Kelly Peel cracks the exit door slightly to hear better, she detects the sound of a large engine grumbling. The machine sits idle wherever it is and then rumbles away getting fainter.
“I think someone just left the base,” she reports in a whisper to her team. “If they opened the gate, we should be fine. The dead might follow them.”
“Let’s get everyone together,” Brock says. Though his mouth is painted with a clown’s smile, his lips are a tight line of worry and concern.
The shuffling corpses have ceased to pass by the door, meaning most will be gathered around the motor pool if the gate has not been opened. Even if a lot of the dead have wandered off base, there still may be some between here and where they want to be. They know they’ll need to proceed with caution.
“Stay with me,” Eli tells his daughter. “Don’t let go of my hand.”
The group consists of a clown, a pop star, a father and his young girl, the bickering couple, three strangers and their guide to the truck who will not be joining them on the trip. Quietly, they creep out through the exit one at a time leaving a survivor at the door to let the soldier back in once his mission is through.
They travel in a tiptoeing train around the building and toward the chain link that divides the base. They see wavering figures, but not as many as they feared. Another engine is rumbling somewhere in the direction they wish to go, smaller than the one they heard before.
As they dash and scurry from cover to cover they can hear the smaller automobile in motion. At the division of crisscrossing steel wire they can see the Southern gate has in fact been opened, they can see the motor pool, and they can see a car at the armory.
To Eli, this is no ordinary car. “I think that’s my Camaro,” he whispers to himself in disbelief regarding the purple vehicle in question. His car had been stolen by a punk kid he called Chachi that seems to be haunting him. The punk in question actually arrived at Eagle Rock with his car and survivors, including Brock Rottom.
“Behind you!” the soldier alerts the man who is sidetracked by how coincidental it is to see his car yet again being stolen, a corpse caught in a bush is reaching for him.
Eli ducks just as the soldier fires a round into the dead man’s head. The zombie was silent due to the wound that no doubt fostered it, total removal of the throat and wind pipe. Though the thing wouldn’t be able to get any flesh into its stomach it was still compelled to go through the motions.
The shot is attracting more, dead that weren’t able to get off base like the others. Some are not able to walk for the lack of the leg muscles required, others had gotten caught against the chain link fence and were unable to find the opening to the military section. Others are converging simply late to the party. Whatever the reason for the remaining threat, the living have to get to the truck, their only alternative is hiding once more in the snack area.
The soldier fires one more shot to fall a corpse in his way, he yells for the rest to follow him. He wants to turn back and return to the safety of the rec center but he had promised to get these people to the truck.
“Wait,” Kelly Peel says, stopping.
“We can’t wait,” the soldier urges her to continue.
“Do you hear that?” she asks, straining to listen. Through the moans and shuffling of feet she hears it again, crying. “Keep going, I’ll be there.”
“There’s no time,” the soldier tries to tell her but she’s already heading off deeper into the civilian sector.
“If things get bad just go,” she gives the group permission to leave her behind.
The dead divide their attention, some remain locked onto the tempting herd of humans, some venture after the lone meal that wanders off.
The crying gets louder as Kelly closes in on the barracks, it’s definitely a baby. She follows the sound to the steel pill box building it is coming from and finds a woman holding a bawling child within the entryway. The relief in the mother’s eyes for seeing another person is premature and short lived, the dead are swarming. The woman lets Kelly in. In a matter of minutes they can’t exit, the corpses are pressing against the glass, moaning as if in despair over missing dinner.
Their only recourse is to enter the barracks and try to get out another way, the mother, Erica, tells the pop star that there’s a few zombies inside. Kelly feels their odds of survival are better inside and away from the windows. She hopes the dead will lose interest if they can’t see or hear them. That means the baby, Jeremy, will have to be appeased.
