Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet

by Simpson, David A.

  The sea was gentle and once he was past the breakers, he turned to the east and set his mind and back to the oars. It would take them months if he didn’t find a better boat and if the water got rough, they would have to go ashore. He could see the undead all along the waterfront hotels and tourist areas, milling around aimlessly. He’d traveled the coast highway a few times over the years, he knew he had a long way to row before they came to an unpopulated area, a place where it might be safe to go ashore and rest. Maybe catch some dinner. Once he was away from the cities and the heavy destruction from the bombardment, he was sure he could find something better than the boat they were in. Finding gas might be more difficult.

  All of the countries that had walled themselves off had fallen into chaos within a month of the outbreak. No food, no services, no medicine, no imports of any kind. The land had been picked clean and millions had succumbed long before the hordes of undead made their way around the coastline. First the livestock was butchered then the pets then everyone flocked to the coast to fish. There wasn’t enough, every living thing close to shore was consumed and the inevitable starvation was only postponed by a few weeks. They had died with a whimper and an empty stomach but it was better than becoming one of the unnatural things and wandering forever.

  When the cities gave way to suburbs and they became rural lands, Hasif started to despair. Mile after mile of makeshift shelters, falling down plastic tarped shacks and long dead cars lined the beach. Remains of a homeless population fleeing starvation that flocked to the sea, all with the same ideas. The water would provide. They could cast nets and set fishing lines. The ocean did give up its bounty for a short time but it didn’t take long before it had nothing left to offer. Ruthless gangs formed. For some to live, many had to die. The penalty for unauthorized fishing became death. It was a bloody, brutal battle that raged all along the coast for months. It was survival of the fittest but even they couldn’t survive the millions of screaming undead when they finally came.

  Hasif kept rowing, kept hoping to find an empty stretch of beach, to outrun the undead, but the makeshift structures stretched as far as the eye could see. He finally stopped. It was futile. His arms ached and his back throbbed as he stared at the horde that were shambling along the beach, keeping pace. They were slow, stumbled and fell as they tripped over remains of shelters, but always got back up. Always followed the bobbing craft and the scent of blood that it carried. He couldn’t out row them, he’d worn himself out trying. There were no mountains or rocky areas to block their path, the next river where they might be stopped was at least a hundred kilometers away. His throat was parched and his hands were already raw from constantly fighting the surge of the ocean. For the first time, he started to doubt himself, started to think maybe they wouldn’t get out of this alive.

  “There.” his wife said and he looked up to see where she was pointing, what other calamity was about to befall them.

  In the distance he saw a structure sticking up out of the gently rolling sea. An oil rig, a deep-water drilling platform. It was far off, kilometers from shore and the boat they were in wasn’t made for sea swells. They didn’t have life vests. The drinking water was almost gone and they only had half of a single, pitiful meal left for all of them. There may be people aboard who wouldn’t let them up the ladders or shoot them before they even got close. It may be men who would take his wife and daughters and throw him back off.

  The girls dozed under a shawl, Massika trying to keep the baking sun off of them. She’d been using a paddle up in the bow, doing what she could to propel them faster to get in front of the horde. Maybe if they lost sight of them, they would lose interest. Her arms ached also, her back screamed in pain and they both knew they could never out row the beach crowd. The undead waited for them on the sands. Patient and hungry.

  “If we go, I think it will be a one-way trip.” he said quietly.

  “We have already had more life than most.” she answered, “What will be, will be.”

  He held her eyes and they shared a sad smile before putting their backs into it again, rowing for the open sea.

  Afterword

  We’ve reached the end of another chapter in the story of Jessie and Scarlet, Gunny and Griz, Casey and the Cannibals, Slippery Jim, Sheriff Collins and the rest of the characters inhabiting the remains of the old world. Some of the tales are winding down, others are getting ready to explode into violence and action. Some of our friends are in for heartbreak and disappointment, others for new found hope and joy.

  Some will die so that others may live.

  Some will wish they were dead.

  Some will kill.

  Some will be killed.

  It’s a brand-new nation the Lakota crew are creating. With the help of the Tower, the men under Cheyenne Mountain and the few men and women brave enough (or crazy enough) to report from the wastelands, their small part of the world is starting to recover, rebuild and flourish.

  Jessie and Scarlet should easily make it to the Tower and their doctors will figure out why she isn’t healing.

  Probably.

  Gunny and Griz may find it too difficult to take down Casey and join up with his band of Raiders.

  Maybe.

  The Tower will freely share all of their newfound knowledge and deep government secrets they find when they finally gain access to the military databases.

  Of course, they will. And the experiments they are running in the tunnels deep under the building are harmless.

  The Anubis Cult could realize the error of their ways and begin using their enhanced abilities for the betterment of all.

  We won’t hold our breath.

  Sheriff Collins might abandon Griz and reunite with her wayward husband.

