When they arrived, Moms wasn’t answering the door. She let herself and Alexa in and called out but there was no reply. They walked back to the den because they could hear the TV. On it, the news of the virus was blaring. It was much more deadly than originally thought. Moms was in her recliner in front of the TV, her hand clutched in her shirt, her face a rictus of pain.
“Moms!” Georgia rushed to her side, and checked for a pulse—there was none, even though she was still warm. Must have just happened. Oh Moms….I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. Picking up the phone to call 911, she got the fast-busy signal that indicated all circuits were busy. Everyone must be calling about the explosions.
Alexa was shaking her grandmother, begging her to not leave, to come back. As she hung up the phone, Alexa chastised her mother for not starting CPR. With more patience than she knew she had, she explained to Alexa how Moms’ pacemaker had a built-in defibrillator that would have gone off and that it was quite powerful. No amount of CPR was going to bring her back if the defibrillator hadn’t. Even a cart full of drugs and a full hospital-grade defibrillator wouldn’t make a difference at this point. There was nothing they could do. Moms was dead.
Silently, she put her hand on Moms’ forehead to close her eyes, returned Moms’ hands to a peaceful position on her lap, and gently kissed her goodbye. Alexa followed suit. They both sat on the couch across from Moms’ lifeless body. Georgia was numb with grief, but with a rising fear of what was going on outside of the house. Alexa’s body hitched with the tears she made no effort to try to control.
After a period of time, the news blaring on the TV started filtering through to her brain. More about the virus. She turned to see Alexa, no longer crying, her mouth agape and finger pointing. The word on the screen was zombies.
“Zombies?! No shit! After all the crap on TV, it’s real?” Alexa, shocked out of her grief, simultaneously expressed both surprise and the lack thereof. Teenagers! Georgia thought, there’s just no understanding them. Was I really ever one? Remembering the few episodes of “The Walking Dead” she had watched with Alexa, she walked to the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen knife and returned, not sure if she was ready to do what she must if the stories were true.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s fake news. There are no zombies,” she reassured her daughter, but really she was trying to convince herself. Alexa raised an eyebrow at the knife in Georgia’s hand that belied her statement. Just then Moms’ eyes snapped open, unseeingly, and she sat up in a way that Moms hadn’t been able to for years, and turned toward them, mouth opening. Without hesitation, Alexa grabbed the knife from her mother’s hand and stabbed what had been her grandmother just a short time ago, right in top of her head. As the lifeless body returned to the chair, Alexa stumbled backward, dropped the knife, and ran for the bathroom, where she promptly puked.
“How did you know that would work?” she asked, as Alexa returned.
“I didn’t. I just figured it works in the stories,” she said, wiping her mouth off with her arm. “We had to do something or we were screwed.”
“Language, Alex!”
“Seriously Ma? I just saved our lives, and you’re worried about a bad word. We have a lot worse to worry about!” came Alexa’s retort.
“You’re right,” Georgia said, shaking her head. “But I just can’t believe it’s zombies. This is crazy. But…just in case, let’s shut off all the lights, and close all the curtains. Where the hell does Moms keep the candles and flashlights?”
“Ma! Language!” Alexa smirked.
***
They bedded down in an upstairs bedroom, feeling safer up there than on the first floor. Georgia worried a little that one might come through the sliding glass door, or climb up a trellis. Could they do that? Act intentionally? she wondered. Can they smell us? Sleep did not come easily. She tossed and turned, and finally, before dawn, just gave up hope of sleep. She saw that Alexa, too, was wide awake.
“Alexa, we have to make a plan. And, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we have to plan how to survive zombies. Let’s start gathering supplies,” she said. But where we’ll go, I have no idea, she thought. “Why don’t you go through Pops’ knives? He had some really good ones. Grab the longest, sturdiest ones you can get.” It was a good thing that chefs kept their own knives, and that Pops threw nothing away. Georgia was sad to think what his prized knives would be used for now. While Alexa dealt with the knives, she looked around and located extra batteries for the flashlight, and some water bottles. As she was digging around in a very useful-looking backpack, she found Moms’ base ID.
