“You beat him up and locked him in a basement?” Gloria whistled softly. “You guys aren’t very good at making friends, are you?”
She put the van into gear, heading southeast on Torrey Street. Tony dug around inside his jacket and pulled out a battered-looking softcover. I spotted the wide-brimmed hat and shotgun of Dead Mennonite Walking and stifled a groan. “Oh, God, do we have to?”
“Is that the new Ezekiel novel?” Vijay exclaimed. “I didn’t realize it was out.”
Oh, hell. Two zombie literature fans in the van. It was going to be a long trip.
***
Several hours later, we had to stop when we reached a gate and a very big, very intimidating wall.
Gloria peered out the windshield as the wipers did their best to combat the rain spewing down at us from overhead. Vijay had the camera rolling, though I wasn’t sure we still had news networks to broadcast whatever he was getting. Maybe he was just recording for posterity.
“Do any of you remember Hastings actually having a wall?” Gloria finally asked. “Because I don’t. It didn’t when I last interviewed Doctor Lattimore a couple months ago.”
I shook my head. I’d run to Behrens Memorial plenty of times as an EMT, and had run into the proverbial Hastings Wall of Traffic each time…but they’d replaced it with a real wall. And damn quickly.
Who built a wall in so short a time? Better yet, who had the resources?
Fuckers were holding out on us, I decided.
Evie sighed, rearranging her head on my feet. At least someone was able to catch up on her beauty rest.
We needed to get her some food. Living off crackers and old cereal couldn’t be good for her.
Gloria eased us up to a guard station tucked beneath an awning. The soldier standing there looked about twelve, dwarfed by his machine gun and a pair of fatigues at least two sizes too big for him. “Who’re you?” he asked, making sure we could see that he had the safety off.
I almost laughed at him. After everything we’d been through, he just didn’t strike me as all that intimidating.
Gloria cleared her throat, then spoke in a slightly raspier voice than I was used to hearing. “We’ve got an emissary from Camp Elderwood…you guys okay?”
“Elderwood?” The soldier straightened up.
Tony leaned forward, placing himself into the soldier’s line of sight. “Commander Tony McKnight, here on General Hammond’s orders. Why the hell have you stopped transmitting, Private?”
Commander McKnight? I covered my mouth, pretending to cough. Oh, this is gonna be good.
Tony’s hand clamped down on my knee, discouraging the incredulous stare I’d been readying.
“Commander McKnight,” the boy squeaked, “I…uh…our radio’s been malfunctioning…”
“Is that so, Private?” Tony asked. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He sounded just like Hammond snapping at one of his underlings.
“Long-range has been out of order, sir! Short-range…I mean…”
“I don’t care what you mean, son.” Damn, he was good at this. “I need to talk to Captain Durkee. But before that, I need you to tell me where the hell this wall came from, and what you know about someone named Malachi.”
The kid all but twitched beneath his scrutiny. “Captain Durkee is—he died, sir, there’s been a sickness, and—well…Malachi’s…a problem…come on through to processing. Stop in that garage there…” He pointed at something I couldn’t quite make out through the murk. “Go on. We gotta check the back. Standard procedure, sir.”
The soldier waved us through, and Gloria obediently goosed the engine a little bit. We eased forward, and Gloria rolled the window back up.
Dax leaned forward. “Shit. Malachi’s even giving the military base trouble? The walled off military base?”
Gloria felt around the center console, and I saw her gently patting a handgun, as if to reassure herself it was there. “Malachi is kind of an established presence out here. But you wouldn’t know that if you were hanging out in Elderwood.” She eased us into the garage. Gray walls loomed up around us, and fluorescent lighting beamed down through the windshield and windows. “So, out of curiosity, Tony, are you military?”
“My dad served in Vietnam,” he said.
“Fantastic.” Vijay turned off his camera and pulled out the SD card, stuffing it into one of his many vest pockets. “This is gonna end well for all of us.”
Gloria put the van into neutral and rolled down the window. I couldn’t see much from my vantage in the backseat, but a skinny blond twenty-something had marched up to us, bearing far too many patches on his overcoat for a soldier of his age. “Commander McKnight, I apologize for this. I’m Captain Keller; I’ve taken over for Durkee. We need to check you for bites and your van for revenants.”