  Possibly.

  Everyone has plans and just like real life, they rarely turn out the way you want.

  One thing I can tell you that does work out in the end is Hasif and his family make it to the platform. His plans of coming to the States didn’t work out, his plans of getting past the undead on shore or finding an island to live on didn’t work out, but the people on the platform welcome them with open arms and kind hearts. Their nightmare is over.

  If you liked the book, (or even if you didn’t) it’s greatly appreciated if you take a moment or two to leave a review on Amazon. Although the books are widely available in many different outlets, you can even order them through your local bookstore, Amazon is still where most of the books are sold. It’s the most visible platform for others to decide whether they should chance their time or money on yet another zombie book. Your reviews help. Thanks.

  If you would like some visuals of the characters, the world they live in and the machines they drive, check out the Zombie Road Coloring Book. It’s on Amazon also.

  Lastly, thanks to Morgan Milstead for the use of his post-apocalyptic Lincoln for the cover car. Yes, it’s real, it runs and was pretty awesome to behold.

  As always, don’t forget to live life, hug your loved ones and don’t get hit by a bus.

  David A. Simpson

  October 7, 2018

  Zombie Road VI

  Highway to Heartache

  Book 6 in the Zombie Road series

  This is a work of fiction by

  David A. Simpson

  ISBN: 9781795497183

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No portion of this text may be copied or duplicated without author or publisher written permission, with the exception of use in reviews

  Copyright 2019 David A. Simpson

  All rights reserved

  Zombie Road VI

  Highway to Heartache

  A two-fisted trucker tale

  Cover design by Christian Bentulan

  Easy to work with, fair rates and qu
ick turn around if you need a cover

  CoversbyChristian.com

  Gravedigger Countach rendered by

  Typerulez

  Follow him on Instagram for more unreal images.

  Dedicated to my dearest partner in life:

  The nitpicky, OCD, grammar-Nazi, Robin.

  99

  Jessie + Scarlet

  “Ninety-Nine Park West offers stunning views, unmatched amenities and the most desirable location in the heart of the city.” Scarlet recited from her notebook. “The luxurious penthouse is unparralled and is available for the most discerning with exquisite tastes.”

  “Sounds pricey.” Jessie said as he stared through the telescope, easily picking out the high-rise building in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City.

  Scarlet was sitting cross legged on the hood of the old chop top Mercury, reading from the notes she’d taken over the ham from Scratch. He’d been on radio watch duty the night Jessie had contacted Lakota, asking for anything they could find about an address.

  The address they’d gotten from Darren.

  The one with the Fabergé egg they needed to steal for her to see the doctors at the Tower.

  Scratch read off everything he could pull from the old internet, the fiber optic cables bringing him the information almost as fast as he could type one handed. Carl, the engineer, with help of a few men from the Tower had completed the tie-in’s and now Cheyenne Mountain, the Tower and Lakota had access to the NSA databases. They had a snapshot of the internet the day it went down; every text, every Facebook post, every public and private thing that was in cyberspace was stored on the hard drives. Hundreds of millions of terabytes, most of it useless, but all of it still accessible. Sometimes the useless information, like the sales pitch for a luxury condo, turned out to be useful after all. At least now they knew how many sets of stairs they had to climb and the pictures Scratch described gave them a pretty good idea what to expect.

  They were in the mountains overlooking the city, Bob snuffling around looking for something to chase, Nefertiti watching from the dashboard with her eyes half closed. Jessie took another bite of Jerky and tried to focus in closer, tried to see if there was any movement in the windows but it was just too far. He could pick out the building easy enough, the second tallest in the city, but they were a good four or five miles away. All he could really tell is that the streets were filled with the milling undead.

  “We’ll go in loud, I’ll hop out at the condo while you lead the crowd away. Come back and pick me up in an hour.” Jessie said

  Scarlet didn’t reply. Just looked at him over her heart shaped sunglasses and took another bite of dried apple. He felt her staring and finally quit pretending he didn’t. She smiled and he left the telescope on its tripod, turned to her, pulled her close.

  “Together.” she said, circling her arms around him. “We promised. We’ll never be apart again.”

  Jessie breathed in the coconut shampoo smell of her hair and nodded once. They had come to the agreement weeks ago as they ate candle light dinner from cans in a stranger’s house.

  All four of them.

  The two humans who were more than human.

  The dog and the cat who were more than they appeared.

  Where we go one, we go all.

  A solemn vow to each other after Scarlet had nearly been torn limb from limb by the undead back in some nameless town in Nebraska. Jessie would kill for her, would die for her and knew she would do the same for him. He knew she was capable, maybe even more than him, to handle the zombies but he still didn’t like the idea of her being in danger.

  “Stop being male chauvinist pig.” she’d told him when they’d first discussed getting the egg and getting through the hordes Darren had warned them about, “or I go without you.”

