900 Miles: A Zombie Novel

by S. Johnathan Davis

  “One more thing,” he said. “While you were in the house saving your wife, I got a radio transmission from Jarvis back at Avalon.”

  “Are you serious?” I sat up abruptly.

  “Yah, he told me he wanted his helicopter back,” he said with a big grin.

  “Really though, he did contact us. Guess they got the place back in order. He told me we would be welcome, even wanted back if we decided to head that way. They have doctors and medical supplies.”

  “What do you think?” I asked. I knew that Jarvis was one of the good guys, but I wasn’t really all that excited to return to the place we called a prison.

  “It’s an option. It’s definitely an option. Right now, we couldn’t get there on the fuel we have left. Augusta is our best bet for the moment...if it hasn’t been overrun.”

  We sat silent for a short while, mulling over that idea. It was a clear day and the sun was glistening through the clouds. Up here, high above the ground, things still felt...okay.

  When we reached Augusta, it was clear that Kyle was right; we were running on fumes. He began using the radio in the chopper to hale the base. Static is all that we received over the airwaves. Frustrated, Kyle continued flying closer to Fort Gordon.

  Looking back through the small door, I watched Jenn sit up, fully awake. She was holding her belly, with an uneasy look on her face. Worried, I started to unbuckle my harness. She shook her head, letting me know that she was all right. She then leaned forward to grab a cup of water and ice.

  Reluctantly, I turned back toward the cockpit. I could see the look of concern in Kyle’s face as we flew over the large Savannah River. Still, no contact with the base.

  In the daylight, we could see zombies stumbling through the streets. Highway 20 was infested with them, as they slowly crept around the crashed cars and trucks. I watched whole groups of them get stuck behind a roadblock. They didn’t appear to have the brainpower to turn back or simply walk around it. I remember thinking that they might stand there forever, trying to push through that barricade.

  Through the headset, I heard Jenn urgently speak, “I think the baby is coming. These contractions are definitely real.”

  Kyle and I shot a quick glance at each other. I must have looked horrified. I know he did.

  That’s when Jenn screamed out.

  I jerked violently as if shot, fumbling to release my harness. I lurched into the cabin. She was holding her belly and crying that the contractions were really close together, coming almost on top of each other. I didn’t know much, but I knew that meant the baby was coming fast. Even I could tell that this was bad. Usually, she would have had contractions for hours before. The trauma and lack of help from a doctor through this ordeal must have wreaked havoc on her body.

  Looking up at Kyle, he could see my panic.

  “You know anything about giving birth?” I barked, horror stricken.

  “No,” he cried, flicking his hand in the air. “I’m better at taking life out of this world than bringing it in.”

  My attention went back to Jenn, writhing in pain. Something felt wrong, completely and utterly wrong. I could feel it in my very core. I let out a petrified cry when her eyes were pulled into the back of her head. She started to bleed all over the leather and carpet. I was helpless; not knowing what was happening and certainly not knowing what the hell to do.

  “We need to land. These fumes aren’t going to get us much further!” Kyle snapped in desperation. “Maybe the base has a medic.”

  “We don’t even know if there is a base anymore!” I shrieked.

  For twenty minutes, we hovered over Augusta, as Kyle frantically called over the radio looking for any sign of life. Jenn was losing too much blood. She was clutching my hand, screaming with each push.

  “This is it!” she finally yelled.

  Shifting into place, and pulling her legs apart, I looked down to see the crown of a small head. With each contraction, the head was pushed farther out, revealing dark matted hair. Jenn continued to cry out in pain as her body arched up, splashing through the blood that she continued to lose.

  My panic-stricken eyes were pulled up from Jenn and towards Kyle, when he suddenly sat up right in his seat, not saying a word as he lifted his hand up to the headset holding it tight against his right ear.

  “Yes! Yes, we’re up here!” I heard Kyle cry out in excitement. “We’re low on fuel, and in desperate need to put down. We also have a woman in labor. Request permission to land!”

