Dead Run_A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by R. J. Spears

  Despite surrendering to the task at hand, some of her inner muscles clenched up just before impact. Henry reached forward and instinctively braced himself against the dashboard. Then there was the sickening sounds of human bodies impacting with hard, unforgiving metal and the zombies went flying. One bounced away, a sack of flesh encasing crushed and broken bones. The other two went under the truck, and both Ellen and Henry felt the slight impact of the tires rolling over one of them. They put the sickening feeling they felt to the back of their minds and continued forward.

  Neither one of them said much for the next few minutes. This wasn’t something that generated a lot of need for conversation. Ellen distanced herself from the horror of it by thinking of it as a mechanical task, much like mowing the grass. That only worked so well. It was an ugly act, and there was no denying it.

  Some zombies shambled along in clumps, and some walked solo, but Ellen mowed them down, impact after impact. Bodies and bones were broken with each hit. Blood sprayed in the air. After she had taken four dozen zombies, she shifted her focus from the targets in front of her to the gas gauge. It held steady at just above E. All systems were a go.

  “There’s two,” Henry said pointing to two zombies shuffling along toward the side of the building.

  Ellen tugged the wheel of the big truck to the left and lined up the grill with the two stragglers. One was a tall, lanky zombie wearing a basketball uniform, and the other was a woman in running gear. It looked like both of them had decided taking on the truck was worth the risk. It was the only way to get at the tasty humans inside, but Ellen proved the risk was clearly not worth it as she pulped both of them under the tires of the truck.

  “There’s a whole group at the back of the building,” Henry said.

  These were the zombies that Molly, Calvin, Mrs. Hatcher, and the others had pulled back with their shouting and banging. There had to be nearly thirty of them, and these zombies had trouble pulling their attention away from the humans inside the building. The ‘bird in hand’ syndrome made it hard for them to move from the possibility of a meal inside the windows to one that that truck might offer. They were clumped up near a large set of windows.

  “Mom, this is going to be tough,” Henry said. “They are so close to the building.”

  Ellen didn’t say, but she agreed. Between the long driveway to the back of the building and the windows was a ten-foot-wide stretch of grass. Most of the zombies were on that grass, clawing and pounding at the windows, trying to get inside at the people. Up to that point, none of them had been able to break the glass, but there was always a chance that could happen, so there was no time to waste.

  “I might knock off the side mirror, but I’m going to take us up on the grass,” Ellen said.

  She eased the truck up over the taller than normal curb and came to a stop. The rumble from the truck garnered the attention of a few of the zombies, but just to be sure, Ellen slammed down on the center of the steering wheel. The horn bellowed like a fog horn, bellowing its long sonorous wail.

  The zombies took notice. It took them a few seconds, but they pulled their attention away from the humans inside the windows and started toward the truck, plodding along in the knee-high grass.

  “Well, that got their attention,” Henry said.

  “It certainly did,” Ellen replied.

  She pressed down on the accelerator and revved the engine a couple times. Things were set for an epic showdown with a foregone conclusion. Anyone taking bets would have placed 1000 to 1 odds against the zombies. And that’s how it should have gone.

  Ellen revved the engine again and put the truck in gear. The truck rocketed forward toward the waiting zombies, their arms outstretched, hoping all the noise meant a meal was on its way. Henry and Ellen meant for the meal only to be the grill of the truck.

  Ellen hit the first zombies, driving them either against the building or under the wheels of the truck. There was this niggling doubt in the back of Ellen’s mind that maybe the truck would get hung up on the zombies and flounder, but all that doubt was erased as the truck bludgeoned its way through the scrum of zombies, pummeling and pounding them. The middle of the group disappeared under the wheels or were crushed by the unrelenting force of the truck.

  The people inside marveled at the vicious and brutal nature of the impacts, watching bodies fly in the air or get pulped under the wheels of the truck. Molly led the cheering, celebrating each broken zombie with an expletive, making Mrs. Hatcher cringe. A certain giddiness started to flow through the crowd inside as they watched the beautiful violence of the truck wreaking havoc on the zombies.

  Ellen pushed through the last of the zombies, and that’s when things went south.

  The tall grass acted as the perfect cover for an open sewage culvert that ran out of the school and under the road. County engineers had opened the culvert up prior to the Outbreak, trying to figure out why there were frequent back-ups. The end of civilization put an end to that project and, over a year later, it ended Henry and Ellen’s little rampage with the truck.

  The front left wheel of the truck hit the open culvert and the truck fell three feet in an instant. The entire front of the truck dipped down and canted towards the building; the back of the truck kicked out, jumping off the ground.

  While running over zombies had been mostly a soft and mushy experience, the impact with the building was seismic for Ellen and Henry. Ellen slammed into the steering wheel, feeling like the Hulk had punched her in the chest as the air evacuated her lungs. Henry ended up bouncing off the dashboard, then slammed into the passenger door that had partially opened when the truck hit the building.

  Henry ended up on the floor of the truck, stunned, with his right arm hanging out of the door.

