I recalled seeing something on TV about these guys. Whatever show I was watching called them “Pakers,” a term coined because they packed all kinds of stuff in preparation for the End of Days. From canned food, to heavy artillery, these guys were known for having bunkers filled with Personal Accessory Kits (PAKs) to keep them alive while the world died around them.
Between conspiracy theories, and a general unfriendly disposition toward the government, most people would consider them totally insane. That is, except on the first day of the Apocalypse. Today, they were the smartest people on the planet.
We learned that Pakers could be found anywhere, and this particular group was more organized than most, which was saying a lot. They had a whole network that streamed through many major cities, including Cincinnati and Chicago.
Mr. Stache continued to explain that for the world to survive, Man had to survive as well. Many wannabe Pakers were probably held up in their bunkers to wait out the Apocalypse. This group knew the score. If man didn’t make it, these things would rule the Earth.
Kyle and I stole a glance at each other. Maybe Lady Luck was suddenly on our side.
Mr. Stache looked back at the city that was now in the distance. “Place went to shit fast. The government funded help, was out trying to pull it all back together. We immediately mobilized and saved people, not the burning buildings. Made seven runs so far since this thing started. Saved over 120 people, including women, kids and even a few dogs.”
“Well, you’re right. You saved our asses, too. Thank you,” I said, while shaking his hand again.
I looked back at some of the other cars across the deck. There were only a handful of others on this voyage. I was surprised to see that there was anybody aside from us, based on how the streets looked back in the city.
“So, where are we heading?” Kyle asked.
One of the smaller guys, while pointing down the waterway, said, “We’ve been dropping people in Jersey, right near the I95 express way. It doesn’t put you in the clear, but at least we’re getting people out of the city. As we expected, all the bridges are shot, so helicopter and boat are the only ways to get out of Manhattan. Lucky for you, that Hummer of yours made it to the ferry.”
Mr. ᾿Stache spoke up again, shrugging slightly. “Things aren’t great out there, but it’s a hell of a lot better than in the city.”
“How far has this thing spread?” I asked, still holding onto a glimmer of hope that it was just in the Northeast.
“We’ve got a HAM radio on this ship. We’re getting reports from our sister organizations in Cincinnati and Chicago that they’ve been hit as well. It started in New York, but now, it seems to be everywhere.”
“Even in the Southeast? Near Atlanta?” I asked, feeling my stomach suddenly reel.
“Nothing confirmed that far down. We’re not sure at the moment,” he said.
I thought of Jenn, down in a suburb of Atlanta. I picked a hell of a time to take a business trip. She was so pissed when I left the other morning. I should have listened.
“Does anybody have cell phone reception?” I asked, hearing my voice falter.
“Phones are in and out. Depends on if the cell tower you’re around still has power. Some of our guys have been able to use theirs from time to time depending on where we’re at.”
As we passed Ellis Island, I could see some of the dead running around on the shores of the former beacon of entry into America. Back then, everybody came to New York for new beginnings. Times have changed. Now, we all just wanted to get out.
I pulled my phone from my pocket to check, praying there were bars. Still no signal. This had gotten old. The battery was almost dead, but I left it on anyway, hoping we’d come across a working cell tower as we floated towards Jersey.
Kyle asked the Pakers what they knew about the zombies.
They told us that depending on the source, these things were created by anything from radiation, to bad drinking water, to biological weapons.
The fact of the matter was that nobody knew a damn thing at that point.
They went on to explain that, according to radio reports, and some chatter on the Internet, they were in fact the dead incarnate.
No shit, I thought to myself.
Stache told us a story about an autopsy that was aired the night before on a science video blog.
The scientists had one of the things tied down as they cut straight into its stomach and pulled out the guts, causing black ooze to flow out on the surrounding table. They punctured its heart, cut off appendages, and basically tore the thing apart, limb by limb. The whole time, the creature was lifting its head trying to bite the doctors doing the autopsy. It wasn’t until one of them pushed a surgical saw straight through its brain that it finally stopped moving.
As we had learned during the lobby fight, the only way to kill them was to destroy the brain. Talk about a stereotype. Who knew all those movies would be right?
There’s always some truth in fiction.
Mr. ᾿Stache informed us that being bit by one of the undead only accelerated death with some sort of toxin. Anybody who died, as far as the Internet was concerned, whether they were bit or not, would come back as a Zombie. Basically, this meant that each one of us was already infected with whatever it was.
He paused on that thought, looking Kyle and I up and down. Noticing my uneasiness, he said, “Calm down, just checking to make sure you ain’t got no bites. Can’t have you dying on us.”
He continued with a story about the second trip the Pakers made yesterday; there was a guy that had a small bite on his arm. He was feverish when he got on the ship, and mid-way on the voyage, he suddenly turned. He tore apart his wife before three of the Pakers threw him overboard.
I looked toward the shore, and then down into the water. Thinking back to what Kyle said earlier, I again wondered how many of those things were down there.
Something buzzed. Buzzed again. It was my phone!
Chapter 6
Communication. A blessing or a curse?
