The Dead Are Sleeping

by Paul Westwood

  I drove quickly, knowing we could easily outrun any Humvee who tried to give chase. But they would have radios and could have setup a roadblock at the gate. So we had to move fast and get there before they knew we were even on the move. I took the turns as fast as I could. The tires screeched and moaned. In a few moments I saw that the gate was up ahead. The tank was there, blocking anyone from leaving. Sarah screamed.

  “Everyone down!” I shouted. I slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel, trying to slide the truck hard to the left. The damned traction control kicked in, slowing our forward movement. The machine gun on the tank opened up.

  The glass on the right side shattered and I could hear the lead projectiles puncturing the steel body of the truck. Sarah screamed again. With gritted teeth I shoved the gas pedal all the way down, praying no bullet would find me. We accelerated away. I could feel that there was something wrong with the steering but as long as we could keep moving forward, I would worry about it later.

  “Is everyone okay?” I shouted, my eyes on the road ahead.

  There was a low groan from behind me.

  “It’s Joel,” Allison screamed. “He’s been shot.”

  I was too busy trying to keep the truck straight to look for myself. “Do what you can for him,” I barked out.

  “Where are we going?” Sarah asked, clutching my arm tightly enough that her fingernails dug into my skin.

  “To the river. Carrie told me that there were boats there. It’s our only way out.”

  October 25th – Late Afternoon

  It was getting harder to keep the truck straight. The way the steering was behaving strangely – unresponsive and loose. I was afraid a front wheel had gone flat. But there was no time to get out and check. Instead I began heading northwest, taking a road that would hopefully lead to the river. If I couldn’t drive out of this town, then an alternate way would have to be found. The street we were on wasn’t deserted. I could see people on the sidewalk, fleeing in the same direction we were headed. There didn’t seem to be anymore fighting; instead a sort of defeated air hovered over the city. The survivors just wanted to escape whatever fate was left for those trapped inside.

  A few blocks later and we reached the downtown.

  “Which way to the boats?” I asked Sarah.

  She pointed to a nearby street sign with a large white arrow pointing straight it ahead. It had the words Riverboat Gambling imprinted with an old-fashioned font that reminded me of the Old West. The truck limped past a few deserted tourist shops – candles, fake antiques, and candy – before running into the end of the street. Here an avenue went along the edge of a river, which was bordered by a wooden boardwalk. Tied up against this were two large riverboats that could have come out of a Tom Sawyer movie. One of the boats had been heavily peppered by gunfire, probably by the helicopter, and was already settled half-way into the water. The other one stilled looked intact enough to float. It was here that a handful of survivors, each carrying whatever they could, were busily boarding the ship.

  I jammed the brakes and shut the engine off. “Grab whatever you can!” I shouted to the others as I slid out of the truck door. I grabbed the shotgun, slung it over my shoulder, and went to help Joel out. The truck on this side had been torn open by a stream bullets. The front tire was flat. With difficulty I opened the back door to found a mess of blood. Allison was busy trying to knot a tourniquet over Joel’s shoulder; the lower right arm a bloody mess of gore, barely held on by the remaining scraps of skin. Joel’s face was pale, the lips bloodless. But he still managed to look at me and give a crooked grin.

  “It isn’t that bad,” he choked out.

  “Can you walk?” I asked with concern, wondering if we had to leave him behind. There wasn’t much time.

  He grimaced before replying, “I think so. With a little help.”

  “I can help him,” Allison said.

  “Okay, I’ll start unloading what I can. Get him onto the ship.”

  I headed toward the back of the truck, where I opened the locked bed. I took my duffel bag of clothes, a sleeping bag, and a box filled with canned food. I handed Sarah her bag and some food. Juggling these items in my arms, I waddled up the gangplank with her following behind.

  “Hurry up!” a man on board shouted at me. He had a gray beard, piercing blue eyes, and skin that that was tanned permanently brown from being out in the sun for years. He was wearing a blue one-piece coverall that was stained with grease.