  The point of impact on the wall dented in with bricks pushed into the building and the glass in the windows had shattered inward, sending a shower of broken glass into the room. A chorus of screams sounded from the group who had been watching Ellen and Henry smash the zombies with the truck, and that was followed by a deep silence, like a giant blanket had fallen over the group. Then came the cries of pain and shock. Fortunately, only a couple of people inside were cut by the flying glass, and most of the wounds were superficial.

  An eerie silence filled the room in the next few seconds with a few people whimpering from their injuries. Mrs. Hatcher, Molly, and Calvin moved up to the windows that were still intact and peered out, eyes wide.

  “I can’t see anyone in the truck,” Mrs. Hatcher said. That wasn’t an innocent observation. She feared that both Ellen and Henry had been ejected from the truck on impact.

  “Wait, I see Ellen,” Calvin said. “She’s ducked down, leaning over on the seat.”

  “I see Henry’s arm,” another person said. “It’s hanging out the door.”

  “Are either of them moving?” someone else asked, and a chill settled into the people in the room.

  Molly chimed in, looking over the injured people in the room. “Someone get Doc Wilson to help them,” she said.

  As was his practice, Doc Wilson had set-up a makeshift infirmary and was tending to a few people who were injured or sick, while the others had watched the spectacle of the truck mowing down zombies. A young boy named Tommy sprinted out of the room in the direction of Doc Wilson’s infirmary.

  “Look!” an older lady with slate gray hair said with some alarm in her voice as she pointed into the parking lot.

  Three zombies pushed their way out of the brown and tattered corn stalks that bordered the parking lot at the back of the school. They had heard the truck, and they had also heard the explosive collision with the building. The commotion had been an announcement to them that there was a good possibility of food in the vicinity, and their hunger drove them to check it out.

  “What are we going to do?” Mrs. Hatcher asked as she looked back and forth from the truck and Henry’s dangling arm to the approaching zombies.

  Molly walked over to the window and made her ow
n appraisal. Henry’s arm was exposed in the worst way. Sure, his door could be jammed at its current position, but it could have just as well needed only a little tug to open fully. No matter what, his arm hung out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. She looked to the approaching zombies and calculated their progress, making up her own equation; time+distance=death.

  They had time but not a lot of it.

  “We need to go out there and get them out of the truck,” Molly said.

  “What!?” Mrs. Hatcher said. She looked at Molly as if she had just invited the zombies to high tea.

  “They are going to die if someone doesn’t go help them,” Molly said. “At least, Henry is.”

  “But it would be suicide to go out there,” Mrs. Hatcher exclaimed.

  “We have time, and it’s not like we don’t have weapons,” Molly countered, putting her hands to her hips near the holster and gun hanging there.

  Calvin weighed in, “But if we start shooting, that’ll call in more zombies.”

  “Then we’ll use hand weapons,” Molly said, her voice rising.

  “That...that...that would be very dangerous,” Mrs. Hatcher said, bringing a hand up to her chin, and Molly could see the wheels and gears moving behind Mrs. Hatcher’s eyes. “Besides, these windows are broken.” She pointed at the windows at the point of impact. “The zombies could get inside. We should really get everyone out of this room to a safer place.”

  Molly opened her mouth to say something but heard noises from the hallway outside the room. Footsteps sounded in the hallway behind them, and both Doc Wilson and Tommy entered the room at a run. As was usual, Doc Wilson carried his medical bag. The crowd parted to let them pass. Doc Wilson immediately started assessing the injuries but decided they could wait and rushed to the window.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Ellen and Henry were smashing zombies, but something happened,” Molly said. “I don’t know what. They crashed into the building. Ellen’s inside the truck, but Henry’s arm is hanging out in the open.” She pointed toward the truck, leading Doc Wilson’s attention there. “And zombies are on their way.”

  Doc Wilson glanced back and forth between the truck and the zombies and made the same calculation that Molly had. “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah,” Molly said. “And these chicken shits don‘t want to go out and save them.” She didn’t do anything to hide her disgust.

  “I’ll go,” Doc Wilson said.

  “You can’t go out there,” Calvin said. “If something happened to you, we’d have no doctor.”

  Doc Wilson looked Calvin’s way and asked, “Are you going?”

  Calvin raised his sling and shook his head.

  “So, I need to go,” Doc Wilson said. “They could be hurt.”

  “Doc, you’re not a battlefield medic,” Calvin said.

  “Time is wasting,” Molly said.

  Mrs. Hatcher sighed loudly, “I’ll go. I’ll go. I’ll go!”

  “The three of us will go,” Doc Wilson said. “Everyone else, get to a safer room.”

  There was nothing in Mrs. Hatcher’s body language that said she wanted to go, but Molly got in behind her and gave her a shove, and the three of them headed for the doors that led outside.

  Chapter 38

  Internal Conflict

  The rhythmic beating of the helicopter blades carried on the air, and Jo felt goosebumps run down her arms.

  “Get out of sight,” Jones said as he jogged a few feet to get under the cover of the trees alongside the road.

  Jo and Del followed suit and found places to hide from the approaching chopper, the sound of its blades getting closer by the second.

