No Room In Hell (Book 2): 400 Miles To Graceland

by William Schlichter

“Lies.”

  “No. Major Ellsberg is the doctor’s brother. I came here to retrieve Dr. Ellsberg and take him back. He knew weeks ago this place was compromised—before the quake.”

  “Then the girl is a priority.”

  “I’ve a name,” Amanda snaps.

  “You’ve an extraction plan?” the Corporal asks.

  “Get across the bridge. I’ve got some companions. We’ll use a boat and head up river,” He leaves out he has a boat and lacks a need to cross the Mississippi.

  “Motor pool. The Jeeps are always fully gassed.”

  “Lead the way. I’ll take the rear—keep the cure between us.”

  “I’m no damsel in distress.”

  “We need you alive.” Ethan spanks her with his eyes. He may not trust the Corporal, but the boy knows the base layout and like them he has deep aspirations to not become a biter.

  “You said you had a base.” The Corporal sweeps his weapon, prepared to fire.

  “And everyone works to support it. We protect each other like family.”

  The overwhelming gas/oil mix greets them as they enter the motor pool. Ethan draws in a breath through his nose.

  “What are you doing?” Amanda inquires.

  “Enjoying a smell not coated in dead people.”

  The Corporal pulls rings of keys from a peg board. “What’s our next move?”

  Time for trust. “Two Humvees. I take the first, smash through any barriers and the bulk of the biters. You follow with the cure in the second and pick me up. We head for the bridge.”

  “I cannot count the ways that’s the most fucked plan I’ve ever heard,” says the Corporal.

  “I agree with the Marine,” Amanda says.

  “There are too many biters for one of us to get out and unlock the gate.”

  “Then we take one Humvee and ram it,” says the Corporal.

  “If the fence gets tangled in the wheel-well, were fucked,” Ethan says.

  “I see your angle.” He tosses Ethan a set of keys. “Find the Humvee loaded with extra supplies. They keep one for emergencies.”

  “Ten-hut!”

  The Corporal stumbles over his feet while snapping to attention.

  Ethan whirls at the voice. A Sergeant, arm ripped to shreds by bite marks, lumbers into the motor pool. “I’ll be taking that one. But I like your idea of ramming the gate. Put your weapons on the ground so you can drive.” He points his gun at Ethan.

  “How about we keep our guns and we take three Humvees? When we get across the bridge, I’ll cure your bites,” Ethan offers.

  “There’s no cure.”

  “What do you think they were working on in there? Her blood contains the cure.” Ethan nods toward the woman’s arm.

  “How do you plan to get it into me?”

  “I was an EMT-B. I’ll transfer enough of her blood.” Ethan hopes this guy doesn’t know EMT-Bs aren’t trained to do anything invasive.

  “Do it before we leave. This building’s secure.”

  “It may be, Sergeant, but my level of trust isn’t,” Ethan says.

  Ethan slows the Humvee. Between his bad leg and being too tall to comfortably fit behind the wheel, he hopes he doesn’t have to escape quickly from the cab. With a foot on the break he keeps the vehicle in gear, halting behind a row of troops popping biter after biter at the barricade.

  “Makes you proud. Those boys will stand their ground,” beams the Sergeant. His satisfaction remains minute as he weakens.

  “Until they’re overrun. There are a few thousand more undead heading this way. Your brave men got enough ammo to deal with them? Or do you want to sit here and watch them die for their country?”

  “I won’t order them to retreat. Even I know there is no place for them to go.”

  “I have a place,” Fuck, there goes my boat escape. “And they should be protecting the cure. That’s not retreating that’s a mission.”

  A soldier appears at the driver’s door. “New orders, sir.” He corrects himself, “Sorry, Sergeant. Orders?”

  When the pause concerns the soldier, he questions, “Orders, Sergeant?”

  “Get them on the Humvee. Protecting these two civilians is your new priority.” His eyes pound Ethan with an “I need the blood now” glance.

  The Marine races to retrieve those popping biters.

  “I don’t know how you plan to get to the bridge.”

  “The roads clear of obstacles, besides undead?” Ethan asks.