That’s it! That’s who blew up the bridges. The military on Joint Base Cape Cod did it to make the Cape an Island—to keep the zombies off it!
“Alexa, we’re going to the base. The folks there seem to have a plan.”
“That’s who blew up the bridges?” Alexa’s head cocked to one side.
“It had to be. Who else would have the ability? They probably did it to keep zombies off the Cape,” Georgia said. Perhaps they were successful and our preparations are for nothing, she hoped.
Her plan was to was to drive to the back of the base, either through the back gate of the base, or, as a backup, further down Route 130 at the end of the landing strip. The second choice meant some walking. It all hinged on how far they could drive. They’d have to go north on 6A to get to Quaker Meetinghouse Road so they could cross over to 130. That portion of 6A was densely populated with little motels. She had no idea what they’d face there, or frankly anywhere along the route. Would they run into dead, or rather undead people in cars? Would there be zombies walking the street? Maybe they’d find other survivors. She hoped that the virus’s spread to Cape Cod had been minimal.
Even if they got to Quaker Meetinghouse Road, they still had to get past its areas of population, which fortunately were few. They had to get down Route 130. There were a lot of variables and it was all a big gamble. But if they got to 130, she thought they’d be OK. It would be the indicator that the virus had not taken hold here on the Cape. But if they did run into trouble, they’d have to move to Plan C—ditch the car and hike through backyards and woods. This was only viable at all because there were few houses between Route 130 and the base. She liked having a plan and backups.
They hunted around the house for more supplies. They found Ramen, dried fruit, nuts, and peanut butter—camp food! She was sad remembering how Moms had gotten rid of her tent and camping gear last year. She had reluctantly decided to forego the potluck camping events with her friends that she had been participating in for thirty years. But Georgia thought she might still have a tarp, as they had many uses.
“Alexa, can you go down to the basement and see if you can find a tarp or two? Check the garage, too, but do it quietly. I’m going to see if the internet is still up so I can print out local maps,” she called over her shoulder, heading into the office.
She was actually hoping that Moms still kept a gun somewhere and that she could find it. A gun would be so much better than just Pops’ chef knives.
Rummaging around in the desk for paper, she pulled the drawers all the way out, remembering the secret drawer in the old desk that held Moms’ gun when she was a kid. No luck. But from where she was sitting she could see what looked like the corner of a lockbox on a shelf under the cloth-covered bedside table in Moms’ bedroom.
Pulling it out, she noted the tumbler lock—it had six rollers. Oh, thank God, she thought. This is an easy one. She rolled the numbers to Moms’ birthdate and heard the satisfying click of it unlocking. She was rewarded with a Sig Sauer P238, in Muddy Girl Pink. It was fully loaded. A single box of ammo sat next to it.
They loaded up her jeep with the supplies they had found, adding a few pillows and blankets at the end. These were not just for sleeping but as window buffers in case a zombie got near them and tried to break through.
Georgia started the car and hit the button to roll the garage door up, unsure if there would be one zombie, or a h
undred just past the doors. She was ready to ram through them if there were. There weren’t. As they headed down the driveway, they saw Joe and Pete loading their pickup truck, so she pulled up and rolled down the window.
“Hey, Joe, Pete. I can’t believe this is happening. Did you hear? Zombies!”
“Yeah, we heard. It’s crazy. The regular news went off the air last night about 11. The only thing we’re getting is radio reports…the cops are still trying to manage things.” Joe took off his hat and ran his hands through his thick but graying hair.
“Where are you headed?” she asked. “We were thinking of going to Otis, I mean Joint Base Cape Cod. I think it was them that blew up the bridges.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. The news was all zombie virus stories at a national level. Zombies in DC, zombies in Jersey. Nothing about the Cape, not even the local stations. But two explosions….I should have put two and two together that it was the bridges. But what about the railroad bridge? I didn’t hear a third explosion.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right. So it’s not quite an island. We could get off of here. But then, where would we go? Doesn’t matter, I’m still making for the Base. Join us? Or we could join you. What were you guys planning to do?”
