Siren Songs: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 2

by E. E. Isherwood

  He looked at her as if she'd just said the funniest joke he'd ever heard. “Grandma, do you ever get depressed? How do you do it?”

  “Oh, Liam. I have been down. Many times. Once you get to be my age, you take each day as a gift. Sure this looks bad, but it looked bad back at the Arch. It looked bad in your basement. It looked bad when the truck crashed. It looked bad running from this camp.” She used her thumb to point back over her shoulder. “But through it all I still have you by my side, and we're still alive. We've gotten this far together. We just need to work a little harder to get back home this time. The Lord will provide.”

  It was an echo of the speech she gave as they left her home the day after the sirens.

  The planes screamed overhead, more bombs fell on the camp behind them.

  It's the only way to be sure.

  That movie quote was more true now than ever.

  Here and there gunshots could be heard in the distance. A portent of the challenges ahead.

  That very day Liam had witnessed strange zombies, horrible experiments, and the erasure of an entire government camp with heavy ordnance. He was stuck on a highway with his 104-year-old great-grandmother again, and the path to home and family looked more complicated than ever. But holding her at his side gave him a new strength. He suddenly had a premonition he would make it home with her and that everything was going to be OK.

  Together, they took their first steps.

  Toward home.

  Chapter 10: Interludes

  Jerry and Lana were exhausted. They'd been on the road for almost five days, including one short visit to Marty's now-abandoned flat. They mostly traveled at night, and stuck to routes as least traveled as possible. That included parks, greenways, drainage ditches, creeks, and sewers. Anything to keep them off the radar of the multitude of human opportunists who were out to cause trouble in the absence of law and order. It also kept them off the radar of desperate men and women suffering in normal, everyday desperation. Those who ran out of food. Those who were injured with nowhere to go for help. Those who ran out of their psych meds. Those who had caught any number of secondary diseases, once the dead started stacking up in their neighborhoods. Finally, their most loathsome enemy was the infected. The zombies weren't as thick as they were at the beginning of the collapse, but they were well-ensconced in the landscape, and much harder to see or anticipate.

  Taken together, there was hardly a minute in the journey that the couple was able to let their guard down. It took a toll on their constitutions that could only be replenished with healthy sleep. The nightmares kept pleasant dreams and healthy slumber at arms-length for both of them. But now, on the fifth day since the sirens, they could see their destination. Their own home.

  “What in the name of God happened to our house?” Jerry was looking down his street from the hidden safety of the woods surrounding his neighborhood. The house looked like it was used for target practice by a platoon of infantry. “And Poole's house has been burnt to the ground.”

  “What did we miss while we were gone?” Lana replied.

  Thoughts turned serious once they realized Liam could have been inside when it was attacked. Or in Poole's. No other people were on the street, if they ignored the many dead bodies.

  Jerry advised, “Let's use the woods to get behind the house, then see what we can see.”

  They moved through the foliage until they arrived at their own property. From this vantage point they were horrified to see the trees were gnarly and mangled from the effects of shots going through the wooden structure. The backyard was littered with the remains of the zombies who had been blown out the back. One grisly figure was clawing himself around the yard with his single good arm. Everything below his rib cage was...somewhere else. Scores of others on the grass were much worse off. Here and there they could see lone heads with mouths opening and closing, as if they were fish out of water.

  “I hope those were zombies before they were shot, and not anyone we know.”

  They discussed their options and decided to move between their home and the next, so they could enter through the front. The gore on the back side was just too much. They weren't ready to learn the identities of those—things.

  They snuck to the side of their house. There were no windows on that wall, so they kept moving to the front corner. Jerry studied the scene. On the far side of the street Poole's place lay in ruin. The fire had destroyed everything, and the house collapsed upon itself. It was now a smoldering pile of roof shingles. Bodies were thick between their home and Poole's. The front yard was as gruesome as the back, though the pieces were smaller in the front. Lots of blood, and relatively fresh because it still glistened on the grass. Jerry's fought his unsettled stomach.

  “Do you think this was an assassination attempt on us? Is this what happens to people on the hit list?”

  Lana couldn't or wouldn't answer.

  “Cover me.” Jerry ran to the front door and waited. Lana followed after he made it and turned around to watch her. They didn't have to worry about knocking, or even swinging a door. It was totally gone. Jerry moved into the house, incredulous at the destruction. There was no doubt guns did this, but he'd never expected his own house to absorb such abuse.

  He whispered, “Who would use such firepower on our house? None of the other houses have been attacked like this.” Poole's house was an unknown. It could have been arson or something as mundane as a cooking mistake. They'd seen lots of fires the past few days.

  Lana was unable to provide any answers. She went right into the living room while Jerry stood near the door and covered her. The front window had sprayed glass all over the inside, and the remains of the television and numerous pieces of artwork had been shredded. Body parts and blood had splashed everywhere—even the ceiling. It was the stuff of nightmares.

  Jerry took a step farther into the entryway, and heard the squeal of a girl.

  “Ouch!”

  Jerry nearly jumped out of his skin. He did jump as he realized he was standing on someone's hand. Lana swung around in surprise too. The hand was sticking out from some debris. A piece of the wall had fallen on top of her, knocking her flat on the floor. Lana had missed her as she came through the front wall.

