Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Since the Sirens

by E. E. Isherwood

  “Easy. We are gonna to find a nice warehouse full of food to barricade ourselves in. Then live like kings until help arrives.” Liam noticed he looked sideways at the young mother as he said it.

  Liam felt the air change and he suddenly knew what was going on with this little cabal.

  He is going to kill the husband and take the woman. And the kids?

  He'd read about this many times in his books about zombies and plagues, though now that it was happening he almost couldn't believe it. He suddenly lost respect for the young couple—couldn't help himself. Could people really be that stupid? Not see the obvious deception?

  “I thought you said you were going to hunt zombies?”

  He looked at Liam like it was some kind of personal challenge.

  “What's it matter? I changed my mind.” He had a kind of leer to him that exuded ill intent.

  Liam just couldn't let it go, though he looked around to ensure some police were still nearby.

  “What if no help is ever coming?” and then directly to the young couple with their two young kids, “it would be better to stay with the largest group. Maximize your odds by sticking together. Stay with people who will protect you as long as they can.”

  The crazy guy laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Then he started walking. The last thing he said over his shoulder was “Come on Mr. and Mrs.—let's go find that building. He's just a dumb kid. We'll protect you fine folks.”

  Liam didn't know what he had said that was so funny, but he noticed the young family had changed their minds. The other hunter seemed OK leaving with the crazy man; he started to follow. The mad hunter did stop when he noticed the family wasn't dropping in behind. Liam watched as he pulled his shotgun off his shoulder and held it at a much more dangerous angle. Liam suddenly realized how exposed he'd become without the larger group around him. He could get shot by an insane guy just because he wanted to be the hero. The hunter looked at him intently for many seconds, but then he just hocked up a loogie and spit in Liam's direction, turned around, and started laughing again as he walked away.

  “Better hope our paths don't cross again.” The hunter said it quiet enough to not be heard by the police, but Liam knew exactly what he'd said.

  Victoria grabbed his elbow, drawing him back to begin following the main group.

  His mind was racing. How many more stupid people were being taken advantage of by opportunists? Did chaos and disorder cloud people's judgment? Were people so far out of their comfort zone now they no longer knew how to function? Even at his young age, Liam knew enough not to pair up with a seedy guy with a powerful gun. Not when the police are in your own flaming group! He realized he was talking about THAT GUY again. Only this time it was THAT FAMILY, and they were trying desperately to get themselves removed from the script.

  He felt himself getting angry, so he tried to temper it.

  I saved the lives of THAT FAMILY.

  Too bad they don't even know it.

  He had very little time to celebrate.

  The swimmers started walking away, and the main group resumed its trek south. Officers and gang members alike were taking point or covering their rear. He and Victoria each grabbed a handle and pushed the wise old lady between them. Liam saw the metaphor now that he viewed Victoria as his partner. They were all in this together, joined by fate through an elderly woman who until recently he couldn't stand to be around.

  A massive industrial rail yard lay just ahead, draped in the long shadows of the afternoon. He hoped safety was waiting for them.

  It had already been three days since the sirens.

  Chapter 14: Intermodal

  Marty was lying on the bridge, near a lone green sports car sitting on the deck with her. As she stood up to gain her bearings she realized she was in San Francisco. The distinctive Golden Gate Bridge was far out over the bay. She was on another large bridge, braced by large metal girders high above, though she had no idea what it was called. It was a bright and sunny day and the crisp blue water was incredibly beautiful. She almost forgot where she really was.

  Her husband's avatar was next to her.

  “Hello again Marty. You are on the Bay Bridge by the way.”

  “You can read my mind?”

  “Read? No, I'm in your mind. I'm with you inside your head. I hear your thoughts as you think them in this place.”

  “Where are we?”

  “That is a very interesting question my dear. San Francisco, California.”

  “Al, even I know that. I can see the Golden Gate right there. You know what I meant.”

  “I suppose I do. You should ask Liam. He knows this place. You and he are developing a special bond which I'm very happy to encourage.”

  Marty searched her feelings. Of course she shared a special bond with her own grandson, though their relationship of the past few days was turning out to be quite different than the previous years of Liam's life all put together. Maybe something was changing.

  “This isn't a dream, is it?”

  With a gleam in his eye, Al gave her a big smile. “Are you sure?”

  “I remember going to sleep in the train yard after the kids wheeled me down the railroad tracks away from that horrible battle at the Arch. Unless I'm mistaken I'm still sitting in my wheelchair, asleep. That means I've got to be sleepwalking or something, right?”

  “You are asleep, but not walking. Let's leave it at that for now—we can't afford to get into the weeds. Some things you have to take on faith I'm afraid. While we are together I want to show you this car.”

  He walked over to the little green sports car and Marty followed. The car itself was ancient. It wasn't as old as her, but she remembered seeing these back in the 1950's and 60's. It was a coupe with a white vinyl top and open windows, and the insides were covered with bird droppings and nesting materials. The green paint was well faded on the top, though it was still evident on the sides—bird filth notwithstanding. It appeared to have been on the bridge for decades, maybe much longer.

