The trucks pulled into the lot and turned around, facing out towards the road. The loaded beds of the trucks were just a few feet from the railed dock leading to the slips. All five boats were moored at the dock, with the three pontoon boats on the outer, non-slip side to allow for easier departure, while the two jon-boats were in the first two slips on the other side of the narrow dock. No time or voice was wasted on giving or taking orders. Everyone knew which truck went to which boat.
Mike and Rick were the only two people not unloading trucks or loading boats. The two heavily armed men stood watch, each man positioning himself so that they had a full view of the surrounding area with an overlapping field of fire in the center.
The few zombies they had seen in the short drive had been at a distance, and all headed toward the sound of the church bell. The marina was clear of everything except the group loading the boats. No one relaxed, even for a moment.
Three adults would handle the piloting of a pontoon boat, which would leave eleven people divided between the two jon-boats. By putting three each of the lighter children in jon-boats with adults they hoped to keep the weight down to a safe level. The last thing they wanted was a capsized boat because there were too many people aboard.
“Mike, Rick, the boats are loaded,” Gordy called out from behind them.
Mike looked at his watch. “Eighteen minutes, not bad. Rick get on board your boat, I’ll fall back to mine as soon as I see Dean coming.”
“I’ve got this Mike; I’m better able to handle distance shooting with this than you would be with the .223. You need to get your pontoon out on the river. I’ll join Jack and the others in the last jon-boat. No time for arguing, just go.”
“You got it, bro. See you on the water.” Mike turned and ran for his pontoon boat, the second in line. His wife Lisa, and Lynn Fletcher would be on the same boat. Though Mike trusted every member of the group, he hated not having all three of his daughters on board with him and his wife. He knew that Annie, Tina, and Elizabeth would be safe, but he also knew it was his duty to protect his girls. It always made him uncomfortable when he had to place that duty and trust into someone else’s hands.
“Who’s driving?”
“I will,” Lynn said, “I’ve spent many an hour on the water with these kinds of boats. I can handle it. You and Lisa want to take care of lookout?”
“Good deal, let’s start her up and get ready to motorboat.” Mike chuckled at his own joke. Neither of the women seemed to think it was funny.
Gordy powered up his boat, and Sam did the same. All three pontoon boats slowly moved to the outlet of the marina, a wide area with levees on both sides. They stacked up there, waiting. No one was to move into the river until Dean had returned.
Rick glanced at his watch for the third time. He knew that Dean was supposed to ring the bell once per minute for twenty-five minutes. It was now minute twenty-six. The bell was silent and Rick watched up the street.
Dean was supposed to get out of the church, through a horde of hungry zombies, get on his bike and push his way down Broadway as fast as he could. Rick could only hope it would work out as easy as thinking the words made it seem.
All of the boats were ready at the outlet of the marina, except the boat Jack was piloting. Jack held the boat at the far end of the dock, waiting for both Dean and Rick.
Rick watched through a small pair of binoculars hung around his neck, and he waited. Two minutes; check his watch, look through the binos. Three and a half minutes; check and look. Five minutes; check and look. Six and a half minutes; check and look.
There he was, Dean was on foot running through the Fifth Street intersection. There was a small group of zombies, but Dean was losing them quickly, the shuffling gait of the zombie unable to match their fleet footed quarry.
Dean had passed through the intersection, continuing straight down Broadway. His zombie pursuers had just moved into the center of the intersection when a huge old dump truck came plowing through, the bolted on plow blade smashing into, and tossing zombies and zombie parts high into the air.
Rick could see through the binoculars as Dean looked back over his shoulder at the roaring noise of the huge truck, and the crushing of once-human bodies.
“What the hell! Run dammit, just run.”
Rick shouldered the AI L115A3, bringing the long range scope to bear on the driver side window. It was difficult to track at this distance, especially with the beast of a truck weaving back and forth over the street.
