He and Vida sit in silence, wallowing hand in hand. It’s all they can do. Brandon insisted Vida put on the t-shirt to abate her shivering. He also gave her his thin sweatshirt.
After carefully thinking about how to word all he needs to say, he clears his throat. “You know I love horror fiction… before this anyway… I often thought, like most fans must, ‘If it really happened, could I survive?’ I would wonder who I’d like to be trapped with during a zombie apocalypse, and what CD would I want if I could only have one. I’m glad it’s you. You’re the only one I’d want to be with during this. I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend…”
“We’ve only been going out for seven months.”
“Seven of the best months. You are the one person I’d choose to spend the rest of my life with. I knew it the first time I heard you play guitar.”
Vida laughs. “The first thing you heard me play was La Cucaracha.”
“It was beautiful. The way you get lost in a piece, even one you’ve probably played a million times. It’s amazing.”
He trails off, looking away from her eyes because he doesn’t want her to see his tears.
Eyes glazed with remorse, Brandon says, “I wish I could stay, Vida. I love you.” It is the first time either has said those words to the other.
“Brandon?”
“I don’t know what this is, but the bite is certainly what causes someone to… turn into one of them,” He regards the slack faces. Beyond them, Lloyd is twitching. “I’m not going to become one of them around you.”
There is no room to argue his conclusion; the evidence is far too great. Especially now that Lloyd slithers along the ground with skeletal limbs, joining the horde.
She looks into Brandon’s eyes. “I love you too.”
“My keys are in the pocket,” he tells her. “I’m going to lure them away. You need to get to the van and go someplace safe.”
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers against his cheek.
“I have to. Promise me you’ll get to someplace safe.”
“I promise.”
“Find the police, or go home. Your dad has a gun. I remember he showed it to me the first time I picked you up.”
Neither wishes to severe their final embrace, but Brandon knows he has to if he wants her to live on. He puts his palm against the sliding back window of the pickup.
“As soon as I’m out, you need to shut this then get down.”
They repeat those three words again that mean so much, that hold magic and power, yet not enough to keep them together. “I love you.”
While the vehicle rocks from the insistent battering, Brandon quickly squeezes out through the narrow window that leads into the truck’s bed. The zombies are after him the moment he reveals himself. He has to move fast to get onto the roof.
As promised, Vida closes the window, stranding her boyfriend outside and muffling the eager moans of the ghouls that reach for the brave man above her. She slides down in the seat, looking up at the ceiling that is indented from Brandon’s weight pressing down. The dead have forgotten about her in favor of the meal that teases them in the cold air.
Brandon waits for his chance, a break in their ranks he can dart through. The hobbling figures remind him of his love of the genre and the fact that he always thought, if faced with a real-life scenario, he’d fare just fine. He can’t believe he got infected before he even knew what was going on. He can’t dwell on feeling cheated, though. He has to move. From the way the truck is now positioned, there is a gap at the tailgate between him and the dead.
A thump sounds as Brandon hops off the roof and bounds down into the bed. Vida catches only a glimpse of him in the rearview, but it’s enough to break her heart. She must resist the urge to peek out and watch his sacrifice as he leads the dead around to the back of the house. Instead she stays down with the hood of his sweatshirt concealing her as she cries.
The shuffling zombies have left the immediate area, so it’s time to move. Vida slowly exits the truck, and even with the thin hoodie the air outside is bracing. A slight breeze has picked up that slices right through her, though she can’t be sure the chill she feels is entirely environmental. She feels as if she’s in a large body of water, stranded in the middle in a life vest, her legs dangling in an icy void of the unknown. She quickens her pace, tip toeing faster to the panel van they had arrived in.
Encased by steel once more, Vida breathes a little easier. She lays her head on the steering wheel, staring at the decal Brandon stuck to its center when he bought it. Their band’s emblem to christen it as their new tour bus. The words bring up a wave of sorrow and thoughts of how she will never see the other three again. They’ll never stay up all night making music, never fulfill their dreams of fame, or even make it to their gig up north.
Vida turns the ignition and pulls out of the parking spot. She steers the van onto the main road heading for Waterloo. The cars of would be contestants still line the street. She thinks of her promise to Brandon, that she’ll get someplace safe, and the safest place she can think of is home. It’ll all be all right if I can just get there, she thinks. It can’t be worse than this.
14
Vida follows a pair of thick tire tracks left by another driver who had vacated the parking lot in a hurry. Though she uses more caution than the phantom car, whose parallel marks indicate that it lost control after taking the first turn too quickly. It had careened between both lanes, striking the parked vehicles along the road, leaving dents and scratches and tearing side mirrors off these cars in its reckless escape.
Switching her headlights to high, she sees that the driver’s efforts were for not, for an obstruction blocks her path. She is forced to cruise to a halt at a wall of steel. The skid marks end where the renegade car met another and now lays on its side across the double yellow road markers. At this dead end, she stares at the undercarriage. All of the vehicles along the sides negate her use of the shoulder. The irony of not being able to pass in the passing zone is lost on her, and now her break lights cast a red glow over figures emerging from the gaps between the cars behind her. Vida almost throw it in reverse but reconsiders. Then what?
