“They’re right behind us and headed this way,” the young male with dirty blonde hair shouted, both hands gripping a revolver.
The older man following looked twice the boy’s age. He carried a shotgun.
The woman held a crowbar and trailed behind.
“Did you not hear me? They’re coming this way,” Eric said. As he got closer to the bus, countless zombies pushed the massive gate holding them back. “Hoooolllly shit.”
Luke stuck his arm out of the driver’s side window and motioned them to come.
Eric came to a stop by the vehicle. Cynthia and Kent came to his side.
The side door to the bus slid open. Megan stepped out with weapon drawn, eye sighted down her rifle. She took three or four long strides forward not even paying attention to the new arrivals. “We need to move,” she said.
Three-burst rounds blasted from her rifle as she squeezed the trigger, aiming in the direction the old car had just come from. An unending swarm of the dead poured out from the side street in their direction. Megan kept taking step after step forward while firing round after round. With each burst of steady shots, a ghoul dropped to the ground, only for another to take its place. Five zombies had fallen within a few seconds, but it made no difference. Their numbers were too great.
*
Seth stood at the window, paralyzed while he watched the horde of zombies descend upon the bus. The bulky, metal gate adjacent to the building shook violently from the relentless mass of zombies pushing against it. “Well, crap! I think I changed my mind about joining you guys after all.” He looked back at Gus, who had left the wall of furniture, no longer bracing the door with his girth.
One of the couches fell over, and then the other, the door sliding open just a hair revealing several outstretched arms rotting and festered with worms and bloody bites. One hand was missing most of its fingers. The door inched open from the pressure of the growing numbers behind it. Gus couldn’t help but imagine the numbers that now filled the lobby, crammed like sardines leading up the stairs. Shoulders and legs were in view, the door opening even wider, the desk sliding slow and steady along the carpet.
*
Eric and Kent joined the military woman in a barrage of fire outside. Eric steadied his hand, missing the first two shots as they went wild into the crowd. The third and fourth shots sent one to the ground. His fifth shot was a dud. The gun was empty. He reached into his pocket and pulled out several more rounds but fumbled them, dropping them on the cement.
Megan momentarily glanced down stepping aside to give him room, doing what damage she could.
Kent stood to Eric’s right a few feet over, holding out his shotgun. A loud blast erupted from the weapon kicking back in his hand. He almost dropped it. Holding the shotgun tighter, he pulled the trigger again, holding the gun more at waist level. The gun kicked, but this time, he was ready for it. The shot was more controlled, nailing an old frail zombie that had to have been in her late 80’s right in the neck. Her neck and the lower part of her chest exploded. Bloody, gray pus blasted out, spraying on the other zombies around her.
An echoing thud from behind them surprised Cynthia, making her drop the crowbar on the ground. The metal clanged against the concrete a few times before coming to a rest. A man from behind her had just jumped on top of the bus from the window. He lost his balance and slid to one side. She looked back watching the man fall from the roof of the vehicle. His long hair bounced in the air as he crashed to the cement below, landing on his shoulder, and what looked like his head. It was hard to tell. He hit really hard and wasn’t moving. Cynthia instantly jogged over to him. As she reached him, she caught a glimpse of a large man standing at the window yelling something down.
The gunfire, the zombies falling on them in the lot from the side street, the man at the window, the man on the ground. He was bleeding. Blood poured out onto the lot right where he had fallen. He reeked of beer.
She looked up and saw the zombies at the gate. She was only a few feet away from them. The gate shook and rattled, tons of hands gripping it violently trying to get to her. Countless fingers enthralled its woven mesh.
*
The upstairs door slid open wide enough and more than a few zombies entered the room. Gus struggled to fit through the window. His shoulders were too broad. He leaned out the window, pushing with everything he had to get his upper half to squeeze out. The zombies moved in. The room quickly filled. One zombie after another entered the room. Gus gave up on the window and turned firing on the zombies. With his 9mm out, Gus did his best to make each shot count, the close range making this easier to do. After seven pops of the gun and five zombies down, more kept coming. They just kept coming.
