Evacuation - 02

by Phillip Tomasso

  “We’re safe in here,” I said. “They are the military. They’re trained for this. They have guns and are skilled at using them. We’re going to get past this roadblock. They’re taking us somewhere safer, and far away from here.”

  “Sit tight, everyone,” the Corporal said. He opened his door, hopped out of the Humvee. The driver did, too. I heard the hood pop open.

  I had spoken far too soon, and freely. I looked like a liar. Can’t tell kids we’re getting out of here and a second later the driver gets out of the Humvee and pops the hood. It just detracts from the validity of every fucking thing you just said.

  “The engine?” Allison said.

  Dave nodded. “Looks like it.”

  This wasn’t good. Couldn’t be. That engine hadn’t been screaming for attention long. No way could it give out so quickly. These things were built for battle, all terrain. Cruising over bodies shouldn’t have touched the mechanics of such a beast.

  I don’t know how long we sat where we were with no one saying a word. We just stared at one another, waiting. I don’t think I thought about anything. I just stared, at Dave, Sues, my kids, and when I turned my head to the right, at Allison.

  When the side door opened, the Corporal stood there. “We’re moving on foot. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we headed? Don’t tell me it’s classified. Something happens to you, or your buddies, we need to know where to go. You owe us that,” I said.

  “You called it. Coast Guard. Other side of the O’Rourke Bridge, over the Genesee, then down by the pier,” he said without an argument. He wore sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt them, felt fear radiate from his entire facial expression.

  I knew right where the Coast Guard station was; not because I was, or had been, a dispatcher for 9-1-1, but because I took my kids fishing in the area. Often. Filled a cooler with juice pouches, and sandwiches and chips. With those collapsible chairs, and coffees for the three of us, yes, all three of us, we’d head out early morning and fish off the edge into the river. Spend hours there. Catch a lot of perch and sunfish and carp, give them a kiss and throw them back in. They loved it. I loved it.

  “Okay,” I said to everyone inside. “Let’s go. We stay close, together. Got it? Charlene, don’t let go of my hand.” I wasn’t putting Cash down. He was going up on my back, or in my arms, but not down.

  We climbed out of the Humvee with the Corporal’s assistance.

  We stood in front of the vehicle. The driver was on my left, the Corporal on my right, and the soldier that had manned the gun on top, took point.

  I removed my backpack, which I had filled with supplies earlier at my apartment. Canned food, and clothing. A phone charger for Charlene’s cell. I wasn’t going to be able to keep it on my back. I swapped it out for my son. He sat up high, arms around my shoulders.

  I read the name sewn on the man’s shirt: CORPORAL SPENCER.

  “What’s in the bag?” Spencer said.

  “Food. Clothes.”

  “You don’t need it. We have supplies. Plenty.”

  I didn’t just want to leave it. I removed the charger, stuffed it in my pocket. I tossed the bag against the Humvee. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive, sir.”

  “And what about us?” I said.

  “Sir?”

  “Guns. Give us your side arms. Something. You can’t--”

  “You are not getting guns.”

  “I never fired a gun,” Sues said. She wasn’t helping the argument. Hurt it, actually.

  “Dave and I, we can shoot well.” It was partly a lie. I had no clue if Dave had ever seen a gun before. “You’ve got to give us something.”

  “Can’t do that, sir. Stay inside the circle,” Spencer said.

  They barked orders. Their weapons kept us covered. We moved from disabled vehicle to disabled vehicle. The soldiers checked inside each one. I don’t think they looked for keys. More than likely it was for zombies. Don’t want to hide with your back to a car that has more danger inside than what you faced outside.

  Felt like square one to me. We stopped by the roof of a cargo van on its side. Two of the military guys peeked around an end, checking to see if the coast was clear.

  “Why don’t you radio in for backup, for more help,” Dave said. His voice boomed with authority. He stood with one arm protectively wrapped around Sues’ shoulder. “I mean--if we’re just going across the bridge, help’s not far. Call them. Why don’t you just radio them?”