It buzzed seven times before I fumbled the phone from my pocket. I discovered that it was seven voicemail messages. We must have finally hit a working tower, giving my phone enough time to download the messages.
Hands shaking, I cleared the message indicator out of the way, navigated to speed dial, and hit Jenn’s name. I waited in silence as the phone paused for what seemed like an eternity. It tried as hard as possible to catch a signal. Then it beeped. No service. Closing my eyes, I silently screamed “FUUUCK!” under my breath.
Wait! I still had the messages. Swiping my finger across the phone, I feverishly navigated to the right screen. All seven from Jenn. My heart was thudding in my chest. I clicked on the first one, holding my breath.
“John, I don’t know what happened. One of our phones must have lost signal. When you get this, please call me back right away. I’m scared. Get to the airport, and come home to me!”
Next message.
“John, you need to call me back. Don’t go to the airport! I’m watching the news. There aren’t any planes flying in or out of New York right now. They had a news reporter at the airport, John. There were thousands of people trying to catch flights. One of those… things suddenly emerged in the crowd. It was chaos; everybody started crawling all over each other trying to escape. It was a nightmare! You need to call me back, John. Please call me back and tell me you’re not there. Please call me back and tell me you’re alright.”
Message three.
“John, the outbreak is all over the place. What started in New York is here in Atlanta, too. There were sightings of these creatures downtown. I’m not sure what to do. Joe and Sue next door are talking about heading to their cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. They’ve invited me, John. I may go with them to get out of here until you get home. Please call me as soon as you get this message. I need to hear your voice.”
Next message.
“John, I can’t believe this is happening! We’re i
n the car heading up to Blue Ridge. The roads are jammed though, John. We’re stuck in complete deadlock traffic on Interstate 400. One of the people in the cars ahead of us ran into a few of the creatures back in the city. One of the kids was bitten on the arm. He’s burning up with fever. We’re trying to find a doctor for him. I’m not sure what is going to happen. We don’t know how sick this kid’s going to get. Please call me. Please call me back, John!”
Message five.
“John, oh my God! The kid just turned into one of them. He bit his mom, and she turned into one of them right away. People are panicking. The creatures are all over the place. I’m hiding in the car with Joe and Sue. I’m scared, John! I don’t want to be bitten. Oh no! Oh no, John, one of them is banging on the window. (SCREEECH) Drive! Drive! Drive! Push that car out of the way!”
The sixth message.
“John, we are on a dirt road, parked. Sue hit her head when we were driving away from the highway. A lot of blood, but I think she’s okay. Joe drove right over two of them before we drove straight into the woods. I don’t know how we made it out to this road. It’s a miracle. I don’t know why you can’t call me. I need to know you’re okay. This is too crazy. Please, John. Please call me. Please come home to me!”
Final message.
“John, you need to get here right away. Owwwww! The contractions have started. The baby is coming!”
Chapter 7
Nothing like “incentive” to push a man pass his limits. A man with the right kind of motivation can do anything. Anything.
The phone felt cold in my sweaty hand. Stunned, I remained with it pressed against my ear long after the final message ended.
Gazing down over the railing, spinning my wedding ring on a shaking finger, my mind raced as I watched the waves spin off from the wake of the ferry. Nothing would stop me. Nothing could stop me. I needed to get down to Atlanta. Just 900 miles to go.
Kyle walked over. Hesitant to say much, he mentioned that we were about twenty minutes from the drop point at the I95 in Jersey.
Not making eye contact, I started to speak. The words just came pouring out. I explained to Kyle that my motivation to get home went beyond my wife. I told him about my unborn or maybe now-born child, and then went on to dissect the series of voicemail messages I had just received.
Having made that drive to the Blue Ridge Mountains many times, I knew there was just a short period of time that Jenn would have been on I400. If she only made it that far, then she’d have to make the decision to either turn around or head somewhere else. They would never make it to the cabin with all the traffic and those things already running wild in the streets.
I noticed some movement in my peripheral vision to my left. A man on the other side of the ship appeared to be very agitated, incessantly looking into his car. He was wearing a blue jump suit. It was the kind you’d see on someone working in an auto garage. Someone flipping out, I thought. He wouldn’t be the last.
Still staring out at the ocean, I muttered to Kyle that Jenn was eight months pregnant. She was pissed that I was leaving for this trip, and kept telling me that I’d really feel like shit if I missed the birth of our first child.
She was right. I did feel like shit.
Neither of us said anything for a moment.
Changing the subject, I sighed heavily and said, “We really haven't talked about what we do next. We only have one car. Do you have someplace to go? I understand if you need to get to someone or someplace different from where I’m heading.”
Kyle paused for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about that actually. My buddies down in Augusta at Fort Gordon are the closest thing I’ve got to family. I’d like to go join up with them. If you’re good with it, I figured we could travel together as far as Georgia. We’ve gotten this far with each other, and besides, I don’t have any place to go. My apartment is under twelve feet of zombie shit by now.”
I always liked that about Kyle. He had a way of making you laugh even during the most tense situations.