  He went silent waiting for a response. Jenn tried her hardest to mute her cries of pain as we both listened in anticipation for Kyle’s next words.

  “Yes, Sir. We’ll be there in five minutes. Make sure the medical unit has what they need for delivery.”

  Looking back at us, he gave thumbs up and told us to hang on. We’d be cutting it pretty close and this was going to be a bumpy ride.

  “Hold on, baby. Hold on,” I pleaded with Jenn.

  “Ahhhngnn,” she screamed. In an urgent and pain filled voice she said, “You’re going to have to pull him out. You have to deliver him, John…we don’t have five minutes. He’s going to suffocate if he doesn’t get out!”

  Having gone to a number of birthing classes over the past months, I knew she was right. Hands shaking, I reached down and wedged my fingers around the head, and started to pull.

  “We’re two minutes away!” Kyle screamed back.

  Jenn pushed with everything she had left in her. A vein was pulsating out of her forehead, and her hands were firmly squeezing on the side rail of one of the leather seats.

  The head emerged, followed by an arm. I gently wrapped my fingers under his armpit, and slowly pulled the second shoulder through. A split second later, the legs followed.

  For a moment, he didn’t move. Covered in red, pale with blue lips, the baby hung in my arms lifeless. Then, in a moment of magic, a small burst of cries shot from his mouth. With my eyes tearing up, and my whole body still shaking, I wrapped the child in one of the embroidered white blankets to warm him. Jenn looked up at us. Her eyes were half open, and her body was limp.

  “One minute,” Kyle yelled back.

  I could feel the chopper coming down, the pit of my stomach lurching up.

  “Let me see him,” Jenn whispered.

  I placed the wrapped child in her arms, which she didn’t have the strength to hold up on her own. She forced a smile, and her eyes widened for just a moment.

  “Hello, Baby. You’re more beautiful than I ever could have imagined,” she said.

  Unsuccessfully trying to hold back my own tears, I leaned in, kissed our baby on the forehead, and whispered, “Welcome to the world, little man.”

  Gritting her teeth, she motioned with a weak hand for me to take the child. I reached down to pull him into my arms.

  Her body tensed up, eyes rolling from side to side. She kicked her legs out involuntarily for a moment, and I pulled our son to my chest, protecting him from any inadvertent strikes.

  I felt the helicopter hit the ground, and heard Kyle jumping out of the front cockpit. Everything slowed down. I was waving my hands feverishly from behind the window towards the medics who were running with a gurney towards the chopper door. The sound of the chopper blades was deafening, as I yanked the headset from my head, trying to scream toward them to hurry.

  Glancing down at Jenn, her body arched up, then fell to the red tinted leather, and stopped moving.

  Then, just like that…In a moment of clarity, she met my eyes and spoke softly.

  “John, I love you. You came back to me. After everything, you made it back to us. I’m so proud of you. You are going to be a great father.”

  Those were her last words.

  I let out a primal scream as her eyes closed. Quickly setting the child in one of the seats, I wrapped my arms around her body, yelling, “Don’t leave us. Don’t leave me.”

  Glancing out the helicopter window, the medics were just yards away from reaching us.


  “You need to wake up! You need to come back to me!” I screamed as I reached down to kiss my lifeless wife on the forehead. Clutching her in my arms, shaking her back and forth as tears poured down my face, I felt a small movement from one of her legs. Lifting my lips, I looked down to see her eyelids move.

  Her red eyes opened.

  The End

  www.severedpress.com

  Bonus Content:

  To read a letter from Tyler, John’s son, visit this page: www.zombiebook.net/tylersnote

  Read on for a free sample of Necropolis Now: Zombie Ascension Book 1

  Acknowledgments:

  Many of my best friends and family members were subjected to the early drafts of 900 Miles. Whether they read it, commented on it, or were simply a sounding board for me during its creation, I want each of them to know that I really appreciate every second that they spent with me on this journey to publish.