  “This could possibly be the most important car you ever see. Do you know why?”

  “I can't think of any reason. I've never seen this car.”

  “I'm sure you haven't. It's OK you don't understand the connection yet. That it is here tells me you are very close to realizing your full potential in this world. I can't say much more than that or I could upset the delicate balancing act which is leading you down this path. But you should take great comfort at seeing this particular car, in this particular place.”

  Marty looked at the car, then at Al.

  “You look like Al, and my Lord how I wish you were Al. But you can't be. Who are you, really?”

  “You are very smart indeed. No, having conversations with the dearly departed is generally frowned upon by...the system. In this place I can look like anyone you have in your memory, put you in any situation you can imagine, and if I'm really lucky I can guide you on your journey through this troubling time.”

  Marty suddenly felt very tired. Even so, she was not content to accept such a deception without pushing back.

  “Mr. whoever-you-are, will you please tell me why you've been masquerading as my husband in these dreams?”

  “Dearest Martinette, I never intended any harm to you. The closest approximation to my true nature is what you would call an Angel. I serve the Light.”

  She looked intently at him.

  “You are an Angel of God?”

  “I make no claim to understand my creator fully, though like you I hope to see His true face someday. In many ways I'm just as real and fallible as you.”

  She crossed herself, knowing she would have to ask the next question.

  “I mean no disrespect, but how do I know you aren't lying to me again by saying that? Who you serve.”

  Al considered. He stood up.

  He snapped his fingers, and standing there in front of her as far as she could see over the bridge were row after row of the infected. An impossible number. Most were missi
ng limbs or had large chunks torn from their bodies. All were ruined in form and substance. Somehow they were standing there, unmoving, all the way to the other shore.

  Al called out to them, “I serve the One True God. You shall bow in His name.”

  And then...impossibly...they all bent to one knee.

  And then...predictably...Martinette fainted and fell back to the ground.

  Falling. Falling. Falling.

  2

  “OH MY GOD!”

  Grandma woke up yelling forcefully. It must have been a nightmare or something, because she practically exploded awake, tipping dangerously forward in her wheelchair. Victoria was standing nearby and had the good sense to grab her as she leaned forward. It was a near-run thing. Would Grandma survive falling flat on her face like that? After surviving so much, that would be a horrible way to go.

  Liam moved closer, and spoke softly.

  “Grandma are you OK? You were having a bad dream.”

  “No. Yes.” She looked around and reoriented herself on the rail yard. They'd found it after much walking and just as dusk fell.

  “No, I wasn't having a bad dream exactly. Yes, I'm fine now that I know where I am.”

  “Sorry. It's just that you made a lot of noise. We are kind of hiding here from...them.” Liam didn't know how to say it any more plainly without making her feel bad. Could anyone control themselves in a dream?

  Liam and Victoria were crouched together next to her, listening to see if any zombies had become alerted by her nightmare. In the vast rail yard it didn't seem likely, but Liam took no chances—made no assumptions—anymore.

  After several minutes, he breathed out a silent sigh of relief. Nothing seemed to have been attracted to them. They were hidden in the narrow corridor between two lines of train cars. The train yard offered many such hidey holes, and in fact most of the police group was in between the same two trains. Hiding and lying low. Resting after their run down the railroad from the Arch. By virtue of their slow movement with the wheelchair they found themselves at the very back of the line, though the biggest cop—Jones—was also back there with a shotgun. He was the rear guard.

  Jones moved back toward Grandma, to check if she was OK after her outburst.

  The group was near the end of one of the trains. At that moment a face popped around the last car, looking into the dark corridor between both sets of tracks. Liam could clearly see the black man's eyes—along with his red ball cap. He was a living, breathing, person. Jones was still walking back at the time, so Liam made a motion for him to turn around.

  The man paused for a second before walking into the breach between the two lines of cars, with his hands and arms reaching outward to show he was unarmed. Now everyone could clearly see him. He was wearing a white t-shirt, and even in the low moonlight it was apparent he had a lot of blood stains on it. He did have a weapon. he was carrying an ornate gold-plated pistol in the waistband of his jeans.

  Was this some kind of gang banger looking to kill them in the equivalent of a dark alley? Liam felt his pocket for his own pistol but made no effort to draw until he saw where this was going. Jones would be far more intimidating.

  The man looked over his shoulder, back around the train cars, before turning his attention once again to Liam and his friends. He appeared to be studying the situation, making a decision. Jones stood where he was, but otherwise made no threatening gestures. His shotgun was held casually in the low ready position.

  Seemingly satisfied, the man motioned around the cars with his arm again, signaling someone to come to where he was standing.

  Liam's hand was now inside his pocket unlatching the safety. If there was more than a couple men he knew he'd probably be outgunned in this narrow space but he was going to help Jones no matter how futile.