Kelly offers to take Jeremy. She bounces the boy, cooing at him with wide hopeful eyes. She sings him a song that quiets him a little. The tyke sniffles, fat tears rolling down his chubby cheeks while he listens to the lullaby. To Kelly it feels as if his diaper is full, she imagines he’s hungry as well.
Erica is handed back her son as Kelly continues to sing. The door leading into the main hallway of the barracks is empty, that doesn’t ease Kelly’s mind much. Before entering, she looks for a weapon but fails to see anything useful. The only idea she has is using the chair at the desk the duty guard once manned.
Kelly eases the door open and slips inside, covertly heading straight for the rolling office chair. She pushes the high back seat towards the intersecting hall that divides the building down the middle. Before committing to the action she looks back to Erica where she stands half in the door and half out, Jeremy rubs his eyes looking upset that he can’t hear the song so well now. Kelly had to cease the lullaby once she entered the hall. She picks it back up, singing low at first, increasing the volume in increments until she finds one that appeals to the boy.
Kelly pushes her chair into the intersection of corridors, neither way has any evident danger. With a gesture Kelly asks which way, she wants to get them into Erica’s bay so Jeremy can have something to eat and a change, the mother said she had to leave everything behind to escape the zombie that attacked them. Erica points to the hall on the right.
The wheels of the chair softly crunch over floor grit as it is pushed toward the doors of the berth. The swinging doors ahead of her are being thumped open slightly, just a few inches before closing again, as if someone or something is right on the other side. Kelly knows exactly what’s on the other side that keeps knocking into the doors. As she nears the rhythm picks up, it hears her singing. At the door she wonders why it just doesn’t come out, the not knowing makes her just as nervous as the creature itself. With the rolling chair in front of her like a shield she grasps the handle and opens it.
A dead female civilian is on the floor, reaching up for her. The corpse’s foot is snared by the power cord of a large fan that has been toppled, the plug is still in the socket held by its bending prongs. Kelly flips down a stopper affixed to the bottom of the door. Taking a running leap over the zombie she races to the wall where a fire extinguisher hangs.
The tangled corpse crawls in her direction, the twisted plug comes out of the wall. Enough slack forms in the cord that its foot becomes freed. The deceased woman rises and staggers toward the pop star, not seeing her as anything other than a meal. The device is heavy but Kelly manages to swing it with all her might and make contact with the zombie’s head. It’s on the floor, still moving, trying to get up. She swings again but is unable to still the ghoul. She knows she’ll have to do more damage, not allowing herself time to reconsider she brings the extinguisher down, crushing the dead lady’s skull, trying to think of it as a bug. This is different than Randy who even in life had it coming. This stranger was probably a nice person.
Satisfied with her work, Kelly drops the silver, dented canister. She can barely look at the gruesome thing before her but she must, for the sake of Erica and her child she drags the body to the far end of the squad bay before checking out the rest of the place to ensure it is safe enough for them to join her.
Kelly checks the emergency door at the back of the bay to ensure it is locked, then she uses the heavy fan to bar the main entry, lashing the handle together with its helpful power c
ord. The three haven’t received much rest in the past twenty-four hours and are exhausted. Jeremy is already sleeping deeply having been fed from Erica’s supply. The ladies rest now too figuring their next move can be just as easily determined after some sleep.
30
“Why do you have to drive so damn slow, KB?” Rocky Roadkill hops out of the Man’s Ruin tour bus, a team that’s lost all of its members except two.
“Hey! Driving slow doesn’t use more gas! I told you we should have bought the smaller electric one,” Killer B counters, stress from the road making her uncharacteristically defensive. “Besides, we wouldn’t be out of gas if we just stayed at that last place.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rocky dismisses her friend’s reminder. Killer B wanted to make their stand in a small town they came to after finding their way out of Waterloo, a town one would have said had ‘nothing to speak of’, a plus now since it means less to worry about. But, Rocky insisted on getting to the east coast, they compromised and stayed a few weeks. She is adamant that they can find a place in Massachusetts, or in one of the surrounding states, deep in the woods, preferably on top of a large hill.