  I dumped the contents I was holding on the deck and returned to help Allison, who was holding Joel by the arm as he limped up the gangway. Allison had Joel’s rifle slung over her shoulder. It bumped clumsily against her hip. As I went to help, I could see an approaching Hummer coming up the street toward us.

  “We got to go!” I shouted at Allison and Joel. I lifted the latter up by the legs and strung him over my shoulder. With Allison following, I huffed and puffed up the gangway, my feet hitting the deck just as the diesels fired up. The man in the coveralls was gone now. With a lurch the paddle wheels started up and we began to slowly pull away from the dock. I let Joel gently down on the floor and turned to watch the approaching vehicle. It was coming fast, the top-mounted turret pointed at us.

  “Everyone down!” I warned. I hit the deck, pulling Allison with me. Sarah was standing a few feet away, gawking toward our attackers. I couldn’t reach her. The machine gun opened fire as I continued to star at her. Luckily she soon understood what was happening and tried to find shelter by crouching near the pile of luggage we had brought up from the truck. The bullets started whizzing around us, blowing chunks out of the wooden frame. An older woman – gray hair and a blue dress – was hit, sending a spray of blood into the air. I could hear Allison whimpering next to me. That sound washed away as panic gripped my beating heart. We were sitting ducks here. We were going to die.

  There was a pause in the firing. The gunner must be changing belts. My hearing rushed back. The big diesels roared to maximum speed, briefly overcoming the fresh chattering of the machine gun. The paddle wheels churned up a cascade of water – white mixed with a muddy brown. The bullets continued to pepper the deck, but the angle was getting worse for our attackers with most of the lead hitting the back of the boat. It seemed like an eternity – maybe only thirty seconds – when the firing stopped. I took that moment to pull my head up and peer through the rails that ran around this lower deck of the boat. The Hummer was still there at the dock but was getting smaller by every passing moment.

  “Stay here,” I cautioned Allison. She nodded at me with eyes as big as saucers. I got up and sprinted toward the helm, having to jump over the woman who had been shot. She was dead. Her glassy eyes were staring straight up at the sky. I clambered up a flight of stairs and found a door with a sign that indicated this was for employees only. Opening it, I found myself in the bridge. It looked more modern than the fake antique exterior led me to believe. The man in the coveralls was here, working the wheel and backing off the throttle. Ahead of us was the river with trees dotting the banks on both sides.

  He turned to me with a grin plastered on that wizened face. “Well we made it. I don’t know how long she’ll float but we made it.”

  “I’m Tom.” I offered my hand.

  He looked at it, wiped his own hand on the leg of his pants, and then we shook. “I’m called Trevor, or Trev, if you’re in a hurry.”

  “Are you the captain of this ship?”

  He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I suppose you could call me that. I used to be the mechanic on these old ships. They never went out very far in the river and the owner was a real cheapskate who never wanted to pay for anything.”

  “You’re saying the engines won’t last long?”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been spending the last few weeks fixing up both the boats. Carrie thought of them as the escape hatch. Too bad she didn’t make it.”

  “Yeah,” I said in reply. I couldn’t think of anyth
ing else to say for a while. I finally said, “Where are we going?”

  He shook his head. “Nowhere special. For now I’m heading downriver. If we go long enough we’ll hit the Mississippi River. If we go even longer we’ll end up in the sea.” He patted the wheel. “But this old boat won’t do so well out in the big waves.”

  “Just keep her on course.” I was about to explain taking the boat down to New Orleans would be my preferred course but the sound of an approaching helicopter stopped me from saying anything else. I could hear the screams of the passengers.

  “Keep the boat moving,” I told Trevor. “I’ll see what’s happening.” I went out of the door and onto the top deck.

  I could see the helicopter hovering above the ship, maybe forty or fifty feet up in the air. The door gunner had his machine gun pointed down at us. With a free hand he was waving toward the nearest shore, indicating that we should steer the boat over and surrender.

