Run_Book 3_Long Road Home

by Rich Restucci

  “Agreed,” said Seyfert. “I’m gonna take a nap.” The SEAL made faces as he stretched his feet out on the deck.

  “Rick, lookit that.”

  Dallas directed his gaze toward a pleasure boat anchored approximately a quarter-mile away from them. Dallas raised his eyes and Rick nodded.

  “Yeah, let’s check it out.”

  Dallas spun the wheel and they headed west. Seyfert felt the turn and tried to sit up. He gasped and put his head back down. “You guys can handle this one.”

  Dallas put the engine in neutral when the raft was forty feet out from the boat. The white vessel, a Wellcraft, looked to be about forty feet long with a cabin below. The blue Bimini top was torn and flapped in the light breeze. In blue on the stern, the name Galapagos bobbed just above the waves.

  “Anybody home?” Anna called.

  Dallas threw the engine in reverse for a moment to slow the forward momentum of the raft.

  Anna called out again, “Hello?”

  She, Rick, and Dallas gave conferring looks to each other. Dallas shrugged. “Thas better n’ this. If we can git it started, I mean.”

  “I’ll take Anna with me. You back off a few feet. If shit gets hairy, we’ll jump over and swim to you.”

  The Texan nodded. “Roger that.”

  Anna reached out a hand and grabbed one of the chrome railings on the Galapagos. She pulled the pleasure craft closer and Rick climbed aboard, his sidearm trained on the cabin stairs. He stomped his foot three times, but nothing came up from below.

  Bird droppings on the starboard seats and the torn Bimini top indicated that the Galapagos had been moored here a while, but that didn’t mean there weren’t half a dozen undead admiring the teak below. Rick took two steps down, undid the catch on the door, and stepped back.

  The smell which greeted them was musty, not the obscene odor of the dead. “I’ll go, you cover.”

  Anna nodded, having done this type of thing many times in the past. Both descended slowly into the cabin. It was a very attractive boat, with many features and amenities. What it lacked was people, undead or otherwise. No blood, no stains, nothing out of place except an abandoned bird’s nest tucked under a false wooden beam. They cleared the head, two staterooms, a small storage area, and the engine compartment. Rick shrugged and Anna moved outside to signal Dallas.

  Within fifteen minutes, all the gear and personnel had been transferred to the Galapagos with the work raft tied to the stern. Dallas was on deck with two toolboxes, one appropriated from the raft and one from the Galapagos. The big man was attempting to get the boat started. Rick moved the fuel tanks over from the raft as a backup supply. The boat had power, the indicators all in the green.

  Seyfert was resting as comfortably as he could on one of the dusty beds.

  Anna sat on a bench across a small table from Rick. “This is the first time I’ve felt safe since we left that bunker.”

  “Me too.” He sighed. “I just wish Wilcox could be here.”

  “So do I.” She smiled. “He was overzealous and jumped at shadows, but damn he was worth having around.” The boat sputtered briefly, but didn’t start. Anna looked up. “If anybody can get this thing started, it’s Dallas.”

  “I miss my kid.”

  “You’ll see her soon enough. She’s cute as hell by the way, how did that happen?”

  The short whine of an engine protesting a start filled the cabin followed by a coughing Whoosh! then the Galapagos was purring like a kitten.

  A big grin split Anna’s face. “See?”

  A thirty-six-foot white and blue Wellcraft pleasure boat slowly rounded the southwestern tip of the Cape Cod Canal. The closer, northern shore held beautiful wind-swept dunes replete with sea grass and a sandy beach. A lone undead, dressed in a bright orange vest, splashed into the surf up to its knees before it stopped. It raised one hand toward the boat and began to plod through the water parallel to the vessel, unwilling, it seemed, to go further into the water. Another large structure on the southern shore sat on the edge of the canal, a large smokestack extending toward the sky. The boat made its way southwest through the canal from Cape Cod Bay toward Buzzards Bay, on the western side of the cape.

