Hasif heard the dry, rattling cough that sounded like it was filled with sand and spun. He’d been spotted and dried out husks that looked like unwrapped mummies were coming down the ramp to the dock a hundred meters away. How could they still be moving? How could they still see or smell he wondered? They looked a thousand years old, baked by the sun until they could hardly walk. He watched them and it dawned on him that maybe things weren’t so bad after all. If this was his enemy now, it was easily out witted, easily out ran or outright killed. His plan to sail to America probably wasn’t going to work out. He’d be willing to bet every port within a thousand miles in either direction was blown to bits. Any working boat was long gone.
He watched them come, slow and steady, their numbers increasing as they called out in their rusty voices. Three became twelve. Twelve became twenty and they kept coming. By the time his girls joined Massika in shouting his name, he had a new plan. A new idea. He smiled as he watched the wretched beasts stumble along for another moment then turned and dove into the water. Seeing the condition of the boats, even the ones that didn’t look very damaged, made him realize the folly of sailing across the ocean. There had to be more survivors, they couldn’t be the only ones. They just couldn’t. He would start his own city, his own safe haven. The river was teeming with life, all manner of fish and frogs, they would never go hungry if they lived near the water. The sea would be even better. Without a billion people living near it, polluting it and taking food from it every day, they could cast nets from the shore and have plenty to eat.
He came up from his dive far enough away from the dock they didn’t plunge into the water after him. He tread water for a moment, letting the idea coalesce in his mind and wondered why he hadn’t thought about the abundance of the sea before. He’d never lived on the water, had never been much of a fisherman but now it all made sense. Now he suddenly realized why so many cities were originally built on the edge of the sea or the banks of rivers. It was for the plentiful food. How much easier would it be to set out fishing lines or crab pots or drag a shrimp net than go hunting or set snares hoping to catch a rabbit. His mind rejoiced with the simplicity of it.
“Why were you so afraid, papa?” Chione asked. “I thought they had you too scared to move!”
“Not afraid, not of them.” he answered easily after he’d climbed back in the boat. “I was just thinking, trying to come up with a new plan. I don’t think we’re going to find a boat to take us to America.”
Massika adjusted the shawl around her youngest’s head to shield the sun and waited. She knew he would think of something. He always did. She had never left Egypt, had only been out of Cairo a few times her whole life. Hasif had been everywhere, he knew how the world worked better than most and his intuition had kept them alive when everyone else was dead. She had always had misgivings about climbing aboard some abandoned yacht and sailing thousands of miles in open water anyway. She was secretly glad the boats were all broken.
“We’re going to live on an island.” he said. “There are many small ones in the sea between Turkey and Greece. We may even find others living there.”
“Like Sinbad the sailor?” Chione asked, excited at the prospect.
“Is it far?” Kissa asked, fidgeting on the uncomfortable seat. “Will it take very long?”
“Yes, little one.” Hasif said, pulling on the oars, moving away from the withered husks on the dock and back out into the river. “It’s far. It will take a very long time. And yes, like real life Sinbad, Chione. We’ll journey for months and have great adventures.”
“You’re not planning on rowing across the sea, are you?” Massika asked, looking doubtful.
“I think we’ll stick to the shore line.” Hasif answered, thinking out loud and formulating a plan. “We may be able to find a small boat that’s intact, something with a motor, but we’ll stay close to land. Keep it in sight and travel past Israel and Lebanon and Syria. There may even be food left in houses as we get closer to Turkey, they didn’t have months of famine before the undead were upon them. If not, there is food here in the water. We’ll learn to catch it. We’ll become sailors of the seas and fishermen of the oceans.”
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 them 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 (Book 5): Terror On The Two-Lane Page 32
