Wheels and Zombies (Book 3): Aground

by M. Van

  A light blinked on the computer screen, and William reached up to hand him a headset. As he placed it on his head, he heard the crackle of static before it changed into a dial tone. William nodded, peering at the screen.

  Warren pulled out a chair and sat down. He had never been a man to choke on nerves—it wasn’t his style—but he could feel his heartbeat pick up a little traction. He drew in a breath as he heard a click on the line.

  “Vissers,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Mr. Vissers, how delightful to finally be able to speak with you,” Warren said in a cheerful voice. William glanced up, raising an eyebrow at Warren. Warren couldn’t help a cold, calculated smirk from morphing on his face. “My name is Dr. David Warren, head of the FMDT, and it has come to my attention that you have a predicament concerning your daughter.”

  | 9

  As predicted, several roadblocks kept us from venturing off the main road. The military had turned the city of Jackson into a fortress. We had to wait in line behind other cars. I didn’t recognize the vehicles but guessed some of them must have come from the gas station in Terry. Burned-out cars stood along the side of the road and created a funnel for us to drive through. Anyone who wanted to enter the city needed to pass these funnels—at least that’s what Michael said. The cars had been placed there on purpose, so the checkpoints at the end of the funnels had a narrow line of fire, in case someone had brought along an infected individual or something.

  I had no idea how the military would be able to contain the rest of the city. A wall of burned-out cars just seemed plain stupid.

  “The idea of the funnel is also to slow the vehicles approaching,” Michael said, answering the question I hadn’t asked. I glanced at him sideways.

  “You know, to see if you turn crazy waiting in traffic,” he said.

  As we waited for the car in front of us to move another few yards, the putrid smell of decay wafted inside the car through the open window. I closed it. Until then, I hadn’t seen or maybe didn’t want to see the bodies that had been dumped at the side of the road. People worth no more than the carcass of a burned-out car filled the ditches parallel to the road or still sat behind the wheel, black and charred as if a flamethrower had been unleashed upon them. I wouldn’t put it past the military—I had seen their methods of cleanup. On I-678, they had also used flamethrowers to rid themselves of the remaining zombies, and they had used some type of firebomb dropped from an airplane to take out the lab in Florida.

  “Keep your distance,” Michael said as we neared the final checkpoint.

  As I took my foot from the gas pedal I glanced into the rearview mirror. In the back, the Shaffers had fallen silent. They had been bickering about everything and nothing for most of the trip to Jackson, but their mouths locked up immediately after we entered the funnel. Dead bodies would do that to you.

  On the mattress that served as our bed, I could just see Ash staring out the window with a thousand-mile gaze on her face, while a white cord ran up to the plugs in her ears. Those big blue eyes stuck in that endless haze always twisted my stomach into knots. It reminded me that a kid shouldn’t have to go through stuff like this, especially not a kid whose previous life had been just as shitty. But then, how many kids like her were out there right now? I couldn’t bear thinking about it, but it also strengthened my resolve and my desire to get her out of here.

  I shifted in my seat to sit up straighter and put on my sunglasses.

  “What do I say?” I asked Michael as we drove up to the soldier waving us down and stopped.

  “Just let me do the talking,” he said with an underlying tone of sarcasm. I glanced at him sideways, my jaw clenched.

  “No offense, but the accent,” he said as he shook his head and made a little tsk sound. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not bad, but I’m not getting arrested over it.”

  “Why would they arrest you if I have an accent?” I said and scowled at him.

  There was a knock on my window before he could answer. I turned to the man standing outside with an impatient look on his face and pressed the button to lower the window. The air filtering inside felt hot enough to burn my lungs, but luckily the smell of death had subsided.

  “Your business,” the soldier stated as if he were addressing a rookie. I might not have served or undergone any type of training, and maybe a year ago, I would have felt intimidated, but these days, I couldn’t care less of the “I’m-the-authority-here” mentality.

  Unflinching, I glared at him. Admittedly, it helped knowing he wouldn’t be able to study my eyes because of the sunglasses. The soldier looked as most soldiers I had encountered—full body armor, flashy shades, and a helmet—although this one hadn’t shaven in a while.

  I noticed two inverted Vs on his shoulder, and although I had no idea what rank that would be, I knew with the three on my shoulder, I outranked the little shit.

  The soldier cocked his head at me, probably expecting me to speak, when Michael reached over and extended a card. The soldier took it and instructed us to wait.

  In the back the Shaffers had woken from their silent state.

  “What’s going on?” Dick asked and poked his head between the front seats.

  “Just sit back and be quiet,” Michael answered. “Once we’re cleared here, we will get you sorted with the rest of the refugees heading across the Mississippi.”

  “Refugees,” Suzanne exclaimed, “but we haven’t brought anything. We have no clothes, nothing.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be provided with the essentials,” Michael said.

  Suzanne started to cry, and Dick retreated into the back to console his wife. In the rearview mirror, I could see Ash staring at me. The sunglasses on her nose hid most of her face, but I could tell she worried—the same as me.

  The soldier returned with Michael’s card and handed it to him.