  Jerry began uncovering the victim while Lana moved back to cover the operation with her rifle. The load wasn't heavy; mostly drywall. The victim was a young girl. A teenager.

  As the debris came off she didn't immediately stand up. Unencumbered, she grasped her bloody hip as she tried to right herself against the remains of the wall behind her. “I've been shot!” She adjusted for a second, appearing to get comfortable. Then she paused, despite her own obvious pain. “Wait. I might have been hallucinating, but did you say this was your house?”

  “Yes, I'm Lana and this is Jerry. We live here. What the hell happened?”

  “My name is Victoria. Liam and Grandma and I escaped the city together.” She winced as she grasped her hip tighter. There wasn't a lot of blood from the wound, but enough.

  “Grandma? Liam! Where's Liam?” Lana looked around, searching.

  “If there aren't a bunch of Army trucks still on your front lawn, he's gone. Grandma's gone, too. Taken.”

  Jerry remained kneeling. Lana came over as she slung her rifle behind her back so it was out of the way. She squatted next to Victoria to look directly in her eyes. “Victoria, who took our boy? Did they mention anything about a hit list? Was he taken because he was on that list?”

  “The CDC took him. Some guy named Hayes. But they didn't take Liam specifically. They took Grandma. Liam went with her to look after her. I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about a list.”

  “That doesn't sound like Liam.” Jerry asked. “So he did take her guns. He's protecting her?”

  “After what he's been through, I don't think you'll recognize your son.”

  Thinking of their own journey in and out of the city, Jerry couldn't argue. “No, I don't imagine we would.”

  Lana be
gan reaching for her backpack medical kit. “Let's get you patched up. Then, tell us everything.”

  2

  14 hours before the sirens

  Angie Jacobi was Marty Peters live-in nurse. She was finished with her chores for her friend tonight and went to pick up her granddaughter from work. Her mom had called and begged Angie for this favor. She knew better than to even think about arguing with her daughter-in-law.

  “Thanks for picking me up Grandma. There were some creepy people coming into the store today.”

  “I don't know why Cheryl kept the place open. Everyone should be staying home now.”

  “Well, they sold out of shovels, hoes, machetes and all kinds of other yard junk. You should have seen how many chainsaws we moved. It would be great if they weren't using them for the wrong purpose. People said they needed them for defense now. How crazy is that?”

  Angie took a moment to consider. “I'm sure they're just scared. We all are.”

  “You're scared? I've never seen you scared—about anything.”

  “This isn't anything. This is something.”

  “You believe all that internet stuff about zombies and the undead? I've seen videos from overseas, but it looks fake to me. Not half as real as those zombie TV shows.”

  Angie steered the car through the evening traffic. Mary Beth lived in the county with her family, but worked in a small corner hardware store near the double flat she shared with Marty. She spoke with her mother and they agreed to let her stay in the city for the night. Tomorrow Mary Beth would get a ride back home—to hell with working in the dangerous metropolis. She couldn't imagine why her mom insisted she go to work but knew better than to question her about it.

  The fuel shortage was acute so traffic was unusually light, but Angie's tank was full because she did very little travel. She could afford a couple-mile round trip to pick up her granddaughter. The young girl had access to the internet and what was happening overseas, but Angie had spent time in a local clinic as a volunteer. She held her tongue about the things she'd seen “disposed of” by social services. The sickness wasn't just overseas…

  “Once we get to Marty's I want you to stay inside, do ya' hear? I have a bad feeling about the direction things are heading. There are even fewer cars than normal out tonight. Something is wrong.”

  The only regular traffic she could see were emergency vehicles. Several times during their trip through the city blocks she had to pull over to allow the howling cars and trucks to get by. They were coming and going like angry bees.

  “We're almost home, thank God.” Angie could see familiar territory. She drove in front of Marty's house on her way to park the car around back. “Do you want to get out here, dear? You can run in the front.”

  “Nah, I'll go around back, walk you in. We have to stick together, ya' know?” Mary Beth smiled.

  Angie nodded and continued down the block, turned right at the corner, and was just about to turn right into the alleyway when her car was bumped from behind.

  “Oh dear!”

  The collision wasn't forceful, just a strong nudge. It frightened her and she put on the gas rather than the brake, sending the car past the alley. She pumped the brakes and was surprised to see a black van pull around her and then veer to the right, in front of her car. She put the car in park a few feet from the side of the van, and wondered if she even had her registration and insurance information where she could get it.

  With a tired sigh, she said, “Can you check the glove box. My car registration should be—”

  The door of the van slid open in front of them. It was near-dark outside, so it was difficult to see who or what was inside. It was parked so she had a view of the driver's seat through the opening created by the sliding door, but she couldn't make out the driver. Her headlights shone into the van, but revealed nothing.

  Angie reached for her glove box to help Mary Beth with the search, but stopped for a reason she couldn't explain. The van wasn't just a normal van. It was an armored van. She could see the partition behind the front seat. It was a lattice of metalwork, like a dog catcher would use. No one got out of the van to exchange paperwork.

