“When you do get back, you’re probably going to need help. And, well, I don’t know how you feel about him, but if you can, try to track down Gabriel. If anything, he’s your only hope now.”
The smile Norman gave him this time was hardly even a smile at all.
“But who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe he’ll find you.”
Without another word Norman got into the car. He started it, waited for a pause in traffic, and pulled away. Conrad stood there, watching until the car was just a dot on the highway, then nothing at all. Behind him, those dead seagulls continued to bob up and down on the water, waiting out their prey.
34
He’d walked three miles up the highway before a tractor-trailer picked him up.
“Where you headed?” the driver asked.
“Olympus.”
“Well then, hop on. I’m headed that way.”
Once Conrad was in the cabin and had the door closed, the driver stuck out his hand. “Name’s Ben. What’s yours?”
“Albert,” Conrad said. “Albert Hager.”
“No shit?” Ben stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. “Want one?”
Conrad shook his head.
Ben put the truck in gear and watched his side mirror until there was enough space to pull back onto the highway.
“Funny you have that last name,” Ben said. He was a large man but apparently not very heavy, because as the truck bounced he bounced with it. “It’s the same as that new Hunter General.”
“It is?”
“Sure is. Crazy fucker if you want my opinion. I mean, not that he’s a Hunter or nothin’—I don’t got no disrespect for Hunters, I ain’t one of them zombie sympathizers—but what he did to that other general, well, that was just plain nuts.”
“What’d he do to him?”
“Cut his fuckin’ head off. You mean you didn’t hear about it? Happened earlier today.”
“I haven’t had a chance. My car broke down about ten miles back. I’ve been walking the entire time. Nobody’s been kind enough to pick me up.”
Ben finished his cigarette. He flicked it out his window and shook his head. “That’s some shame. Just goes to show you how fucked up this world really is. Won’t pick up a complete stranger walkin’ alongside the road. Just who the fuck do these people think they are?”
Conrad said, “Most people have a hard time trusting others,” and glanced out his window, watched the ocean, surprised at how easy the lies were rolling off his dead tongue.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ben said. “That’s why I always keep this little baby right here next to me.”
When Conrad glanced over he saw a pistol similar to his own now cradled in the truck driver’s left hand.
“That’s why,” Ben said, “I never have no problems pickin’ up hitchhikers. ’Cause I know they won’t cause me no trouble. You ain’t plannin’ on causin’ me trouble now, are you?”
“No.”
“Good.” Ben made the pistol disappear, grinned behind his full beard. “I didn’t think so, but figured I should ask anyway. You know, with how fucked up the world is and everything.”
They drove on for another mile or so without saying a word. Then Ben asked what it was Conrad did for work.
“I work construction.”
“That right? You mean a ditch digger?”
“Something like that.”
“And what brings the two of us together like this?”
“My mother’s in the hospital. She’s going to expire soon. I wanted to make it up to see her before it happens, and then my cars just crapped out on me. I don’t have a phone, so I couldn’t call anybody, and even if I did I don’t know who I’d call. And money, well, I hardly have any of that either. Which means I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you much for the ride.”
Ben waved a dismissive hand as he bounced up and down on the seat. “Forget about it, Al. Company’s payin’ your way right now. Payin’ my way too, with a nice big bonus.”
“Why’s that?”
“The load I’m pullin’? Guess what it is.”
“I have no idea.”
“Weapons. A lot of weapons. A shit load of weapons.”
“Really? What for?”
“Well for that crazy motherfucker Hager. You know, the new Hunter General? He ordered over ten thousand assault rifles and ammunition and the company I work for got the bid and needed a driver and I was the closest one. So here I am.”
“Yes,” Conrad said and glanced again out his window, “here you are.”
And so it was in a tractor-trailer pulling an arsenal for his new nemesis that Conrad returned to Olympus, the world’s largest and greatest city appearing first off on the horizon as just a speck and then growing and growing until the skyline defined itself against the paling sky of late afternoon.
Ben had already told him that he could drop off Conrad about almost anywhere once he’d delivered his load, maybe even take him directly to his mother’s hospital, but Conrad never gave a definite answer. He knew he couldn’t go with Ben the entire way, that if this load was for Philip then Philip would be there to receive it, or Michael or Kevin, or some other Hunter that might recognize him. But telling Ben to drop him off sooner might cause a problem as well, most likely suspicion in the seat-bouncing, cigarette-smoking, pistol-carrying truck driver, and what would Ben do then if he suspected Conrad of lying to him?
These worries raced through Conrad’s dead mind as they approached Olympus, as they merged onto the Shakespeare and became one with the rest of the rush hour traffic.
He only had three destinations where he could go: home to Dead Oak Estates, to warn Denise; to the Psyche Institute, to demand to see his son; or back to Living Intelligence, to try to track down the zombie Conrad had tried to attack the last time he’d seen him.
The next exit, the one that would take him to LI, was coming up in less than a quarter mile.
“Can you drop me off here?” Conrad asked.
“Huh?”
“Can you drop me off at this next exit?”
