As he drove on, the day became increasingly cloudy. Still, he pushed on until dusk, when raindrops began to assault the windshield, and the wipers screeched across the glass methodically. He continued to push on past Vierzon, but the rain halted his progress shortly after. Even with the wipers on high, he was unable to see the road. The highway was flanked on both sides by groves of trees. The last sign along the A71 said he was about ten kilometers from Salbris, when he parked the van on the deserted highway. He was going to have to sleep in the van for the night. The windows began to fog over as soon as he killed the engine, so he wiped a spot to peer out. The rain was heavy, pounding against the metal roof.
“So, this where you’re going to sleep?” Zach asked.
Cale jumped, startled by Zach’s reappearance.
“God damn it, man. Do you have to do that?” Cale asked.
Zach smirked. Cale turned to look out the window again, where fog already begun to cover the hole he’d made.
“And yes. This is where I’m going to sleep. Do you have a better suggestion?” Cale inquired.
“Na. No suggestions. It was a rhetorical question, actually,” he answered.
“If you’re done asking dumb questions now, I’m going to try and get some rest,” Cale stated.
Zach was already gone when he turned to see how his friend would answer.
“I hate it when you do that,” Cale whispered to himself.
He looked around the interior of the vehicle, ensuring that every door was secured. Once that was done, he tilted his seat back and listened to the rain drum against the roof. He tried to will himself to sleep, but couldn’t shake the image of the old man falling to the road. The gunshot echoed in his brain each time he replayed the scene.
“Still thinking about that huh?” Zach asked.
Cale had half expected him to show up, and didn’t jump this time. He opened one eye to look at his imaginary friend. Zach again sat in the passenger seat. He, too, appeared kicked back, as if he were going to sleep.
“Kind of hard not to,” Cale stated. “It’s not every day I shoot a man in cold blood.”
Zach looked perplexed. “It wasn’t in cold blood,” Zach assured his friend.
“How can you say that?” Cale asked.
“If it were in cold blood, he’d have been running from you. Not toward you,” Zach answered.
“He was coming to me for help,” Cale said flatly.
“Exactly,” Zach said, “How else were you going to help him? He was already infected. You and I know what the bites mean.”
“But…” Cale started.
“And I’ll bet you sure as shit he knew what the bites meant. Why else would he have kept coming when you started shooting?” Zach cut him off.
“I don’t know,” Cale answered.
“Bullshit,” Zach didn’t accept Cale’s reply, “What was it you said to me back in Iraq? The first night this shit all started?”
Cale thought for a moment, struggling to remember something he said months ago.
“You told me not to be so noble. That everyone would be fine without us. It goes the same out here man. The rules are clear-cut. Everyone that’s left should know them by now. And it’s their problem if they don’t. You can’t save them all. From now on, your focus should just be getting home. No more distractions,” Zach lectured.
Cale thought about Zach’s advice. It seemed selfish to him. Had his own words all those months ago sounded as bad?
“Can we talk about something else now?” Cale asked.
Zach laughed, “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know, just anything else,” Cale said.
Zach took a deep breath as he gazed through the windshield and into the darkness.
“You know we’d be home right now if it weren’t for these fucking things,” Zach stated.
“Yeah,” Cale replied.
Cale thought about the homecoming he probably wouldn’t receive. He imagined Lauren running up to kiss him. She’d have already picked out an outfit for the day, one he’d never see. He dreamed of seeing the look on Marie’s face when he came home for good.
“Just think about the welcome home sex,” Zach said, to lighten the depressing atmosphere. “We’re totally missing out there.”
Cale laughed.
“I suppose we are,” Cale chuckled.
The pair laughed for a few moments. After the laughter faded, the thumping of the rain filled the silence.
“What do you think happened to everyone who stayed behind?” Cale asked.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Let’s just get you home,” Zach declared.
Cale opened his eyes and looked over at his friend. Zach was reclined in the seat, his eyes closed as if he were pretending to sleep.
“Dude, don’t watch me sleep. It’s just creepy,” Zach said without opening his eyes.
“Just don’t leave me alone,” Cale stated. “Could you just stay?”
“I’m only here because of you. If you want me gone I’m gone,” Zach stated.
“Not to sound gay or anything,” Cale said, “but don’t leave me okay?”
“No worries. You want me here, here I stay,” Zach answered.
“Thanks.”
Cale settled into an uneasy doze, waking occasionally to check that Zach was still there. A man of his word, Zach remained in his seat until Cale fell truly asleep.
29.
More Human Than Human
Michael sat in the tower along the A86, cleaning his Mossberg 590A1. The tower had been erected by the French Army as a way to monitor civilian traffic and to limit the spread of the infection. His large red headphones blared out music by White Zombie. Rhythmically, he wiped the weapon to the beat. His bloodied baseball bat leaned against the wall. He’d clean it next. He wore a set of black combat boots, and the green army fatigues of a French soldier, sleeves rolled up. Michael had found the uniforms in a footlocker, and hadn’t seen the harm in taking them. The Australian had picked the worst time to go on vacation to Amsterdam. He hadn’t been there for even a full day before all international travel was prohibited, and the city went on lock down. He thought about his home, back in Tasmania.
