“What message? It’s a fire, what message can it be sending?”
Ipes scratched his chin, thinking. It’s a warning. The River King’s coming. You have to warn the others.
She laughed wildly, feeling her sanity much like the blanket she had hidden under earlier. There was a crack in it and something was peeking through. “You want me to go to Fred and tell him that I know what a fire means from two miles away? He already thinks I’m nutso.”
Ok, don’t tell anyone, Ipes said, reversing course on a dime. He then bit his lip and would’ve whistled if he could.
Jillybean practically growled, saying, “It could be a prank…or a…” She didn’t want to say a message, but she couldn’t think of any other reason someone would climb all the way to the top of the tower, carrying who knew how much gas. “Ok, maybe it is a message. That doesn’t mean the message is meant for us.”
Maybe not, Ipes said. But it is a message for someone who can’t communicate in a normal manner, like…
Like Neil. He had left without a two-way radio and they hadn’t agreed to a certain frequency beforehand.
And it would have to be someone desperate who’d make that climb. Do you know anyone desperate?
If Neil knew the River King was coming, maybe if he knew he was coming right for this school, Neil would make the climb even if he were afraid of heights.
And if that fire is meant to be seen by someone on this side of the river, it could only be for us. Ernest had said he hadn’t run into anyone in days.
“So, you’re saying Neil lit that fire to warn us? Of what? The River King? How would he know what the River King is doing?”
I don’t know, precisely. I just know that we have to respect that warning even if it’s not meant for us. Even if there’s only a fifty-fifty chance, we should still act on it. So are you going to tell the others?
“They won’t believe me. Fred won’t for sure and he’ll turn the others against me, I know it. But maybe Ernest will believe me. He may be our only chance.” She ran for the gym.
The renegades had, as usual, segregated themselves into cliques. Jillybean rushed to each but was still too humiliated to ask about Ernest who was nowhere to seen. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell Michael about the fire because Fred was standing nearby. Frustrated, she quit the gym and made her way to the front door of the school. In spite of the anxiety growing in her, she paused just outside, letting her senses become attuned to the night.
Ernest wasn’t in sight and she dared not call his name. For some reason the night was exceedingly quiet and it worked on her nerves. Moving slowly, cautiously, Jillybean went to the parked vehicles on the street, going down the line, pausing at each up on tiptoes to peer inside; again Ernest wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
He could be using the bathroom, Ipes said, indicating the forest just across the street. Brooding dark forests bordered the school on three sides, while the open land to the south consisted of a baseball field and thirty acres of beet-farm.
“We should wait for him inside,” she whispered. In the last few seconds her anxiety had throttled up turning into an insidious fear that had her breath catching in the high part of her throat. The quiet night was no longer as quiet as it had been seconds before. From deep in the forest there was the sound of crackling leaves and snapping twigs. “Those aren’t zombies,” she said to Ipes. When the dead walked, they moaned and made no attempt to hide the sound of their passage. The creatures moving through the forest made sly sounds, little ones, first thirty yards to her right, and then just to her left, and seconds later in front of her across the street.
Though the sounds formed a picture in her mind of a great undulating snake slithering across the entire forest in front of her she knew what was actually causing the noise: all the clues slid into place; it was the River King’s men coming to ambush them.
“We have to tell the others.” If they had any chance at escaping, they’d have to be warned. She turned on the spot, about to race for the front doors, when her legs suddenly locked. Her feet, too were unresponsive; they felt as life-like as if they were made of clay. Something was dreadfully wrong with her body. She was literally paralyzed from the waist down and she guessed the reason why. “Ipes! What are you doing to…” Now her jaw clicked shut in mid-sentence.
Sorry, Ipes said. You can’t go. I can’t allow it. At best you’ll be trapped with the rest of them, at worst, they’ll shoot you.
No Ipes! She screamed internally. You can’t take me over. You promised.