  I gave him my reply. I pulled the shotgun off of my back, lifted it to my shoulder, and fired. The buckshot hit the bottom of the Huey, making a brief shower of sparks on the painted metal. It was enough of a lead blow to make the pilot nervous. He veered off to the side. The gunner opened fire, sending a wild spray of bullets my way. I dove to the side, turned, and landed on my arm with a painful jab that was almost paralyzing. Next to me the wood planking was punctured by a smattering of lead.

  In this awkward position I chambered another round and fired again, this time aiming for the rear rotor. It was a long shot – maybe fifty yards – and had little chance of bringing the helicopter down. The buckshot didn’t seem to do any damage, but some pellet must have hit hard enough to make the pilot nervous. This time the Huey veered further out of range, and also put the gunner at an angle that he couldn’t continue firing at us. I took this chance to run back toward the stairs, where I quickly took the steps down to another deck. I could feel myself shaking, the world in slow motion. I slumped against a wall and lowered my haunches until I could stretch my legs on the floor. The air in my lungs seemed to depart. I panted, wondering what could be done next.

  The sound of the chopper grew loud again. It sounded like they were right over the boat. I didn’t know what to do. Feeling helpless, I put my head in my hands. I felt like crying with frustration. There was a hand on my shoulder. Looking up I saw Allison. She was holding the rifle in her hand, looking more determined than I had ever seen before.

  “Get up,” she spat out.

  I managed to stand, feeling dizzy after the process. I swallowed a few times. My tongue felt thick and dry.

  “You have to help me,” Allison stated. She looked pale.

  “What do you want me to do?” I managed to choke out.

  “Distract that helicopter. I’ll take care of the rest.” She looked determined.

  I clambered up the stairs, all the while trying to steady my nerves. I had experienced too much too soon. I felt like a broken man. From a vantage point a few steps down, I could see the helicopter hovering steadily over the boat. The gunner was looking for a target. I gave him one. I fired the shotgun at him. I didn’t check to see if I hit anything. Instead I ran straight across the deck, heading for the stern. The machine gun opened fire, splintering the wood next to my feet. I was about ready to jump into the water when I heard the crack of a bullet that was just loud enough that it could be heard over the machine gun. Over my shoulder I saw Allison crouched inside the stairwell. She was pointing the rifle toward the helicopter. I turned my attention back to running, forcing myself to go into a zigzag pattern. But there was no reason. The spray of bullets coming my way suddenly stopped. The whine of the helicopter engine increased.

  Stopping in my tracks, I turned in time to see the helicopter dip to the right. The rotors were spinning madly. The Huey kept on going, accelerating hard into the muddy brown water. There was a massive whump sound and the rotor blades struck the water. And then the helicopter seemed to shatter into a million parts.

  I looked over to Allison. She looked shocked by what she had done. Dropping the rifle, she rushed over to my waiting arms.

  I held her tight.

  “I shot the pilot,” she said between crying gasps.

  October 25th – Night

  The boat was anchored in the middle of the river. The partial moon above reflected on the water. I could see it through the windows. As far as the shore was concerned, it could be a million miles away. The survivors were all gathered together on the bottom deck, sheltered inside from the cold evening air. This area of the ship had once been a restaurant with fancy tables and chairs taking up most of the space. A small kitchen and bar – unstocked - was off to the side. The diesels were off, leaving us in the dark.

  I shone the flashlight on the upturned faces, counting how many people had made it out of the town. It was all old people and three adolescents. When I reached the end of the group, I found that there were twenty-three of us, not including the dead woman who still needed a burial. She was wrapped in a tarp down in the engine rooms.