  Ten seconds later a teenage black girl ran around the corner, toward the group. She was followed quickly by a younger girl holding the hand of a third small girl. Then a couple of very young black boys came around. They were followed by a string of about ten black children of varying ages. A couple of grown women followed the procession. Impossibly another handful of small kids followed them, including one or two small white children. Finally another grown black man rounded the corner, the only difference in attire and appearance with his mate was the crazy amount of gold chains he was wearing. Liam couldn't help but remember a different encounter with a man wearing so many gold chains...

  The men followed their charges, and while they looked at Liam and his pals wearing grim smiles as they ran by, they said nothing. Soon they disappeared down the line between the rail cars.

  Liam's hand left his pistol as his blood pressure came out of the stratosphere. For several minutes he was sitting with high tension, wondering if anyone else in their group would be surprised by this unlikely mix of people running by, but thankfully no gunshots rang out. Well, not anywhere close. Gunshots were becoming so common as background noise in the distance no one paid much attention. Many shots were coming from on the nearby river—an ominous sign the swimmers were having problems.

  It would be safe to say Liam and Victoria were both exhausted beyond words. They settled in next to Grandma, using Liam's backpack as their mutual pillow. Jones hunkered down low several paces toward the back of the line, but made it clear he was awake and on duty for them.

  “I'll make sure he stays awake. I've been asleep in my chair most of the past few days.”

  “No arguments here.” Looking over at Victoria, she had fallen right asleep.

  It wasn't long for Liam to drift off.

  He felt the world owed him a nice night of sleep.

  3

  Thirty seven minutes later, Liam woke up when Jones gave him a manly chuck on the shoulder, and a hand over his mouth. Jones was in his face giving the “quiet” symbol.

  He did the same for Victoria.

  Then he pointed underneath the last train car of the line next to them and made a motion suggesting they look and see what was on the other side.

  In the low light of a partial moon Liam could see lots of undead meandering around an open section of the train yard. They were moving without a unified purpose, but were more or less moving south. It was impossible to know how many were drifting through the disjointed train cars all around them.

  Liam privately thought this was some kind of nightmare. How likely was it they would be sitting here in the train yard with fifty other people, hoping everyone could be quiet so as not to alert the insatiable bloodthirsty zombies? He quickly calculated the odds of warning everyone, versus just sitting there doing nothing. A very small part of his brain was also running the numbers on grabbing Grandma and Victoria and fleeing southward down the corridor.

  The shambling dead still hadn't noticed anyone. Were they able to see in the dark? Did they have hearing or smell that was better than a live human? No one really knew the capabilities of these creatures—other than their one apparent skill—finding blood.

  In the minutes they sat watching, Liam became sleepy; he just couldn't help himself, and his mind was adrift. He absently wondered if they did have any superpowers, like any number of books he'd read on zombies. Some were fast. Some were strong. Some couldn't be killed except by complete decapitation. Some were supernatural spirits.

  His mind jolted back to reality.

  Zombies aren't real, are they? These are just sick humans, right? In real life the sick are just sick. Maybe this was all a dream?

  He couldn't see much detail in the night, but if he didn't know who they were he'd have never been able to pick out a pack of zombies from a similar group of humans just standing around. Rather than the archetypical zombie running around shouting “brains,” these were just housewives, bankers, and students who got sick with a disease that seemed to cause them to wander around aimlessly. But he knew they only looked innocent and docile from afar. They have a plague so bad it keeps killing even after the host is dead. If they knew healthy humans were hiding so close, they'd be swarmin
g to the buffet table.

  “All we need to make this scene uber-surreal is the crazy priest who tries to reason with them because he believes they are still the children of God, and then gets eaten, and dies with that look of shocked surprise on his face.” Liam actually looked down the path to see if a Priest was coming. And there he was!

  Oh.

  He realized he was hallucinating. He had enough sense to know he could put everyone in danger if he let his exhaustion get the better of him, but he didn't know what he could do to stay awake even with the stakes as high as they were.

  The sick seemed to float around gently in the cool evening air. The moonlight gave them a ghostly pallor. A dreamy look—

  He felt himself nodding off once more.

  His head tilted forward.

  Victoria was giving him a little shove, telling him to stay awake without using any words.

  They smiled at each other, then went back to watching the shadows dancing. Something had to give soon.

  Liam jolted awake, but didn't yell. He couldn't believe what he was seeing on the other side of the rail car.

  Victoria!

  There, not fifteen feet away was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was dressed in a sheer pink nightgown, and Liam wasn't embarrassed this time as he drank in her curves. The gown absorbed the light of the moon and made her seem to glow.

  Liam felt himself stand up to get a better view, like a peeping Tom at the girl's summer camp.

  “Oh Victoria, you look amazing tonight. Why are you dressed like that?”

  Victoria didn't respond verbally, but she smiled broadly at him and removed one of the straps of her dress, letting it fall off her shoulder. It revealed just a little more of her... Liam was pleased to see the shimmer of her gown was now drifting in his direction.

  Now Liam was panting. He knew it was wrong to behave like an—an animal—but he felt no insecurities and was reveling in it.

  And to prove it he shouted, “Victoria I'm yours!”

  “What?” Victoria was by his side, shaking him violently.