  Three people stood on the deck of the Wellcraft staring up at the giant, arched Sagamore Bridge spanning the waterway. The gray steel structure was intact, with several dozen vehicles parked crossways across both lanes of traffic. Up to the roadblock, no other vehicles sat abandoned on the bridge. An obvious attempt had been made here to stem the tide of infected from the mainland to the separated cape. Meandering infected on both sides of the barricade 135 feet above the boat and on both sides of the canal, indicated the blockade had failed.

  The sound of the Galapagos had attracted the attention of the infected and they showed up in force. The bridge seemed like a meeting place for the dead and dozens of them stretched diseased claws from the massive structure down to the vessel, far out of reach.

  “Need to watch out for that,” Dallas told Rick and Anna. He pointed to the northern side of the bridge where two of the more diligent infected had found a way over the bridge railing and plummeted into the canal more than a hundred feet below. “I don’t reckon we’d be too happy iff’n one o’ them hit us at a hunnert n’ twenty feet per second. Might break my new boat.” He patted the console. “She’s pretty, ain’t she?”

  “She is,” both of his friends agreed.

  Dallas furrowed his brow in thought. “But what’s a Galapagos?”

  Both Rick and Anna were looking through two sets of binoculars at the bridge, the canal, and both shores. “Volcanic archipelago off the coast of South America on the Pacific side,” Anna told Dallas. “Beautiful place to see some cool wildlife. There’s another one!” she added and pointed to another undead jumper. The creature made no motions as it fell and impacted the water with a splash.

  Rick lowered his binoculars. “Dallas, try going under the south side of the bridge. Looks to be less of them to rain on us when we pass.” Dallas steered the boat a bit to starboard, angling toward a spot between the southern shore and the barricade on the bridge overhead. Rick glanced at Anna. “Will Seyfert be able to make the trip overland? He seems pretty busted up.”

  “He is. If it were anyone else, I would say no, but this is Seyfert.” She smirked. “He gets through an entire country full of living dead and those Triumvirate assholes only to get his ass kicked by a deer.” She glanced at Rick with a big smile. “That’s never gonna get old.”

  “Yeah, but can he really make it?”

  She shrugged. “He has to. Waiting a day will help and there’s some provisions on board. If we park this thing offshore a bit and wait until nightfall to head in, we might be able to sneak past any of the damn zombies. I’m sure as shit not leaving him here.”

  “This thing?” Dallas asked. “You mean my beautiful new boat?” He patted the console again then squinted ahead of them. He put his hand out flat above his eyes to shield them from the sun. “Uhh…we got company.” He pointed off the port bow. Both Rick and Anna raised their binoculars to see what was coming.

  Rick was still looking when he sighed. “Shit.”

  Two boats were heading east through the canal, directly toward the Galapagos.

  Perine Place, San Francisco

  It didn’t take long for the inside of the coffin to get unbearably stuffy. It wasn’t hard to breathe yet, but Tim knew that time was almost upon him. This coffin will have held two dead bodies if I don’t get out of here soon, he mused.

  When he had closed the lid and that lock had engaged, he knew he was dead. This new guy would never be able to handle all the dead he had seen in the area. There were just too many and they had seen him climb into the back of the hearse. “At least it’s peaceful in here,” he said aloud, the sounds of the dead all but gone. The instant he said the words, he regretted them. Something was pulling on his refuge, the casket moving slowly backward. He was jostled a bit and he fought the enclosed space an
d the terrors thereof, to place his sidearm up by his head. He would get a couple of them before the rest tore him to pieces.

  The wood and metal tube he was in shifted backward and slid down at an angle such that Tim’s feet were lower than his head. Soon enough, the top portion of the coffin fell to the ground with a thud and he was horizontal again. He could hear muffled noises but couldn’t tell what they were.

  Thump! Something had hit the outside of his hideaway. Thump! Thump! Thumpthumpthump! Within seconds, dozens of fists were slapping and pounding on the wood. He didn’t know how long the barrier would survive, but as soon as it was gone, he was dead. Infected would reach in and devour him before he could get out and run. Of course, he couldn’t run anyway, with a hole in his hip.

