“The boss is keeping tabs on everything now,” Klaff said. “Looks like you’re not the only ‘documentarian’ after all.”
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Reese and the others waited inside the office building. The air-conditioning had kicked in when the heat of the day mounted, and they still had running water. Everyone clustered on the second floor was comfortable and, for the moment, safe. They heard occasional noises as the zombies that had penetrated into the office suite on the first floor tried but failed to gain access to the lobby. Knowing that things as simple as rubber doorstops had defeated them was encouraging. Reese helped himself to a bag of peanut M&Ms. They had several packages of MREs, but Plosser wanted to save those for later. The more perishable, and arguably tastier, foods needed to be consumed first.
Outside, the situation hadn’t changed much. Zombies still staggered across Manchester Avenue, harassing those few remaining citizens trapped inside vehicles. The people were probably baking to death inside their metal and glass prisons. Even though it was late October, the temperature was approaching eighty degrees. Inside a car or truck, it might be twenty to thirty degrees warmer. Dying from dehydration and heat stroke wasn’t an enviable death, but it was definitely preferable to being eaten alive by reanimated corpses.
Reese checked the parking lot, specifically the area around the parked five-ton truck. Zombies shambled around it, and one or two even peered at it with short-lived interest, but mostly, the vehicle was ignored. Some zombies drifted toward the building, but they weren’t massing at the doors. For the moment, they were unaware of the survivors sitting only twelve feet above them.
Smoke still wafted through the air. The neighborhood to the south was slowly being burned up, and Reese could see the occasional flicker of flame at the base of thick columns of gray and black smoke. Zombies tottered in and out of the smoke screen, apparently unbothered by it. Nothing mattered to the walking corpses, other than finding something to feed on.
Reese turned around and regarded the desk. He contemplated clearing it off and stretching out on it but figured the floor might be a better bet. Carpet, even crusty old office carpet, was likely more comfortable than a hard desk.
Behind him, light flared.
Reese spun back to the window in time to see a gigantic yellow fireball claw its way into the sky, churning almost like liquid as it darkened at the top. Black smoke shot away from it as burning fragments of debris tumbled toward the earth. It was an awesome sight, at once beautiful and terrifying. Reese squinted against the blast’s intense brightness. A wave of dust hurtled outward from the epicenter, racing toward the building.
Shock wave!
“Get away from the windows!” Reese shouted as he ducked below the sill.
The shock wave slammed into the building, bringing with it the sound of thunder and death.
SINGLE TREE, CALIFORNIA
“Hey, how’s your dad doing?”
Danielle stopped and turned to see Gary Norton walking up behind her, a warm smile on his face. She had just left the firearms compound after another day of uncrating, disassembling, servicing, and reassembling rifles and pistols. Danielle had been able to spend a couple of hours on the range, test firing some of the rifles and working with Corbett’s men, all former Marines, like her, on the upcoming lesson plans.
Already, fences were going up in various parts of town, and construction had begun on the steel walls that would eventually encircle it. In a couple of weeks, Single Tree would no longer be a simple desert retreat for those in Los Angeles looking for a winter holiday. It would be a full-on fortress. Over the next few days, they would tie up the loose ends to get the range ready, then they’d start training people on how to use the weapons. It would take weeks of work to ensure everyone was ready for whatever the future would hold, but it was an exciting time, nevertheless.
“My dad?” Danielle asked. She didn’t know what it was about Gary Norton that threw her off. Every time he was near, she felt as if she had golf balls in her mouth when she tried to talk. She wasn’t an easy woman to intimidate, but something about Norton gave her the shivers. And not in a bad way.
“Well, yeah. He took some pretty hard knocks from that guy who broke into your house,” Norton said.
“Oh. Oh, he’s fine. Really. Thanks for asking, though.” Danielle smiled, and it felt like her face was going to break off her skull and shatter when it hit the ground.
Norton laughed. “Is something wrong? You look like you’re about to stroke out.”