She’s never been this far over the bridge before, and she has no idea where to go from here to get back to the city. She panics over the thought of getting lost and driving aimlessly until she runs out of gas on the unfamiliar roads. But she abandons the notion entirely.
What should have been a straight shot to the Washington Bridge is about to become a foot race for her life.
She knows it will do little to protect her, but flipping the hood of her sweatshirt over her head makes her feel more comfortable as she dashes out of the van and past the wreckage, leaving it idling.
The high beams she left on partially light the way, eclipsed by the long shadow of the wreck. She instinctively keeps to the ray of black, letting the waning glow along the sides reveal any lurking dangers. She is already winded by the time she comes to the end of the chasm of parked cars. Still she pushes forward, knowing the dead haven’t given up their pursuit. Vida wants to make short work of her journey. As short as it can possibly be that is. They had driven quite a while on the dark road to get to the attraction and her hurried pace is already slowing to a jog.
The clock in the van said it was nearly half past five in the morning. This actually makes it closer to half past four, since Brandon never set it for daylight saving time. Panting in rhythm with her strides, Vida tries to predict what time she’ll make it home to keep her mind occupied. The road ahead is misleading, for it seems to stretch on forever. A cold black infinity.
After some time, the deceptive surroundings give the illusion that she isn’t making any ground. She feels like a mouse on a wheel, working hard to get somewhere without actually getting anywhere. Whiffs of steam rise from her chest as she unzips her hoodie. She is burning up though frost twinkles on the blades of grass and overgrown weeds that line the road. The stillness around her is odd after so m
uch carnage. If she were not still being pursued by death she could enjoy it. The only evidence that she’s covered any distance comes from the van’s headlights in the distance behind her and the black masses hobbling after her.
She is out of earshot of the dead, and the only sound she can detect are her own footfalls that keep her company. The lonesomeness of her situation brings a fresh chill to her, so she zips the sweatshirt once more, but it doesn’t warm her spirit. The solitude and uncertainty are unbearable. Life as she knew it has been altered, and she’s heading for home without knowing if there is a home to go to.
Vida reaches a landmark that indicates she has made progress towards the bridge. She’s reached the halfway point. This should elate her, but instead it fills her chest with tension, for she’s arrived at the funeral home. Marching along the center line, she now unconsciously veers away from the large white manor that caters to the very things she’s running away from, giving a wide berth to the domicile of the urban legend.
The police have left the scene, but all the lights remain on in every window. In the last moments she shared with Brandon, they watched the dead rise up from graves that extend from the mortuary’s backyard all the way to the Zombie House. Considering the thousands of bodies buried there, not far from where she currently walks, she quickens her pace.
Her mind plays tricks on her, or so she hopes. The fear that has her drawing each breath in serrated gasps has her seeing shadows move around her. Forms pass by the illuminated windows of Mortie’s home and through the distant graves she sees over her shoulder. Her echoing footsteps become those of the dead. Her ragged breaths become their pitiful moans. Not knowing whether it is in fact paranoia or the zombies, all she can do is keep moving forward.
###
Countless steps later, Vida’s blistering feet have brought her to the Washington Bridge. She relaxes now that she can see the city’s skyline just past the Charles River. The morning sun is surprisingly warm as she embarks the span. Cars pass her at a steady interval on the northbound side. She isn’t certain what time it is exactly, but the sun came up a while ago and she can’t help but think folks should be heading into the city, commuters starting their Monday routines, but nobody is heading into Waterloo except her.
The joy of reaching the bridge is premature, though she is happy to see people again, and to see her city under a beautiful cloudless sky, but it’s still a long walk over the river. Even then she’ll need to walk all the way home once on the other side. Her feet are already burning with every step. She wonders naively if the buses are running yet.
Nearly to the center of the bridge, Vida notices flaws in the spotless sky. Plumes of smoke float up to the heavens. Still not a single traveler has passed her on her side, but the other side is jammed with traffic that stretches the remaining length of the bridge.
Three military jeeps are parked across the rows. A soldier directs the motorists, allowing them through one at a time in an orderly fashion. The young man is forced to abandon his duties, leaving the impatient, honking line sitting idle, to contend with a large tanker truck attempting to bully its way along the sidewalk. Aiming his assault rifle at the driver, he gets the trucker to stop alongside the blockade. Two other GIs man large machine guns on the back of the jeeps.
An explosion in the distance draws Vida’s attention away from her path and to the suburbs over the river to her right. Amid the sea of homes, smoke is rising. A dark spire wafts lazily up to keep a thinner plume company.
“…5, 6, 7, 8…” One of the soldiers counts the streets through a pair of binoculars. “Looks like West 8th again.”
“Jeez!” his partner says. “My mom lives on 12th. I hope she’s ok.”