  “Sir, you’re wanted at the airport ASAP,” he said. “Civilians are not allowed—they’ll have to exit the vehicle over there.” The soldier pointed at what looked like the parking lot of a dinner.

  “Fine by me,” Michael replied and waved at the man.

  I glanced at the Shaffers for a final time in their colorful tracksuits, sneakers, and flip-flops. Their faces had turned grim as they waved their final good-bye.

  Michael seemed to understand Ash and I belonged together. He didn’t ask whether she should stay with the Shaffers and didn’t mention her to the inspecting soldiers; the fact that the private sitting in the back was probably closer to the age of ten than the eighteen years required to enlist didn’t seem to be a problem. He didn’t even let them enter the truck, and it made me wonder what type of clearance this guy had. He must be pretty important if he could give orders to the military.

  We had no trouble locating the airport, but that probably had something to do with the fact that it was well marked, and similar funnels constructed of cars and busses lead straight to it.

  The city as we passed it looked deserted—not in a destroyed or wrecked kind of way, but just deserted as if life had decided to step out. I figured most of the population had left. It’s what I would have done if I had found out that crossing the Mississippi might save my life.

  Of course, we came across the occasional checkpoint where soldiers bustled about. Military vehicles in all shapes and sizes appeared everywhere I looked, along with the soldiers who kept a sharp eye on us as we passed.

  In a street that looked as though it used to be a fun place to shop, I noticed activity at a Pizza Hut. The place looked packed with men and women dressed in green. On the sidewalk, groups of soldiers stood in easy conversation, and there was an actual waiting line that led inside the restaurant.

  The smell of baked dough, meats, and vegetables filled the truck through the open window and made my mouth water. With regards to supplies, Ash and I have had nothing to complain about on our travels, but it mostly came out of cans and cardboard boxes. It had been a while since we had some real food.


  A glance at Ash through the rearview mirror told me she had a similar thought. As if she sensed me watching her, she looked up. A smile almost lit up her face. I couldn’t read her mind, but I could guess what she was thinking. Our first shared dinner after we had met at the hospital back in Brooklyn had been pizza.

  “I wouldn’t mind a slice of that,” Michael said, eyeing the place with the same longing as me. “Tell you what: after I’ve concluded my business at the airport, I’m buying.”

  Ash snorted a laugh from the back, and Michael turned to face her.

  “I’m sure it’s free for military personnel,” she said.

  Michael shifted in his seat to face the front before he answered her. “And you aren’t part of that military.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell inside the truck. At another checkpoint, Michael presented his card, and the soldier waved us by. Michael’s words echoed in my head as I cornered another street. The silence remained for the entire ride along the MS18 until we took a left turn, and I saw the Intl Airport Old Brandon Rd sign.

  I had to figure out what Michael’s deal was. He knew we weren’t military, and it wouldn’t be any use to try to convince him otherwise, but he hadn’t shown a bit of interest in what we were doing here, and that made me suspicious of him. I wasn’t fond of the idea of driving into a highly secured airport, and yet apparently that was exactly what we were doing. It made me feel like an idiot, and I decided to speak up.

  “How come you’re not more curious about what we’re doing here?” I asked. Michael’s head snapped sideways as if he were surprised to hear my voice. He recovered quickly and relaxed into his seat.

  “Why aren’t you more curious about what I’m doing?” he said. “It’s not as if I haven’t dragged you across town away from your mission.”

  Our mission, I thought, knowing it wouldn’t be wise to tell him he had us going exactly where we wanted to go.

  “It’s none of our business,” I replied.

  “Exactly,” he said, “the government is all splintered these days. No one knows what anyone’s up to. You have the equipment, the IDs—I’ve checked them myself before all hell broke loose in Terry.”

  I glanced at him sideways, and he smiled at me. It looked sincere.

  “It’s all fun and games these days, isn’t it,” he said.

  “I guess,” I replied under my breath. Then he shifted in his seat, glancing over his shoulder for a moment and whispered near my ear.

  “I am curious about the kid, though,” he said so Ash couldn’t overhear us. “Is she one of those FMDT projects? You know that new agency led by … what’s his name … Warren?”

  A cold shiver ran down my body at his mention of Dr. David Warren. My jaw locked in place, and I felt grateful I had placed those sunglasses on my nose. A guy like Michael would have spotted my eyes tearing up in an instance.

  “What was it that stood for?” he said in low voice as if speaking to himself. “That’s right, the Federal Mortem Defense Team.” Michael seemed pleased with himself to have come up with the answer on his own. Fortunately, he hadn’t dragged me into his guessing game, because I don’t think I would have been able to say a word. “I hear things, you know—about research on cancer kids that seem impervious to the virus.”

  As he shifted back into his seat, I felt his eyes on me, waiting for a reply. Nausea settled in my stomach, and I felt like throwing up. I had tried very hard to forget what had happened to us at that lab in Florida, but somehow Dr. David kept haunting us. I had to clear my throat before I could speak.

  “Different project,” I said in a low voice. I turned to face him. He had narrowed his eyes and even with the shades, I couldn’t hold his gaze.