Yes, I did, but when I made that promise, I didn’t know you’d be trying to kill yourself, look. Ipes turned Jillybean’s head so that she could see out into the forest. At first it looked just as dark and still as before, then she saw the shadows moving. There were so many of them, it looked like the forest was marching in her direction. You see why I did this to you? You let your emotions get the better of your logic. I’m going to release you now. Ipes told her. Whatever you do, don’t move.
Just like that her body was her own again. Against orders, she moved, dropping down into a crouch, going bunny. She was beyond furious with Ipes yet, at the same time, she realized he had saved her.
You can thank me later, Ipes said, sarcastically. Right now, you should…
“I know what to do,” she whispered, angrily. She had stopped next to a big black truck; now, she slithered beneath it and watched as the shadows became more distinct, turning into men. Men with guns. They were ranged in a long line and she could see more coming up from the woods to the north—the school was being surrounded. As they crossed the street, more than a few of them paused at the line of vehicles and glanced under the tarps.
One of them, a heavyset stump of a man, whispered to a friend, “We should jack a couple of these trucks. There’s more than two-fifty in these.”
Jillybean wasn’t the only one who overheard the comment. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a late comer said. Jillybean recognized the voice: it was the River King! He was right there on the edge of the road. Although she could only see him from the thighs down, she knew his black boots and the way he stood: casually, but also on the balls of his feet as if he was always ready to spring at you. “All the plunder here belongs to your King,” he added. “And there are laws against stealing.”
His voice held such a wicked threat that the men stepped away from the trucks quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I was j-just talking. I-I didn’t mean anything by it,” the thick set man stuttered. He hurried to get back in line with the others as they advanced on the school.
The River King let out a low menacing chuckle. It was an evil sound.
Beneath the very truck he leaned against, Jillybean was struck by a fear that had her heart racing. She curled into a little ball and, afraid to make even the least sound, she clamped a hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing. She sat this way until he swaggered down to the school and began directing the men. Though she was shivering with fright, Ipes burned with anger.
We could kill him, you know. While they’re busy capturing the others, we could wire a few bombs in this truck. You know he’ll come back to inspect what he stole.
“That’s Sadie’s dad,” Jillybean countered. “We can’t kill him.”
He’d kill you in a heartbeat! And you know what he’s going to do to all those poor people in there. He’s going to sell them into slavery.
She pursed her lips, thinking that what Ipes said was completely true, however he was missing something. “Killing the River King won’t save them. Whoever takes his place will do the same thing and worse, he’ll sell off Sadie and Eve. For the moment, the River King is the best of a bad choice. But that doesn’t mean…”Just then there was the sound of a gunshot from the school. There was a pause, and then three more shots: pop, pop, pop, right in a row. Jillybean scrambled from beneath the car.
Ipes was already planning: We should get to the river. If that fire was a signal from Neil, he might be on this side and I think…I think…Jilly w
hat are you doing? We have to go, and the river is this way, come on.
Jillybean had taken two steps away from the truck, but then stopped. She blinked, slowly, putting her hand to her head. She had experienced something odd in her mind. It felt as though her brain was a record whose needle had skipped. She was just as afraid as she had been, perhaps more so now that she knew she’d be on her own again, but there was also a fire inside her that she couldn’t explain.
Ipes was going frantic, Jillybean you can’t just stand there! We’ll be captured for certain!
“Weren’t you the one that wanted to build a bomb just a few seconds ago?” she asked, trying to get a feel for the fire. It overshadowed her fear, giving her strength, making her want to do something that had seemed outrageous only a moment before. Leaping onto the tire of the truck, she climbed up its side. She knew the truck and she knew what was in its bed.
We gotta run, Jilly! the zebra cried.
She had dropped the zebra on the ground next to the truck so she could have both hands free and now she looked down on it, seeing the fear in its beady eyes where just moments before there had been anger…but now that anger was in her. She turned from the zebra and gazed at the stacks of C4 in the truck.
Again, her mind felt like it was skipping a beat. It wasn’t a good feeling.