  “We have, sir. We’re the first patrol this close to returning. The other two are still miles away,” Corporal Spencer said. His green fatigues did nothing to blend in with abandoned vehicles on a street.

  “So there’s what? Three teams? Three?” I said.

  Spencer looked at me. I hated the sunglasses now. “We need to move.”

  “How many Border Patrol? Just the two in the helicopter? We talking about a rescue party of like what, eleven or twelve people?” I said. “Is that it?”

  “Sir, we’re not staying here. We are meeting at the Coast Guard facility and moving out from there.”

  “To where?”

  “Right now, sir, I don’t see how that matters much. If we don’t get our asses across that bridge, more of those things will come out of the woods for us. Don’t know if you’ve seen the fast ones, but if they come at us, most of us are as good as dead. Do you understand? Do you?”

  I nodded. Spencer showed some balls and I respected that. “Give me your sidearm.”

  “We’re not doing that,” the driver of the Humvee said.

  “Do it,” Spencer said.

  “Sir?”

  Spencer pulled a 9mm from his hip holster and handed it to me. The driver reluctantly handed his pistol over to Dave.

  “Pettenski, you too,” Spencer said.

  Pettenski, who’d operated the machine gun, held his handgun out between Allison and Sues. Sues just stared at it, made no move. Allison swiped it up, checked the clip and nodded at me.

  “Spade, anything moves on the right, shoot first. We’re out of time for questions. Pettenski, let’s roll.”

  Let’s roll? Did military people really say that?

  Didn’t matter. What did matter was that we had weapons, instead of gardening tools. While it might only be three guys, it was a military escort. Men trained for combat. I had no problem with that.

  What I had a problem with was the pack of zombies that just crossed the bridge, and was moving westbound right toward us.

  Chapter Two

  The van we hid behind would work until the group was on us. After that, we’d be vulnerable.

  “Should we hide?” Sues said. She turned her head, spun her body to follow. She did a full three-sixty. “There must be someplace to hide.”

  “Spade, how many do you count?” Spencer said.

  “The way they were moving, they’re the slow ones, sir. Best I can tell, anyway. Must be between twenty-five and thirty. Hard to get a good count. Could be more behind them that just aren’t visible at this angle with the sun where it is.”

  Spencer nodded and then he did the oddest thing. He looked at me. “Thoughts?”

  Must be because I appeared to be the leader of my own squad. Or because Spencer was probably twenty years old and I reminded him of his fucking dad or something. “Have a lot of extra clips for these guns?” I said.

  The zombies were already across the bridge and crossing Lake Avenue. They were making their way down the parkway now. Why they hadn’t gone left or right, or split up, I had no idea. Point was; they hadn’t. They continued to make their way west.

  Spencer patted at the gear on him. I didn’t see anything other than the Kevlar vest, a flashlight, cuffs and mace. Must have been more items inside the various pockets. I trusted he knew what he was talking about. “Way I figure, the tipped van is as good a place as any to make a stand. We put the kids inside. Those things won’t be returning fire, so it’s not like there’s danger from a gas tank gett
ing hit. With six of us, we should be able to clear them.”

  “Only downfall is that the shots will attract more,” Pettenski said. “They’ll come from everywhere. Out of the woodwork, you know?”

  “We’d have to do it quick. Like shooting gallery style,” Spencer said. “Are you a good shot?”

  “I won’t miss,” I said. It was as true a statement as any. The herd was massive and appeared to be growing, spreading. I just had to fire into it. If I missed a target that size, shame on me.

  Dave just kept nodding up and down. “I like it, Chase. I do. I like it.”

  I looked at Allison. Her eyes were easy to read. She was in. “Kids, I’m going to put you into the van. Fast,” I said, because once I got onto the vehicle and slid open the cargo door, we’d have been spotted. Cover blown.

  “I’m fighting,” Charlene said. I expected it.

  “Not this time. You’re going to protect your brother. That’s what I need you to do. No arguments. Not now. You want to be mad, fine. You want to discuss it, fine. But after. Understand?” I said. I wasn’t yelling. I definitely grit my teeth while I spoke though. I needed my daughter to understand that this was not me being mad, but I was serious and there was no time for compromise. She got it.