  Specifically, I'd like to thank:

  Debbie Davis

  Phil Davis

  Jamie Crosby

  Ryan Dunn

  Jenaya Cones

  Stefanie Oberhansley

  Chad Davis

  Tim Davis

  Sarah Davis

  David Michaud

  And of course, Gary at Severed Press for taking a chance on me as an emerging author.

  Finally, I’d like to thank my wife, Laurie Davis. Without her encouragement and support, I would never have sat down to type the first word.

  This book would not have come to life without all of you!

  THANK YOU!

  About the Author

  S. Johnathan Davis lives in Atlanta, GA with his wife and two children.

  For more information, please visit www.sjohnathandavis.com

  Prologue: Three Years Ago

  It always seemed to be raining whenever Bob returned to the States from Afghanistan. The rain pounded on the bar's roof and wicked thunder rattled the dusty window. There didn't seem to be enough beer to drown out his latest near-death experience; he could still hear the gunfire and the war cries of his two best soldiers, who nearly earned themselves vainglorious deaths.

  The bartender was kind enough to place another beer in front of him before he could ask. The handful of patrons who sat disconsolately apart from each other, drank grudgingly and watched the evening news on the old television set above the bar. The joint was almost as old as Bob was, and that was damn remarkable.

  Afghanistan. Miles and Vega, those two shitheads, nearly got themselves shot to pieces for being damn stupid. Would have served them right, even if they were the best mercenaries Bob could find. If he lost them, it would be more difficult to put together a crew that could take on the higher paying grunt jobs out there in the desert. More than once, he thought about asking them to help him find Traverse, the bounty job that never seemed to end. He gave up on the job a year ago. His sex-fiend partner, Nick Crater, never stopped hunting the bastard across the country.

  Now, he waited for Crater, because they apparently had a break in the manhunt.

  Bob impatiently checked his phone. It was like Crater to keep him waiting, but Bob had shown up early to get a head start on his drinking. He had lost a bit of weight out in the desert, so he had some room in his waistline to spare.

  When Crater finally showed up, Bob was immediately annoyed. It had been a few months since he last saw the slender, paranoiac soldier with the perfectly shaved head, but he could tell Crater was in one of his moods; he kept looking over his shoulder and surveyed the entire place a little too obviously, a sign that he was ready for a fight.

  Crater slapped him on the back, "Nice tan, old man! Did your beard get a little longer?"

  Bob ignored the stupid comment. Crater slapped his hand on the bar and demanded a beer from the bartender. "Hope you're not drunk yet, Bob. We're going to have a whole lot of celebrating once tonight's over. I found him."

  "Heard that before," Bob didn't look up from his beer.

  "You quit on me, and I brought you back in because I figured you could use the payday. I could do this myself, you know. Traverse won't know what hit him."

  Bob shook his head. He was done chasing ghosts. Jim Traverse had proven to be the white whale of wanted men. He was a former Delta Force operative turned rogue, and people at the Pentagon were willing to pay a pretty penny to whoever could bring him in alive. There were several teams scouring the earth for Traverse, but nobody came close. Bob had wasted enough of his time. He was picking up more and more contract jobs out in the desert; with Miles and Vega on his team, it was getting easier to collect big paydays, as long as those idiots didn't get themselves killed.

  "Don’t need the money," Bob said, "and neither do you. Black Ops has paid you well. Why don't you retire?"

  "Why don't you?"

  Bob sipped his beer.

  Crater was insistent, "Look, we can bring this guy in. He's here, in Detroit. That's why I wanted you to meet me here. I don't know what the hell he's doing, but he's making himself obvious. He's hiding in plain sight out in the suburbs."

  "You don't even ask me how it went in Afghanistan? Where's your manners?"

  Crater laughed. "Pardon me, your highness. How'd it go? You bang any hairy Arabic women? That's your favorite flavor, isn't it? What about these new people you got on your crew… I heard about that woman. She's a bit trigger happy, ain't she?"

