Run_Book 3_Long Road Home

by Rich Restucci

  “Wassat?” Dallas demanded. “Did you hear that?”

  “Relax, Hillbilly, it’s just the thing Anna set up to let the air out of my chest.”

  “Oh. Does it hur—?” Dallas was interrupted by a loud and unmistakable beeping noise from nearby.

  “I heard that,” Seyfert told him. “Let’s be ready.”

  “That’s…that’s a lot of dead people,” Rick said aloud, looking at the sea of dead faces bearing down on the great dump truck he and Anna were in.

  Anna glared at him, incredulity on her face. “No shit, Sherlock! Let’s get out of here!”

  Rick pulled the huge stick shift back and to the right. Immediately, an incredibly loud beeping noise ripped through the air. The backup alarm on the dump truck had kicked in. Rick slowly let his foot off the clutch and depressed the accelerator, but all the big rig did was stall. Anna glared at him, her eyes going wider.

  “Uh… okay,” Rick said to himself. He restarted the vehicle and disengaged the emergency brake. They began to roll backward, Rick using the side mirrors and backup lights to guide him in the darkness. He depressed the accelerator while letting off the clutch some and the massive vehicle shot backward. The wheel was cut to the left and the nose of the truck swung right until they were facing the fence which surrounded the fair.

  Rick looked at Anna and she pointed to the fairgrounds. Rick smiled and nodded, throwing the transmission into first gear. He was in third gear when they hit the fence with a crash. The chain-link was an afterthought to the 300-ton behemoth and tore free from the ground in a sixty-foot swath. The galvanized steel wire made a tremendous clatter as it was dragged over the asphalt lanes of the fairgrounds. Rick tried to stay in the lane, but several gaming trailers and the steel barricade fence of a small children’s ride were obliterated by the giant wheels of the yellow monstrosity. By the time they reached the offices where the SEAL and the Texan were holed up, the truck was dragging the fence and several pieces of smashed fair attractions. A few hundred hungry infected were also following the vehicle.

  Anna got out of the cab, ducking under the massive overhang of the dump bed and switched on the tactical light on her rifle. She panned it around, firing twice to the right. The great green door to the building in front of them slid to the right, Dallas carry-dragging the injured Seyfert through it.

  “Shit,” the SEAL uttered when he realized he would have to climb the short ladder.

  Dallas smiled when he looked at the big truck. “Thas’ more like it. C’mon, buddy, let’s get you to—” He was abruptly cut off when a streak from his right smashed into both he and the injured sailor. They went down in a heap, the tackler screaming and slashing with its fingernails. It raised its infected fists in the air to come down on Seyfert with dual crushing blows, but Dallas intercepted it, catching both hands in his. The big man effortlessly lifted the younger infected off its knees while it thrashed and screamed. He threw the thing against the door frame, the cracking of its ribs audible even over the engine of the yellow beast in front of them. The creature whipped its head up, red eyes glaring at the two men with hatred. It began to rise, but Seyfert shot it in the chest twice with his sidearm. It crawled weakly toward them before collapsing and gurgling infected blood onto the wooden deck. Dallas helped his friend to stand, but Seyfert was woozy.

  Anna fired another round toward the growing crowd of shamblers en-route to their position. “Come ON!” she yelled. She moved to the edge of the front of the truck, looking down on her injured friends. She discharged two more rounds to cover them as Dallas helped Seyfert with the short climb. Anna shouldered her rifle, grabbing the SEAL by his outstretched hand. She pulled him gently, aware of his rib injuries, and he winced but accepted her assistance.

  “Nope!” she heard Dallas yell and saw him kick free of two sets of hands that had grasped him when he began to climb. One of the attackers lost half of its rotten face to Dallas’ boot, she shot the other.

  When both men were safely out of the way, she turned to the cab. “Go, Rick!”

  The backup alarm sounded again and the debris-laden chain-link fence let go of its death-grip on the front tires as the truck lumbered backward. Rick stopped the vehicle, shifting into first gear and stalled it out.

  “You kiddin’ me?” he heard Dallas ask.

