Machines of the Dead (Book 2)

by David Bernstein

  Jack turned his head, motioning for Zaun.

  Zaun came forward, sword already drawn. He entered the room and pierced the zombie’s head without it even knowing he was there. He wiped the blade off on a jacket hanging on a coat rack before sheathing his sword.

  A scuffling noise from down the hall caused Jack to take his eyes from the room. Another Thruway-Authority zombie was coming their way. This one was female with long blonde hair. Jack motioned for Zaun who came from the room, saw the zombie, and severed its head in one fluid motion.

  “Might as well keep that puppy out,” Maria said, indicating Zaun’s samurai sword.

  They continued down the hall, Zaun in the lead, and came to a large welcome area. A reception counter took up the far wall. A waiting room with multiple chairs took up the opposite corner. An empty water cooler rested next to one of the chairs. Three dead bodies lay on the floor, the corpses nothing more than bone.

  The place was a mess with papers lying about, coffee cups, soda cans, a vending machine was overturned—the large glass window smashed out. Not even a wrapper left inside. The acrid stench of rot was thick here. Jack pulled his jacket up over his nose.

  “No way we’re staying here,” Maria said.

  Jack went over to the front doors. The glass was frosted, making it impossible to see outside. He undid the lock, then opened the door and poked his head out. He had a clear view of the roadway in both directions. Hundreds of parked cars lined the lanes, bumper to bumper.

  He stepped out and didn’t see any movement, save an American flag blowing in the wind, tied to the end of a station wagon’s antennae. But with all the vehicles, especially the big rigs and their trailers, it made it difficult to get an unobstructed view of much in either direction. A zombie could be meandering between vehicles right ahead of him and he wouldn’t know it. Hopefully, the undead that were in the area had tumbled down the hill earlier and were now trapped there—but with so many vehicles about, he doubted it.

  A zombie staggered from around a box truck. It was about one hundred feet away. One was no problem. Then he saw another bot-controlled corpse appear from behind a car. Okay, a couple, even a small group, they could handle, even outrun them if they had to.

  Turning around, he saw Maria’s head poking from the partially open door and waved her out. Zaun followed with sword in hand and took the lead.

  They walked single file. No one spoke. Taps on the shoulder and pointing were the methods of communicating. A few of the undead were on their trail as well as in front of them. Zaun would take them out as they neared. Keeping the noise down and ammo saved were priority numbers one and two.

  They mostly passed by abandoned cars and trucks. The few with undead inside them were left alone, the mindless corpses unable to get out of the vehicles.

  There were a number of fender benders and a couple of accidents. A pickup truck had run up and onto a small car. A woman hung out of a Volkswagen, the flesh all but gone from her skull. Jack cringed, wondering if she had been alive when the undead started eating her.

  The going was slow. The small number of undead behind and ahead of them began to multiply quickly. More and more came from hidden places. They didn’t groan or sigh, but they made plenty of noise, banging into cars and falling over dead bodies.

  By the time they were halfway across the bridge, about thirty undead were on their trail. Zaun had sliced a few heads off of the ones that were in the way, but now with the number so large and gaining, he switched to his M4 rifle.

  Jack and the others used controlled bursts to take out the closest undead, but the damn things seemed to be multiplying as more and more came at them. Heads exploded, painting vehicles with brain and skull fragments. Jack felt like he was back in the city, when they were trying to reach the warehouse. There had been so many undead closing in on them. But there, they had a place to run to and more room to do it in. Here, they were boxed in. Movement was difficult. The vehicles weren’t all neatly lined up. Most were crooked, blocking off lanes, forcing the survivors to have to climb over them. The wind on the bridge was fierce and frigid.

  “Reloading,” Maria yelled and Jack took up covering her side. They were walking past a tractor-trailer. Jack was occupied with shooting an undead woman who reached out of a car window at him when something grabbed his ankle. He jerked his foot and looked down to see a legless zombie pawing at him. He kicked it in the face, dislocating its jaw. There were other undead crawling toward him from farther back.