  Now it was time.

  They’d spent a few weeks letting her wrist heal, tagging along with Charlie Safari and his new bride for a few days then relaxing at a hot springs lodge after they cleared it of the undesirable dead. They had a proper vacation in a fancy resort. It was easy to lose the urgency when they were having so much fun and it was hard to tell if the dark lines were getting any worse. Sometimes they even seemed to be receding a little.

  Now it was time to go after the one thing that would guarantee treatment at the Tower. They wouldn’t take money or gold, the doctors only worked on outsiders if they brought them something they wanted. Something from the insurance companies’ online lists of valuable and heavily insured items. Fine art, priceless jewels or rarities and oddities. Rumor had it that some apartments in the Tower had been decorated with hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of paintings, golden baubles and Persian rugs. It was said they lit cigars with million-dollar bearer bonds, used Monet paintings as dart boards and took caviar baths in Dom Perignon. Jessie didn’t know about all that, most likely just bar talk and tall tales. He only knew there was a doctor who wanted a Fabergé egg and in return, he would cure Scarlet. He’d run the tests and determine which medicine she needed to beat the infection that was slowly spreading from her old wounds. The wounds that scabbed over slow and refused to heal properly.

  Jessie stroked her hair, the blonde roots nearly as long as the black dyed parts. The three jagged slashes on her cheek had started to scar tissue but the dark runners of infection had spread, the small black tendrils reaching down towards her jaw and up to her eye. They couldn’t ignore it any longer, pretending they were getting better with the penicillin.

  Scarlet kissed his forehead, his scar, his nose and finally his lips. They breathed each other in, knowing it might be the last time. Probably not, but you never know. Never let the opportunity for a long, deep kiss pass you by. They were confident in their abilities. This mission would be a pain in the ass, they’d get messy, but they’d be okay. They always were.

  They found what they were looking for on the outskirts of town in a sporting goods store then went to a dealership that sold heavy-duty diesel pickup trucks. With keys from the manager’s office, a pair of jumper cables and some starting fluid, they got one fired up and running. Bob let them know if any unwanted guests came stumbling towards them while they tinkered with it and soon they were tearing out of the parking lot. Scarlet parked the Mercury at the end of the football stadium and told Bob to stay. They’d been working with him and he was getting better at obeying commands. He could get out if he really wanted to by pulling the cord on the door handle but he would stay put for a while. They weren’t planning on being gone for long. She hopped in and Jessie took off again, picking up more followers, pulling more of the undead to the sounds of the truck and away from the high rise. A hundred stumbling after him became a thousand and they were joined by more. He kept ahead of the mob, kept gathering them from the downtown area, always making a wider circle and increasing the size of the horde chasing them. By the time he made the second run past Ninety-Nine Park West, they had a half mile of keening undead chasing after them. He slowed a little, keeping an eye out for any unexpected hordes coming from side streets, but kept a steady pace back to the Stallions stadium.

  He let them get close, let them slap at the windows and get a good smell of him. He was trying to work them into a frenzy and they were trying to get into one but nearly a year had passed. Many of them were damaged in one way or another, all of them had been through a harsh winter and a baking summer and it had taken its toll. Carrion animals, flesh eating insects and the slow decay of rotting bodies had slowed most of them down to a stumble walk. Jessie drove out onto the field and couldn’t resist doing some donuts near the goal post, flinging chunks of the artificial turf in the air. It looked like real grass except that it was still green in a part of the country where everything that needed to be watered was dead. The sounds of the keening and dry throated screeching grew louder as more and more poured into the stadium, the bleachers causing their cries to echo and reverberate. Jessie did a few more donuts to excited squeals from Scarlet as she held on and the truck spun around. Th
e undead were getting closer so he shot down to the end zone, flipped on the low range four-wheel drive switch then cut the steering wheel all the way. He locked it in place with the seat belt, tore the center cap off of the steering wheel, found the two wires for the horn and twisted them together. He and Scarlet rolled out of the slowly circling truck with their bundles of rope and ran in a crouch for the bleachers. The big diesel purred along, horn blaring, and made large circles near the thirty-yard line as they quietly started their climb upward, towards the nose bleed seats.

  They made it to the top row and turned to watch the carnage below. A few of the zombies had spotted them and were trying to follow but most were attacking the truck. Maybe a hundred were in the stands, attempting to negotiate the stairs on uncooperating legs but the nearest was still far below, down in the good seats.

  The truck continued to turn its slow circle but was getting bogged down. Thousands of the undead were trying to get at it, trying to break into the slow-moving metal. It ground them down, sometimes coming to a complete stop against the press of bodies but the granny gearing and the four-wheel drive kept the tires spinning until they found traction and lurched forward again. They were still coming through the gates, still forcing their way onto the field, still chasing the sound of the horn and the idling engine. Half the city was being crammed into the stadium.