  “Take my hand, Cash,” she said.

  “On three, I’m going to jump up onto the side of the van and slide the door open,” I said.

  “We’ll hand the kids up.”

  “I’m not a kid,” Charlene said.

  I shot her a look.

  She lowered her eyes.

  Silently, I counted out three, showing my fingers.

  Dave quickly laced his hands together. I stepped into the makeshift stand. He hoisted me up and I scrambled to slide the door open.

  “Sir,” I heard Pettenski say. I was tempted to look around.

  Staying as focused as one can in such a situation, I tugged on the door handle. It did not budge. I kneeled on the sliding door, tried the passenger door, and it lifted open. “The kids,” I said.

  “Sir,” Pettenski said, again.

  The military opened fire. The sound of their rifle shots was not as loud as I’d expected. On the other hand, maybe my head was so filled with rushing blood that my hearing was impacted.

  Cash was handed to me first. He stayed low, belly flat on the fiberglass. I helped him drop into the van. “Come on, Charlene,” I said.

  Dave practically tossed her up. She inserted herself through the open door. “Stay low, and safe,” I said.

  Only now did I allow myself to look, after I closed the passenger door. I wished I’d remained blissfully blind to what came at us.

  The zombies might have appeared sluggish crossing the bridge, but a good chunk of them was fast, though. Half, maybe. Judging from the amount of gunfire I heard, to the few zombies that actually went down, they were also harder to hit. Way harder to kill.

  And my kids were now locked inside a tipped-on-its-side van. Locked. Better than the thought of trapped. If this went bad, though, trapped is what they’d become.

  I stayed on one knee on the side of the van and aimed. I fired off two shots.

  Below was chaos. The military guys yelled back and forth. Too much yelling, if you ask me. They made everything more confusing. I couldn’t listen to what was said, or shouted, because I needed to concentrate. I wanted every bullet to hit true. The distraction made it a hundred times more complicated.

  At least ten of the fast zombies were almost on us. I couldn’t take the time to count. I had no idea how many bullets this clip held. Seven? Ten? No clue.

  I think I missed my first two. The next three, I hit the target, but not on the bull’s eye. A shoulder, gut and heart shot. Any other time, that might be considered all right. With zombies, it had to be a head shot. Kill the brain. Destroy it.

  That’s when I noticed the other vehicle on its side. I mean, I’d seen it. Just hadn’t thought of using it. I closed one eye, aiming for the gas tank and let off two quick shots.

  I worried I’d seen too many movies.

  Thought for sure I was out of my mind after squeezing the trigger, but something sparked, and the car exploded. A giant black mushroom cap, raised into the air by a pillar of flames, erupted. Most of the fast zombies still ran at us, but as human torches.

  Black smoke billowed up from their outstretched arms.

  Slowly they fell, crawled at us, and then stopped.

  Someone yelled something about nice shooting.

  It had been. Have to pat myself on the back after. The explosion took out plenty of zombies, but there were more. Many more.

  “We’re being flanked,” I heard. Thought it might be Spade.

  Flanked. Did that mean more zombies from a different direction?

  “I’m out,” I said, and turned. “I need more ammo!”

  Spencer tossed over a clip.

  I almost missed it. It bounced on my fingers and I wrapped them around and as quickly as I could, and reloaded.

  “We need to move forward. Charge the remaining zombies,” Pettenski said.

  I fired and landed a headshot, then another.

  The fast zombies seemed neutralized. Dead. Really dead. The slow ones had not stopped though. They continued toward us. They dragged limbs with labored steps. Sounded ironic, but they did not look well.

  Hungry? Would starvation kill them eventually? Could starvation kill something that was already supposedly dead?

  “Chase, get your kids,” Spencer said.

  I didn’t like it. The idea of moving made me apprehensive. Sweat dripped from my forehead into my eyes. I ignored the sting and pulled open the van door. Charlene sat on the glass by the driver’s side with Cash cradled in her lap. “We’re moving. Let’s go,” I said, as my arm lunged into the van.

