenade gently down the staircase. “Fire in the hole!”
The house shuddered as it absorbed the force of the exploding grenade. Miranda stood next to Doug, a bandana pressed over her mouth and nose. Her eyes watered as she waved the dust away from her face. Only three steps remained of the top half of the staircase, the rest—obliterated. Mike and Connor stepped in close to see the grenade’s handiwork.
“We’re really stuck now,” Miranda said.
“Don’t sound so grim, Miri,” Doug said. “You still have a firm grasp of the obvious. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”
Connor and Mike snickered.
“Oh, fuck you all,” she said, but she couldn’t suppress a smile.
“I’m spoken for,” Doug shot back.
Connor caught Miranda’s arm as she tried to sidle by and pulled her close. Despite what he had said back at the reservoir, leaning into him felt good. Then Mario appeared. He still looked pale and drawn, but at least he wasn’t swaying. When he saw Miranda, he didn’t look crestfallen like before. He looked coldly furious. The comfort of Connor’s arms drained out of her body and puddled around her feet.
“What’s the plan?” Mario asked while Delilah rubbed against his shins.
“We don’t ave uhn,” Doug said, his words distorted by a wide yawn.
Mike wiped at the dust on his face that cast a sickly gray pall over his dark-brown skin. “Let’s figure it out sitting down. I’m beat.”
“Best idea I’ve heard all day.” Doug clapped Mike on the shoulder as he walked in Mario’s direction.
Miranda shrugged free of Connor, wishing she could as easily shrug free of the conflicting feelings he and Mario stirred within her. She reached down to rub Delilah’s head as she squeezed past Mario, knowing the attention would make the dog come with her.
Focus on the mission, Miranda thought as she sank to the floor, her back against the wall. Sitting down had never felt so good. She felt like she had been running for her life for years instead of hours. Delilah wriggled in close and lay her head on Miranda’s thigh. Miranda stroked Delilah’s head and a sudden thought cheered her.