  Although resigned to death, he was still scared. The pain would be horrible, but it would be brief. He could always shoot himself as well. No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He had six rounds in his revolver and if he could take out a few of the things before they tore into him, that was a few less in the world to kill someone else.

  The pounding grew in intensity and eventually, bright sunlight assaulted his optic nerves through a thin crack right in front of his sweating face. Flashes of movement witnessed through the fracture threatened to drive his sanity from him, but he vowed to keep a rational grip if for nothing else than to destroy at least one of the bastards. Splinters rained down on his face, making him blink, then dead fingers poked through a widening chasm. The hands ripped and tore at the lid and suddenly they were gone. Tim could hear sounds a bit clearer now, but they were still distorted by the walls of his prison. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only half a minute or so, he heard nothing at all. His eyes darted from the bottom to the top of the fissure in the coffin lid, but all he could see was the brightness of the day and a cloudless, blue sky.

  He visibly jumped inside his tight confines when a knock came on the wood. Shave and a haircut…

  He hesitated before meekly asking, “Billy?”

  The catch on the now broken lid undid with another Snick! and the lid opened wide. Tim sat up fast, aiming his weapon in all directions. Billy was sitting on the street, his back against the casket breathing heavily. Tim surveyed the area. Dozens of infected littered the street. Billy had destroyed them all.

  “Any room in there?” the young man asked. “I’m tired.”

  “Holy shit! You killed them all?”

  “I did, yeah. They were going to eat you. I could go bring more if you like, but you’ll have to kill them.”

  Tim began to extricate himself from his hideaway. “No thanks,” he said with a big smile. “Let’s get to the gas station and meet up with Danny and the others.” Tim was reacquainted with the pain in his hip a moment later.

  Billy sighed, nodding, and stood with some effort. He made to sit on the now empty casket, but suddenly stood stock-still. “Crap!”

  Tim held his weapon up, panning it around. “What?”

  “I didn’t count! How could I forget to count?”

  “Count? Count what?” Tim peered in every direction.

  Billy began stabbing his right index finger at the re-killed corpses. “…seven, eight, nine…”

  Tim looked at him sideways, understanding what was happening. “Uh…okay.” He pulled his radio from a vest pocket and spoke into it. “Danny. Danny, you okay?”

  The response was almost immediate.

  “Tim! Tim, you made it! Don’t come to the garage, it’s full of the dead! Can you come up with some noise to draw them away? We’re up on the garage lift in a cop car. There are a couple dozen in here anyway. They can’t get to us but…well, you know how this works.”

  “Copy that, Danny. I’m with Bi…” Tim thought better of saying Billy’s name over the radio, “…with our new friend. We’ll think of something.”

  “Fifty-one!” Billy exclaimed. “That’s…well, that’s a lot! Gonna make a thousand before the end of the month I bet.”

  “Billy,” Tim stated patiently, “Danny says—”

  The younger man waved his hand impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. I heard him. There’s a couple cars on Steiner that are buttoned-up pretty good. I’ll set off some alarms. A lot more of them will come, but we should be all set by then. We can get our people out of the garage and into the bank, and then I can take a nap.” Billy glanced at Tim. “But you can’t come. You won’t be able to run and if there are too many for me to handle, they’ll get you.”

  Billy glanced around, his eyes settling on an apartment building to the north of them. It was taller than the rest.

  Tim noticed his friend staring.

  “Yeah, that’s good. We cleared that one earlier in the year. Solid doors on the second floor. There are a few in the courtyard, but they can’t get out.” Tim grabbed Billy by the forearm, startling him. “Save my friends, yeah?”

  Billy shrugged as he shook the man’s hand. “It’s what I do. Oh and I kill zombies too. Kinda.” Billy pointed at Tim’s crotch. “You’re flying low. Made you look!” he added when Tim glanced down.

  Yup, nuts, Tim thought as Billy moved off toward the gas station whistling. But also damn handy. Tim moved to the back door of the apartment building, opening it with a key that was in a broken mailbox.