“But I thought your mom—”
“She’s at the hospital in Olympus, yeah, but you see, she never told me which hospital that was. She was too far out of it.”
The exit was quickly approaching, five hundred yards away.
“My cousin lives just two miles from this exit.” Talking faster now, leaning forward in his seat. “And I don’t want you to go out of your way, because you’ve been so kind to me already ...”
Ben took a final drag of his cigarette, flicked it out his window, and once again gave Conrad that dismissive wave of the hand.
“Sure, Al, no problem.”
He got over into the right lane and let up on the gas, shifted into a lower gear. The truck groaned in protest and Ben said, “Ah, quit yer bitchin’,” and then they were headed up the ramp.
When he stopped at the very top, Ben stuck out his hand. “Good riding with you, Al.”
“Thanks, Ben. You too.”
Conrad opened his door, started to get out, but paused when Ben said his name.
“Hope things work out with your mom. I was in the same place a few years back. It sucks. But you know somethin’? That’s just existence. Everything expires. Even zombies.”
• • •
He walked for another five miles, passing homes, farms, dead cows and sheep grazing in fields overgrown with gray grass. A quarter mile before he came to the narrow, poorly maintained side road that would lead him to the Warehouse and Living Intelligence, he turned off into woods and started trampling through the trees.
This detour took him an extra hour.
He maintained his course the best he could, headed in what he hoped was the right direction. When he spotted the Warehouse, he knew he was on the right track. He paused there, listening past the sounds of nature, trying to hear any voices or engines or truck doors slamming.
He continued on, more carefully this time, the pistol now in h
and, and paused again when he could make out the squat building of Living Intelligence through the trees. Like before, only one car sat in the parking lot, what he had assumed was Albert’s. Unlike before, all its windows were shattered, the hood and sides smashed in.
The same was true of the building itself. From what Conrad could see, the glass of the main entrance had been shattered, and some fire-happy gunmen had unloaded a number of rounds into the brick siding.
He waited five minutes without moving. He waited ten. When he was certain he was the only one out there besides the dead birds in the trees, he slowly made his way forward.
• • •
The entire first floor of the building had been ransacked. Doors kicked in, desks overturned, potted plants smashed on the floor. Cynthia’s desk had taken a very hard beating. Not only had all its drawers been pulled out, but one of those fire-happy gunmen had also used it for target practice. For what reason, Conrad couldn’t even guess, but the desk had been nearly obliterated.
Someone had left a key inserted in the elevator’s main console. All Conrad had to do to go to the facility below was simply turn that key.
Down here he found that all the security had been overridden. Doors that before had needed a specific keycard opened without trouble. Behind these doors were rooms ransacked in the same fashion as those upstairs. Every computer monitor had either been destroyed or discarded on the floor, while the computers themselves had been taken.
Gabriel’s room hadn’t been spared. The bars open, his chair was knocked over, the fish tank destroyed, all the books knocked off every shelf and torn into pieces.
He searched every room, his pistol at the ready. He saved Albert’s office for last. He wasn’t surprised at all to find that it too had been ransacked. What surprised him was that the scientist was still sitting behind his desk.
He was expired. Whoever had done it to him had tried to torture him first. But of course that hadn’t worked.
While his dead mind may have been sending him signals that he was in pain, Albert knew better. He would have refused to talk. He may have even laughed at their baseless threats. Maybe they would have taken him with them as a prisoner, but surely the wheelchair caused a problem. It would have been too much hassle for them. So they did the only thing that made sense.
They—these men, some of whom were no doubt Hunters—cut off Albert’s head with a broadsword.
He returned to the surface a minute later. He walked down the hallway. Past Cynthia’s obliterated desk, stepping over pieces of wood and glass, he kept the pistol in his left hand as he pushed open the broken door with his right, careful not to tear his decayed skin on any jagged edges.
A black Humvee was parked just outside the facility. Kevin stood beside it. He wore his black uniform but not his mask, and he had an assault rifle aimed right at Conrad’s head.
“Stop and drop your weapon, Conrad. You’re under arrest.”
35
Besides the few birds chirping away in the surrounding trees, silence dominated this part of the woods.
Conrad stood there, the pistol in his left hand, staring at Kevin and debating in his mind all the different options he now had. There weren’t many. He could turn around and flee into the building, but Kevin would surely shoot him in the back. He could try to open fire before Kevin had the chance, but this would mean shooting with his left hand, his weak hand, and even if the gun was in his right hand, it wouldn’t make much difference.
Two seconds passed, three, and a new sound invaded the silence: glass and plaster crunching underfoot, coming from behind him.
Before he could move, the door was pushed open and hands grabbed his arms. The pistol was jerked away. He was kicked in the back of the knees, sent to the ground, his face pressed into the concrete.
Handcuffs were snapped onto his wrists. The hands grabbed him again, pulled him to his feet. He was aware then that there were two Hunters behind him, holding onto each arm, now pushing him down the walkway toward Kevin.
Two more Hunters stepped out from behind the parked Humvee, rifles in their hands.
“I always knew you were a lot of things,” Kevin said, “but a traitor? That’s worse than a coward.”
