“Try channel twelve,” June suggested, “pretty sure it’s local. Well, Beaufort, so local enough.”
Bailey nodded and punched in channel twelve. The screen displayed an empty news studio. There were some scattered papers on the desk, and one of the chairs was missing, but nobody was on the screen. There was no sound coming from the studio either.
“Maybe they’re on a break?” she asked, though her voice was shrill and uneasy.
A few moments later, one of the anchors, a middle-aged white woman with perfectly styled hair, wandered by the camera.
She turned jerkily, revealing dark blood all down the front of her, eyes glassy and milky white, mouth open in a hungry snarl.
Bailey dropped the remote. “We have no news,” she said hoarsely.
Grace swallowed hard as she stared at the news anchor, and then squinted when she noticed small words scrolling across the bottom of the small tv screen. “Wait a second,” she said, pointing. “Look at the bottom of the screen.”
She and Bailey moved in closer, reading the white scrolling words.
I need help! My name is Katie McClure and I am trapped in the control room of the TV station! The address is 427 Maple Lane in Beaufort! Please, someone, help me, I’m all alone in here and there are so many of those things outside the door!
“That poor woman,” Grace breathed, sitting back as the message repeated itself.
Bailey clenched her jaw, staring at the screen as if she were looking through it into space.
Grace cocked her head. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking,” the younger woman replied, and chewed her lip for a moment. Finally she snapped her fingers, eyes brightening as she turned to Grace. “Wait! I know exactly where that station is! There’s not a sign out front anymore, but it’s only a few blocks away from my house! If we get to my family, we can get to her as well.”
Grace didn’t want to dampen her spirits, so she just smiled and nodded, sitting back on the couch. Dante and Troy came out of the bedroom after ransacking it.
“What’s going on?” Troy asked.
Grace simply motioned to the tv, where the zombie tv anchor thrashed and moaned about.
He sighed. “Guess that means we’re not getting the Knicks score, are we?” he asked wryly.
“It’s the Knicks,” she replied breezily, “they probably lost.”
His brow furrowed, and he looked like he was going to retort something, but then shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“That’s not all though,” Bailey piped up, pointing to the message, “look at the bottom of the screen.”
Dante tucked a small plastic package he’d brought under his arm and leaned over to look.
“Man, sucks to be her,” Troy murmured, standing back up after reading.
Bailey crossed her arms. “Wow, such compassion,” she snapped, sarcasm evident in her tone.
“What? I said sucks to be her,” Troy replied, shaking his head. “I thought that was compassion.”
Bailey scowled and opened her mouth, but Dante held up a hand.
“We’ll add her to the list,” he said, “but it’s way down there.”
Grace cocked her head, pointing to the plastic package under his arm. “What you got there, brother?”
“A gift,” he replied, and handed it over.
She opened it, eyes widening at the handgun inside. It was loaded with a spare magazine, and she picked it up, inspecting it like an old friend.
“I mean, if you don’t want it,” Troy said sheepishly, “I’ll take it.”
Dante shook his head. “No, Grace is going to be best with it,” he said firmly.
Troy jutted out his chin. “How do you know that?”
“Because I target shoot twice a week,” Grace spoke up, checking the chamber expertly. “For the last five years. I may not be the best shot, but I’m good enough.”
Troy chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she challenged.
He held up his palms. “Just find it ironic that someone that would protest outside of Theo Atkinson’s QXR Group offices would spend so much time firing a weapon,” he said.
“Nothing ironic about it,” Grace replied easily. “Guns are fantastic, but it all depends on what you shoot. I fire at paper targets, his people fire at civilians. Not that difficult to see the difference.”
He shrugged, avoiding her gaze, and then sniffed, noticing pleasant smells from the kitchen. “Are you cooking?” he asked, shock in his eyes as June slid a large portion of scrambled eggs onto a plate.
“Just because the world is ending doesn’t mean we get to stop eating,” she quipped, and tossed a few forks onto the counter. “Grab you a fork and dive in. Might be awhile before you get fresh eggs again. Same with bacon, which will be coming up in a minute.”
Nobody waited to be asked twice, congregating around the counter and diving in.
“So what’s the plan now?” Bailey asked after swallowing her mouthful.
Dante smacked his lips, giving June a thumbs up before replying, “Depends on how it looks outside.”
“They’re still feeding,” Grace said, “but I can’t imagine it will last much longer.”
Her brother nodded. “Well, when they disperse, we’re going to make a break for it,” he said. “The bridge can’t be too much further up. Half a mile or so once we get to the other side of the complex.”
“Are we sure there’s another exit?” Troy asked through a mouthful of egg.
Dante shrugged. “We didn’t pass the front office, and the driveway keeps going up,” he explained. “Can’t imagine they’d have the only entrance so far away from it.”
“Solid enough logic,” the banker admitted.
“Then what are we doing?” June asked, putting a hand on her hip as she set down a plate of bacon.