I smiled, and said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t make me get down on my hands and knees begging to come with you. It’s a long trip to make by myself with all this madness.”
There was a shout from across the deck now. We both turned to look, as a few people were trying to hold the guy in the blue jump suit down. He tore loose, his jump suit sleeve tearing completely off, as he jerked his car door open.
In that instant, another guy in a blue jump suit jumped wildly out of the car. He approached a woman who was sitting in awe watching everything go down, and took a giant chunk out of her shoulder.
She dropped to the ground, with her blood soaking into the wooden deck of the ship. She twitched a few times, before she sat right back up, and ran over to the closest person to her. Before anybody knew it, there were seven of those things running loose on the ship.
I could see the shore where we were heading. We must have been less than five minutes from our destination.
Pulling my hammer from my belt, I glanced at Kyle, and then toward the crowd. He nodded, and then we both advanced on the zombies.
Kyle had left his metal weapon in the Hummer; a mistake he would not repeat. He searched around for a moment, and found a gaff, a metal pole that was clearly for pulling things out of the water. It looked about five feet long, and had a pointed hook on the end.
Today, it would serve a slightly different purpose than originally intended.
A newly turned Paker, dressed in his now blood-soaked black uniform, started right towards me. I could see the gouge on his neck where he’d been bitten, and knew I had to act fast. Drawing my arm back, I paused only slightly at the thought of killing one of the guys who had just earlier saved my life. My body contracted as I arched up and then down swinging the hammer through its skull, making a deafening crack as it broke through the bone with the ease of a spoon cracking through an egg. It was so deeply embedded, that I had to put my foot on its shoulder to pull the weapon out of his skull. I closed my eyes, and shuttered as it popped out with some brain-like flesh hanging from the metal end.
I could hear a few bone fragments clang to the wooden floor, as I looked up to see two women and a man sitting in their car with the doors locked. Three of the creatures were beating the car with their bare, bloody hands before the first window shattered.
Fear gripped me. I thought of Jenn and our neighbors as they ripped one of the women right out of her seat. She let out an ear-piercing scream as all three of the creatures began to dig in. The other two passengers fought to escape the vehicle, only to step into their own deathly demise upon exiting the vehicle.
One heavier set guy not far from me was wearing a life preserver over a brown suit. The preserver was literally pulled so tight around his waist that you could see fat rolls folding over the straps. Two of the creatures saw him standing there, cowering in the corner. As they started to move towards him, he crawled up on the side of the boat, and simply rolled over the edge.
He bobbed up and down in the wake of the ship for a few seconds. I could see him doggy paddling toward the shore, when his whole body submerged below the water. He popped back up, arms waving frantically, screaming, “They are down there!”
He was pulled under again, and the water turned a dark red right where he was last seen. All I saw, before I turned back to the carnage on the deck of the ship, was the blood soaked orange life preserver bob up out of the water.
Despite our best efforts to fight them off, there were over a dozen of these things, and only a few of us left.
Mr. ’Stache had a handgun. He was screaming that he was almost out of bullets, as he followed a few of the creatures up the stairs to where the captain of the ship was driving the ferry. I heard a number of shots echo in the cabin, and then a few more screams.
Less than two minutes from land, I thought.
Looking over at Kyle, and then toward the stairs, I said, “Best to head up there.”
“Yep, we’ll be able to guard
the stairs as a choke point if needed,” he agreed.
“We’ve got to make sure this ship gets to shore,” I snapped as we darted to the upper deck.
As we turned the corner at the top of the staircase, it was Mr. ’Stache we ran into first. He was still holding his gun, his finger locked on the trigger, but it was clearly out of bullets and pointed at the ground. His eyes moved slowly up to meet mine. His mustache blew in the wind.
Kyle said, “They got him.”
There was a pause, as I realized what we had to do. He ran towards us with that wild look in his blood shot eyes. Kyle apologized out loud before delivering that final blow to his head.
No time to think about it.
We both headed to the cabin of the ship and quickly discovered that Mr. ’Stache had taken out the two creatures before they took that chunk out of his leg.
The captain was curled up in a ball in the corner of the cabin. He kept repeating,
“Not the water! Not the water! Not the water!”
He was right; the water must have been filed with those creatures and there was no way in hell any of us wanted to wind up in it.
I grabbed the steering wheel, and aimed the ship at the nearest shore where there was a road. Kyle ran back out to the staircase. I could hear him grunting as he swung his metal pole at each creature that tried to make it up the stairs.
Thirty seconds to ground. Thirty seconds until we could escape.
I reached into my pocket pulling out the car keys to the Hummer. There was no slowing down this boat. We were going to make land.
Kyle ran into the cabin empty handed. He explained that he had dug the hook, at the end of the pole, into one of the creature’s brain, and couldn’t get it back out before it tipped overboard taking his weapon with it.
Ten seconds to ground.
“Anybody still alive, you should grab on to something, and don’t let go!” I screamed out the cabin window.
900 Miles: A Zombie Novel Page 4