  The walk back from the ambush had been a quiet one. Jo could tell that Sergeant Jones was inside his head. There was no telling what was going on in there, and that bothered her. Del caught the tension rippling off Jones and took up the rear of their group. While he knew and trusted Jones, he didn’t want to have his back to him. At least, not while Jones was being so quiet and aloof.

  “Do you think they’re looking for the jeep?” Del asked Jo while still scanning the skies.

  “We got it out of sight as well as we could,” she replied. “I don’t think they’ll see it from the air.”

  They had debated before leaving the ambush site as to whether to take the jeep or not but didn’t feel it was safe to drive, and they were better off on foot. It would have been nice to ride, but it wasn’t that far back to the truck and Russell and Madison.

  Jo hoped the two of them stayed out of view of the helicopter.

  It was coming at them fast, and Jo felt something tighten in her chest. She had seen the devastation these aerial beasts could bring, and she didn’t want to be on the end of it. Little doubts came into her mind. What if the soldiers they had killed had seen them before the skirmish and somehow communicated back with their base with some suspicion, letting them know there were interlopers in the woods? She knew it was impossible, but in a world where the dead roamed the earth, who really knew what was possible?

  She knew she would know soon enough. The sound of the helicopter came closer, and the intensity of the rotors beating through the sky grew. With each second, it seemed her pulse rate increased, matching the rhythm of the blades.

  She got her final answer when the helicopter whooshed overhead just fifty yards from where they were hidden and continued eastward. While her heart rate dropped precipitously, her concern did not. Her people were in the direction the helicopter was flying, and this only validated her idea that they needed to deal with these helicopters. While they were in the air, their people could not be safe.

  Jones stepped out onto the road, signaling that it was safe to start moving again.

  “Woo-eee, that sounded close,” Del said.

  “I don’t think we should celebrate its passing,” Jo said. “We may be safe, but I’ll bet that chopper is going out to look for our people.”

  Del nodded his head, and a somber expression came over his face. Jones was silent on the issue.

  Del leaned in toward Jo as she passed by him and said, “Man, I was just trying to lighten the mood with Jones.”

  “Save your breath,” Jo said as she watched Jones walk down the road ahead of them, his head down.

  Jones continued in the lead, trudging along, his shoulder slightly slumped. Birds and woodland creatures sounded in the trees along the dirt road. A gentle breeze wafted along the canopy of trees, and in some other circumstances, this might have been a little idyllic, but not with Jones’ gloom hanging over them.

  So, they moved along in silence for ten more minutes until they came to a bend in the road with a small junction dogging off to their right. Jones took that right, and they pressed on through knee-high grass and weeds thicker than grass on the rutted road because this was the road less taken. That’s what they had selected as the place where they would hide their truck while out on reconnaissance.

  It took a few more minutes, and they reached a broadening in the now nearly hidden road, covered by thick vegetation. When they broke around several wide evergreen trees, they saw their truck with Madison standing on the hood, rifle pointed their direction, her aim focused on them, unwavering and intense.

  “It’s okay, Madison,” Jo said, raising her hands. “It’s only us.”

  Madison held her aim a little longer than Jo or the others would like, but she finally did drop it, letting the rifle hang at her side as she stood, legs spread apart on the hood. Her pause made Jo consider the toll that had fallen on this young girl. First her dad, then her mom and brother taken by the zombie virus. She had seen many others taken the same way or in strife with other humans. And she had taken life of her own. That’s what bothered Jo the most. This young girl had played the innocent part in their rebellion back at The Manor, and she had shot two soldiers as callously as she would kill a fly.

  The psychic toll of the zombie apocalypse was manifold, building up more and more debt in all the surviv
ors. It was a minor miracle that all of them didn’t crack under the strain.

  “How’s Russell?” Del asked, not seeming to catch the hesitation in Madison’s actions.

  “He’s better,” Madison said. “At least, he says he is. He’s still seeing double.”

  A shout came from the bed of the truck, “I am better.”

  Jo moved forward toward the truck while Jones split off from them and went to a weather-worn tree stump twenty feet away from the others. He sat with his back nearly fully turned away from them and looked into the shadows of the tree line, not really seeing much of anything as he was caught up in his ruminations.

  Jo passed by the side of the truck and moved to the bed where Russell was slowing sitting up. Del opened the back door of the double cab and loaded in some of their bounty from the jeep.

  She made it to the back of the truck when Russell said, “I see you brought your twin with you.”

  “So, your vision is still scrambled?” Jo asked.

  “Yep, it’s sort of bad,” Russell replied. “Where there were clearly two of you before, now it’s more like you have a halo of yourself floating off to the side. It’s misty and somewhat transparent. You guys need to dump me. I’m a drag on you.”

  “Don’t say that,” Jo said. “We need you. You’re a part of the team.

  “I’m useless,” Russell said. “You know how Eskimos push their old and useless out onto the ice to die. That’s what you should do with me. I’m nothing but dead weight.”

  “No, you are not,” Del said moving in over Jo’s shoulder.