“Shut the hell up.”
“Oooh, tough guy. Mister macho. I heard how you treat little girls.”
“Shut up, or you’re gonna make me shut you up.”
“Oh no, am I in for a spanking?”
“I think you better hear her out, Rich,” said Coombs,
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ask her.”
“Ask her what?” He turned to Langhorne. “What is it you’re supposed to know?”
Alice Langhorne didn’t seem to be listening, suddenly more absorbed in pouring herself a cup of coffee and stirring in a packet of sweetener.
“I’m waiting, Doctor. And if you don’t wipe that smug expression off your face, I’ll do it for you.”
Taking a sip, she said, “Give me a break. Of the three useless captains on this ship, you’re the worst.”
“What are you talking about, three captains? I don’t have time for this.”
“I’m saying, genius, that with Coombs under arrest, some of the men are taking their orders from another captain, and it’s not you.”
“What the hell are you—are you insane or something? Fred Cowper’s long gone, and you know it. We saw the last of him up around the Arctic Circle.”
“He’s not gone. The orders you gave to dispose of his head were never followed—it didn’t get dumped down the TDU. It’s still here.”
“Oh, really? Where? Hidden in the fruit bin?”
“It was in a locker on the third deck until we sent out the shore party. It disappeared after that, and I thought maybe my Xombies had taken it. But now I don’t think so. I believe Fred Cowper’s still on board.”
“Bullshit! I can’t listen to any more of this.” To Coombs, he said, “I suppose you’re going to stand there and swear to me she’s telling the truth.”
“I have no idea. But I will tell you what you already know, that there have been some strange things happening on board. You’ve heard the chatter about the boat being haunted, and it’s not just the kids doing the talking.”
“That’s just sailor superstition. Everybody’s on edge. It doesn’t mean there’s a fucking head rolling around loose.”
“You’re probably right. I don’t know.”
Kranuski steadied himself. “You know, according to strict ship’s protocol, I am authorized to use lethal force if it is necessary to maintain operational integrity. I could execute you both, right here, right now. And I would . . . except that it would only create a worse hazard for me to deal with. I know you both know that—you know I don’t dare kill you. Not with a gun. But fortunately there’s another way of handling traitors and saboteurs on this boat. You’re familiar with the trash-disposal unit. It’s the way I thought we got rid of Fred Cowper, and if I find out you’re lying to me, it’s the way we’re going to dispose of you.”
Langhorne waited until he was finished, her face flushing bright red, then broke into laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I have a weakness for dumb jokes.”
One by one, the boys were being taken—grabbed off their bikes like cattle culled from a herd. Kyle counted down the sounds of crashing bicycles as each one fell: fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve—two-thirds of the guys who had started out were gone. But he was numb to it, in shock from the loss of his brother. If this went on much longer, there wouldn’t be anybody left to meet Sal. If Sal was even still alive. Their mission was a joke, a ruse to get rid of them, just as Russell had said. A plot cooked up by Kranuski and Webb and the rest of the Navy men to conserve the food supply. To save a few pounds of grits.
Far behind them, he heard the crack of a gunshot. Before the sound could fully register, there followed a series of booms like Fourth of July fireworks. In the distance, a plume of black smoke rose into the sky.
“Holy shit,” said Freddy, gasping for breath. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “Keep pedaling.”
“Sounds like a war.”
“Don’t matter what it is; it’s way the hell back there.”
“Maybe it’s a rescue party from the sub!”
“Then they in a world of shit like we are. Ain’t no rescue party. Shut up and keep moving—we’re almost there.”
The street had leveled off, and the end was in sight: They were coming to a T-intersection that Kyle supposed must be Gano Street. He expected to see a highway underpass—a clear route back to the waterfront. But when they got there, there was no underpass, just more houses, and the street sign said GOVERNOR.
Where the hell are we?
The boys were piling up behind him, faces agog with panic, wondering why he was hesitating. “Don’t stop!” they shouted, blue death clawing at their backs. Kyle didn’t know what to do—he couldn’t very well tell them they were lost. It was that damn Sal DeLuca’s fault!