  “Under the rig. There’s more under the rig.”

  Zaun and Maria were too busy firing at the approaching mass. Jack pulled his .45 and began plugging the prone zombies in the head. One made it to Zaun and latched onto his boot. Jack went to warn him, but the agile martial artist pulled his leg back, then stomped on the thing’s head, crushing it into a pile of mush.

  “We have to move!” Jack yelled, holstering the .45, then taking aim with the M4.

  With the number of undead ahead of them, it was almost impossible to move quickly. They blew brains out of heads and trudged forward. The bot-controlled corpses fell, but with so many undead the throng drew nearer.

  “Slow and steady—” Jack began, but lost his ability to speak. His mouth fell open at the site ahead of him, and he did all he could to keep breathing.

  Chapter 5

  About three quarters of the way across the bridge, Jack couldn’t think about anything but his imminent death. At the end of the bridge was what had to be a twenty-foot-high wall of stacked cars blocking their path. Now he understood why there were so many zombies on this side of the bridge—the damn things couldn’t get across it. There was no way they could fight their way back. Jumping off wasn’t an option either. If they survived the fall, they’d still have the icy waters to deal with, which would surely do them in.

  “What the hell is that?” Zaun asked, staring at the wall.

  Jack came out of his stupor and began firing at the approaching undead. “Just keep going. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Damn it,” Maria shouted, seeing the site. “We just can’t catch a break!”

  They continued to fire, concentrating more on taking out the undead ahead of them. As slow as the zombies were, the ones behind were getting closer. They needed to move faster. If they had any chance at climbing the wall of cars, they’d need time.

  “Jack,” Maria said, “are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  Jack took his eyes from the zombie he’d just sent down and eyed the wall. Three figures stood atop it. By the way they moved and the guns they held, they weren’t undead. Now they just had to see if they were friendlies. One of the figures threw something sparkly onto the bridge near a small grouping of undead.

  “Get down!” Jack yelled. A second later, he heard and felt the explosion. Peering over the car he had ducked behind, he saw that the group of undead were gone. Arms, legs and other body parts flew in all directions. One zombie remained mostly whole and landed on the roof of a Ford Escape, blowing out the rear window.

  Jack watched as another ignited stick of explosive landed at the feet of a few approaching zombies. A moment later, the threesome was down, their legs blown off. Shrapnel from one of the vehicles flew past his head. More dynamite was tossed, obliterating more undead ahead, clearing a path to the wall.

  “I hope they’re trying to help us and not lure us in for a kill,” Zaun shouted.

  “If we don’t keep moving, it won’t matter,” Maria said.

  Jack could smell the stench of rot from the approaching horde. He could no longer hear them banging into the side of vehicles or falling over each other as they hurried forward—the explosions causing a ringing in his ears.

  As they drew near to the wall, the figures stopped tossing dynamite. Jack and the others were able to hoof it, somewhat distancing themselves from the zombies.

  “Move your asses!” one of the people on the wall yelled.

  Only a few undead were left ahead of them. Jack took two out, Zau
n and Maria the rest. As they approached the wall, a rope ladder was let down.

  Jack told Zaun to go up first, thinking if there was a problem, the guy could handle the strangers at close range. Maria went up next, then Jack, who scrambled up the ladder just as the first of the undead approached the wall.

  “Thanks,” Jack said, breathing hard. He stood and shook the hand of an older man. The guy wore a baseball cap, wire-rim glasses, and a bulky winter coat.

  “Name’s Don. We can share pleasantries once we get off of here.” He motioned for Jack to go ahead. Zaun and Maria were already on their way down from the wall, stepping on the roofs of a descending line of vehicles, like giant stairs.

  From atop the wall, Jack could see, for about a quarter mile out, that the highway was clear of vehicles—save an armored truck parked a few feet away—and then the parking lot started up again.