  Allison was sitting in a chair, looking a little lost. It was obvious that she was still thinking of the men in the helicopter she had killed. Sarah was next to her, staring at me expectantly as if I had all the answers in the world. As for Joel, he looked pale and sickly. He was resting on the ground with his back against a wall. His eyes were looking at nothing; jaw clenched tightly with pain. His arm had been bandaged by Sarah but the blood was soaking through the gauze. Trevor was leaning against the door closest to the bridge. Like an experienced sailor he was listening to the sounds of the boat. The others were either gray haired or too young to be of little use in a fighting capacity. We were low on food, only had a few weapons, and were stuck on a boat with only a half tank of diesel fuel left. At least out here the vampires couldn’t get to us – unless they could swim in this kind of current.

  Holding the flashlight loosely in my hand I looked over the assembled group. After clearing my throat I said, “You don’t know me. My name is Tom. My group came to your town the same day it was attacked by that group of soldiers. I wasn’t planning to stay at your town long. With Carrie’s permission and help I was going to head on to New Orleans, where I have some information on this terrible virus. I still plan to make this journey.”

  There was some disgruntled mumblings from my audience.

  I continued on, “My friend Joel is wounded in the arm. Is there anyone with some kind of medical experience?”

  There was a brief pause before an old lady, with her silver hair tied back, raised a hand. She wore a black dress and had plain leather shoes. She said, with a voice that had seen much use, “I used to be a nurse but it was a long time ago. I’ve been retired for years.”

  “It’s still better than anyone else. What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth. I was a nun, working St. Vincent’s hospital in Lexington.”

  “Well, Sister, see what you can do for Joel over there. There’s a first aid kit available. Trevor will show you where it is.”

  With great difficulty she stood up, gave me a grandmotherly smile, and then tottered off with the helping hand of Trevor. I prayed that she made it back without breaking a hip.

  “As I was saying,” I said, returning my attention to the remaining audience, “I’m heading down to New Orleans. Like it or not, you’ll be accompanying me at least part of the way. I’m going to have Trevor take this boat as far as it will go. Before I get to New Orleans I’ll find a place for all of you, somewhere safe to hide until I get back. I’m making this journey to find a cure, maybe even something to stop the vampires forever.” I spread my hands out. “I won’t always be able to stop the real live humans that have been after us, but I’ve been pretty lucky so far. I will see that you are fed and we’ll try to make your stay on the boat as comfortable as possible. Anyone have any problems with this?”

  There were a few murmurs but no one said anything in dissent. I think they were too shell-shocked to disagree; happy to be alive an
d, at least for now, had little thought for the immediate future.

  Elizabeth came back in and began to see to Joel, unwrapping the bandage from his arm.

  I said one last thing to everyone, “There are sofas on the deck above. Find a place to sleep. In the morning we’ll find some more blankets and food. And that includes you too Sarah. I’ll keep watch.”

  They shuffled off. Sarah followed them, giving me a grumpy look.

  I went over to Joel, who was now flat on his back with a grimace pasted on that worn face. Elizabeth was busy poking and prodding at his damaged skin, removing bits of dirt using some fiendish-looking forceps.

  “How are you doing?” I asked him.

  “I’ll live,” he managed to gasp out. “Though I won’t be putting the butt of that rifle against my shoulder anytime soon. I don’t think I could take that.”

  I clasped his good arm. “Just hang in there, okay?” I looked over at Elizabeth, who was doing best to ignore us. I could tell by the tightlipped expression that she was worried. I would have to ask her later what the problem was. It had to be bad news. “I’m heading outside,” I told Joel. “Try to get some rest.”

  He nodded, shutting his eyes.

  I glanced at Allison, who still seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. I decided to give her the space that she needed. When she was ready to talk she could find me.

  I went to the rear of the ship, a back deck with built-in benches. Outside the wind had a biting quality that was perhaps enhanced by the water running by. The sliver of the moon glinted along the surface with a silvery glow. In the darkness – no city lights now - the stars looked bigger than I had ever seen them. Maybe I just had never paid attention before. I shook my head at my own silliness. I had plans to make. There was no time for deep thoughts of my own mortality.

  The back door opened. Turning I saw it was Allison. She rushed over and flung her arms around my neck. I kissed her on the cheek, hugging her tightly.