“Over there!” Freddy cried in his ear, pointing up the street.
There it was: another sign for Transit Street, half a block over. So they hadn’t yet reached the end after all. Transit continued on after Governor. Kyle gratefully kicked off, relinquishing his lead as other bikes swept past. Most of them probably knew this part of town better than he did anyway. He was suddenly shaking so hard he could barely grip the handlebars.
Now the street was wider, beginning to dip downhill. The twelve remaining boys had all caught up with each other and were riding clumped together like a school of bait fish. Nobody wanted to be on the outside. Another block down, and they could see water—a river or an arm of the bay—bordered by green fields.
“That has to be the Seekonk,” Todd called. “Which means Gano Street is straight ahead!”
With this news there was no stopping them. Legs spinning, hearts surging with wild hope, the pack spread out a little, swarming downhill as fast as they could, faster than even Xombies could run. As speed and momentum increased, so did their sense of power: Boys carrying crowbars, hammers, and makeshift lances took the lead, jousting down the few Xombies that blocked their path, clearing the road.
At the bottom lay Gano Street. A few blocks to the right was the passage to India Point Park—and the bay. All they had to do now was zip through there before the Xombies got wind of them. Then they would be back on the waterfront, fenced off from the rest of the city, within spitting distance of the rafts. Practically home free.
It was all just as Sal had said . . . but where was he?
Kyle slowed at the bottom of the hill, brakes squeaking.
“What are you doing, man?” said Freddy, wobbling up short beside him. “We gotta go!”
“You go ahead,” said Kyle. “I’m gonna wait a few minutes.”
Freddy was dumbfounded. “Wait? Wait for what?”
“In case Sal shows up.”
“Sal? Are you kidding, bro? He’s dead, come on!”
“No doubt. You guys go—go! I’ll come in a couple minutes.”
“Don’t be stupid, man,” said Todd Holmes. He was a slight but wiry boy, with a faint mustache and ropy blond dreadlocks. He had learned tattooing while in juvie for felony tagging (he was the infamous TH, whose initials graced every corner of Providence), and his forearms were covered with bluish black runes. Todd was the boat’s artist-in-residence and, probably because he didn’t speak much, was something of a guru among the nubs. “Once we go under that bridge, it’s gonna bring all those things down after us. Nobody else is gonna be able to get through there. That’s why we all have to go together, now.”
“That’s why you have to go! So go! Get the fuck out of here!”
“Why are you doin’ this, man?” Todd said softly, urgently. “Because of Russell?”
“Shut up.”
“I understand, man; he was like a brother to me, too . . .”
“Shut up.”
“If he wants to stay, leave him,” said Derrick Agostino, wild-eyed with fear. “Sorry, man, but we can’t waste any more time.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” said Kyle.
Freddy said, “But he’s just—”
“Leave him! We gotta go, do you get it?” Derrick pointed down the street. “Dumb shit, look!”
“Oh my God.”
All of a sudden their escape route was rotten with Xombies, hordes of blue figures pouring down the highway on-ramp and out of the side streets.
“Too late,” said Todd, “they’ve seen us. What do we do now?”
“Whatever we’re gonna do, just do it,” said Derrick. “Here they come.”
Kyle looked up the hill. More Xombies were coming down Transit Street, a whole pack of raving “blue meanies.” That was a name some of the boys had picked up on the ship because it softened the terror. But nothing could disguise the awfulness of seeing his own brother skittering among them. No, Russell. He grieved. Not you, man. “We gotta do what Sal was trying to do,” Kyle croaked, forcing himself to look away. “Lead ’em off, then ditch them and circle back around. Come on.”
The lowest concentration of Xombies looked to be in the open fields right across the road, so Kyle went that way, cutting across the parking lot of a Dunkin’ Donuts. The other boys followed eagerly, grateful just to be moving. Riding as hard as their weakened conditions allowed, they raced for green lawns. A Xombie in their path was caught up in a gauntlet of vengeful blows, clubbed down and quickly pulverized, its head impatiently struck from its body and batted away like a polo ball. They knew the drill now: Get them before they got you. Don’t flinch. Team-work. Leaving the broken thing flailing in their wake like a defective toy, they left the pavement for soft grass.