“We were just going to head for the water and steal a boat, but the Base sounds like a better option—if they’re not overrun. How are you getting there? It’s a long way up 6A, around the Bourne Rotary and down.” He cocked his head sideways, crinkling the corner of his eyes.
“The back way,” she smiled, waving Moms’ ID card.
“Great idea! But where’s Frieda?” Her face gave him all the answer he needed. “I’m so sorry. Your mom was a cool lady! That must have been awful,” he paused. “Okay, we’ll follow you ladies.”
“Wait, should we check if the Simpsons are home? Or what about Allie and Dave?” she asked, hoping that their other neighbors had not met the same fate as her mother.
“Already did that, at the crack of dawn. We used their keys to let ourselves in. Both houses were empty.”
Satisfied, she started the Jeep up again, as Joe and Pete hopped in their pickup. They got out of the neighborhood with little effort, seeing only one zombie on a side street. It bounced off the side of Georgia’s car with a sickening thud and then attempted to give chase, despite its two broken legs. Route 6A was a bit more challenging, as there was a spot with a few abandoned cars, one of them a cruiser, with zombies around them. She figured that that one driver had hit a zombie, unaware of what it was, and gotten out of the car to investigate, and gotten bitten. Then the cop showed up and followed suit.
They managed to navigate around the cars, taking out the three zombies the same way as they had managed the one in the neighborhood. They weren’t dead, but they were not going to hinder them.
Quaker Meetinghouse Road was more of the same. Two small groups of cars like on 6A. This time what worked was for Georgia to hit the zombie. It then bounced off her car, and when it went down Joe ran over its head. At the high school entrance, there were nearly a dozen zombies and four cars to negotiate. They were all on the right side of the cars, pulled onto the right shoulder. She reached into the back of her pants and got the gun, and handed it to Alexa, who took it and just stared. She wasn’t sure if Alexa was more surprised that her mom had a gun, or that her mom was giving it to her to use.
“See the little lever on the side? That’s the safety. Flip it off,” she told Alexa, who nodded. Taking the gun, Alexa did as her mother instructed, and when she found her voice, it was to squeak, “Cool! It’s pink!! A pink gun! Moms is awesome…was awesome,” and then she was silent again.
“Yes, it’s pink,” she replied, amused that this was what her daughter had chosen to say. “If we get overrun, shoot the zombies, but not until I say so.”
Staying in the right lane, she proceeded slowly. The zombies made their way from the right shoulder toward her. At the last moment, she jerked the Jeep into the oncoming lane and gunned it. She made it past them unscathed. Joe followed suit, taking out three of them as he went. The others couldn’t keep up. But she knew if they got stopped at any point, the zombies could catch up with them.
They crossed over Route 6 without incident, but the intersection at Cotuit Road was a challenge. From a distance, she could see that the mini-mall there had been overrun. She slowed to a stop. The movie theater and the Stop and Shop must have gotten attacked overnight. There were literally a hundred zombies milling about in the intersection, perhaps confused by the traffic lights and that annoying noise they made to indicate that it was safe for pedestrians to cross. Joe pulled up next to her and indicated they should reverse without turning around. They did, until they reached a side street they could pull onto. They needed to get off the road before the nine zombies that were following them caught up, trapping them. If they were “lucky” those zombies would join the Cotuit Road herd instead of finding them.
Alexa and Pete kept watch while she and Joe consulted the map. All her plans had been contingent on their getting to Route 130. That was not going to happen now. They came up with a Plan D—Cape Cod Airfield in Marstons Mills. Joe had recently gotten his private pilot license. If there was a plane there, and Joe was sure there would be, they could fly it to the Base. Even better was that the roads that led to it were very sparsely populated—big houses, far apart, lots of undeveloped land. If they had to, they could walk. That was Plan E.
Behind her, Alexa giggled excitedly at the idea of flying in a small plane.
***
With Joe in the lead this time, they managed to drive down Pinkham Road to Farmville to Race Lane, which led them to the Cape Cod Airfield. They ran into the occasional zombies along the way, in ones and twos, bouncing them off Joe’s pickup, and running them over with her Jeep. It started to feel routine. She almost felt safe.