Dante took a big bite of his eggs before grabbing a slice of bacon. He pointed at Troy with the fried meat. “We pray that he’s right and that Theo fucking Atkinson has done his job and blocked off the bridge.”
He bit into the bacon, chewing it slowly and savoring the flavor as they all ate in silence, contemplating what would happen if the bridge wasn’t blocked off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Half an hour later, Grace stood guard at the window, looking out at the wreck. Only a couple of zombies remained, hanging out around the cars while the others had wandered off. It was difficult to see from her vantage point, but she could see that the driver had started thrashing about, still trapped in the windshield.
Dante sidled up next to her, bumping her shoulder playfully with his own. “Don’t focus too much on the horror, sis,” he said softly. “Just keep an eye out for an opening to move.”
“Easier said than done,” she replied flatly.
He nodded, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and headed back to join the others sitting around the television. After tiring of the news feed, Bailey had changed the channel to a rerun of an 80s sitcom. The group chuckled as one of the characters fell face first into a cake.
“What are you watching?” Dante asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No clue,” Troy admitted. “Just something from a simpler time. Not sure when exactly, just know it is older than four hours.”
Dante shook his head, chuckling at the lighthearted barb from the surly New Yorker. Before he could sit down to join them, Grace clucked her tongue.
“I think we can move,” she said.
Her brother hurried back to the window, looking out to see the zombies by the cars were rushing off in the direction away from the bridge.
“I don’t know what distracted them,” he said, “but we’re going to take advantage of it.” He looked to the group as they all stood up and got ready to go. “We stay close, kill what we have to, but the goal is to move as quickly as we can. So if you have to knock them down and keep moving, do that.” He turned to his sister. “Don’t fire that gun unless it’s absolutely necessary. One shot from that, and we’re goi
ng to be on every one of those things radar.”
She nodded firmly, tightening her grip around the weapon and patting her pocket where the spare mag fit snugly.
“Troy, I want you up front with me,” Dante said, turning to the New Yorker. “We may have to plow through these things.” He waited for his companion to join him at the door, and then he threw it open.
The five of them poured out of the apartment and immediately ran up the main driveway. They reached the wreck, finding the driver that had been shredded by both the windshield and the zombie bites thrashing about. It tried to moan, but it just came out as a gurgle, as it was missing the majority of its neck.
Dante motioned for the group to follow him, and they moved up about fifty yards to the next apartment alcove. As they crossed the driveway opening, a trio of zombies spotted them and rushed at them.
Dante and Troy stepped up, quickly bashing the first two down, and the latter grabbed the last one by the shirt collar to hold it at bay for Dante to deliver a kill strike.
The group continued running, and spotted the front office, with the entrance to the complex fifty yards past that. They moved quickly, but when they reached the office, a dozen zombies congregated around the side door and turned towards them.
As soon as the first ghoul noticed them, it let out a loud dead scream and sprinted towards the group. The noise attracted the rest, and within seconds the entire dozen came at them, mouths open in excitement.
“Grace, shoot!” Dante cried.
His sister didn’t hesitate, taking aim at the leader and pulling the trigger. The bullet ripped through the forehead of the ghoul, blowing out the back of its skull and dropping it to the asphalt. The others lined up, readying their bats.
“How do you want to do this?!” Troy demanded, panic in his voice.
Dante inclined his head. “We knock em down, they bash their heads,” he said quickly. “You ladies hear that?”
June and Bailey echoed a chorus of “Yeah,” and raised their bats.
As Grace continued to fire at the back, Dante and Troy lunged at the first few ghouls, swinging their bats at chest level, sending the zombies tumbling to the sides. June and Bailey rushed over to the fallen zombies and smashed with everything they had, June delivering a kill shot on her second swing, but Bailey having a little more trouble.
She kept hitting hers in the head, but all it did was knock the corpse back down, not killing it. Finally she let out a scream and swung with all of her might and adrenaline, cracking the skull and ending its undead life.
Grace stepped to the side, aiming carefully and pulling the trigger. With the zombies distracted by the two men, they were easy pickings, not flailing around too much. One by one, she dropped five of them rapidly.
There were still four ghouls pressed up against Dante and Troy, who held their bats horizontally and at arm’s length to keep them at bay. The creatures thrashed about, smacking them in the face with their wet gooey hands as they tried to get a bite.
“On three, push hard and up,” Dante grunted, “try to hook them under the arms.”
Troy nodded, catching exactly what his companion wanted to do.
“One, two, three!” Dante cried, and they managed to hook the ghouls and drive them back, sending them crashing to the ground. They immediately began smashing down, cracking the skulls of the zombies as they scrambled to get back to their feet. Within seconds, the immediate threat had ended.
The group of five stood there, breathing heavily, spent from the culmination of the morning and this epic battle. Dante looked around at the shocked faces of his companions.
“Is everyone okay?” he asked.
One by one, they all sounded off that they were okay.
It didn’t take long, however, for more moaning and footsteps to echo at them from the complex.