The pair have made it north to the highway Rocky plans on taking all the way east, opting for this over all the other possible routes due to her familiarity with it. She claims to know every point of interest along the way; every town, every gas station. They have made it almost half the distance between the Midwest and their target before running out of gas.
“So,” Killer B says, trying not to sound like a nagging wife, “where’s the nearest town?”
Rocky looks down the stretch of deserted highway. “Sinclair should be a ways that way.”
“Should be?”
“Is!” Rocky assures. “I doubt they moved a fucking town.”
The two are silent, Killer B watches her team captain lace up her skates. When she grabs her own Rocky halts her. “No, you stay here. I’ll go and get the gas. Happy?”
“I’m not letting you go alone,” the blonde says with concern, though annoyed with one another she’d hate for anything to happen to Rocky.
“I won’t be long,” Rocky assures her. “You know me, in and out.”
“But, what if…?” Killer B begins to ask and is silenced by a raised hand from her friend.
Her head cocked to the side, Rocky listens. She hears a motor in the distance, closing in. Having been around quite a few in her day she recognizes it as a motorcycle, a Harley Davidson if she isn’t mistaken. “Get on the bus.”
“What is it?”
“Get on the fucking bus,” she rasps, shoving her teammate toward the door.
It’s too late. Killer B is stunned by the sudden urgency. Before she can do as she is told what Rocky heard in the distance is upon them. The throaty engine cuts off, the rider has stopped a safe distance from them, a precaution in case of trouble. Rocky moves between her friend and the stranger. One can’t be too careful these days, she thinks.
“Just what every hero hopes for, a pair of damsels in distressed clothing,” the man on the bike says as he approaches on foot. He has a shotgun casually over his shoulder.
“What the fuck do you want?” Rocky inquires, her body is tense in anticipation of a fight.
“Just seeing if you needed help,” the man says calmly. He’s an older gentleman, though his years are hard to gauge due to thick scabs on one side of his face. “Don’t worry, I’m not on the prowl. See, I recently had to abruptly end the best relationship I’ve had in decades. I’m a little vulnerable at the moment. Of course, I wouldn’t be opposed to a casual fling.”
“No thanks, hamburger head,” Rocky blows off the advance. “Why don’t ya keep moving?”
“Plan to,” he simply says. “But, no offense, the offer was a joke. You just remind me too much of myself. If I was serious I’d be talking to blondie anyway. You outta gas?”
Rocky can see the guy’s ride has a sidecar full of guns, strapped to the back with a bungee cord is a red can of gasoline. She wonders what they’ll have to do for it. “Nope. Just stretching our legs.”
“Yes!” Killer B admits. “We just ran dry.”
“Bad place for it,” the guy looks around, there’s nothing for miles, just trees and fields. “There’s a town a bit ahead of you…”
“Sinclair,” Rocky finishes, “I’ve been there a few times a while back. Small place. Nice people.”
“I beg to differ about the folks, fuckers would eat you alive. Place is dead now. On the outskirts is an impound lot of sorts. I can give you enough fuel to get there. What’s the plan after that?”
“None of your…”
“We’re going to Mass,” Killer B says, interrupting her pal.
“Didn’t strike me as religious girls, but to each their own,” the guy smirks.
“Massachusetts,” Killer B corrects him, missing his pun. “Bedlam.”
“Name like that the place must be a real hoot. Never been there, it nice?”
“It’s home,” Rocky says.
“Around the New Hampshire border, you might see a black truck in the ditch if you’re looking hard enough. On the back is a drum of gas if you need it.”
“Why are you helping us?” Rocky suspiciously pries.
“It’s what Kings do,” the man explains, as if that comment wouldn’t need explaining as well, in fact he was counting on it.
“You’re a King?” Rocky asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve got a nice realm back the way you came called New Castle. The name’s Bruce.”