They were on an athletic field, with basketball courts and a baseball diamond, bisected by a dirt track. A high, mowed berm rose along the edge of the field, to prevent balls from escaping into the surrounding marsh, and tall brush bordered the sides. Just up the shore was an ancient railroad drawbridge, an overgrown, rusty colossus jutting permanently into the sky.
They took down another Xombie on the grass—it was getting easier. But there was also a lot of room here to maneuver, to overwhelm with force, and Kyle knew that unless there was also a way out, these same advantages would soon favor the Xombies. The boys were already very tired and could only ride in circles for so long. In a few minutes, it was going to be a hellish playground, the ultimate game of tag.
“We need a back door,” Kyle called, resting his heavy monkey wrench on the handlebars. “Somewhere we can retreat to when the time comes. Where’s this road go? Anybody know?”
The others shook their heads. Todd asked, “Don’t you?”
“I never been here before.”
“Well, what the—” Before Todd could register his incredulity, a whoop rose up from far in the rear. All of them turned in amazement.
It was Sal DeLuca. Riding his bike like a daredevil, Sal was flying, thrusting all out down the hill, whipping between Xombies right and left. The creatures hardly had time to see him before he shot past. As he reached the bottom, momentum peaking, he barreled toward a converging mass of them in the donut-shop parking lot. It looked hopeless for him, his way blocked. Look out, man! Kyle thought, scalp prickling.
Sal didn’t stop; he charged right into them at top speed. A dozen maniacal blue devils leaped to tackle him, but suddenly Sal hit a beveled parking bumper, bouncing his bike straight up and over as the Xombies violently cracked heads below.
Now he was away and clear, cruising onto the grass as if just having broken the victory tape, his face flushed with relief and exertion. But as he drew near, his expression flattened with concern.
“Where is everybody?” he demanded, pulling up alongside.
“They dead,” said Kyle. “Where you been?”
“Dead, are you kidding? How?”
“Same way we gonna be if we don’t do something quick.” A Xombie approached, and the bigger boys clubbed it down. “How do we get out of here, dammit?”
“Under the highway!” Sal said.
“That road is closed—look!” Xombies were now covering Gano Street from one end to the other, swarming like enraged ants.
“Oh. Shit . . .” Blanching at the sight, Sal fumbled out his map. He had to stop reading as it became necessary to flee.
Riding for their lives, Kyle said, “Well?”
“I don’t know! The only way is to go under the highway to India Point!”
“Well, we obviously can’t do that!”
“It’s either that or jump in the river!”
“That’s bullshit, man! There’s gotta be another way!”
Sal shook his head. He didn’t say what he was thinking: Dream on, dude. You took too long to reach the underpass. You were too slow, and you blew your chance to ever leave this park. You shouldn’t have let yourselves get surrounded like this—that was dumb, wicked dumb. I did my part, risked my ass to draw them off, and what do I get? Bunch of dumb nubs, that’s what I get. Now I get to die with you—thanks. Thanks a lot.
“What about that smoke? What’s that?”
“What smoke?”
Kyle pointed it out to him, a small puff of gray rising above the tree line.
“That wasn’t there before,” said Todd.
“Maybe there’s somebody there!” Freddy cried hopefully.
“Yeah, maybe somebody’s trying to signal us,” Derrick said.
Scanning the USGS map, Sal said, “This says there’s nothing back there but some old train tracks. Mr. Tran specifically marked it off-limits, see? It’s in Lulu’s area of operation.”
“I thought they were supposed to be way the hell over on the opposite side of town.”
Sal shrugged helplessly. “Looks like there’s a tunnel or something. All I know is, it says not to go this way.”
Kyle said, “Well, maybe we need Lulu’s help at this point, you ever think of that?”
“How can Langhorne’s pet Xombies help us? They’re just a bunch of . . . Xombies!”