  Danny and Vanessa slowly turned their heads to stare at each other when they heard the car alarm a few streets over. Smiles spread slowly across their faces and Vanessa whipped her head around to see if Kyle was hearing the same sound. A huge grin split Kyle’s face as well and he uttered one word: “Billy.”

  Joy peered over the side of the police car to spy on the dead. They shuffled across the stained concrete of the garage as would a flock of birds or a school of fish, filing out the door and moving toward the echoing clamor some few streets over. Some fought others for pieces of Anders which they carried away. Others callously kicked or stepped on the scattered remains of her friend and this filled her with an anger she hadn’t felt in some time. She rested the back of her head on the hood of the vehicle and seethed.

  “Should we get down?” Tina whispered.

  Danny pushed down on the seat to raise himself up a little so he could look down into the garage. His hand came away sticky and he glanced at it as he answered Tina, “Let’s wait a bit.”

  Vanessa uttered a quick intake of breath. “Are you hurt?” She pointed to his hand, smeared with blood.

  “I don’t think so,” he answered, frowning.

  “What’s up?” Kyle demanded. “Who’s hurt?”

  Danny felt himself all over, glanced at Vanessa, then across her at Tina.

  “Sorry, Danny.” She was pressing her hand over her left side.

  “Jesus! Are you bitten?”

  She smiled. “No. I got hit when those people shot at us. It hurts, but I’ll be ok.”

  “Why didn’t—?”

  Danny was interrupted by chatter from the garage floor, “Nobody said there were two gas stations! Ugh, what happened in here?”

  The occupants of the car all rushed to the right side to stare down at a gore-covered man gripping a rifle in one hand and resting a Samurai sword on his shoulder. He searched the garage until he looked up and spied Joy staring at him from the hood of the cruiser.

  Billy waved. “Heya!”

  Danny opened the passenger side door, beholding Billy in all his slaughter-spattered splendor.

  “Now where did you get a flying police car?” Billy narrowed his eyes then they went wide when he realized he was standing in smears of fresh blood and viscera. “Where are the kids?”

  Vanessa poked her head over Danny’s shoulder and Kyle rapped on the passenger window with his knuckles. Billy let loose with an audible sigh of relief, even though he knew he was probably standing in what used to be one of his new friends. The kids were safe.

  “Can you grab us the ladder?” requested Danny. “They must have knocked it over when they were in here.”

  “That’s a big no-can-do there, my new pal. T
here are still some just outside.”

  Something in a tattered brown UPS uniform shuffled into the garage after hearing the conversation.

  Billy gave a larger-than-life hand flourish. “See?”

  The creature sidled up next to the young man, looked him up and down, then noticed the juicy people in the car. It growled and lumbered forward, nudging past Billy with its shoulder. Billy’s eyes went wide and he pointed at the thing in disbelief.

  “Seriously?”

  The dead parcel delivery woman crooked her head from side to side, probing for the speaker, but couldn’t find anything it wanted.

  He sighed. “Undesirable.” Billy leaned his rifle against a tire-changing machine. He moved to the back of the creature who was now growling with arms extended upward toward the car and its contents. A swishing noise and the thing’s head hit the concrete with the sound of a wet cantaloupe. The body collapsed and Billy immediately began to rub the right side of his neck and shoulder. He put his fingers to his lips in a shushing motion. He stepped back outside, looked both ways, and returned in short order.

  “We’re good,” he told the car crew and righted the ladder so they could escape the vehicle.

  “You coming?” Billy asked Kyle when the other four of the group were on solid ground. Kyle held up his hands in a helpless gesture.

  “He’s in the back of a cop car,” Vanessa told them, giggling. “The back doors don’t open from the inside.

  Danny extricated the boy with the ladder while Joy stood watch, poking her head out the entry door and checking both directions. Kyle stood on the ladder three rungs up.

  “How did you do it?” Danny demanded while checking Tina’s bullet wound.

  Billy pointed at himself. “Who me? I dunno. I guess I pulled it when I went on my zombie-cidal killing spree outside.” He rubbed his neck again and made a face. “The real question is: How did all those ninjas and Samurais do it, like, all the time?”