Through the trap door, and down the ladder at the base of the tower, a mob of undead waited for him. Michael had already eliminated many of them, but in this suburb of Paris, their numbers seemed infinite. This was his post. He hadn’t always been alone here; he’d been paired up with an American, but he’d been killed months ago. He’d run into a crowd of undead wielding nothing but a crescent-shaped piece of metal that he’d forged himself. It was his version of a Klingon Bat’leth. He, however, was nothing more than another red shirt. Michael still tried to imagine what was running through that kid’s mind as he charged head long into the mob, his shouts of glory quickly turning to screams of terror as they ripped him apart.
Michael laid his shotgun across his lap and pulled his headphones off. He rubbed the cramp in his neck as he listened to the snarls of the hungry infected below. There had been more of them yesterday. This was part of the reason he was out here, to thin their numbers. Every day, a Humvee would come out and re-supply him with ammunition, food, and water. At the end of the week they’d bring out a replacement so he could go back to base for some R and R. He worked one week on and one week off. That was the rotation.
Each tower had been modified with solar panels so they had electricity. The only things he used power for were to charge his iPod and run his portable radio. The towers had been outfitted with a speaker system, which he used regularly, but not for conventional use. He’d plug his iPod into it to confuse the undead. They’d flock to the poles where the speakers had been mounted. It was so loud that he could climb down from the tower and pick off some of the stragglers. Often, some of the infected would see him, but not react. Music really confused them, giving Michael the advantage. Between songs he’d have to switch to his Mossberg, but otherwise it was straight up baseball bat. He’d never had
a violent nature, but God did he love bashing their heads in. It was almost therapeutic.
Michael set his Mossberg down and stood up to stretch. He picked up his baseball bat, and began using a torn piece of cloth to wipe the brain matter and blood away. The wood had been permanently stained with some of the gore, but he thought it added character to the weapon, and gave him an aura of danger. Others would see the weapon and just know he was a badass. The bandolier of shotgun shells he wore probably had the same effect. His black hair was longer than he liked, and he hated when it got in his eyes. He was also beginning to sport a full beard.
“Tango Seven, this is Tango Six. Over,” his radio crackled.
Michael put the bat down and pushed his hair out of his face as he picked up the radio.
“This is Seven, go ahead, Six. Over,” he replied.
“Just making sure you’re still there. You forgot to check in after you stepped out. Over,” the operator said.
“Roger. My bad. But hey, I’m stepping back out here in a sec. Over,” Michael replied.
“Roger. Tango Mike. Six Out,” the operator went silent.
‘Tango Mike’ was a phonetic way of saying ‘thanks much’. Michael and some of the other civilians had been required to attend radio etiquette classes, along with weapons familiarization and training. This was by order of the sergeant first class.
Michael removed the headphones from around his neck, and sat them on the counter. He then began powering up the speaker system, and plugged the jack into his iPod. Outside, the loudspeakers crackled and hummed as they warmed up.
“Skull cracking time,” he said, as he cycled through his playlists.
The opening of White Zombie’s “More Human Than Human” began playing outside. The infected immediately stopped milling around and moved to attack the source of the sound. Michael watched as they shuffled away, leaving the base of the tower. He then lifted the trapdoor and grabbed his weapons. He climbed down and stood on the pavement. Last night’s rain had left puddles around the area, but today it was clear blue sky and sunshine. Michael looked at the nearest group and sorted out his first target, a man toward the back of the pack. He was clawing the air over his comrades, hoping to somehow reach the speakers. Michael went to work wielding his baseball bat. He averaged two hits to put one down. He managed to drop around ten of them before the song ended. He readied the shotgun in preparation for the song change, and blasted three of them in the face before “Super-Charger Heaven” began.
Michael handled them one at a time until he started to tire. His iPod was on a continuous loop, so he’d never run out of music. After another song change, when he shot a few more of the undead, he pushed his hair out of his eyes. He wiped the sweat from his face and began the climb back up the ladder. He didn’t normally make this many trips down to kill infected, but he was feeling a little pent up aggression today. Michael closed the trap door and sat his bloody bat against the wall. Still holding his shotgun, he peered out the window at the groups that were still there. The tower looked out over a serpentine on the highway, and looking down the road, he could see more approaching to investigate the music. In Paris, their numbers were endless, it seemed.
He reached over and shut off the loud speakers. Disoriented, the undead lowered their arms. They responded to whatever sense was most stimulated. Now they would rely on their sense of smell, and would easily track Michael’s scent back to the base of the tower and would continue to lay siege to the structure.
On the counter, the radio crackled. Michael must be missing something, because everyone was talking.
“Tango One, this is Tango Four. Repeat your last transmission. Over.”
“I said there is someone on the highway,” he responded.
“This is Tango Five, how do you know it isn’t an infected?”
Tango Five was a woman. Michael had never spoken to her in person but had always thought she sounded attractive. She was teased constantly by some of the men for having a 1-900 voice. She’d do her fair share of teasing back, but it was always in good fun.
“Because infected don’t drive,” Tango One answered.