As they got near the airfield, Joe indicated that they should pull into a side road. They got out of their vehicles in the nearest driveway and Joe began explaining that they needed to enter the airfield silently so as not to attract attention. Just then, two zombies came around the corner of the house, a young woman, followed by what had obviously been her four-year-old child. Joe rounded on the woman and took her out with a single blow, but not one of them could bring themselves to kill the little one. It was still a child, in a cute flowered sundress and one white sandal. Inside the house, the “father” was pressing against the large bay window, apparently trying to get out to them.
“Okay, we have to take care of her or she’ll follow us, and we have to do it before he gets out. Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock?” Pete suggested.
“Oh, just give me the knife. If I can kill my own grandmother, a little kid can’t be that bad,” Alexa offered.
“We’ll do it together,” said Pete.
Pete put his hand on the top of the little one’s head, and while she struggled to bite him, Alexa came up from behind and slid a knife quietly into the base of her skull. The zombie-child fell to the ground lightly and without a sound.
“Ugh, that was grosser than I thought. Her head was kinda soft,” she said, as she casually wiped the zombie blood onto her jeans. Pete just stared.
They put everything they could into backpacks, or pockets of clothing (the gun was once again tucked into Georgia’s waistband at the back) and sneaked as quietly as they could onto the airfield. They were lucky on two fronts. Number one, they ran into no other zombies. Number two, there were several planes on the ground. It had been late in the day on Sunday, in the shoulder season, when the virus hit the Cape, so most, if not all, of the planes were on the ground. The first planes they came to were the ones used by the sky diving outfit that used the airfield as its base. They were all bigger, louder planes. Then there were the two-man biplanes that were used to give tours for visitors. Just beyond those, there were three small private planes, but two turned out to be locked. Joe figured if all of them were locked, they’d deal with prying a door open, but he wanted to chec
k to see if one might have been left unlocked. The third one appeared to be, but it had someone in it. Or it had been someone, but now it was something.
“It’s a Cessna 182, good,” Joe said. “Single engine, holds four. I am rated for that craft.”
“Really? You’re worrying about regulations?” Alexa snarked under her breath.
Pete, who heard Alexa, smiled as he tested the door, and found it unlocked. He distracted the zombie, while Joe opened the door on the other side and dispatched the zombie. Getting it out was difficult. I’ll bet Joe has trouble getting in and out with his 6’2” frame, Georgia mused.
“Pete and I will remove the chocks, push this baby to the end of this runway, then we’ll all get in, start it, I hope, and take off.”
“You hope?” Georgia asked, with growing agitation.
“I don’t know if there’s anything wrong with it, and I certainly won’t know if there’s fuel until I start it up.” He thought for a moment, then half smiled, half winced. “Fuel…”
“We’re gonna need fuel, aren’t we?” she asked, running her hand back from her forehead through her hair. When he nodded sheepishly, she replied, “Alexa and I are no help pushing the plane, so we’ll go check in what passes for a hanger over there, and see if there are any fuel cans.”
“It’s not actually that heavy,” he replied.
“That’s great. Too late. Let’s just do it this way, OK?” she asked, getting irritated.
While the guys positioned the plane and Joe did pre-flight checks, Georgia and Alexa approached the hanger. Noises indicated that there were at least one or two zombies within—either that or a whole bunch of angry cats. The barn-style doors were open, so she peeked around a corner quickly and could see that there was a biplane within. It was probably in for service. There was someone, or rather, something in the cockpit, apparently trapped. That one should be easy so long as it doesn’t figure out how to get out, she thought. A second one, wearing coveralls, was lumbering about aimlessly. Just beyond the zombie, she could see a few cans of what could be airplane fuel. Keeping her eye on it, she began to formulate a strategy, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Alexa, cat-like, climbing onto the biplane behind the trapped zombie. She quietly slid the knife into the base of its skull and started to jump down.
Apoc Series (Vol. 1): Whispers of the Apoc [Tales From The Zombie Apocalypse] Page 9