“Idiot! Those Smurfs of hers are hooked up directly to the boat—at least we can let Langhorne know we’re in trouble.”
It was an incredible idea, running to Xombies for help, but Sal couldn’t think of any argument. They had no choice. And there was no time to debate it anyway. “All right, let’s go.”
The road became a rough path through the sticks. Now they had to pick their way more carefully, agonizingly aware of hideous goons flooding across the field behind them, hemming them in. Sal alone could possibly make a break for it, a last-ditch effort to lead the Xombies away, but he couldn’t bring himself to try. He was exhausted, they all were. Subconsciously preparing to quit—just to let go.
Far from getting out of the park, the boys were becoming ever more deeply cornered in it, forcing their bikes down a muddy hollow littered with beer cans and plastic jugs and dirty diapers, junk tires and box springs. It stank of rotten eggs—the brackish nearness of the marsh. The path became uneven, rolling upward, hemmed in by scarlet sumac and walls of reeds—once they got into that brush and had to start running on foot, it would be all over.
They came to a set of ancient railroad tracks, leading eastward toward the monolithic, upraised trestle, and west down a tunnel of dense foliage. There was a flattened car across the tracks. Sal entered the leafy passage. He didn’t know how far they would get before the Xombies caught up, but it was worth a try.
“Where does this lead to?” asked Freddy Fisk from behind.
“A train tunnel, I think. It goes under the whole East Side. If we can sneak back under cover like this, maybe we can pull an end run to the rafts,” Sal said hopefully. “Nice call, Kyle.”
“My pleasure, man—can we just go?”
Now they were able to pick up the pace though they could only ride single file, and at times the greenery was so thick that they had to push their way through.
“You think there are ticks in here?” asked Freddy G. People hissed at him to shut up. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of Lyme disease?”
“Shut the hell up, man.”
Freddy decided no
t to ask about poison ivy.
Bumping along the old railway ties, the boys were hyperalert to any sound or movement in the surrounding woods, but all was silence. It became swampy, the ground a soggy mulch of dead leaves and trash and black mud, the rank material clinging to their tires and flying up behind them in greasy clods. The mulch gave way to puddles, then a continuous oily pool that gradually rose to cover the tracks.
Sal stopped, hanging on to a branch rather than put his feet down. As Kyle pulled up alongside him, he whispered, “Yo. Check it out.”
Ahead of them was a yawning black cavern flanked by graffiti-ridden concrete buttresses—an old train tunnel. This was the source of the smoke they had seen. A lazy gray plume still wafted from the darkness. Though obviously condemned and shut up for many years, the tunnel’s steel doors had been breached and now stood wide open, like a gateway to some infernal kingdom.
“Should we try calling down there?” Sal asked.
“I don’t know,” said Todd.
“Well, I ain’t goin’ in there,” said Kyle.
“I know,” Sal readily agreed. “It’s too bad, though. If we could use this tunnel, we might be able to cross right under the hill without the Xombies ever seeing us. Take a shortcut back to the boats.”
“Yeah, but if there are some of them in there . . .”
“I know. Plus, we have no lights, and we don’t even know if it’s open on the other end.”
“Not to mention it’s flooded.”
“That too.”
“So what now?”
“We have to climb up there to the street.” Sal indicated the steep wooded bank.
Kyle looked at the thick underbrush. “With our bikes?” The other boys, who had been gathering behind, looked shell-shocked and utterly whipped—they could barely keep their bikes upright. “It’ll take forever for all of us to get up there. The Xombies are comin’ now, man. And bet your ass there gonna be more up top.”
Sal erupted, “What the hell do you want me to say? We gotta do something! You’re the one who—”
As he spoke, he became aware of a hollow rushing sound like the echo from a storm drain. Kyle’s eyes flicked past him and suddenly grew wide, fixing on something, their dilating pupils vivid with a pale light of terror. Freddy and the other boys gaped as well, all of them rocked with the same unspeakable fright. Sal turned his head.
Xombies: Apocalypticon Page 12