Dean ran harder than he ever thought possible, pushing his legs and lungs to do things he didn’t believe they were capable of. But the truck was gaining on him quickly and he knew it was just a matter of moments before that gore splattered zombie catcher would smash into him. He didn’t spare a second glance over his shoulder, just kept pushing for the riverfront.
He charged through the Third Street intersection, the rising sound of the accelerating truck forcing its way past the pounding of the blood in his ears. Dean angled toward the small Land Title building, hoping to make it more difficult to run him down.
He intended to swing around the corner of the Law office that connected to the Land Title building, making it to the alley and possibly safety. Gunfire ripped through the roar of the truck. Dean felt something punch him in the back of his left shoulder, pitching him forward, face first into the glass door of the law office. He had only a moment to bring his right arm up partially shielding his face before he smashed into the glass.
“Fuck you, motherfuckers!” Rick screamed. He began to run, yelling “I need fire support, I need fire support now!” Jack heard him, and yelled to the other boats. The pontoons had already begun to move back towards the dock.
Rick stopped at the levy wall, leaning against the center where the flood gates would be slotted in during times of high water. He took a long deep breath, raised the rifle, sighted on the driver side window and squeezed the trigger.
Dean was three blocks from the marina, lying face down in shattered glass. He had a bullet hole in his shoulder and shards of glass in his face. His head hurt like hell, every part of him hurt like hell. He rolled over in the glass to see the driver side window of the truck bearing down on him implode.
The truck had swerved at just the right moment, instead of scoring the driver of the truck he hit the man in the middle. The .338 Lapua Magnum exploded the head of the passenger, which was enough to startle the driver. The truck veered hard left moving fast enough to rise up on its right side wheels, throwing the four men that had been riding in the back. Two of the men slammed into the side of a nearby building, one breaking his neck on impact, the other’s skull splitting open down the middle, like a ripe melon struck with a bat.
The driver tried jerking the wheel to level the big truck back out, but it was too far overbalanced to make any difference. The open-bed dump truck tipped over on its side, noise like the groan of a dying beast coming from the twisting frame. It continued to skid down the street, past Dean’s position, coming to a stop in front of the looted Crescent Jewelers storefront.
Rick took off at a run, praying Dean wasn’t dead. He had made half a block when he saw Dean stumble away from the law office. Dean leaned against the door of the Designer Edge resale shop; he tried to fight back when he felt hands grab his shoulders.
“Hey buddy, it’s Rick. Dean, it’s me, Rick. I’ve got you, man.”
Dean looked at Rick, his eyes unable to focus for than more than a second or two. Rick fought hard to keep his emotions in check. The sight of Dean’s face, shredded and peeled in places, bits of glass glittering in his skin put something cold and screaming into Rick’s heart. Dean tried to nod, and Rick could see him ready to fade out.
Rick slung the rifle across his back, next to his day-kit and put his right arm under Dean’s left shoulder. “Dean, buddy, I need you to walk with me. We have to walk the two blocks to the boat, it’s waiting for us. You’re too damn big for me to carry, so I need you to walk.”
Dean grunted a weak reply, his head lolling on his shoulder. Rick could feel his weight begin to sag against him. Rick hated what he was about to do, but couldn’t think of any other way to blow through the fog of pain that was about to push Dean under. Rick had Dean’s left arm around his neck, his right hand pressed against Dean’s ribs, trying to hold him up.
Rick moved his hand from Dean’s side to his right shoulder, positioned his hand how he needed it and whispered into his young friend’s ear. “I’m sorry buddy.”
Light flared in Dean’s eyes, just as brilliant as the bright searing pain in his shoulder. Rick yanked his finger out of the bullet wound.
“You fucker!”
“No time, two blocks to go or we die. Move your ass, Dean!”
Both men stumbled forward as quickly as they could with Rick still supporting Dean. They had gone a full block when Rick saw Jack running and pointing behind them. “Behind you, dammit, look!”
Rick flicked his eyes over his shoulder between himself and Dean. He saw two men crawling from the tipped wreck of the dump truck. Both men were bloody and moving slowly, but they weren’t zombies. They were alive and aching for revenge.
