Run_Book 3_Long Road Home

by Rich Restucci

  “It’s at least three hundred yards to the road and there’s got to be a fence over here someplace.” He made to point to a spot on the map, but hissed an intake of breath and used the inside of his elbow to gingerly touch his wrapped ribs. He was careful not to touch the needle Anna had installed in his chest cavity. “Shit hurts.”

  “They’re still out in force,” Anna told them as she slowly closed the parted drapes in one of the offices.

  The SEAL glanced at her as he sat in a rickety wooden chair. “How many?”

  “At least a hundred. Probably more like two, but they keep moving so it’s difficult to get a proper tally. There’s at least one fast one, but I know I heard three of them scream before.”

  “Alright, the sun is almost down and when it’s gone, we make a break for it and head for the eastern end of this place. We might have to cut through the fence, but if they’re hot on our heels, we’ll have to climb over again.”

  The Texan sighed. “Don’t much wanna do that.”

  Seyfert took another labored breath. “Right there with you, Dallas.”

  “Seyfert.”

  The SEAL shifted his gaze to Anna. “You can’t run,” she told him. “Dallas is slow too with his leg, but you won’t make fifty steps before you collapse. The pneumothorax alone could kill you and the broken ribs will stop you in your tracks.”

  He squinted in pain. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I get it, you’re tough, but you’re not thinking it through. At best, you’ll slow us down, at worst, you’re dead before we make the fence. What’s worse is that we’ll stop to try to help you and then we’re dead too.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Rick asked in an incredulous voice. “That we leave him?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” She looked at Dallas. “And not just the jarhead.”

  “I was in the damn Navy!” blurted the SEAL.

  “Whatever. Rick, you and I will have to get a vehicle and come back for them. We can use some kind of sound diversion to draw the dead away and we’ll pick them up and drive to the boat.”

  Dallas rubbed his leg. “We don’t even know if there is a boat.”

  “There has to be,” she said.

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “Because if there isn’t, we’re all dead.”

  “She’s right,” Rick told them. “Sorry, guys. We’ll slip out in an hour and grab some wheels.”

  Seyfert gave a nod. “Ammo and supplies check.”

  There were seventy-seven rounds left for the handguns and three full mags for the rifles. Dallas had nine shells for his shotgun. Seyfert also had two hand grenades that he had appropriated from the PX at the bunker under the Vantel facility. The pistol magazines were reloaded, so each of the team had a full sidearm plus one full magazine and some loose spares.

  “Shit’s getting critical and we’re not even halfway to the water.” Seyfert glanced up at Rick. “You got this?”

  Rick’s eyebrows shot up. “You gotta ask?” Rick glanced at his rifle, picked it up, and ejected the magazine. He checked it again, returned the mag to the receiver, and held the gun out to Seyfert. “You might as well have two full rifles in case they get in here. Less reloading.”

  “Uh-uh. You’ll need it. If you don’t get us a vehicle, none of us make it.”

  “Yeah, but if we get back and you didn’t have the ammo to fend off an attack, then we went for nothing.”

  Seyfert accepted the rifle and placed it next to his chair. “Good luck.” He extended his hand to Rick who gently shook it.

  “Don’t need it.” Rick thumbed at Anna. “I have her.”

  “This is textbook shit you are not supposed to pull in a horror movie,” Anna breathed. “Splitting up.”

  Dallas produced a wry smile. “We been in a horror movie for a while now.”

  Anna hugged him and held Seyfert’s hand for a moment before she and Rick made their way downstairs. The plan had been to slip out the same window the things had used to get in, but the shards of glass were coated with infected fluids. Rick began pulling books off a tall bookshelf as quietly as possible and handing them to Anna. She placed them on a desk until the shelves were clear, then the two of them slid the bookcase in front of the broken window. They put the books back and shifted the desk up against the shelves. It was a flimsy barrier, but better than a broken window.

  Moving to a different room, Rick nodded to her then parted the wooden blinds to peek out the window. He couldn’t see any dead on the porch, but he could see shapes moving through the gloom. He shrugged then they moved to the big wooden slider door where Dallas waited. Anna unlocked it, Rick slid it open two feet, and they slipped through into the darkness, closing it behind them. Dallas engaged the lock with a snick! and the two friends were immediately terrified.