  “Grandma? Everything OK?” There was just a touch of heightened concern in her voice. “Should we maybe leave?”

  “Yeah, maybe—”

  Before she could finish her thought, the front window of the van descended. A few seconds later the occupant threw something at them. The heavy object banged against the glass of the windshield, though it didn't break.

  “What the? Is that...”

  “OH MY GOD!” Mary Beth began shrieking. The object looked very much like a bare foot.

  Something pushed the car from behind. Another van had come up to block them in.

  Time stood still for Angie. She could see something emerging from the emptiness of the cargo van. An arm appeared first. Then a head. The creature was large. The size of a very big man. In fact, as it emerged she could see it was a very large man. He came out on all fours. Sniffing the air.

  It jumped onto the hood of the car, attracted to the bloody foot. It was a hulking thing, wearing nothing but bloody cargo pants and boots. Its upper body was lacerated in many places, though the blood had long since dried. It was gaunt, but the muscles stuck out like some kind of sick medical dummy. The side of his neck was a festering explosion of veins and arteries, as if he had been assaulted by a ravaging wolf. His head was skeletal, with very little hair.

  And the eyes...

  Angie reached over to Mary Beth and put her hand over the girl's mouth. “Shush girl.”

  Mary Beth nodded, but had to put her own hands over her mouth to control her involuntary sobs.

  “Listen. I need you to run to Marty's. I'm going to run the opposite direction, and draw it away.”

  “It's looking—at me.”

  “No, it's looking at the foot. You have to do as I say.”

  The girl shook her head vigorously in the negative. “I...I don't know where she lives. These houses all look the same from the back.”

  “Run back up the street. Find her house from the front.”

  It was the best plan she could summon in the seconds it took to think it. With a final look at her granddaughter, she pulled her keys from the ignition, and opened her door. She ran like hell. As fast as a woman of 58 years in decent shape could run in a pair of cheap tennis shoes. She left her car door open, assuming the thing would follow her. It did jump to the ground as if to pursue, but it stood up and turned to Mary Beth instead.

  “RUN!” Angie screamed.

  The thing turned around, giving her an open-mouthed yell, but then jumped in the car. Mary Beth had opened her door, but wasn't getting out. Not knowing what to do, Angie ran behind her car, and up to Mary Beth's open door. The girl was screaming in mortal terror.

  So much blood.

  Angie tried to pull the girl from the blood-splashed face of the creature, but her seat belt was still hooked.

  “Oh God. Your seatbelt!”

  “Grandma, help.” She wheezed, like she was out of breath.

  Angie moved so she could get a better look at the thing. The creature was now in full sight, tearing into the soft flesh of the teen's side. To get to the seatbelt release she'd have to reach between the thing's teeth and her granddaughter's bloody side. It was impossible.

  “Oh God please help me.”

  Her backseat was empty. She turned forward. She saw the foot, lying on her windshield, nearest the passenger side. She reached for it and brought it back to the gap of the door, ignoring the disgusting feel in her hands. She tried to wield it as a weapon, swinging it as an awkward club against the thing's head. It looked up and snapped several times at her. She tried to swing the foot again as it looked at her, but it was too slippery. It fell uselessly to the floorboard in front of her dying granddaughter.

  The girl had stopped moving. Angie could see her through the tears in her eyes. She took a step back. The person or persons in the van were mak
ing no effort to help. They had done this intentionally.

  When she looked back inside, the thing was looking up at her. She had a second to put another foot behind her, and she did try to close the door. It more or less slithered over Mary Beth, and fell out of the doorway to crouch on the pavement. It looked at her with empty eye sockets. Angie felt a wave of despair envelope her. She stumbled and fell to her backside. She had to resort to crawling backward with her elbows…

  The thing jumped on top of her, covering her with the Mary Beth's blood.

  “Oh God, no! HELP!” She screamed as loud as she could—as if finally realizing there was a need for it—willing someone in the neighborhood to rescue her.

  Pinned to the ground, her last thought was of the girl in the front seat. How she failed her so completely. How quickly this all happened.

  She felt the teeth go into her. She struggled as best she could, but the fear was absolute. She went from panicked resistance to abject surrender in moments. Her vision floundered. Her breathing became labored. She closed her eyes, asking God for forgiveness.

  An eternity later, she saw a man. He shot something at the thing, and it ran. “Are you OK?” he said in slow motion. Then he shouted, “RUN!” before moving out of her field of vision.

  Angie got up, teetering on the edge of awareness. Mary Beth was gone. Not in her seat.

  That's a shame huh?

  Angie walked up the alley; compelled to reach the safety of her home. She looked down at her feet, but the sight of those shoes plodding ahead, one after the other, made her stomach churn. She tried to keep her head up, but that was painful. Her neck was burning on the left side.

  Angie went through the rear gate, and stumbled up the walkway through her backyard, and into the narrow channel between her home and the next. She held her arms out and could almost touch both brick walls. She giggled as she tried.

  She rounded the corner of the house, and moved up the ramp to the pair of front doors. Marty's door was on the right. She looked at it for a long time. Marty could call for help. Marty could—