The extremes of her emotions were arcing between her and the zebra making it difficult for her to catch up to what was supposed to be right. She knew she shouldn’t want to build a bomb. It was wrong, and dangerous and scary, yet she couldn’t just let the River King keep living. But she had to run for her life. However, there was still time. Still time for what? To kill? Or to live? Revenge or salvation? Run screaming in fear or fight?
Make a decision, Ipes ordered. Don’t just stand there, stuck halfway.
Halfway to where?
More gunshots had her blinking but still she was torn between hatred and fear. “No, not hatred,” the little girl whispered, finding a balance in understanding. “I don’t hate anyone. But I am angry.”
Then what are you doing with the C4? Ipes asked. Are you going to build a bomb or not?
She reached into the truck and pulled out a green block of C4. “No, not yet. This is for, just in case.” She grabbed a detonator and a length of cord even as she tried to understand the full concept of “just in case,” only it was far too deep a dive into the chaotic sea of her mind for the time she had left.
Grabbing the zebra, she raced for the woods.
Chapter 16
Deanna Russell
She stood on the bridge, alone, stinking of gasoline. Sweat ran down her face and into her eyes as she peered up at the fire high above her. It was so bright that it was like looking into the sun.
“Come on!” Neil hissed. “The zombies are getting frisky down here.”
He was barely visible, sitting on the raft she had constructed and smacking ineffectually at the zombies with a hand axe as they tried to climb aboard. With the dark night and his camouflaged ghilli suit, most of the river beasts ignored him and the ones that came close were more curious than anything.
“Just a moment,” Deanna shot back. “I need a moment to catch my breath.” She was close to exhaustion. Neil’s plan had been great, all except the part where she was left to execute it completely on her own. It was she who had to lug the raft into the river upstream, and it was she who had to paddle the damn thing laden down with gas and ropes and trash bags full of sheets she found in a motel, and it was she who had to first haul all of it up to the bridge and then all the way to the top of the suspension tower.
The tower at least had rungs for her to climb up. The bridge, on the other hand, had to be scaled using just the rope that she and Jillybean had left there three days before, after the rescue. Climbing the rope had been the scariest part of the entire process. It had swung, spun, twisted and generally behaved like a snake would when being strangulated. What was worse was that she couldn’t rest during the climb. Her arms burned and her hands were raw by the time she reached the bridge.
And of course that had been scary as well. The whole structure, from the bridge to the concrete tower above it, was on the verge of collapse; it groaned and swayed, threatening to come crashing down at any second. When she reached the top of the tower, a hundred and fifty feet over a zombie-infested river with no safety ropes, and what felt like a gale force wind trying to peel her hands away from their delicate holds, she had to fight a panic threatening to overwhelm her mind.
But that hadn’t been the very worst part. Nor was the grueling chore of hauling up a hundred pounds of gasoline and three heavy bags of sheets. She could even deal with the fact that the top of the tower was only five feet wide and twenty feet long and that she crawled around on top like a bug.
Lighting the fire had been the worst. She stacked the sheets around the top of the tower, doused them with gasoline and then realized she had no way of lighting the beacon without getting cooked. Her one solution was to run a gas-dripping sheet down the ladder and light it from below. It had seemed like a good plan right up until the beacon went up with all the sound, fury, and heat of a moon-rocket taking off. She was so close she thought her hair was going to catch on fire.
Panting in fear and squinting against the raging light, she had practically flown down the rungs embedded in the side of the tower as shreds of burning sheets fell all around her, threatening to touch off the gasoline she had spilled on her hands and arms…and now Neil wanted her to hurry?
“I’ll be down in a moment,” she said, eyeing the knotted rope she had climbed up. It seemed so slim and frail; so likely to fray or just snap. “Oh boy,” she said under her breath before spitting on her palms and swinging her leg over the railing. The good news: a fall from this height wouldn’t kill her. It would be the zombies below that would do that. As she went down, she saw them staring up at her; there was no disguising her humanity when she climbed. They fought the current and sent up a moan of desire that echoed across the water.