Rick noticed a flicker of movement farther behind the men and their dumped over truck. Back up the slight rise of Broadway a massive horde of hungry undead were crossing through the Fifth Street intersection. Every one of the one hundred or more zombies that Dean had rallied to the church with the bell were now making their way down Broadway. The pack followed the leaders, the leaders had followed Dean. A rampaging truck and cracking gunfire were simply noises to keep them coming.
Though they were often slow, lumbering and ungainly, this crowd appeared to move quickly, as if the rearmost zombies were pushing those in the front of the pack, driving them faster in pursuit of their prey, to the fulfillment of their all-consuming hunger.
“Oh, God,” was all Rick could say.
Jack had made it to them by this time, and helped support Dean on his other side, being careful of the wounded shoulder. All three men turned to look back when they reached the dock. The gunmen from the truck were still in pursuit, seemingly unaware of the slow but inexorable mass of zombies behind them.
Jack climbed into the boat, helped Rick get Dean into his seat. A couple of the children started to cry at the sight of Dean’s bloody shoulder and ruined face. Had he been fully aware, Dean would have felt like a monster at that moment.
Gun shots rang out, the two cretins from the truck within range to do damage. One of the men fired at the jon-boat the three guys had just climbed in to. The other turned his weapon on the pontoon boats that had moved back in closer to the dock.
“GoGoGO!” Rick screamed at the other boats. He pointed toward the street behind the men. One of the gunmen saw this, looked behind him and began to scream as the horde closed in. He turned and began to fire on the mass of undead.
Both of the gunmen were quickly overwhelmed, the seething mass of rotting flesh and snapping teeth surrounding them. After a few sporadic shots the gunfire ceased. Then the screaming began, the sounds coming from the two distant men were what nightmares were made of, then that too went silent.
Though the men on the boats could not hear the feasting creatures, their imaginations supplied them with all the sound effects they needed to create a vivid and lasting picture of what was taking place inside the center of that ring of death.
All boats pushed out to the river, coming close enough to verify that no one else was injured. Jan and Gordy were told that Dean was injured, but not how severely. They couldn’t do him any good, out here on the river.
Several people turned to watch the dock crumble under the weight of hundreds of zombies. Beyond the dock, people could see the half sunk hull of the American Queen Steamboat. The river ship had been on a cruise to dock in Hannibal when the sickness struck. No one was sure what had caused the massive boat to founder and partially sink bow first so close to its destination.
14
Heading down river, toward Saverton Dam, they had been cruising slowly for just over a mile when Jack, in the rearmost jon-boat, pointed out to Rick that Mike’s pontoon boat was listing to the left.
In the confusion of gunfire and zombies Mike’s boat had ended up in fourth position. Jack gave his boat some gas, swinging out to the left of Mike’s pontoon, or ‘Party Barge’ as Mike like to call it.
Jack was careful to stay away from Mike’s swell as he came around and beside the pontoon boat. Lynn was still handling the piloting of the larger craft, and looked at him quizzically. Jack motioned to Rick to watch the left pontoon as they continued downriver.
It didn’t take long to spot the three bullet holes just below the water line. Rick motioned to Jack to move in as close as possible to the other boat. He waved to Lisa and Mike, bringing them to the railing.
“You have bullet holes in the pontoon over here.” He had to shout to be heard over the wind, water and outboard motors.
Mike shrugged, pointing to his ear, signifying that he hadn’t heard. Rick shouted it twice more before Lisa caught it in the wind. She gave him a “thumbs-up” that she got the message and Jack let the jon-boat fall back to its original position.
Rick could see Mike, Lisa and Lynn talking, then Mike and Lisa began to shift some of their heavier cargo the right side of the boat. Once they had moved all they could, husband and wife leaned against the railing, lifting the bullet holes in the pontoon above the water line.
