Robson tried to climb to his feet, but did not have the energy. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing was shallow from the exertion. He wanted to do nothing more than lie down and go to sleep. He knew he had to push on, although he couldn’t remember why. Rolling over, he sat up on his knees.
A roar to his left caught Robson’s attention. Dravko and Vladimir were engaged in a death struggle. The confusion cleared. Mustering the last remaining reserves of strength, Robson stood. Grabbing the wooden handle from the ground, he brandished the broken end like a stake and went to help his friend.
* * *
Vladimir sprang at Dravko. Dravko had anticipated the attack and moved aside at the last second, allowing Vladimir to rush past. As he did, Dravko spun around and grabbed Vladimir, one hand wrapped around his neck and the other around his forehead, hoping to snap his spine and immobilize him long enough to destroy him. It didn’t work out quite as planned.
Vladimir bucked. Dravko knew if he lost his grip, Vladimir would be on him in a second, and he could not win a one-on-one with something that had the determination of a rotter and the strength of a vampire. Dravko dug in his talons and wrapped his legs around Vladimir’s waist. The zombie vampire thrashed about more violently, and Dravko had all he could do to hold on. Vladimir spun around so he his back faced the central support beam and rammed against it, driving Dravko into the wood. He kept up the pounding until Dravko wasn’t sure what would break first, the beam or his spine. Yet he held on tight, knowing if he let go Vladimir would tear him apart.
“Hey, asshole!”
Vladimir looked up. Robson stood in front of him. The zombie vampire didn’t register who the person was or what he wanted. It only saw food and lunged, and then felt a sudden pain in its chest. A broken handle stuck out from below its sternum. In its last shred of conscious thought, the zombie vampire knew the piece of wood posed a danger and reached up to pull it free. Dravko reached around and dug his talons into Vladimir’s neck, hoping to tear it out. The zombie vampire forgot about the stake in its chest and slammed back into the support again. Dravko felt his right shoulder blade shatter and his arm go limp. He clasped Vladimir even tighter with his left. Vladimir grabbed Dravko’s left arm, raised it to its mouth, and bit, ripping a chunk of flesh out of his arm that he chewed. Dravko cried out, knowing he had only minutes left to live.
Robson stood hunched over, all of his energy spent. He had failed because he didn’t have the strength to push the makeshift stake through the vampire zombie’s heart, and now they’d all die. Raising his head, he prepared to meet death straight in the eye, and instead witnessed the struggle between Vladimir and Dravko that ended in Dravko being bit. Robson had one chance left. He placed both hands on the end of the wooden handle. Then he paused, realizing that if he staked Vladimir he ran the risk of killing Dravko directly behind him.
Dravko caught Robson’s attention and nodded.
Vladimir growled.
Robson leaned all his weight against the handle. The broken piece of wood slid through the zombie vampire’s chest, pierced its heart, and continued out through the back until it lodged into Dravko less than an inch from his own heart. Vladimir tensed. The skin around the stake began to fall apart, the decayed skin breaking down into ash. The cavity spread quickly, across its chest and deep into its abdomen, and then fanning out down its legs and arms. The Vladimir rotter cocked its head to one side, contemplating Robson. Its eyes registered hatred. It snarled as the disintegration engulfed its head. By now, Vladimir’s entire body was an outline in ash. Its form remained intact for a moment before crumbling apart.
With the zombie vampire gone, Dravko fell back against the support beam and slid into a seated position, the broken handle still in his chest.
Fire engulfed the barn, burning along all four walls and the wooden outlines of the stalls, and lapping at the rafters. Smoke filled the area, making it difficult to see or breathe.
Robson knelt beside Dravko. “Come on. We can still get out of here.”
Dravko shook his head and lifted his arm to show the bite wound. “It’s over for me.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes.” Dravko motioned at the stake protruding from his chest.
“I can’t kill you.”
“You’d be doing me a favor. I’d rather die as a vampire than burn to death as one of those things.”
Robson shifted his position to get better leverage and placed his hands on the end of the broken handle. “Are you sure?”
Dravko nodded.
Robson leaned forward, driving the stake into Dravko’s heart.
Dravko winced. The disintegration took place immediately, spreading out across his chest and along his entire body. Laying his head back against the support, a sense of contentment washed across his face. He closed his eyes as his head turned into ash. A second later, Dravko crumbled into a pile of ash.
Robson fell onto his back, not caring anymore. He had no energy left and only wanted to sleep. He no longer realized that fire consumed the barn. For the first time in months, his mind was at peace, even if it was a peace induced by confusion from lack of blood to the brain. He couldn’t remember much other than his life had been difficult the past year. Something told him that was over now.
As Robson slipped away, the final thought that crossed his mind was of Natalie.
* * *
Roberta had crawled to the end of the driveway when she heard the groaning of wood over the furnace-like roar of the fire. She stopped and rolled over in time to see the barn collapse, sending a shower of sparks billowing into the night sky. Bracing herself, she half expected a swarm of flaming zombie vampires to emerge from the rubble and bear down on her. Thank God, nothing walked away from the inferno.