  Rick slunk down the porch steps with his knife in his fist and Anna on his heels. They didn’t get twenty feet before an infected of the slower variety crossed in front of them. The thing hadn’t seen them and kept going. They moved past abandoned vending and gaming trailers, the awnings of a few were still extended. The duo could hear the moans and hacks of the dead things in the night. The darkness concealed both the dead from the living and vice versa, but where the survivors were attempting stealth, the thing’s which hadn’t survived had no such need.

  Stopping behind a red and yellow ticket booth, the pair surveyed the area. A tall structure, probably a Ferris wheel or other large ride, loomed behind them. The moonlight glinted off the metal of several other rides, but the darkness consumed most of the light, making the type of attraction indistinguishable. A Runner scream from far off rent the air. Even though the distance hadn’t been close, it sent tendrils of terror through both Rick and Anna. Another scream answered, then another, then two more.

  Several dead filed slowly past the ticket booth, all intent on searching for whatever had made the screams. Rick waited a full minute to make sure the things were out of earshot before he nodded to Anna and they darted around the booth…straight into the arms of a disgusting, rotten undead. Not making a sound, the thing latched onto Rick’s shirt and arm. It leaned in to bite him, but he twisted, taking it to the ground. The creature began making a growling noise, but it was short-lived as Rick drove his blade into the side of the thing’s cranium. The creature immediately let go of him and he fought not to throw up. It was as revolting as the one they had slain in the fair offices and teeming with insect larvae.

  He stood, silently gagging. Anna put her hand on him and he whipped around, knife at the ready. She took a step back and he visibly calmed, nodding. He chin-wagged in the direction they needed to go and they moved off.

  A large white barn with dark sliding doors barred their progress to the street, so they attempted to move around it. Rick stepped on something and it snapped under his foot. To the living, it sounded like a gunshot and they both froze, but nothing came for them. Not wanting to continue treading on sticks, Anna got down on one knee to check the situation. There were dozens of white sticks and rocks on the ground outside of the barn. So many that it would be impossible to negotiate the area without repeatedly stepping on them. She reached down and picked one up, curious. It was an animal bone. She stared at the sticks and stones, now realizing they were bones and skulls. The dead had eaten all the animals in the barn and deposited the bones here, or more likely, this is where the poor farm creatures had been overtaken.

  They moved laterally to the right, coming up to an open-air pavilion. The same crunch of bones they had heard a moment before echoed to them and they both looked down. There were no bones on the ground. Another snap followed by more crunching and the two looked at each other. They hurried across the concrete floor of the pavilion, the moon showing them where picnic tables were situated, when Anna inadvertently kicked an empty glass bottle. The flask clattered across the cement, hitting something hard under one of the tables with an ear-splitting shatter.

  Hissing and throaty gurgles followed the smashing of the glass, the
sounds of the dead very close. Shadows moved off to the right, shuffling toward the pavilion. Something latched onto Rick’s left ankle and he jerked away to the right, smacking his hip into one of the picnic tables. The table jostled a bit from the impact, the skidding of wood across cement as loud as the breaking glass. The thing that had grabbed Rick moaned. The pitiful sound was echoed by the creature’s comrades and soon the noises of the dead were all around them and closing. A figure hurtled past them, running headlong through the night. Having heard the sounds, the Runner knew something might be around, but couldn’t see Rick or Anna through the gloom.

  The survivors moved forward, trying not to be seen. An infected shuffled into view just in front of them and they juked around its reaching arms. It caught a wisp of Anna’s hair, but that was it. Several of the things materialized out of the evening murk in front of Rick, but this time there was no way to get past them. The suppressed shot was loud to Rick and Anna, but they both know the sound was confusing to anyone not very near to it, appearing to come from several directions at once. Rick dropped three of the things and the living burst through a gap in the dead line. They hurried past another structure and toward a wooded area. Another chain-link fence loomed in front of them and they hit it with a rattle. No words were necessary as both of them began to climb immediately. They were up and over in just a moment, dropping to the other side. Rick and Anna fled in the direction of the woods just as a few dozen undead thundered into the fence the living humans had just scaled. They skidded to a stop on the moonlit grass before rushing headlong into the trees.