  “It’s gone global,” I said. Hoping he would think I meant my mission, as he had called it before, was a lot bigger than the FMDT and might explain my accent.

  “I see,” he said.

  A moment later, Michael pointed at a turnoff, and I followed his direction to the airport checkpoint.

  | 10

  Michael managed to guide us past security easily. Soldiers nearly bowed at his credentials. We were directed past a couple of low buildings, a parking lot, and those tube things that let you board a plane, until we got to the other side of the main building. There, Michael made me stop the vehicle. Without saying a word, he opened the door and stepped out.

  “Hey,” I said before he could close the door. Michael stuck his head back inside the opening.

  “Are we just supposed to wait here?”

  He glanced around across the tarmac and the open fields beyond. The field ended at a fence that surrounded us. Every hundred feet or so a soldier was positioned to keep an eye on the fence, and several jeeps were driving around the tarmac in large circles.

  “Right,” he said. “Sorry, you won’t be able to leave without me, but I’ll make it up to you if you drop me off in town later tonight—I’m buying the pizza.”

  “Later tonight,” I said exaggerated, “and why won’t we be able to leave without you?”

  “I bought you inside, so I’m responsible for you.”

  “So we’re stuck here?” I remarked.

  “Pizza,” he said again in a bright tone, followed by a smile.

  “I don’t mind the wait,” Ash spoke from the back of the truck. I glanced over my shoulder. Her lower lip stuck out, and she had removed the sunglasses to emphasize her big-eyed puppy dog expression. I shook my head in defeat.

  “Excellent,” Michael said, reading my expression. “I’ll inform the guys guarding that building, so you can use the restrooms.” He slammed the door shut and sauntered to the building at our side. For a moment, he spoke with the two soldiers sitting outside the building in garden chairs and pointed in our direction. Then, he entered the building. I still didn’t know what to think of this guy.

  “This feels like a mistake,” I said more to myself than to Ash.

  “Why’s that?” she asked as she crawled her way into the front seat. “We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied with a mere whisper.

  A moment later the phone in my pocked dinged, and I plucked it out. It actually had a solid signal according to the four dots displayed in the top corner of the screen, and Mom had left two voicemail messages since we’d last spoken. They originated from that afternoon. She must have tried right after we’d left and had lost reception.

  Another message had come from my dad's cell, and we listened to that first. In the message, he explained that he had made progress in procuring a plane and that we should wait for his next call.

  Listening to my mom’s messages brought tears to my eyes. She talked about how glad she had been to hear my voice and how Dad was working on getting me home. Before she got cut off the first time, she riffed about the things that had happened that day, and I wondered if she had filled the other two hundred and forty-nine voicemail messages like that. While I still had refused to play them, I knew I should.

  A glance at the clock on the dash told me it was ten minutes past six, and although the sun had started to make its descent, the heat outside made the landing strip shimmer with imaginary pools of water. In the distance stood an airliner, but besides it, the airport seemed deprived of planes. I hoped that wouldn’t be a bad sign that this place wasn’t even in operation and glanced up at the control tower. Lights gleaming from the tower and the movement at its base fueled that hope.

  It could still be a while before Michael returned, and Dad wanted us to wait for his call. I decided today was as good as any and scrolled through the messages. At random I picked one.

  Ash greeted the sound of my mom’s voice with approval. She had been nagging me to listen to the messages all the way up to Terry. It made me feel a little anxious listening to the messages along with Ash because I had no idea if I'd be able to contain the emotions it could bring forth, but I wanted to include her, and it would help us pass the time. Every time my mom’s voice star
ted over the speaker, her face would twitch up in various ways. Apparently, Dutch is a funny language. I wanted Ash to hear the messages even if she didn’t understand them. That way I hoped she wouldn't feel left out and might even get to know my family a bit.

  “From what I can tell, the Dutch have made a pact with some of West European countries and closed their borders, including Germany and France,” I explained. “An article from a newspaper described how several of those countries had only opened their borders to each other for trade purposes, but travel amongst those countries would be restricted and nearly impossible.”

  “So it’s not that bad over there?” Ash asked. I shrugged and looked at my phone.

  “Can’t tell. The message is a couple of months old, and there is probable a reason for it to be such a small number of countries.” She eyed me with a contemplative expression. I could see those wheels turning behind her eyes.

  “But if the borders are closed …” she said in small voice. She let her remark hang between us.

  “I know. I guess that’s just another problem we have to face,” I said and added in a lighter tone, “once we tackled the other fifty or so problems.” Ash frowned, not appreciating my comment, and I guessed neither did I.

  When, hours later, Michael still hadn’t shown up, I stepped out for a sanitary stop and to stretch my legs. I breathed in the summer’s smell, although the sun going down did little to drop the temperature.

  As I stepped out of the tiny building that housed the restrooms, I noticed the two soldiers guarding the entrance had left. I glanced over the empty airstrip. Lights in the distance reminded me of the army jeeps patrolling the fences and the posted guards.

  A loud rumble overhead drew my gaze toward blinking lights in the middle of a star-riddled sky. A plane that appeared to be in the middle of its approach awoke the remnants of what used to be a busy airport to life.