  Rick looked at his southern friend through the cab windows and shrugged. He started the truck back up and they jostled forward. They picked up speed as he shifted and soon were traveling at a comfortable fifteen miles per hour. Rick traversed the same lane he had used through the gaming and ride attractions before, the massive truck tires making short work of anything, including several stumbling infected, before it.

  When he reached the gate, he could see a wave of rot coming toward him and he turned right. His friends didn’t have anything to hold on to out on the steel of the truck and they slid into the side of the cab when he turned. Anna was able to reach the door handle and Rick slowed for her. She yanked the short door open and got Seyfert into the cab. She and Dallas held on to the cab door and each other as they sat under the bed overhang. Dallas drew his forearm across his forehead.

  “I could use a beer.”

  “How about a vacation?” Anna countered. She stared out into the night as the truck thundered down the street.

  Infected came from everywhere at the sound of the vehicle. They were passing down a street laden with businesses, none of which had been spared the walking corpses which were now commonplace. The big truck was too tall for the drooping suspended power lines. The first one struck the truck four feet above them and gave way with a mighty snap, the thick wire whipping off to the right.

  Rick yelled to his friends, “Keep your heads down! I can’t see the wires in the dark!” An island in the middle of the street loomed in the headlights. Seyfert winced as Rick drove over it. The SEAL made to release some of the built-up pressure in his chest with the needle contraption only to realize it was no longer there. He moved his hands up and down his chest using the cab lights to see if the needle was attached to him via some tape, but he came up empty.

  “Uhh… Anna?”

  She glanced at him while holding on to both the truck and Dallas. She cocked her head inquisitively.

  “I uh… I lost the needle.”

  “I have anoth…” It was Anna’s turn to run her hands up and down her body. She searched frantically for a moment, but the cab and the front of the truck weren’t that big. “Shit! You guys didn’t bring my med pouch?”

  “Thought you... WHOA!” Dallas shouted as Rick took a slow turn. Dallas slid to the left, scraping his nails across the steel for purchase, but there was none to be had. Anna, holding onto the cab’s open doorframe, grabbed for his beefy arm, but missed. The big Texan had one moment of panic on his face then disappeared over the side of the rig.

  Rick slammed the truck to a halt, Anna crawling across the front of the truck to take a look down at her fallen friend. He was sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s okay! Get back up here you dumbass, or I won’t have to kill you, they will!” She pointed down the road in front of them. The dead were coming, slow but steady.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said to himself, “I’m comin’.” He pushed himself up and pain shot up his leg from his ankle, but it wasn’t horrible. Prolly just a twist, he thought to himself. He didn’t get time for another thought as a dead woman crossed in front of the truck and lunged for him. He deftly caught her by the throat with his giant right hand and using his equally large left, slammed her head into the front of the truck. Her skull came apart like an over-ripe melon, showering the vehicle in a spray of fluids. Dallas didn’t get a drop on him and so began his climb up the ladder. A stinging pain in his middle finger made him pause to check it out. He had bent the nail back when scrabbling not to fall off the vehicle.

  “Crap.”

  Anna helped him when he reached the top of the ladder.

  He looked her in the eye. “Ow.”

  She s
hook her head. “Are you okay? That was a long way down!”

  “My daddy, I hated that sumbitch, always tole me the bigger they are, the harder they fall. He weren’t lyin’. Gave m’ ankle a bit of a twist and I could use a Band-Aid for my finger.” He flashed her both his middle finger and a gigantic grin.

  She looked at him cockeyed. “Bet you’ve been waiting since the start of the plague to do that. My bag is sitting back in that circa 1902 structure we just left though. I’ll have to scavenge more stuff on the fly.” She glanced at him apologetically. “Sorry.” She had an epiphany and stuck her head in the cab as Rick let his foot off of the clutch. The truck began to move just as several thuds sounded on the left side of the vehicle. A blue first-aid kit was attached to the rear of the inside of the cab and she undid the Velcro to take it down. Rick switched on the cab light as Anna meticulously searched through the kit.