As he was pushed forward, those hands gripping onto his arms, Conrad played with the cuffs. He wanted to know just how much give these men had given him. There wasn’t much.
“It’s bad enough that you’re afraid of zombies, but to actually be working with them? I don’t know how you can even exist with yourself.”
Conrad was brought to stand less than a yard away from Kevin. The Hunter lowered his rifle, smiled, and punched Conrad right in the face.
“Shit,” Kevin said.
When Conrad turned his head back he saw the man inspecting the fist he’d just used for the punch. His graduation ring glimmered in the failing light. On it was some of Conrad’s flesh.
“What the fuck?” Kevin picked the piece of flesh off his ring, flicked it at Conrad’s face. “You can’t fall apart just yet. Philip still wants to see you. He has a lot of questions. He wouldn’t be happy at all if—”
The rear windshield of the Humvee shattered. The Hunter standing closest to it turned, stared down at the raining glass, then up toward the trees. A moment later his head exploded.
Conrad hadn’t even been aware of the accompanying gunshots until he was thrown aside by the two Hunters holding him and everyone else there, even Kevin, returned fire into the woods.
He’d fallen to the ground on his side, gravity forced him to his stomach, and at once he tried getting back up but the gunfire was just too close, too heavy, Kevin and his men running around and yelling at each other, turning because now shots were coming from the other direction, and Conrad did the only thing he could do: he flattened himself on the ground and tucked his head down.
More gunfire, more shouting, the distinct tinkling of shattering glass, the thump of popping metal, then all at once the salvo stopped. There was a silence. A few more gunshots then, an almost intermittent beat, and then more silence.
Conrad stayed where he was on the ground, his head tucked down, his eyes closed. He tried listening for anything—even those dead birds in the trees—but the world had suddenly gone silent.
Then, out of that silence, footsteps on the macadam.
He lifted his head and saw two zombies walking around the Humvee and the scattering of bodies. They carried assault rifles and went to each body, checked to make sure everyone was expired.
Then the two zombies turned toward Conrad. In seconds they were on him. One pressed him down flat on the ground, the other fooled with the cuffs around his wrists, and he kicked his legs and moved his body, his only attempt at fighting back. A voice said, “Stay still,” and there was something about the voice that struck him as familiar, as if he should know it, but then there was an audible click and the tension on his wrists disappeared, the cuffs fell away, and the two heavy weights keeping him down lifted.
He lay there on the ground, unmoving, his eyes closed, not wanting to give these zombies the satisfaction of forcing him to see their faces before they expired him.
Then that same voice said, “Come on, Conrad, get up. We have a lot of walking ahead of us.”
He opened his eyes. Turned over onto his back. Stared up at the two zombies staring down at him.
James looked at Eric and sighed. Then he looked back down at Conrad, stepped forward, and extended his hand to help him up.
36
He heard the cabin before he saw it, having walked now for two hours with James and Eric, both zombies leading him away from Living Intelligence and the mess they’d left behind. Following no trail Conrad could determine, passing between trees, stepping over branches, coming to a stream, and then following the stream as it bubbled and trickled over rocks, until the distant humming of a generator began to grow.
Gabriel met him at the door. The zombie asked him if he was okay. He even shook his hand. He brought him inside, whe
re there was nothing more than a folding table and chairs, a few cots. A space heater sat in the corner. There was a pantry, with canned goods and bottled water inside. Gabriel offered him something to eat, something to drink, but Conrad declined. Instead he asked what he was doing here.
Gabriel explained how Albert had evacuated the entire facility. How he’d gathered everyone together, both living and dead, and told them it was a pleasure working with them over the years, but now their work had come to an end. How he then spoke to the living privately, told them about a place he’d built for an emergency such as this, and how Gabriel, who already knew about this place, volunteered to take everyone to it. Except almost nobody wanted to come. They wanted to make a run for it on their own. The few that did agree followed Gabriel for only an hour through the woods before they decided to turn back, leaving Gabriel with just James and Eric.
When the three of them were settled, Gabriel sent James and Eric back to Living Intelligence. They were to keep an eye out. For what, Gabriel wasn’t sure, but they were supposed to be careful. The two zombies witnessed the first raid of Hunters, then the second. They heard Conrad sneaking through the woods but did nothing, because they knew he had to see what had become of the facility for himself. Then when the third Hunter party arrived, they waited for the right time to attack, and then they brought Conrad here.
“And what am I doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. They were sitting on two of the chairs, James and Eric at the table, Eric typing at a laptop computer. “I suppose you should ask what we’re all doing here.”
Conrad wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so he didn’t say anything.
“The thing about life, about existence, is that none of it is explainable. Things happen because they can. Over five hundred years ago, when the living ruled the world, the dead stayed dead. Now the dead walk the earth, and somehow they grow and age, they can digest, they can think and breathe and talk, even though their hearts and lungs don’t work. See? It’s unexplainable. Just like how it happened, how one day everyone in the world was living and how the next day half of the world was the animated dead.”
Land of the Dead Page 20