  Cash grabbed on. I pulled him out and set him next to me.

  His silence was almost too much. He cried, but did not otherwise make a sound. I hated to think about the trauma he felt. I did not forget that he’d just lost his mother and that alone had to affect his mind.

  Charlene refused my hand. She climbed up and out on her own. She was traumatized, too. She was hell-bent on showing me that she was independent, and capable of fighting side-by-side, and that she no longer wished to be treated like a child. She’d proved it several times since the outbreak, but I was her father. We didn’t let go of our little girls. Not easily. Not while there was still fight left in us. At least, that was the way I saw it. I wished she didn’t work so hard to show me how traumatized she wasn’t.

  We scrambled down off the van. I did not want to run, because it seemed more dangerous. We’d be fully exposed. Shooting had been a challenge as it was, running and shooting sounded impossible.

  Pettenski, Spade and Spencer had their knees bent, rifles raised. They encircled us.

  I knelt down. “Climb up, sport,” I said.

  Cash grabbed onto my neck. He was nine but weighed a ton. Or at least sixty pounds. It felt like a ton, but it didn’t matter, I’d carry him. Couldn’t have him trying to run and keep up. I wasn’t going to lose him or Charlene. They were all that mattered, more now than ever.

  “Stay close,” I said. Charlene nodded. The attitude was gone. For now, anyway.

  Chapter Three

  To say the situation looked hopeless sounded nothing short of melodramatic to an extent. It appeared that way, though. Hopeless. Zombies came at us from nearly every direction. The sound of gunfire attracted them like flies to shit.

  Spade took point, working to lead us closer to the bridge. The boy could shoot. No doubt about it. He’d let one rip. Headshot. Pivot one way, headshot. Pivot the other, headshot. If it weren’t such a dire situation, I would have applauded.

  Instead, I stayed low and followed. I shifted Cash around on my back, trying to hold him with my arms. It was an awkward angle, mainly because my gun was tucked into the front waistband of my pants. He had his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I felt his breath, quick, shal
low and hot on my neck. “How are you doing, buddy?”

  “I’m okay, Dad.”

  Behind me was Charlene, and behind her, Allison. Dave and Sues stood beside me. Spencer took up the rear, and right side. Pettenski had the rear and left covered.

  The idea wasn’t much different from when pioneers crossed the new frontier. When natives attacked, the wagon trains ran in a tight circle. It was an attempt to create a kind of moving and fortified structure. I never studied the era, and westerns were never my style, so I had no idea how it turned out for them. Skilled Native Americans launching arrows at covered wagons. Seemed like the guys at the reins were sitting targets. Literally.

  Right now, with three military guys around us, I didn’t feel that safe, or secure.

  We weren’t out of bullets, but I couldn’t help worry there were more zombies than ammo. Hand-to-hand combat seemed like a terrible idea. I was ahead of myself, I know. We weren’t there, yet. Not yet that far gone.

  “Keep moving, keep moving,” Spencer said. “Don’t stop.”

  I don’t know who he thought had stopped and looked back, because our group was walking. Everyone pushed forward. Spencer might just be barking out orders for the sake of yelling. We didn’t need the added tension.

  Spade ejected a clip, dropped it, slapped in a new one and went right back to firing off shot after shot without missing a single beat, or skull. We continually had to step over and walk around the wake of proof. If there was still a government in place at the end of all of this, I planned to nominate the guy for whatever awards were available.

  “Dad,” Cash said.

  “Yeah, buddy? What?” I said. Now was not the best time to talk.

  “They’re getting closer,” he said.

  “We’re okay,” Charlene said. She spoke to her brother the way her mother might have--her voice calm, soothing. I knew she was just as scared as Cash, and as I was. Her insides had to be as shaky as mine felt. I didn’t catch a trace of any of that in her tone of voice.

  “We just keep walking, Cash. We stay close. We keep walking,” I said. I smelled something burning. Nearby something had to be on fire. The sky was blue. I did not see any pillars of black smoke rising. There was no mistaking the combined odor of old clapboard, wires, carpeting, clothing, upholstery and flesh.