  “Dammit,” she muttered, “no needles.” She passed Dallas two adhesive bandages and some antiseptic. “Sorry, John, but there’s nothing I can use to painlessly poke you. I’ll have to cut you to release the pressure when it comes back.”

  “Call me Seyfert. Only my mom calls me John. Do what you gotta d… HOLY SHIT!” He yelled and pointed to the front of the truck.

  Scrabbling over the top of the ladder was an infected woman. She fell forward when she gained a foothold and shot toward Dallas. He whipped around and kicked her in the shoulder, but it was a glancing blow and she was on him in half a second. She scurried up him quickly, trying to get at his face, but he held her throat as he had with the dead infected, this time with both hands. Dallas’ reach was so long that the Runner’s hands couldn’t reach his face or chest when she stretched out her claws at him. He looked in her blood-red eyes and all he could see was pure, unadulterated hate and fury.

  She began snapping and Dallas had had enough. He drew a fist back to punch her, but Anna screamed at him not to.

  “Hold her head off to the side!”

  He put his other hand back on her throat and did as Anna had instructed, throttling the thing as an added bonus. A monumental feat since the creature was fighting and slashing at him the whole time. The thing’s head snapped back and a loud report reverberated through the steel. Dallas, on his back, lifted his chin so he could look back at Anna. If it hadn’t been dark, he would have been able to see the wisps of smoke from the business end of her sidearm.

  “Thanks,” he said and threw the corpse off the front of the truck. “Are we there yet?”

  The big vehicle continued to rumble east through the small town. Rick slowed down when wires stretched across the road, but it was dark and the headlights didn’t illuminate so high in the air. Three of them were in the cab now, but Dallas couldn’t fit. He kept a constant death-grip on the cab’s door frame to keep from sliding off the rig again.

  Scores of dead things came to investigate the sound of the truck. They followed behind at a pathetic but unwavering pace. Several of the faster variety of infected also chased the yellow behemoth, but none could catch it.

  All four survivors realized they were near the shore when the smell of rot was overpowered by the smell of the sea. Even Seyfert, with damaged ribs and a partially collapsed lung, took a deep pull of the salt air in. He let it out and noticed that the sky in front of them was brighter than it had been even ten minutes before.

  “Sun’s coming up,” Rick said, mirroring Seyfert’s thoughts.

  The truck drove past row upon row of nautical-themed residential houses. Signs for Brant Rock greeted them and Rick drove further east. A lone infected was crushed under the huge tires, but the group could see there were shamblers in all directions. This must have been a very populated portion of town. A tall concrete structure jutted out of the earth and Dallas asked what it was.

  “Submarine tower, built during World War Two,” Seyfert told them. “I’ve seen them before. They’re converted into housing or businesses usually.” His eyes brightened. “Actually, it would be a great place to hole up if the front door is intact and there were adequate supplies.”

  Rick shook his head. “Not on our itinerary. But that is.” He pointed to a large sign with Marina and an arrow pointing to the right on it.

  “Kinda looks like where we came ashore the first time we got here,” Dallas blurted.

  Rick smiled. “Coastal New England, my hillbilly friend. Seabirds and dunes. We should get ready to disembark from this thing soon. Make sure to secure your seatbacks and tray-tables.”

  They came to the end of the road, a different street moving left to right. The Marina was left and Rick spun the wheel, but there was nowhere near the clearance he needed to make the turn. He turned a picturesque little water well into splinters and crushed a family of plastic pink flamingos on his way to the marina.

  The road emptied into a large parking lot with two cut-stone jetties on the left, a channel between them. Beach and seemingly endless marsh stretched to the right, with several docks jutting out into the sea in front of the truck. A single red compact car sat undisturbed on the far-right side of the lot.

  There wasn’t a boat in sight.

  Perine Place, San Francisco

  Billy stood in the center of the street holding the katana in one hand, the blade resting on his shoulder. He stared at the four men coming toward him. They had various weapons aimed in his general direction. Two pistols, a rifle, and a shotgun. They stopped when they were about thirty feet away from him.

  “This is him?” one of them asked the others.

  The guy with the shotgun answered, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s him. Billy, right?”