  “You’re not the first to try crossing the bridge,” Don said, looking from Jack to Maria to Zaun. “You must have a good reason for doing so.”

  Jack nodded. “Trying to get to my sister.”

  “Where’s she from?”

  “Cornwall.”

  “That’s a ways off—by foot anyways.”

  “Hi, I’m Zaun,” Zaun said, stepping up to shake Don’s hand.

  “Good to meet you all,” Don said.

  “Maria,” Maria said.

  Don motioned to a tall, lanky, young man with acne. “This here’s Rob.” The kid waved and said hello. “And this fellow on my left is—”

  “Paul,” the man said. He was holding a .30-06 semi-automatic rifle with a banana clip. He had a full beard and soft eyes. “You guys military?”

  “No,” Zaun said. “Well, she is,” he poked a thumb in Maria’s direction, “or rather was. Not sure we have one anymore.”

  “Tell that to the fighter planes we saw flying overhead the other day,” Don said. “Not sure how together they are, but some kind of military is still around.”

  “Probably using Stewart Air Force Base in Newburgh,” Maria said.

  “That’s near Cornwall,” Jack added, speaking specifically to Maria. “Maybe you’ll be able to hitch a ride south.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said.

  “Anyway,” Don said, “we should head in. You’re welcome to join us, and I’d suggest it. Looks like we got bad weather coming in; temperature’s going to drop.”

  Jack noticed the kid looking around, off into the distance. He was wary about something. Jack eyed Maria, who noticed it too.

  “Something wrong?” Jack asked.

  “It isn’t exactly safe around here,” Don said. “And I’m not talking about the undead, though in recent days it’s safer around here than it was after the dead started rising. It’s a good idea not to be out in the open.”

  “Do you know what’s over there?” Paul asked, pointing across the water.

  “Tarrytown, then Ossining—home to Sing Sing Prison,” Zaun answered.

  “That’s right,” Paul said. “Never thought we’d have to deal with that all the way over here, but trouble has a way of surviving, and finding those that don’t want it.”

  “So you’ve had problems with the inmates?” Jack asked. “Have a few made their way over here?”

  Don laughed. “A few? Try a whole bunch.”

  “A cell block’s worth,” Paul spat.

  “Can we go now?” Rob asked. “It isn’t like those explosions weren’t hard to hear.”

  As if on cue, two zombies, both naked from the waist down, came stumbling out of the nearby tree line.

  “Damn things are everywhere,” Paul said. He aimed his rifle and blew the head off of one zombie, then fired again and turned its partner’s head to mist.

  “Time to leave,” Don said. “You people coming?”

  Jack looked at the others. He saw the tiredness on their faces.

  Maria nodded.

  Zaun shrugged. “Why not . . .”

  “Sounds good, Don,” Jack said. “We have our own food. Just need a place to rest up.”

  “Nonsense,” the man said, waving his arm, “we’ve got plenty to eat and drink. You’ll need your food for the long journey ahead.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Maria said.

  “Alrighty then,” Don said, “come with us.”

  They headed to the armored car. Rob opened the rear doors and climbed in. Jack, Maria and Zaun all stopped, their faces wary.

  Don laughed. “You can all ride up front with me if it’ll make you feel better. Paul and Rob will ride in the back.”

  Jack and Maria got in the front with Don while Zaun decided to ride in the back.

  Not only was the truck bulletproof, but it was also zombie proof. Anything undead in the way would be flattened. The feeling of security it brought was immeasurable.

  “So, before you said it wasn’t safe to be out, but was safer than it used to be?” Maria asked.

  Don nodded as he drove the truck away. A necklace with a butterfly emblem swayed from the overhead visor.