Gus knew that this wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He shot three more, taking them all down each getting hit where it counts. Blood and brain splattered everywhere in the broadcasting room as he took out each zombie. After emptying the magazine on the undead and littering the floor with more than a handful of ghouls, he frantically looked around in the room for something, anything that could help him. He grabbed a tall floor lamp from the corner to his right. Holding it sideways, he lunged into the mob and pushed them all back. Several of them fell over landing on others causing a domino effect. Seeing his opportunity, Gus dropped the magazine and popped in a fresh one, then turned, making for the window.
Giving it everything he had, Gus pushed and pulled trying to get both shoulders through the window, the panel too narrow for his body. Something grabbed his leg and pulled him. He heard the moans and felt them crowding around at his back. He pushed harder, kicking and flailing. Another hand on his other leg. Gus’ foot collided with what had to have been a face, because one of the arms gripping his leg instantly let go. The adrenaline pumping through his body gave him the extra boost needed. His shoulders scraped against the sides of the window panel as he exited.
Gus came down hard and fast. He reached his hands out to catch his fall. Something in his right hand snapped upon impact.
*
George held tight to Billy. Both of them sat at the back of the Rhino Runner. George could see the woman standing outside shooting at something, an unknown headlight beaming on her in the distance. She had left the side door open when she stepped out. The guy behind the wheel was occupied. He was talking with someone over a radio almost identical to the one that Willy had on his hip. Willy sat next to George, and Billy leaned back, head propped against the seat, eyes closed.
“Shouldn’t you be out there helping them?” George said.
Willy didn’t move and acted like George hadn’t even spoken to him. The sound of gunfire coming from more than one person stressed George out. “Why aren’t we leaving?” he shouted at the man in the driver’s seat.
Luke didn’t respond, focused on the radio.
*
Seth was out cold.
“Kent, help! I can’t get him up!” Cynthia yelled at Kent, who fired at the mob steadily drawing closer from the side street.
As Kent looked over to see Cynthia leaned over the fallen man, the gate behind her suddenly gave way. To Kent, it wasn’t as sudden as it should have seemed. It was almost in slow motion. As he turned his head to see what she was yelling at him for, he watched as the lining of the gate to the alley tore open from the bottom. It bent up and out, the horde moving forward. Kent heard nothing. All sound had vanished as he watched, as if nothing else existed except this single moment. Kent looked back at Eric, the others still firing in slow motion, unable to hear their guns. He could see the flashes of light on each gun as they were fired, but no sound.
The crowd of creatures clambered out from the broken fence as it gave way. Cynthia jumped to her feet, darting away toward the front of the bus. Kent watched in slow motion as bullets tore into their flesh, the busted fence behind them. Blood splattered and sprayed. Heads jerked and zombies fell. Kent’s view widened to see a very large man standing on top of the bus firing a rifle into the oncoming crowd. Things sudde
nly snapped into real time, and Kent abruptly comprehended that he had been held in the cold hands of shock.
“It’s time to get the hell out of here,” Gus said, getting Megan’s attention. The bus steadily became surrounded by zombies. The spark of their gunfire shined in the night, each person doing their best to drive the mass of undead creatures down.
Megan retreated back toward the confines of the big vehicle, motioning for the other two shooting alongside her to follow suit. Eric, Megan, and Kent jumped into the Runner from the side door.
Luke, half out the driver’s window, fired single shots from his 9mm pistol. Each pull of the trigger was a direct hit, sending its victim to the ground.
Cynthia screamed and shouted, banging on the opposite side of the bus that didn’t have a door. Zombies poured in behind her from the alley. A large cluster of them immediately fell on Seth and feasted on his body. Seth never let out a single scream as they tore into his flesh, ripping him into bits, devouring him bit by bit. The creatures’ hands came away bloody as they ripped and tugged. Chunks of the unconscious man’s flesh came away from his body, shirt now totally ripped apart.