Yes, because we’re driving around with zombies in the trunk. I kept my mouth shut, though, and let Tony dig his grave a little more. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll find we’re revenant-free.”
Captain Keller peered around Gloria and got a better look at the rest of us, and his mouth tightened slightly. “You’re going to have to surrender those weapons.”
I did not scowl at him; instead, I looked at Tony. They can pry my rifle from my cold, dead hands.
“We’ll discuss that later,” Tony said. “We’ve come a long way. Go check the back.”
He did sound authoritative. Did a commander outrank a captain? Probably not.
“You can’t just go walking around with assault rifles,” Keller said. “We’re not equipped for civilians with firearms. You will all be thoroughly examined before you’re allowed to proceed.”
Oh, I didn’t like this guy one bit.
“Of course,” Tony said.
The officer and his crew headed aft, presumably to gawk at whatever equipment Gloria and Vijay had squirreled away. Tony let out a sigh that dissolved into a hacking cough. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Doogie Howser’s in charge of the last military stronghold in the area. This is gonna be fun.”
“Nah, Doogie Howser is much better-looking than this kid.” Gloria glanced over her shoulder at us, the first signs of real worry crossing her face. “Is this a good idea?”
“We passed good idea a while back,” Dax said. “I thought impersonating a military officer got you into trouble.”
I shrugged, trying to pull my foot away from Evie’s head without disturbing her too much. She kept right on snoring. “We just escaped a horde of undead and an angry biker gang,” I said. “I don’t think it can really get much worse.”
The driver’s door was abruptly yanked open, and Gloria yelped, jerking away from the machine gun shoved into her face. “Commander McKnight, are you aware you’re traveling with a traitor to the United States government? Gloria Fey is wanted on multiple counts of transmitting secret information to civilians—”
“Oh, like the government’s really running anything anymore,” Gloria snapped. She scrambled back further when the gun almost knocked her in the jaw. “Hey! I’m not fighting you.”
Tony leaned forward, scowling at the soldiers standing by the front door. “Relax, kids. I commandeered her van a couple days back to get us through brigand territory.”
Captain Keller stared at Tony, then looked at the rest of us. “Then your companions won’t mind waiting in the brig while we discuss matters.”
Actually, I minded quite a bit.
“Of course not,” Tony said, not looking at us. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy it. Just see to it they’re fed. My wench here needs her hand looked at.”
“Wench?” I exclaimed, and immediately received a glowering stare.
What the hell?
“Sorry, doll,” he drawled. “It’s been fun, y’know? But I’ve got business to attend to, and you need that bandage changed again before your hand rots off.”
He squeezed my knee as he spoke. Maybe he was trying to be reassuring. “Play along,” he murmured when Captain Keller hauled Gloria out
of the van. “Just play the fuck along. They won’t do anything, I’ll make sure of it.”
Survive the zombie apocalypse and go to jail. Unbelievable.
Dax slouched down in his seat. “Shit,” he muttered. “What were you saying, Vibeke? Things can’t get worse, huh?”
“I was wrong.”
It’s the end of the world. Things can always get worse.
Stay Tuned...
The post-apocalyptic hijinks continue in 2013.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my beta readers: Helaine, Chris, and Ry, who pointed out the good, the bad, and the ugly about various versions of this manuscript. It’s undergone some pretty dramatic revisions in the last several months, and it emerged a much better story thanks to their efforts.
I must also issue special props to Ry (yes, again), who got to listen to me whine throughout revisions, and B the EMT, who helped me out with the medical situations, only occasionally raising an eyebrow when I suggested something truly outlandish.
Thanks to Steven Novak for the beautiful cover art, which is probably far too good for a little hack like me.
Thanks also to my editor, who did a bang-up job with the manuscript. Any errors still in here are strictly my own.
Much love to my family, who hoped this whole zombie obsession thing was just a fad. Sorry, gang...but look, a book!
Last but not least, my thanks go out to those who emailed me and posted on my Facebook wall, asking me when the next installment of feel-good, post-apocalyptic wackiness would come. You kept me going through some rough months. This one’s for you.
About the Author
S.P. Blackmore is a freelance writer in Southern California. Check out www.spblackmore.com for news, short stories, and an occasionally entertaining blog.
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
Stay Tuned...
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
About the Author
Death and Biker Gangs (Grave New World) Page 21