“Well, King Bruce, thanks for the tidbits,” Rocky snarkily ends the encounter. “Now please go fuck yourself.”
“Gotcha,” King Bruce concurs. “As much as I’d love to spend all day wagging tongues with you ladies, and you certainly seem to need a good tongue wag, I have to hit a rest area and fill up since I’m giving you my gas can. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I can’t wait to write about this in my diary, as long as nothing more pressing comes up.”
“Diary?” Rocky asks with a smirk as the man heads toward his bike.
“Uh, diarrhea,” he unconvincingly covers. “I said ‘I have diarrhea’. Another reason I should scoot. If Bedlam proves to be too rough, try Vermelho, NH. I personally cleared most of the dead so it should be nice and quiet. Head up the big hill that overlooks the quarry—don’t go down into the quarry, that’s where I put all the zombies—There’s homes up there next to the smoldering remains of my childhood. Or, you could follow me to New Castle…”
“Yeah, so we can bow our heads to you,” Rocky quips.
“You don’t have to bow your head, not that I don’t appreciate a nice bob once in a while to be honest with you, but that’s not a requirement,” Bruce quips right back at her from his bike. “We’re on the maps, come if you like.”
His engine roars, but before taking off he sets down a can of gas and lays his shotgun on the road along with a box of shells for them and a coiled length of transparent tubing. “I’m throwing in a syphon in case you need to suck your way through the shit towns.”
“I’ve been there,” Rocky shrugs.
“Hey, in exchange for the gas, how ‘bout a tug?” the man asks.
“I’m not…” Rocky angrily scowls.
“Not that kinda tug!” the man corrects here. “I mean from the hootch you reek of.”
Rocky produces a bottle and hands it over. She watches the man take a prolonged gurgling sip, the way a kid drinks from a soda. If he feels the burn of the alcohol it doesn’t show. He hands back a much lighter bottle. The look of dismay over how much he has consumed doesn’t escape him. “Don’t worry. I put some of it back for you.”
“Keep it,” she tells him, giving it back. It’s been a long while since Rocky has met a man she respected.
“Obliged,” he says. “Seriously, if your little trip east winds up going south, come on out west.”
The mysterious stranger leaves them. The vibration of the Harley tightens Rocky’s ches
t and awakens her physical desires. She tingles as she watches him grow smaller in the distance as her friend runs to collect the offering. Killer B returns to Rocky’s side and sees something on her face she can only imagine to be regret.
“Should we go to this New Castle?” the blonde asks.
“Hell no!” Rocky snaps out of it, taking her eyes from the dot to the west. “Just thinking,” there goes the last dick on Earth. I shoulda fucked him.
31
“We’ve been driving forever!” Hippo complains. He continues to groan just to hear his echo in the dark restroom.
“I know,” Killian tells his baby brother, he empathizes with the boy’s frustration, but there’s little he can do to solve it. Their mother has been very overprotective since meeting back up, he had to shout at her to leave them alone to use the bathroom in this rest area. The youths relish their time away from her.
“Can’t we just go somewhere?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere!” Hippo lets his voice boom, he holds the final syllable to make it resonate the stone walls. “But nowhere cold. I’m sick of winter.”
“It’s spring.”
“But, it will be winter again. I want to go somewhere that’s not going to get cold. Florida.”
“What’s in Florida?”
“Story Book Land,” the boy says. “And, oranges. Remember Nanna Carol used to send us boxes of them every year before she died. She always said she had so many she didn’t know what to do with them.”
“Yeah,” Killian ponders his brother’s idea. “And, the ocean. We could grab a boat, live just off shore and fish.”
“I like fish,” Hippo states.
“So does mom. All right, we’ll turn around and head south.”
“Will mom want to go to Florida?”
“We’ll have to convince her,” Killian explains. “We’ll make it seem like her idea and that it’s the best thing for us.”
Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End Page 23