Danielle felt caught between excitement and embarrassment. She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just a little out of it.”
“Yeah, the zombie apocalypse can do that to you. You have any family outside of Single Tree?”
“No. No one. Just my dad.”
“Good. That’s got to be a weight off your shoulders.”
“What about you?”
“No family. Friends, yeah, but no family.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I don’t consider my ex-wives as family. Is that wrong?”
Danielle laughed. “I guess not. So does the zompoc mean you get out of paying alimony?”
“I took the lump-sum route. Monthly payments are such a bore. Too bad I didn’t know this was coming down the pike, though. I definitely would have reconsidered the installment-plan option.”
Danielle smiled. “Sour grapes that the world is coming to an end, Mr. Norton?”
“Shouldn’t everyone feel that way?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
Norton shrugged. “Well, anyway. Glad to hear your pop is doing all right. You need a ride home?”
“I usually walk, if I can.” She slapped her right thigh. “It helps keep me in shape, now that I’m a peg leg.”
Norton frowned slightly. “Well, there’s a word for it. I hear you lost it in Iraq?”
“Yeah.”
“Tough break, kid.”
Danielle shrugged. “Didn’t mean much, in the end. I was coming back to Single Tree one way or the other, and I’d still have the same job I had before I left. Either that, or work for Dad at the gas station.”
“There must be more to life than that.”
“Some have more options than others.”
Norton raised one eyebrow, and Danielle cursed herself for even bringing it up. In the societal pecking order, he was about as high up as a guy could get: millions of dollars, his own jet, Hollywood starlets throwing themselves in his lap. True, Corbett was even higher up the food chain, being one of the very few apex predators out there, but Norton wasn’t far behind. Reminding him of his privilege probably wasn’t a very wise move on her part.
He smiled and cocked his head. “Well, you have a choice today. Want a ride home? I offer you the most elegant of conveyances, a 1970s vintage Jeep.”
“If I accept, will you grope me?” Danielle asked, smiling impishly.
Norton’s mouth fell open. “Will I—what?”
“Barry seems to think you’re some kind of Hollywood grope artist. Is it true? Will you grope me?”
Norton blinked. “Corbett thinks I’m a groper?”
Danielle laughed at his expression and held up her hands. “Barry’s a little out there, you know. He thinks everyone’s out to do something to somebody. He never said you specifically were a groper, but that’s how he looks at a lot of people.”
“I assure you, I’m not a groper.” Norton leered at her. “But I am willing to learn.”
“Really? Even with a one-legged girl?”
“You keep bringing that up. You know, eventually, I’m going to think you lack confidence in your charms.”
“I have charms?” Danielle shook her head. “Wow. Who knew?”
“Don’t sell yourself short, kid.”
“Okay. I guess I shouldn’t, given that the zombie apocalypse is around the corner.”
Norton nodded. “Hell, yes. Especially because I’ve seen you shoot. When the zombies come to town, I’m definitely hiding behin
d you!”
“I don’t know how to respond to that. Um, how gentlemanly of you?”
“Hey, at least I’m offering you a ride home,” Norton said.
Danielle considered his offer. He was extremely good-looking, in that dignified, older way. And despite being about twenty years older than she was, he didn’t talk down to her. Of course, when a guy was rich enough to own his own jet, he probably didn’t have a lot left to prove. “How about a ride to your house, instead?” she asked.
Norton looked at her for a few seconds, and Danielle felt that she’d overplayed her hand. Had she really been so bold as to think Norton was interested in her, of all people?
He surprised her by saying, “Okay, you’re on. But if you have a curfew, I’m not responsible for making sure you stick to it.”