The sound of engines caught her attention. A military-style Humvee pulled onto the farm followed by a pair of Bradleys. They stopped in a line abreast thirty feet from her. A dozen soldiers exited the vehicles, some taking watch on all four quadrants while the rest approached her. They stopped ten feet away, their guns in the high ready position and aimed at her. A young lieutenant in a Canadian army uniform continued toward Roberta.
“Ma’am, stay still and don’t move.”
“There’s no chance of that.” Roberta lifted her left leg to show the gouged Achilles’ tendon.
The lieutenant knelt in front of her and shined a flashlight in her face and over her body. “Have you been bitten?”
“No.”
The lieutenant turned to one of the soldiers behind him. “Woods, get the medic over here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant’s eyes fell upon the remains of the burning barn. “What happened here?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
Roberta sighed. “I am now.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Windows stood by the two freshly-dug graves. Both sat to the right of Anna’s marker under the oak tree. A pair of makeshift crosses composed of sections of fence marked their final resting place. She knew that was how they would have wanted it. They were both at peace, and would not have to endure the hardships of building a new world from the horrid remains of this one. Most importantly, Denning had joined his wife, which was where he always wanted to be.
That still did not stop the tears.
For the survivors, the worst was over. Five hours after the rotter attack on Denning’s farm, a Canadian military unit pushing south from Montreal came upon them. Based on previous experiences, she had feared the worst. In reality, the soldiers were entirely professional. As the line pushed father south toward the U.S. border, their commanding officer agreed to leave five of his men behind for a day to help dispose of the bodies. They had dug the two graves for the deceased and oversaw the laying-to-rest ceremony, and then cleared the pasture of the living dead, placing the corpses in a pile. Two of the soldiers even volunteered to repair the fence. Windows had thanked them by p
reparing scrambled eggs, the last of their bacon, and chicken. Before the five men left the next morning, they set fire to the pile of bodies. The stench had been sickening. Windows didn’t mind. With the soldiers’ departure, she realized that the farm was now in human territory, and the rotters to the south were being destroyed. For the first time in a year she was safe. No rotters. No rape gangs. No constantly looking over her shoulder to see what danger was closing in on her. Life had returned to a semblance of its former normalcy, and Windows had been one of the few lucky enough to make it through Hell and come out on the other side.
Too bad she couldn’t say the same for those she loved.
A tiny hand slid into hers and squeezed. Windows glanced over at Cindy, who was also sad.
Cindy sniffed back a tear. “I miss them.”
“I know you do.” Windows wrapped her arm around Cindy’s shoulder and hugged her. “We both do.”
The two stared at the graves for Denning and Walther, remembering them in their own way.
After a few seconds, Cindy asked, “Will Walther go to heaven?”
“Of course, honey.”
“Good. I want to see him again someday. And Mr. Denning, too.”
“You will, but not for a long time.”
Miriam and her children stood thirty feet away, also paying their respects while not wanting to intrude. They would be leaving tomorrow morning. Windows had offered to let them stay here for a while, but Miriam declined. She wanted to go back to Montreal and try to rebuild her life. Hopefully they could settle back into their old house and see if any of their neighbors who survived would return. If not, Miriam was certain new people would move in. She figured if she could rebuild the life they once had, that would be her memorial to Paul. Windows envied her. Miriam had a former life worth trying to regain.
Cindy tugged on her hand. Windows crouched down. “What’s up?”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“We’ll stay here and take care of the farm for Mr. Denning. Maybe we’ll even take in a few people who have nowhere to go so they can help us out.”
“Like Mr. Denning took us in?”
Windows nodded. “Would you like that?”
“As long as I can stay with you.”
“Always, honey.” Windows put her arms around Cindy and hugged her tight. “Always.”
EPILOGUE
Sixteen months later
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our descent into Portsmouth International Airport at Pease. Military personnel, please check in at Hanger 3 for your assignments. All civilian passengers can proceed directly to the terminal. Thank you.”
Natalie stirred from her nap and stretched. It seemed unusual flying into Portsmouth rather than Logan; however, that was one of the changes following the war. Most of the major airports were either still inside exclusion zones or were so badly damaged during the outbreak that it would take years to clean them up and make them operational. Not that it mattered, because there was still very little in the way or air travel in the country. Until recently, all flights had been military. Three weeks ago, President Fogel had allowed civilians with a justifiable reason to book transport aboard military aircraft. He considered it one of the many first steps in restoring a sense of normalcy to the country, although it would be quite a while before people could hop a flight to visit relatives in another state.