  “Oh shit…” Anna let hang as many shadowy forms made their way toward them from the wooded side of the fence. They came in ones and twos, stepping from the foliage. The duo moved laterally to the right, keeping the fence to the right and the woods on their left. A fifty- foot gap resided between the chain-link and the wall of trees. They sprinted for all they were worth, but they soon began to tire. A few of the things were in front of them, but the vast majority trailed several yards behind.

  Guttural grunts, unlike the sounds of the dead, but all too familiar also came from behind them and Rick dared a swift glance back. He stopped, spun, got into a firing stance and let two suppressed rounds fly before Anna realized she was alone. She looked back to see a Runner on its back, coughing its life out. Rick caught up to her and they continued their flight.

  The forest ended on a road that traversed left to right. Across that road, the fire station they had seen before sat down a short hill, the inky blackness of the open garage doors both inviting and terrifying. The overrun FEMA camp was a quarter-mile behind and to the left of the fire station. The pursuing dead shuffled to the rear of Rick and Anna, but the way in front was unusually clear. Anna briefly thought that all the infected that had been in this area before must now be searching for the food they had chased into the fairgrounds. Houses perched on both sides of the street to their left sat abandoned.

  Moving swiftly right, Rick pointed to a four-door ladder truck to the left side of the fire house. The long white ladder wasn’t completely down, but that wouldn’t deter them from appropriating this vehicle to save their friends. They hurried to it, stopping just outside the driver’s door. Not wanting to lift himself up to the open window and have his face bitten off, Rick slapped his palm three times on the metal and was rewarded with nothing. He was about to boost himself up on the silver access step when Anna tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced at her and she was pointing behind the fire truck.

  “Oh. Oh yeah,” Rick said with approval.

  A huge, six-wheel, yellow dump truck, parked immediately behind the fire truck, called out to Rick on a sensual level. The two raced to the vehicle, mounted the two folding steps, and climbed the five-rung ladder. The cockpit of the truck sat two and it was mercifully devoid of anything wishing to eat them. There would be plenty of room in back if it were also clear of infected and even if not, to the left of where they were standing would easily hold ten people under the ledge of the dumping bed. The railings had been removed though, so someone would have to hold on out there while they drove.

  Rick entered the cab followed quickly by Anna. He looked at the myriad of dials and levers, but couldn’t see much in the dark. Anna closed the door and Rick moved to the driver’s seat. He flashed his tactical light on the dash of the big vehicle.

  “Just like driving my Escalade, right?” He panned the light around, searching the cab for a moment, then reached up to the sun visor and yanked it down. Keys dropped and he caught them as they fell. He wasted no time in jamming the key into the keyhole, jamming his foot on the clutch, and turning the key. The effect was immediate. The huge vehicle screamed and protested at not having been started for a long time. It growled, obviously not happy someone had awoken it, and exploded to life on the second try. Rick glanced over at Anna with a slick smile and pumped his eyebrows up and down.

  “If Dallas thinks he’s stealing this truck, he can kiss my a—”

  A weighty thud hit the outside of the truck below them and screaming started, followed by the savage pounding of fists on the steel. Rick fumbled for something and in a moment, the headlights came on, illuminating the horrors in front of them.

  At least two hundred of the dead things shuffled and stumbled on their way to the yellow monstrosity that their late-night dinner sat in. Rows upon rows of shambling, rotting things made their way over the road, past the fire station, inexorably toward Rick and Anna.

  Mimicking the last two words she had uttered, Anna breathed, “Oh shit.”

  Someplace With a Carpeted Floor and Lots of Sun. Probably San Francisco

  He woke to bright sunlight. A dull but strong pain behind his eyes woke with him. This was the kind of headache that wouldn’t be debilitating, but would certainly linger. He raised his hand to place it in front of his face. The intent was to block the oppressive sun, but pain flared through his hand as well and he noticed his fingers were bandaged. He also noticed he was in a bedroom, painted white, with a large skylight. This was the source of the sunlight. He uttered a sound of discomfort before he realized he had momentarily forgotten his most important job.