“This is Tango Two. I have eyes on the target,” he stated, “I can confirm there is a moving vehicle on the roadway. Over.”
“I think I spooked him,” Tango One added.
“What do we do?” someone asked.
They hadn’t seen survivors for months, let alone a survivor driving a vehicle.
“Do we shoot?” someone else asked.
“This is Tango Two. Do NOT engage. I repeat. Do not fire. How copy?” he asked.
Towers three, four, five, and six gave a ‘Roger’. Michael pressed the transmit button, waiting a few seconds before speaking.
“Roger. Do not engage,” Michael answered.
“He’s out of sight now. Tango Three, do you see it yet?” Tango Two asked.
“Roger. The vehicle is picking up speed. Over,” Tango Three stated.
One by one, they passed on any information they could gather from observation. Tango Five could see that it was a single male occupant. Tango Six thought he might be wearing a uniform of some kind, but could verify that he had a weapon sitting in the cab with him.
Michael scanned the road. The vehicle came around the bend, and the infected left the tower and moved toward it. The driver attempted to swerve around them, but only succeeded in leveling a half dozen or so. Quickly, the vehicle weaved through Michael’s serpentine.
“This is Tango Seven. He just cleared my checkpoint. Eight, he’s headed your way, and he’s in a hurry. The vehicle looks pretty damaged,” Michael called up.
“Roger, Seven. Let me know when you can’t see him anymore,” Eight responded.
Michael watched as the vehicle began to spin out of control. A tire flew off into the ditch, and it began to roll onto its side. As if in slow motion, he watched it tumble, throwing debris across the highway.
“Oh shit,” Michael said to himself, as he fumbled with the radio’s button, “He’s down. The vehicle is down. He just rolled it.”
Michael looked at the wreckage, hoping to see someone get out. There, through the back window, he saw someone roll away, but the driver was obviously hurt. The injured man remained on the ground covered in blood, and the infected were closing in on him.
“Tango Seven, this is Tango Two. Hold your position. Over,” Two ordered.
“I can’t,” Michael shook his head, “The driver is out, but he’s surrounded.”
“He’s as good as dead. Leave him,” someone said.
Michael didn’t hear the last transmission. He’d already grabbed his weapons, opened the trapdoor, and began climbing down.
30.
Get Your Ass Up
Cale awoke the next morning to see the rain had stopped sometime during the night. His joints were stiff from sleeping in a sitting position, and he stretched and yawned as his body creaked and cracked. Down the road, he could see a body lying in the street. He looked at the empty passenger seat.
“Here I stay,” he said in a mocking tone.
A knock at the window startled him. It was Zach.
“I’m out here,” he said through the glass.
“Are there any of them out there?” Cale asked.
“How the fuck should I know?” Zach replied. “Get your ass out here.”
Zach backed away from the door as Cale cautiously opened it. He scanned the area for infected, and then urinated in the middle of the road.
“What’s the plan?” Zach asked from behind him.
“Well. I figure I’ll fuel this thing up and keep rolling. If everything goes well, I can make it to the north side by night fall,” Cale answered.
“You’re still gonna try for a boat?” Zach inquired.
“Unless you can tell me how to fly a plane, yes. I’m going by boat,” Cale answered.
“I still think it’s a bad idea,” Zach stated.
Cale ignored him as he grabbed a fuel can from the rear
of the van. He lined up the spout and inserted it into the tank. Cale could smell the gasoline as it glugged into the vehicle.
“I’m open to suggestions here,” he said. “Don’t just tell me it’s a bad idea without offering an alternative.”
Zach leaned against the van with his arms crossed.
“That’s what I thought,” Cale chuckled.
“Heads up,” Zach said, as he nodded to something behind Cale.
Cale could already see the creature’s reflection. He put the gas can down and pulled out the knife as he turned to engage her. She shambled slowly. One of her legs had been torn apart, and all she could do was drag the limb up and use it as support for her good leg. The term ‘good leg’ was used loosely, at best. Splotches of skin had taken on a green hue. Who knew what kinds of bacteria these things were breeding? They were walking petri dishes. Her bony hands reached out for Cale, and he seized one of her arms and yanked her off balance to the ground. He inserted the knife at the base of her skull, rendering her harmless.
“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Zach smirked.
“Yeah, well, practice makes perfect,” Cale said, as he wiped the blade. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Dealing with them one on one was easy, as long as he was prepared for the attack. They were predictable and clumsy. Cale finished fueling the van and then quickly got back to driving. If he could just stay away from the major cities he wouldn’t have any problems. He’d always wanted to see Paris, especially the Louvre.
“I bet ya the lines are really short today,” Zach said jokingly from the passenger seat.
“I bet so,” Cale laughed.
He wasn’t foolish enough to actually entertain the idea, but it was almost tempting.
“How much further?” Cale asked.
Zach leaned over and looked at the map, “Not too far. You’ll be turning up ahead.”
Cale already knew this. He’d memorized his route and when he’d be stopping to refuel. The plan was to take the N154 north all the way up to Dieppe, utilizing as many back roads as possible.
Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides Page 19