The bus started to move forward, Gus still on the roof. He reached down and grabbed Cynthia by the hand, pulling her up with little effort, the mob of zombies behind her only inches away from dragging her down. A sharp jolt of pain shot through Gus’ hand.
She looked back as the large man held her close, the bus bouncing forward toward the street. “He’s… gone.”
Seth’s body was covered with bloody, rotting, putrid zombies all leaning over him, undoubtedly feasting on his remains. Dozens of others shuffled past those feeding, arms stretched out toward the bus.
Countless zombies still continued to spill out into the back lot from the alley and the side street. The second-story window was filled with the undead. As Luke looked in the side mirror, he saw the building and the horde. One zombie fell from the window as they drove off. Before taking his eyes away, he thought he saw Bo Brad Barrie, the pilot, standing at the window, bloody and mangled. It couldn’t have been. It just couldn’t.
Gus lowered the red-haired woman down into the bus from the roof latch as it slowly edged on trying to make its way passed the ghouls that approached on either side. He followed her down into the crowded space, grabbing the torch gear, and then made his way back halfway up the ladder.
“Do you know how to use that?” Megan called from below.
“It’s two valves and a nozzle handle. How hard can it be?” Gus said.
“The igniter is automatic. Don’t squeeze the nozzle unless you want to burn something,” Megan said and headed back to the cab.
Luke drove the Rhino Runner up the infested streets as fire rained down off to the side. “Things will clear up once we get back to the interstate. Who all do we have back there anyway? I told headquarters three civilians but looks more like six or seven.”
Megan said, “Just an in and out OP, eh?” She smirked and stepped away.
The bus now moved at a steadier pace. She went to the refugees, and asked, “Anybody injured?”
No one said a word. They all seemed spent and lost in their own thoughts, their own nightmares. As Megan stood over them, one hand holding the railing over her head to keep a steady balance, she noticed that Willy was out cold and didn’t look in the best of health. She let go of the rail and moved closer to get a better look at him.
After shaking his leg and saying his name a time or two with no response, she pulled out a small flashlight and shined it in his eye, while peeling the eyelid back with her finger.
“Willy… right? Willy… You there? Willy?” She put away the light and continued to examine him, taking out a first-aid kit. After opening the box and putting on some thin rubber gloves, she continued checking his vitals. She wrapped the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around his arm and proceeded to pump it tighter.
“Mr. Wellington? Is that you?” Eric leaned up in his seat, talking over the woman in the middle of the cab checking the other soldier. “Hey, Wellington!” Eric spoke louder leaning out from his seat a little more. The old man looked like he was in a trance staring at the floor, his arm around a kid that Eric had never seen before.
“Hey, George!”
George looked up and across the seats, right at Eric. “Eric! How in the world did you end up here?” The old man’s face lit up showing a sense of hope, his eyes lightly watering as he recognized the teenager across from him.
“Yeah! So that was you on the radio this morning. I had my doubts, but thought it might be you. I recognized the voice. Where’s Tyler?”
Any glint of hope instantly evaporated from the old man’s face upon hearing those words. After a moment, George met the young man’s gaze again, this time, his voice frail revealing his true age. “Tyler? Well… I… I was kind of hoping you would—”
Megan got shoved to her back against the wall of shelves and guns, Willy on top of her gnashing his teeth. His mouth sank into her throat, squirting blood onto Kent’s shoes as Megan fell to the floor.
Cynthia screamed. Everyone panicked, shoving on each other and trying to move toward the front of the bus, Willy’s undead corpse now feasting. Megan’s body twitched violently on the floor, a pool of blood formed around her.
“Stop the bus! Stop the bus!” Eric shouted.
Luke looked back, craning his head. Everyone crowded toward the front. Everyone but Megan and Willy.