  He knew what Crater was after. Vega was a pretty enough girl, and Crater was a depraved man with little interest in social conventions. When they had gone on missions together in the desert, during Operation Desert Storm in the 90s, Crater made it known that he didn't believe in the rules of engagement. He called innocent women, the 'spoils of war.'

  "Everyone knows about Vega," Crater continued. "Why don’t you at least introduce us?"

  Bob sighed. "Why don't you find some other rock to crawl under? I got something important to do."

  "Something important? You're sitting on your ass!"

  "Like I said."

  Crater downed his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I already called in the cavalry. We've confirmed his position, and I have choppers on standby. This is it, old buddy."

  Bob grabbed a fistful of beer nuts and shoved them into his mouth. "Whatever you say. Have yourself a good time."

  Crater wasn't going to take no for an answer. "You can have yourself a heart attack after we bag Traverse. Why would you quit now? We’ve got him dead to rights."

  "You forget who he is?" Bob asked him. "A hand-to-hand specialist. The guy would scare the shit out of Chuck Norris. Can't be killed."

  "I've read the fucking dossier a thousand times. Got it memorized. He flipped after a mission in Egypt, threatened the Pentagon in his report, and went AWOL. He's wanted alive, Bob. Look, pay your bill and let's go. I got our gear in the trunk. We do it now."

  Bob really didn't have anything better to do, and he had a few beers in him. If he caught Traverse, it would wipe the bad taste out of his mouth from the whole Afghanistan fiasco. What else did have to do until the next job came along? He thought about visiting his son, but years had passed, and he always had these thoughts. It was something he would inevitably put off, and he knew it. The money he had was going to be spent right here in Detroit on booze and strippers until the next contract came in. He knew it, and Crater knew it, too. Like any other merc, he owned nothing, not even a Social Security number. The only thing he could look forward to was another mission.

  He had done everything in his power to erase Traverse from his mind. The former commando devolved into a depraved killer after coming back from Egypt, and he left a trail of mutilated bodies wherever he went. Traverse killed without any discernible pattern, and he killed at will, women, children, men, the elderly, and the young. Bob always thought the man was the perfect example of a soldier who was supposed to have died on the battlefield, and sought his violence in the homes of innocents.

  A man like that was a menace to society.

&nbs
p; "I gotta take a piss," Bob said. "Wait in the car."

  ***

  Bob didn't hate rain. No matter what the mission was, it had to be completed despite whatever elements might interfere. He had operated in sweat sapping desert heat and in sub-zero frigidity; the weather could always be worse than what it was.

  He hated listening to Crater blabber on about all the girls they had met in Brazil years ago when they thought Traverse had fled to South America. They had been wrong, of course, but as Crater reminisced about their prolonged hunt of the man who refused to be found, Bob wondered how he would feel after they finally caught their target. He had dedicated seven years to Traverse's trail, and now, in the middle of a thunderstorm, it was going to be over once and for all. At last.

  The only thing Bob truly hated was an incomplete mission, and the Traverse episode always bothered him. Why had the man gone AWOL? Parts of the report were incomplete: Bob didn't know what Traverse discovered in Egypt, nor was he aware what the original mission was. Just as mysterious, were the words the legendary commando had shared with the Pentagon after he came back. Ultimately, it didn't matter, but it troubled Bob only because he always believed a soldier escaped from the travails of battle by seeking another mission. War was the only escape from war.

  Crater wouldn't shut up. The rain made it difficult to see the road ahead and the brief flashes of lightning revealed standing water on the overpasses. It was one hell of a storm.

  They weren't going to bring in any outside help because they had seen it fail before. Traverse had slipped right through their fingers as soon as the police showed up. This time, they were going to go in quietly, as they were supposed to. It was a clandestine operation, one that required both professionalism and patience. They would confirm the target and attempt to neutralize him while additional support rolled in.

  The entire neighborhood had already been scouted, and they were going to move in through the yard behind the house where Traverse was staying. Crater had paid off the family to stay the night somewhere else after he interviewed them and carefully did some recon of his own. Of course, Crater pulled in money from some suit wearing monkey to take care of the family.