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
The blast had been a certifiable doozy, the shock wave strong enough to rattle the windows even though the building was more than five miles from Long Beach Harbor. Reese figured the natural-gas-tanker ship’s cargo had discharged with the same ferocity as a small nuclear weapon. To the south and west, he saw nothing but a gigantic curtain of flame and smoke. The destruction south of LAX was probably staggering, and he doubted anyone left alive would make it out of the conflagration in one piece. Some of the most expensive real estate in the Los Angeles area was rapidly being turned into a pile of cinders, and with the offshore breeze pushing the flames along, the destruction would only continue to grow. He saw blooming secondary explosions as filling stations and other hazardous sites were overrun by the uncontrolled fires.
This would be a nightmare even if the fire department were still active.
“Okay.” Plosser’s voice was rough and suddenly loud in the awe-inspired silence. “Okay, this is a major game changer.”
“What do you mean?” Renee asked.
“I mean it might be the break we’re looking for,” Plosser said.
“What? This was a break?” Marsh threw his hands into the air. “The entire fucking harbor is gone, man!”
“We don’t need the harbor,” Plosser said. He looked over at Bates. “Am I right?”
Bates shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. It’s off the table, regardless. Don’t know how you think this is our big break though, First Sergeant.”
Plosser walked toward the windows. Reese reached out to stop him—he didn’t want the zombies to catch sight of the tall National Guardsman. Plosser slapped Reese’s hand away with enough force to hurt. Reese felt a surge of anger, but if Plosser was even remotely worried about pissing him off, it didn’t show.
Plosser pointed toward the parking lot outside. “Take a look, people.”
Reese edged closer to the window. The zombies in the parking lot were shambling toward the street, and those that had been clustered around the cars stuck on Manchester were finally moving as well. He didn’t know what to make of it. The stenches were heading into the smoke, southwest toward the blooming firestorm in Long Beach. Not all of them, but most were on the move.
“Why are they leaving?” Reese asked.
“They’re attracted to the sound of the explosion,” Plosser said. “Wherever there’s sound, they think there’s food. They’re not smart enough to know that’s not the case in this circumstance, but they’re not so dumb they won’t eventually figure it out. We need to book out of here now, before they turn around and come back.”
“Hey, there’s still plenty of daylight out there,” Marsh said. “We wouldn’t get three blocks before we got overrun. And where the hell are we going to run to, anyway?”
Reese looked over at Bates. “Your friends are expecting us at Santa Monica. When can the boat be there?”
Bates held up the satellite phone. “I call them, and they’ll be in the area when we need them.”
“So call them,” Plosser said.
Bates smiled sardonically. “Taking over, First Sergeant?”
“Were you ever in charge, Bates?” Plosser shot back. He jerked a thumb at Reese. “I think he’s the designated adult providing supervision here.”
Reese sighed. “Plosser, are you suggesting we bail out right now?”
Plosser nodded. “Get our shit together, bust out a window, and get to the truck.”
Reese hadn’t expected the din of the explosion to act as an attractant. That the zombies were being drawn away was an unexpected bonus. It would be stupid not to take advantage of it, even though traveling would still be a life-and-death struggle.
“Okay. Let’s do it. Bates, get a hold of your pals on the boat. Tell them we’re on our way.”
Bates nodded. “You got it.”
###
Twenty minutes later, they shattered the window that led out to the overhang. Bates was first out, and he darted down the structure’s length. He paused at the end, looked down at the truck, then called back, “This thing’s pretty strong, but I’d keep it to two at a time. We don’t want it collapsing under the weight.” He stepped off the lip and into the bed of the truck. That was one great thing about the five-ton truck. It was as big as a small house, literally.
“I’ll take security by the cab and keep him covered,” Plosser said. “One of you who knows how to shoot come after me and keep watch on the rear. We need to keep them away from the truck long enough to get everyone aboard.” He climbed through the opening and sprinted down the overhang.
On the street, zombies noticed the activity. They turned away from the boiling morass of fire inching closer on the horizon and started to shuffle toward the building. When Bates fired up the truck, it would be like ringing a dinner bell. They had to get the hell out of there, because if the stenches massed, no one was going anywhere.