“Whoever said it’s nice to be wanted?” she whispered to herself. By the time she made it safely to the raft, she was nearly done in. Her muscles were Jell-O and Emily was rebelling. The baby inside her felt like she was doing gymnastics, sending Deanna to the verge of throwing up. But there was still more work to be done.
Neil cut them loose from the rope hanging down from the bridge. The current took them in its grip and while they plowed downstream among the zombies, Deanna and Neil cowered beneath the blanket until the nearer, more aggressive ones drifted away or lost interest. When the water around them was clear, Deanna slid halfway in; she was to act as the motor, alone. Neil’s broken wing meant he couldn’t rest his weight on his arms like she could.
She kicked while Neil urged, “to the left, to the left.” After twenty minutes, she simply ran out of energy and had come no nearer to the eastern bank than when they had started. “I can’t,” she said, gasping. “I’m starting to cramp.”
Neil gazed east, with disappointment layered in his eyes. He had been hoping that: A) their warning had been in time, and B) he and Deanna would be able to find the renegades in the overgrown forest east of the river. “Save your strength,” Neil said, patting her hand. “There’s a bend coming up and we’ll be pointed right at the western bank. It shouldn’t be tough to get to land at that point.”
It wasn’t easy at all. After a brief rest she saw the bend in the river and began kicking as hard as she could. It seemed like she was barely making any headway and again her legs quickly felt as thick and useless as tree stumps. Eventually, she stepped down into the mud bottom and staggered ashore hauling the raft behind her. The second she hit dry land she lay down in the tall saw grass and panted as her muscles trembled.
Neil, who had done little but sit on the raft for the past two hours, was raring to go. “We have to get back to the trucks before daylight. It’s not that far. You were great, by the way. All I need is a little bit more out of you.”
It
was after one in the morning, she was soaked and muddy and her limbs wouldn’t quit shaking. She didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with Neil’s peppy encouragement. “Shut up!” she snapped. A second later, she was sorry. He was only trying to do his best, and besides he couldn’t seem to help offering encouragement. “I mean we should be quiet, because of the zombies.”
They weren’t much of a legitimate threat in this area. The forests so close to the river were relatively empty of the beasts and those that were hanging around made all the usual ruckus that Deanna was learning to identify and react to. During that night’s long hike, she would go from an exhausted shambling walk to a moaning, exhausted, shambling walk when she heard one approach.
It made the night seemed endless.
Their vehicles were parked behind a 7-11, three miles north of Cape Girardeau. She had no idea how far they had drifted downstream before coming ashore but it had to have been at least another three miles judging by how long the trek took. They reached the convenience store at 3:30 in the morning.
Neil rushed straightaway to a scanner and began searching the frequencies for any radio traffic. “You can go to bed,” he said, seeing her swaying on her feet. “I’ll take the first watch.”
She grunted in reply before going to the 4-Runner, setting the passenger seat back into full recline mode and throwing a blanket over herself. She was asleep the moment her eyes closed.
She awoke with her mouth dry as coffin dust from a stifling heat baking the interior of the SUV. She cracked a bleary eye at the dashboard clock: it was just after six in the morning and the sun was just over the horizon. “Too early,” she said around the tongue that felt swollen and alien. Yes, it was too early and she was still exhausted, however the Toyota was too dreadfully hot for words. She guzzled warm water from a gallon jug; a second later, Emily wanted to send it right back up.
“Crackers. I need crackers.” Deanna climbed out of the SUV holding her stomach, trying to breathe through the nausea, and failing. The water came up in an ugly rush. She was standing against the side of the 7-11, spitting out the remaining nastiness in her mouth when Neil found her. He handed her a bottle of water. His eyes were red around the edges and bloodshot through and through.
The Undead World (Book 5): The Apocalypse Renegades Page 14