She still found it hard to believe that the war was over. It had taken fourteen months to clear the United States of rotters. After securing the West Coast, the drive continued east from the Sierra Nevadas. The United States linked up with the Canadian campaign near the Idaho-Montana border, and from there the two armies combined forces into a juggernaut that maintained its advance until it reached the East Coast, sweeping up almost every one of the living dead. A long defensive line had been established along the border with Mexico to keep out rotters until the Central American campaign met up with the Americans. Major cities were bypassed for later clean up. Some areas were so heavily infested, or were so difficult to get to, that they were sealed off into exclusion zones—the Hawaiian Islands, Chicago, Boston, New York City, and Long Island. Once the rest of the nation could get back on its feet and more troops could be trained, then the exclusion zones would be taken back, although that could take years.
The rest of the world fared about the same. The Russians had been able to stop the rotter advance at the Ural Mountains and had built up camps of European survivors in safe areas stretching into Siberia. They had launched their own reclamation campaign a few months after the Americans, and in a year had cleaned out most of Europe except for the Italian and Iberian Peninsulas. The campaign to take back the United Kingdom was scheduled to begin in six months. The Chinese spearheaded the campaign to reclaim Asia, launching their efforts from eastern Siberia. The massive population centers of China and India slowed their progress considerably and, as of a few weeks ago, the advance had made it only as far as the 23rd Parallel, leaving the southern part of India and all of Southeast Asia still occupied by rotters, as well as the Korean Peninsula and Japan. Australia would begin its rescue operation next year. For now, almost five hundred thousand survivors had set up a self-sustained fortified region in the Outback and had been able to keep out the living dead, but did not have enough resources to take back the continent. The rest of the region—Indonesia, the Philippines, New Guinea, New Zealand, and the thousands of islands strewn across the Pacific—would more than likely be left to the living dead for the foreseeable future. As for the Middle East, they had made out better than anticipated. Comprised mostly of desert, the surviving military forces had taken back the majority of the region earlier than anticipated. The major cities took longer, especially along the Levant. The safe zone began at the Red Sea in the west, stretched to the Dardanelles and the Caucasus where it met up with the Russians, and extended north where it met up with the Chinese in Turkmenistan. The push east was only a hundred miles away from linking up with Indian troops pushing west from Pakistan and Afghanistan. The only area not accounted for was Africa. No word had come from that region in over a year, and everyone assumed that the continent was completely dead. As of now, no efforts would be made to reclaim that part of the world.
The C-5 banked left. Natalie glanced out the window at the airfield below, having to turn her head to compensate for the patch over her left eye.
Ari reached out and held her hand. “We’ll be there soon.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
Natalie nodded, although in fact she didn’t know if she was.
Despite what Branson had predicted, Natalie and Ari did not spend the rest of the war behind a desk. They could have if Natalie hadn’t refused to take the easy way out while so much work still needed to be done and requested that she return to duty. Of course, Ari volunteered to go with her. Headquarters had assigned her to take over command of a company on the Utah front. They would see service throughout the Midwest, including heavy action around St. Louis and Cincinnati, before ending the war with the reclaiming of Washington D.C. Elections were held a month after that, and Secretary Fogel was elected president by a landslide. Natalie and Ari were released from military service and talked about moving back to Colorado to begin their new life together.
She found it funny how fate always intervened. Most of the states had not yet re-established their governments, so as a temporary measure Fogel had divided the country into districts that would remain under federal control until such time as the states could rebuild their infrastructures. Fogel had requested Natalie take over as security commander for the Northeast District that comprised the New England states. Of course she had accepted, and now she and Ari were flying into Portsmouth to begin that assignment.
First, however, she had one stop to make.
The C-5 touched down. Five minutes later, it pulled up to the terminal and everyone disembarked. A corporal stood by a Humvee holding a sign that read BAZARG
AN. As they approached, the corporal straightened to attention. “Miss Bazargan. Miss Fleitman. How was your flight?”
“Not bad. I miss business class.”
“Ma’am, for the military, that was business class.”
Natalie chuckled. “Is that my Hummer?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you want, I can drive you to Portland. Security Command is waiting for you.”
“No, thanks. I need to make a detour first. Were my earlier instructions followed?”
“Yes, ma’am. I carried them out myself.” The corporal paused. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is so special about that place? It’s a burnt out wreck.”
Natalie didn’t respond, so Ari answered for her. “It holds a personal meaning to us.”
“Copy that. Sorry to pry.”
“No need to apologize.” Ari tapped his shoulder, reassuring the corporal that no offense was taken. “That’ll be all.”
The corporal headed back to the terminal. Ari opened the trunk of the Humvee and tossed their duffel bags inside. She closed the hatch and said, “I’ll drive.”
Leaving the airport, Ari headed for downtown Portsmouth. The trip took the women past sights that had become all too familiar to them, and harbored as many bad memories as good. Getting onto Route One, she crossed the bridge over the Piscataqua River into Maine. A few miles up ahead sat the Kittery Trading Post where the Angels had once provided protection from rotters for the numerous raiding parties that had stripped the shops clean. As they passed, Natalie realized how much things had changed. The last time she was here, the living dead swarmed the area. Now not a single rotter could be seen, and dozens of tractor trailer trucks parked outside the strip malls as crews rummaged through the shops, commandeering anything of value to help rebuild society.
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