  “After the shit hit the fan, so to speak, a bunch of people from the area settled into a large house up on the hill. We call it Cliff House. We organized ourselves, gathered weapons, food and other supplies. We thought we’d wait out whatever was happening together. The military had blocked off the bridge using those bulldozers you saw. They killed anyone trying to come over it. Guess they thought they could contain the problem, or at least keep it from spreading quicker.” Don wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “Anyway . . . before that happened, a bunch of inmates had already gotten over the bridge. Don’t know why they headed this way, but they did. They took residence in a mansion about six or seven miles from here. They went around killing, raping and pillaging, like some barbarian-order out of a fantasy novel. The ones they didn’t kill were taken to the mansion, to their leader, a monster named Cannibal. A vile human, if I ever saw one.”

  Don shifted gears, picking up speed.

  “When they came at us, we were ready and fought them off, but lost two of our own in the process. We managed to capture one of theirs—that’s how we know so much about them and their psycho leader, Cannibal.”

  “Where’s the prisoner now?” Jack asked.

  Don stared ahead. “Gone.”

  Silence filled the cab. Don turned the truck off the highway and drove through the busted metal guardrail, and headed up a snowy incline to a double-yellow lined road that led into the mountains.

  “We don’t have weapons like yours, but we got plenty of rifles, shotguns and handguns. As long as we keep on our toes, we’ll be able to fight off those scumbags should they try attacking us again, though I think they might’ve moved on.”

  “Moved on?” Maria asked. “Scum like that don’t usually move on.”

  “After the third time they tried attacking us, we killed four of their men. It’s been three weeks since we heard anything from them, let alone anyone else. I think we proved to be too much trouble. They probably moved on and are terrorizing some other folks. I don’t like it, but it ain’t like we’re going to chase after them. We’ve fortified and dug in. The whole world looks like it’s gone to Hell and we’re not about to join it.”

  Jack bounced around as the truck rolled over a few downed tree branches.

  “Good for you,” Maria said.

  “This is our home. Most of us are from the area. We have no idea what the rest of the state, let alone country is like. Figured we’d wait and see what happens. In the meantime, we’ve got guns, the river for fishing, and wildlife to help sustain us, along with canned food. The house is in a great location—and I’m not talking about the view.”

  They passed by a number of small roads with names like, Maple Way, Cranberry Lane, and Willy Creek Road. They came to an intersection and Don took the truck left onto Fairview Street. The woods were thick here. Jack looked out the side window and could no longer see the bridge. It seemed as if they’d entered another world, a snow
-covered winter wonderland where trouble wasn’t permitted to exist. Jack wished his mind would allow him to forget what was going on, but that wasn’t possible. At least not now. Maybe tonight, when he was lying on a bed, he would be able to dream about the past and the good times. About his wife.

  “What about a boat?” Maria said, bringing Jack back to the present.

  “We’ve got row and canoe,” Don said. “As you can imagine, when the outbreak made the news, people panicked. Anyone with a boat packed up and got the hell out of here. It’s not like we’re that far from the city. But I guess the military didn’t want people scattering. A few fighter jets and Apaches flew up the river, destroying docks and marinas along the way, like the one back down by the bridge. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Stopping your own people from escaping.”

  Maria sighed. “They must’ve thought they could contain or at least slow the spread, but once it left the city, I don’t see how it could have been contained.”

  “We heard reports about people being sick as far as California,” Don said. “All it takes is one person on a plane I guess. Power went out soon after that story broke. Not sure if they nipped it in the bud or what. The Canadian border was cut off, bunch of tanks and helicopters set along it. But if Manhattan was quarantined and the sickness found its way out of there, then I’d say it’ll get anywhere it wants.”

  “You’re right about that,” Jack agreed.

  Don slowed the truck and took a left off the road and onto a narrow driveway. Huge trees, pines, leafless maples and oaks overhung the drive, creating the sensation of entering a tunnel.

  “Well, we’re here,” Don said, pulling up to a yellow school bus. It was positioned sideways, blocking the path. Unlike a normal school bus, this one’s windows and wheels were covered over with what appeared to be sheet metal.