Since the path before her is clear, Vida shuffles onward despite the truth that sets in. It wasn’t just the Zombie House. If this is going on in Waterloo, she isn’t certain she even has a home to go to.
“Hey, sweetheart!” one of the soldiers shouts, leaving the obstinate truck driver leaning against his semi. “You gotta turn around. No one’s allowed to enter the city.”
“I want to go home,” she tells the man who isn’t but a few years older than herself and keeps walking.
“Orders are orders,” he apologizes. “We’re to keep everyone out and organize those trying to leave.”
“Holy shit!” one of the gunners says. “Did you seriously just come from the Zombie House?”
“Yes,” she whispers as she slowly turns away from home. Vida is in a daze, too numb to fully feel the sorrow of her situation.
“Fuck, that’s ironic,” the other camouflaged figure says, leaning on his heavy machine gun.
The men laugh, but Vida doesn’t see the humor in it. She aimlessly wanders back the way she had come without a clue where she will go after she is off the bridge again.
“All right, assholes, look alive!” the leader addresses his peers. “It looks like some have broken through.”
Between the rows of traffic that spread into the oncoming lanes and bottleneck at the jeeps, figures are slowly walking. The clumsy forms shuffle in search of food, reaching for what they cannot attain behind panes of glass before continuing their quest farther down the line.
Seeing the ghouls coming up behind them in their mirrors, and fearing that they have no immediate escape, folks are abandoning their cars. Those behind them are left with no alternative but to do the same since they won’t be able to negotiate around the driverless vehicles. A stampede of civilians charge toward the three soldiers that stand their ground against the dead. The panic stricken mob knocks into the trucker who is too slow to react, trampling him on the sun-warmed asphalt in their frenzy to get away.
Taking slow deliberate steps like a lost child, Vida is oblivious to the swarm of frightened people that race past her. The panicked throng makes its way over the bridge. Those capable of moving faster dart around or just push aside the slower runners. Some fall to the hard surface only to suffer the same fate as the trucker, and no one stops to help the fallen for fear of receiving the same disregard. Families struggle to stay together against the current of desperate souls.
Behind the chaos, the machine guns rattle deep staccatos that Vida doesn’t register. Her mind is blank as she takes step after pointless step. Before last night she had never been over the bridge, but now she has no choice.
Up ahead where the bridge meets solid ground, the marathon comes to an abrupt halt as it collides with a cluster of the very things they are running from. The zombies that had followed Vida from the haunt have found food at last. Some of the runners are able to skirt around the lumbering threats, but others are not so fortunate as they blindly head right into the clutches of the corpses.
Screams of pain and terror finally snap Vida from her trance. The city is off-limits, but the road before her means almost certain death. She can risk trying to make it through the massacre or jump over the side of the bridge. See where the Charles takes her if she survives the plunge.
Three beeps in rapid succession startle her, but a new hope springs up in Vida when she turns to see one of the soldiers from the blockade beckoning her to hop into his jeep. She joins her knight in green fatigues without a second thought and together they speed around the bloody remains of the citizens.
The zombies pause mid-feast to rise to their feet at the sight of fresher fare. Vida can’t bring herself to look at their bloodstained faces or their victims. The thought of possibly seeing Brandon among the offensive lot makes her cringe.
Through the bloody banquet, the nimble military vehicle passes other survivors still on the run. The soldier doesn’t so much as slow down to pick up more, but just keeps on speeding north. Many of the folks from the bridge have veered off of the main road and onto intersecting routes. Others have simply taken for the woods.
Vida waits until after the world is quiet once more before trying to speak.
“What was that?” the soldier asks, slowing their rate of speed to reduce the howl of the air.
“I said, thank you,” she repeats.
“No need,” he says with a smile. Vida recognizes him as the one that had to chastise the truck driver for cutting the line. “I’m heading this way anyhow. The bridge has been lost so now I need to fall back to Eagle Rock.”
“Is the entire city gone?” Vida thinks about her mom and dad.
“I’m afraid so…” he says. “Those things broke containment, made it through our men in the city. They got my guys on the bridge.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her words also going out to everyone she has recently lost. Outliving everyone she’s met in Waterloo and not being there for her parents makes her feel guilty. She also thinks about all the folks the soldier has just left behind. Like her they had nowhere to go, but now she’s on her way to an army base. She had promised Brandon she’d make it to safety and that’s exactly what she intends to do. A smile forms on her face, though she didn’t think she’d ever smile again. “I really can’t thank you enough.”
The solider diverts his attention from the road just long enough to look her in the eyes and smile back, his hand finding her knee. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Section IX. Something Far Worse
1
Many miles north of Waterloo, deep in the woods, a man awakens. He stretches the sore muscles in his back, feeling abused from his slumber on the unforgiving ground. From his tent he can hear his companions already chattering about something that he assumes to be their usual asinine prattle. Before emerging from his shelter, he looks at himself in a small mirror to make sure his thick black hair is perfect.
Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory Page 5