“Renee, make sure everyone gets out,” Reese said then he followed Plosser. Shattered glass cracked beneath his feet. Taking care not to slip and fall, he ran to the end and looked down. The truck looked farther away than he’d thought it would, and for a couple of seconds, he dithered at the edge. When he heard running footsteps behind him, he remembered what Bates had said about not putting a lot of weight off the overhang. Already, he could feel it trembling beneath him. Reese sucked in a breath and stepped off.
He crashed into the bed of the truck and managed not to fall on his ass. Plosser was already oriented toward the front of the vehicle, rifle shouldered and pointed over the cab. Reese scuttled to the rear and crouched behind the tailgate. A zombie walking through the parking lot saw him and, with a dry, rattling hiss, altered its course. It headed right toward him, hands outstretched, fingers curled into claws. Its black tongue wagged from side to side, as if in parody of some obscene gesture. Reese raised his rifle and sighted on the stench’s head.
“Not yet,” Plosser said. “Wait until we get more shooters aboard.” As he spoke, someone else landed in the bed.
“Where do you guys want me?” Thanh asked.
“Up here with me,” Plosser responded. “Cover the passenger side.”
Reese kept his sights on the approaching zombie. Another joined it, and fifteen feet behind those two, a third started to catch up. Zombie number three was in better shape. It moved faster, almost in a loping run as opposed to the tottering, stumbling shuffle of the first two.
Someone else landed in the truck, then another set of boots hit. One of the cops joined Reese at the rear, and Plosser repeated his order not to fire.
“That’s going to be a tall order in just a little bit,” Reese murmured.
“I know. Just try and hold off as long as you can.”
More people leaped into the truck, and the additional noise served to attract even more zombies. The faster-moving zombie made it to the rear of the truck and began climbing up the bumper, hissing. The cop squatting in the corner opposite of Reese gave him a questioning look.
“Yeah, I think we’ve waited as long as we can,” Reese said then shot the stench through the head. Its body flopped back to the pavement.
The truck’s diesel engine cackled to life. More s
hots rang out, and zombies hit the ground. More people jumped down into the truck. Expended cartridges rolled around, and someone slipped and fell because of one.
Reese tuned it all out. He concentrated on moving his sights from target to target and pulling the trigger on his M4. Within seconds, the twenty zombies had turned into almost two hundred, all converging on the idling five-ton from every direction.
“Come on. How long are we going to sit here?” someone shouted.
“Five more left!”
Reese took out another stench as it reached for the back of the truck. The cop beside him swore as another pulled itself onto the bumper. It grabbed the barrel of the cop’s rifle, ignoring the searing heat of the metal. The cop wrestled with the creature for a second until Reese shifted aim and put a bullet through its head.
“Thanks,” the cop said before resuming firing.
“Free of charge,” Reese replied.
The firing intensified. More stenches made it onto the side of the truck, and the cops had to grapple with some of them before they could be killed. The children shrieked in terror. Above the din, Reese heard Plosser shouting for the cops up front to help defend the cab. The truck lurched slightly as Bates dropped it into gear, its old brakes creaking a bit. More people landed in the truck bed, and someone cried out when they landed badly.
“We’re clear! We’re clear!” Plosser shouted as soon as the last person’s feet hit the bed.
The big truck lumbered forward, and Reese fell back against the tailgate. For a second, he was doubled up over its lip, looking at the pavement. A small ghoulish face leered up at him. The child stench was holding onto the bumper, trying to pull itself up. Reese straightened, aimed his rifle down, and fired. It wasn’t a killing shot, but the thing let go and tumbled to the ground.
The truck vibrated as it smashed through the gathering crowd of dead, sideswiping a score of them as Bates nursed the vehicle through a wide left turn. Bodies flew as the truck barreled across the parking lot toward La Tijera Boulevard. Bumping over the curb, the truck swung right, heading toward the dead traffic on Manchester Boulevard.
The Last Town Page 39