Gus shot down the ladder, hearing the screams and frantic yelling. The bus stopped. Gus tossed off the flamethrower pack dropping it at his feet. He reached out, pulling Willy up by the back of the shirt. With his other hand, Gus slammed Willy’s head into the side of the bus. His hand was the size of Willy’s entire face, covering it all. Two more slams against the wall. He shoved the former soldier away, pulling out a large hand blade from his hip. In one flawless motion, he drove the knife under Willy’s chin and up. The metal blade penetrated the flesh sliding through the mouth and into his skull. Willy’s limbs instantly went limp.
Gus dropped the zombie to the floor, blade still lodged in its skull, blood pouring down the handle. He retrieved the 9mm from his hip and aimed it at Megan. Blood spilled heavily from the open wound. As he lifted the pistol, Luke’s arm reached up from behind him grabbing the large man on the wrist. Everyone else stood to one side of the bus as far as they could, huddled together in fear and shock, silent.
“No, wait!” Luke said.
“It has to be done and you know it!” Gus said.
The gun went off twice without hesitation. Her head shot back, two holes instantly appeared leaking blood from them. One hit the chest above her breast, and the other dead between the eyes. She lay still no longer convulsing. The puddle of blood beneath her steadily grew.
No one moved. No one spoke a word.
Cynthia held tightly to Kent. Billy had George’s arms wrapped around him. Eric had frozen in place, stunned as everyone else.
Gus lowered the gun. “I’m sorry, but it had to be done. It’s best to end it quickly.”
Luke looked up at the bulk of a man and glared with pure rage in his eyes, arms shaking. Gus grabbed him by each arm and pulled him into his chest. Luke lost it. Crying uncontrollably, he broke out into tears, mourning the sudden loss.
Very shaken up and hardly uttering any real words, Luke looked up at Gus. “Not… like... this…”
“You need to be strong, soldier.” Gus pulled Luke away and shook him. “We need you to be strong. We need to get to base. Can you do that?”
Luke rubbed one hand through his hair and glanced at the civilians, all of whom looked scared out of their minds. “Ya, I can do this.”
Luke turned and got behind the wheel, putting the bus back in drive without even looking back.
George opened his bag and pulled out a plain shirt and covered the dead woman’s face. The ride back to base was long and quiet. Very long and very, very quiet.
REGROUP
1
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The sun rose early Friday morning just like it had every morning in the past. The Tallahassee sky was a bright baby blue without a cloud in sight just like the day before. It was officially day four of the outbreak and things weren’t looking any better for General Baker and his men. He had already lost more lives than expected and began to feel like the higher ups might be leaving him in the dark about a thing or two. Maybe this outbreak was more than they could contain.
Between the twenty choppers sent out daily to survey the infected zones and conditions, only fourteen had made it back. His best flight team was MIA, and the General was starting to think he needed a new strategy, a new approach to this chaos.
Baker sat in his office not seated behind the desk, but standing at the window, watching a single chopper be loaded with supplies. He decided to cancel all outbound missions for the next two days. They weren’t going to find any significant lives to matter. The risk wasn’t worth the reward. The five civilians that now found themselves on his base were the only survivors they had come across.
The chopper getting prepped before him was scheduled to depart in less than an hour, headed for Jacksonville. A biochemical organization could very well be behind this catastrophic plague, and if so, he felt the higher ups in the military might have something to do with it as well.
As always, Lieutenant Foster was close by, sitting behind him and awaiting orders for the day. Baker’s ashtray sat on top of the desk with a freshly lit cigar, unattended.
“Have the civilians examined by Dr. Gibbs as soon as they are up and about. No need to wake them, I’m sure the last couple of days have been long. Let them rest. I’m going to want a full report of their physical exams and history. I want to know who we have staying with us. Full background checks. I also want an update on Luke Beal. I heard word he had a mental breakdown last night with the loss of Megan.”
The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller Page 12