  “You shot at children,” Billy said calmly. “Kids.” Billy looked past them to the truck that was parked on Steiner Street across the end of Perine Place. A man stood with a scoped rifle and he had it trained on Billy.

  One of the pistol carriers strode forward and pointed his weapon at Charla. Billy stepped in his way, the barrel of the weapon almost touching his chest.

  “Look, man, she’s shot,” the guy told Billy. “She ain’t gonna make it. Might as well just let me end it. For her, I mean.”

  Billy shook his head. “For her. The her that you shot.”

  The man lowered his weapon. He pointed at Billy’s face. “How’d you get that scar?”

  Billy looked the smiling man in the eye. “By doing stuff like this.” He brought the sword around sideways, the blade slicing through the front of the man’s throat. Bright red blood sprayed from the man’s wound and his gun went off, impacting the street. He dropped the weapon and grabbed at his throat. Two of the other men raised their weapons.

  “Don’t shoot him!” the shotgunner screamed. He took a bullet in the chest for his trouble, the other two men also being shot by Anders, Danny, Tina, and Joy. The men joined their comrade on the ground, two already dead, the man with the shotgun coughing. He tried to bring the twelve-gauge to bear, but Billy kicked it out of his hand. Danny began firing single shots at the truck down the street and the man with the rifle got in and left some rubber on the road in his haste to depart.

  A growing puddle of crimson emerged from under the group of men and Billy stepped in it as he leaned down to the dying man who had held the shotgun. Billy stared hard at the man, the guy’s ragged breath flecking some blood across his lips.

  “Next time, don’t shoot at kids.”

  The guy grabbed Billy’s pant-leg but didn’t say anything. Danny used his knife to destroy the other three men before they could turn. Kyle and Vanessa stood behind Billy. While Tina and Joy tended to Charla, Tim limped over, the right side of his jeans soaked in crimson. He held a bandage over his wound, but it didn’t do much to staunch the flow of blood.

  “She okay?” Danny asked about Charla. He kept his rifle trained on the bleeding man on the ground in front of them. “I said is she…” He looked at Joy and she was shaking her head.

  “It’s okay,” Charla said weakly. “It’s…alright. It’s alright, Danny.” She looked at Billy. “Yo
u get them…to Alcatraz.”

  Billy nodded, stooped down, and held her hand. “I promise.”

  Charla smiled and died on the warm asphalt of Perine Place.

  “Two hundred feet from home,” Tina said and started to cry.

  Billy stood, shaking his head. “Which way to your safe place?”

  Anders got down on one knee with a black dagger-style knife. He closed Charla’s eyes and drove the knife into her temple. He began to pick her up and Danny asked if he needed help.

  “I got her,” was all Anders replied.

  Billy looked confused. “What are—?” he began, but Joy cut him off.

  “We’re not leaving her here.” She pointed to the growing number of forms shuffling toward them.

  Danny led them down Perine to Steiner Street, but the dead were coming from all directions, particularly California Street, which was in the direction the living people needed to travel.

  “Danny?” Joy asked in a nervous voice. She was helping a limping Tim, both covered in Tim’s blood.

  Danny nodded. “I see them. It must have been the gunfire. This is going to turn into a shit-show quick.” He looked back over his shoulder. “We’ll never make the Shell station. We fall back to the Chevron station and hide out in the auto repair garage. It’s cleared and locked.”

  The group retraced their steps until they were halfway back down Perine Place. Two undead staggered out of an alley, but there were at least a hundred moving east toward them.

  “We can make that alley if we run for it!” Tina whispered.

  Tim stood tall. “I’m not running anywhere.” He gently pushed Joy away. “I can barely move.” He checked the load on his rifle quickly. “Take them Danny, I’ll be fine. Anders, leave her with me.” Danny nodded.

  “We can’t…” Tina began, but Joy had already given Tim a hug and grabbed Vanessa’s hand. She trotted toward the alley with Danny, Kyle, and Vanessa in tow. Vanessa looked back at Billy, her eyes wide. Anders gently placed Charla’s body on the ground, clasped forearms with Tim, and sprinted for the narrow path between the garage and a residence.