  He sat bolt upright and immediately wished he could take that action back. The throb in his head turned into a spear of white-hot agony, but it was mercifully brief. He searched for his weapons and pack, but they were nowhere to be found. He was in a bed in his underwear and he certainly didn’t remember this being his last location. Jerking his head to the left, he noticed someone he didn’t recognize sitting in a chair. The sitter was a larger guy, dark hair and a full but kempt beard with flecks of gray adorned his head and face. He was dressed in jeans and a San Francisco Forty Niners T-shirt. A military rifle sat across the lap of the stranger, who leaned back in his chair when he noticed Billy was awake.

  “Took quite a whack to the noggin, sport.”

  “The kids?” Billy demanded.

  “Fine. They’re playing your board game a couple rooms over.”

  “Thank God.”

  The stranger leaned forward again. “Way I hear it, God had nothing to do with it.”

  “Huh?”

  “You were on the stairs in that apartment, out cold, in a pile of the dead, with more of them all around you when we got there. Funny thing is, you don’t have a bite on you, which is just plain not possible. The kids told us you were responsible for the fifty or so corpses we saw.”

  “Yeah, but they all deserved it. Who are you?

  “Name’s Tim. You okay to talk? Someone has questions for you.”

  “Wouldn’t be a guy by the name of Cyrus, would it?”

  Tim looked briefly confused. “Who? No. Guy by the name of Sergeant Martin. He runs our band of merry folk.”

  Billy smiled. “Like Robin Hood. Yeah, we’re already talking, so sure, I’ll shoot the breeze with whoever.”

  Tim appeared momentarily confused again and gave Billy an odd glance. He made to pick up his radio, but when Billy threw the sh
eet off him and swung his legs out of the bed, Tim stood with his rifle. His finger was on the trigger.

  “Don’t.”

  Billy blinked. “Don’t what?”

  “Get up. Don’t get up.”

  “Uhh… I’ve got no pants on, Tim. I tend to like wearing pants when I meet the boss.”

  “Folded on a chair right there.” Tim used the barrel of the rifle to indicate the chair. “Slowly. I still don’t know you yet.”

  “Gotcha. Course, I don’t know you either, but you’re wearing pants.”

  “What?”

  “Skip it,” Billy told him and put his toes on the carpeted floor. He padded on his bare feet over to his clothes and began to awkwardly dress using his injured hand. His head also hurt and he noticed that his right sock had a hole in it where his big toe stuck through.

  “Danny, he’s up.” Billy turned to see Tim using a small walkie-talkie.

  The response was immediate, “Copy. Be right there.”

  Billy was just pulling his shirt down over his bandaged head when the door opened. Kyle and Vanessa entered the room, both smiling. Kyle put his hands on his hips, but Vanessa ran over and almost tackled Billy.

  “Oof!” he said, returning her hug. “Like a rocket, this one.”

  She sat on the bed, still holding his hand, and he sat next to her. Billy gave Kyle a cross-eyed look, tapped his head with his palm, and his eyes righted. The boy shook his head, smiling harder.

  Two other people had come into the smallish bedroom. The first was a woman with shoulder-length dark hair, five foot seven, maybe forty years old. She was not smiling and had a wicked-looking semi-automatic pistol pointed at the ground. The second to step through the door was clearly in charge. The man stood five foot ten maybe, with short-cropped mostly gray hair that had been dark when he was younger. Probably in his mid-fifties but very fit. A chrome revolver resided in a black holster on his left hip and an average size semi-auto pistol mirrored the revolver but on the right hip. Sunglasses adorned his head, but didn’t cover his eyes. A large knife in a sheath on his belt and a tactical knife attached to his shoulder vest told Billy this might not be a guy to piss off. This man did smile. He took his military rifle off his shoulder and passed it to Tim. Two strides took him to the bed and he stuck his hand out for Billy to shake.