“Quick, this way!” Dante cried, and led the group over to the pool by the front office. He deftly hopped over the four foot high fence, and went over to the gate release, hitting it so the others could get in. They quickly took cover behind the building, staying quiet.
Dante looked out and waited, trying to control his breathing. In thirty seconds or so, a group of twenty to thirty creatures sprinted by the front office, heading off towards a small business park on the other side of the street. When they were clear, he took a knee, relieved.
“So are we good?” Troy murmured.
Dante nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he said quietly. “They just kept running. I lost sight of them when they crossed over into that business park. Hopefully they keep going so we can get up to the highway.”
“Why the hell didn’t they come after us?” Troy hissed.
Dante shrugged. “Maybe they just heard the gunshots and followed it, but without something to hold their attention they just kept going, trying to find it,” he replied softly. “Whatever the reason, they’re not here, and that’s all I really care about at the moment.”
June wheezed and then clapped her hands over her mouth as she started to have a coughing fit. Bailey and Grace huddled around her, trying to muffle the noise, and soon they subsided, and she took a deep, ragged breath.
Dante looked back out at the road, but the noise thankfully hadn’t attracted anything.
“Come on,” he whispered, “the bridge can’t be too much further up.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dante led the group out of the pool area, with Grace gently shutting the metal gate behind them. As they reached the driveway, he looked towards the business park and his brow furrowed when he saw that the zombies had completely vanished.
He motioned for the group to follow him, but Troy grabbed him by the arm. He pointed out a little trail through the woods about ten yards off of the driveway. Dante nodded and led them to it, figuring that a little bit of cover would be better than none.
They reached the side street, hiding behind some trees. Dante scanned the park, finally catching a glimpse of some ghouls. They were at the far end, banging on the door of a small office. Dante had no idea if there was anybody inside, but even if there had been, they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
The side street up to the highway was clear, so he led them out. They walked on the grass to muffle their footsteps, not wanting to take any chances. As they grew closer to the highway, they heard gunshots. It wasn’t panic fire, but slow, deliberate shots, one right after the other.
“Sounds like I was right about Theo Atkinson and his boys,” Troy whispered, smirking.
Dante pursed his lips. “Maybe,” he murmured.
He led them the rest of the way up the road, stopping at the top of it. They looked towards the bridge, and saw that it was fortified. There was a string of cars stretching from one side of the bridge to the other, with several armed men set up along it, all about a quarter mile from where they were. A few dozen bodies lay scattered on the pavement leading up to it.
“Just follow my lead,” Dante whispered.
The group nodded in agreement and began to move.
Dante stopped short and glanced back at his sister. “Grace, holster that,” he instructed. “We don’t want them to think we’re hostile.”
She nodded, putting the handgun in her back waistband and covering it up with her shirt.
He raised his hands high, bat in the air, leading them out slowly. The zombies moved fast, and he assumed that if they moved slowly they’d look as different from the ghouls as possible.
They walked up about halfway to the barricade, and one of the shooters boomed out, “Don’t move, we aren’t shooting at you!”
The group froze, and several shots cracked from the barricade. Most of the group flinched, and Baile screamed. Dante glanced over his shoulder and saw that a few zombies had just been dropped twenty yards behind them.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly, “they’re covering us.”
“Make your way to the checkpoint!” the man from the barricade bellowed. “Far left of the bridge. Move now and move qu
ickly!”
Dante picked up the pace, leading the group over to a makeshift checkpoint on the side of the bridge. The car barricade was a little wonky there, with the final car pushed forward about five feet away from the line, creating a bit of an opening.
As he went through, he was greeted by four men in black combat gear, holding high-powered assault rifles, battle hardened and ready to rumble. They were no nonsense and didn’t use kid gloves as they grabbed the bats away from the group, tossing them to the ground before shoving all five of them against the concrete barrier.
Dante glanced over the edge, seeing deep water below. He studied the area behind the barricade, which was set up like a small campground. There were crates of material stacked behind the line, and a smaller makeshift barricade on the opposite side of the road to prevent a rear attack. All told, there were about twenty men stationed there, keeping a close eye on everything.
The four main guards stood a few yards away from the group as the occasional gunshot went off in the distance, taking out yet another zombie. A few tense moments passed before a smarmy looking twenty-something sauntered up.
“Well well well,” he drawled, raising his chin. “Some more survivors. Didn’t think anybody else was going to make it here today.”
Dante took a deep breath. “It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that.”
The guy looked them up and down, noting that they were coated in blood and looked exhausted. “It wouldn’t appear so,” he said with a sneer. “But hey, not everybody can be as well-trained as we are.” He glanced over at the other three men, who were simply standing there. “Well, are you going to get them processed, or not?” he snapped, waving his hand at them. “This island isn’t going to clear itself. Get moving.”
Each of the men pointed at a different person and motioned for them to step up. The fourth guard stepped next to Dante and Bailey, guarding them with his hand on his weapon. They moved slowly, and one of the mercenaries grabbed Grace by the arm and shoved her behind the line.
Dead America | Book 1 | Lowcountry [Part 1] Page 5