It took the group just over an hour of slow steady travel to reach their destination. Group spirits rose as they approached Saverton Island.
Calvin, in the lead jon-boat, guided everyone to a narrow inlet that let into a lagoon. Those captaining the boats beached them on a small stretch of sand. Once all boats were in, everyone lent a hand to draw them ever further up the shore
The weary group left most of the supplies on the boats, only unpacking the necessities for one night. The children went around with bottles of water, while Lynn and Tam handed out MRE packs to everyone.
Dean’s family began a screaming session while Jack and Rick stood there and let them yell. It didn’t last long, and once it was done everyone but Jan thanked them for what they did to save Dean’s life.
Jan had several of the men set her up a small area to use as a clinic. She used a sturdy folding table they had brought along as her operating bed. She had several people stand there holding flashlights to give her the light she needed to work. She went immediately to the bullet wound in his shoulder, and nearly wept in relief when she saw that the bullet hadn’t nicked bone or artery when it had passed through.
“Damn lucky Rick didn’t tear anything open when pulled his dumbass stunt,” she said aloud to no one in particular.
After giving the shoulder wound all the proper care she could, she moved to his face. The left side of his face bore the worst of the damage. Deep lacerations, abrasions, embedded shards of glass, several small patches of skin missing. “Oh, my beautiful boy,” she whispered. Wiping away tears, she focused on the job at hand, as if this man lying here was just any normal patient of hers, and not her son.
Seventeen pieces of glass, and over one hundred stitches later, Jan finished with her son. Bandages covered the entire left side of his face, obscuring his eye and part of his mouth.
She stood up, her back aching horribly, hands cramping from the minute work of the stitching. She left Lynn and Anna watching over him, while she stood beside Gordy at the fire.
Gordy stood up, slipped his arm around his wife, and they stood together staring silently into the flames. They needed no words; nothing could be said that would change anything. Simply standing together, knowing that someone they loved and trusted most in the world stood beside them was enough.
Gordy looked out across the water, sunlight glinting on small waves, and sent out a thought of hope. Hope that each person here would continue to fight for survival, both personal and for the entire group. Hope that tomorrow would be a better da
y, that there would be moments of laughter among the tears.
Gordy kissed his wife and pulled away, walking over to the table where his son lay. His breath hitched at the sight of his bruised and bandaged son. He knew there would be scars, horrible disfiguring scars, and that if anyone was strong enough to bear them well and with pride it would be his son.
“Hey Dad, it isn’t even noon yet. Think we should get people up and moving? I know everybody is beat but some hard work might do them some good.”
“You’re right, Sam. Let’s see if we can get a couple of people to clear out a wide area to make a camp. Also, ask a couple of the guys to start looking around the island, for the sake of security. They need to watch for good spots to place lookouts.
“Anna could take some of the children and go fishing. Some fresh fish cooked over an open fire would be great for morale. Well, at least my morale,” Gordy said, chuckling quietly.
“Sure thing, Dad, we can make it happen. By the way, Dad…”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“He’ll be fine,” Sam said, nodding at his brother resting quietly on the table.
“Yes, he will, Sam. We are a tough breed; Dean will pull through just fine. We all will.”
Sam nodded at Gordy and walked away, intent on getting people organized to put their island in order for an extended stay. He recruited Jimmy and his brother Calvin to scout out the island. He tasked Tam, Lynn, Mike and Lisa with cleaning up a clearing further into the woods to make a camp.
Anna already had several children at the lagoon with fishing rods, teaching some of them the best way to bait a hook with worms she dug up. Tina Phillips and Ashley Mitchell both took to fishing like naturals. Their laughter rang out over the quiet island, bringing much needed levity to the somber pall that seemed to hang in the air like a fog.
The day passed quickly, and everyone but the people on guard duty turned in early.
Everyone woke rested and ready to put in a hard day’s work. Time and care was spent on unloading the boats, with people packing everything up into the woods at the newly cleared camp.
American Revenant: Hometown Exodus Page 5