  “We kept it clear,” says the Sergeant.

  Soldiers climb into every cranny on the Humvee.

  “Hold on!” Ethan floors it.

  The Humvee races off the road behind the barrier. It gives all those hitching a ride a moment to breath—reload.

  “How far north of Memphis did you drop these trees?”

  “Ten miles,” calls out a soldier’s voice.

  Ten miles to the city. No way to stay in the trees for such a distance. The biters are drawn north. Maybe our two vehicles won’t be the attraction the aftershocks are. Ethan weaves and bobs through the forest.

  The barricade ends, giving way to trees too thick and too close together to navigate a wide Humvee through.

  Short bursts of machine gun fire distracts the biters. Ethan punches the accelerator, flying over the ditch onto the road. Undead splatter over the grill as he waves across the center line in an attempt to hit as few as possible.

  “Hey, Marine! Shoot the Vectors in front!”

  Hot brass rains into the cab.

  No more hearing. Ethan drops his eyes to the odometer. Nine miles? Felt like so much further.

  The undead herd thins like an eye of a hurricane.

  The Corporal voids the undead Ethan misses with the first Humvee. “Your savior is fucking nuts.”

  “I just met him,” Amanda says.

  “And you trust him to protect you?”

  “I trusted your soldiers to keep me safe and I was fucking experimented on.”

  The Corporal unclips a grenade from his utility harness. “No way for me to make up for the way you were treated, but this will prevent anyone from hurting you again.” He hands her the orb.

  In the second the Corporal glances at Amanda to make sure she has the grenade before releasing it, he misses the first Humvee stalling just for a second as it climbs over a tree fallen across the road.

  The impact flings the first Humvee forward doing little damage to either vehicle. A soldier holding onto the back of the Humvee flies across the hood flipping onto the roof. The fifty-caliber gun placement prevent him from reaching the pavement. A second soldier hanging on the back of Ethan’s Humvee felt the full brunt of the impact when his legs crushed against the grill.

  Screams for a Corpsman.

  Ethan slows. Troops leap to secure the area. The Sergeant grabs Ethan as he attempts to get out to check on the fallen soldier.

  “Leave him.” Beading sweat drips from his forehead. “I need the cure.”

  “I need to make sure the back end will get the next seven miles,” Ethan gets out.

  Two Marines work the fallen soldier. His lower legs are gone. From the amount of crimson spilling onto the road, Ethan knows he’s bleeding out.

  Two others help the second Marine tossed against the fifty-cal in the impact.

  Amanda hops from the Humvee.

  “Get back inside!” Ethan scolds her.

  “Why is she so important?” asks a Marine.

  Ethan decides it’s time to go for broke. “Her blood contains antibodies to prevent a Vector bite from and reanimating you.”

  “She’s some kind of cure? We should be evacuating her to the Atlantic Fleet.”

  “You want to wait at the base for a helicopter?” Ethan asks.

  “You have a second evacuation point?”

  Ethan must be careful. The support of these Marines will ensure returning to Acheron with this girl. A woman whose name he has forgotten to ask. She’s become a package not a person.

 
; “I have military personnel at my camp. But it’s four hundred miles to get there.”

  Before any answers forthcoming—

  “He’s gone,” reports one of the Marines working the wounded.”

  “You need to do right by him,” Ethan says.

  “You mean put a bullet in him.”

  “If you’re unable…” Ethan touches his Berretta. “I’ll do it.”

  “No, Sir. I’ll do it.”

  Ethan slows. The remains of a military checkpoint signal the edge of the city. “What happened here, Sergeant?” The barricades, concertina wire and metal walls charred black from an intense fire leave an opening large enough for the Humvee.

  Ethan nudges the Sergeant’s shoulder.

  He jars from his slumber. “What? I’m far from dead?”

  “What happened?” Ethan points at the firebombed military barricades.

  “We kept them bottled in the city until the earthquake. Then a few good men blew all they could to hell.”

  “A few hundred thousand biters would be impossible for anyone to control. How do I get to the bridge from here?”

  “Head down to the right. Follow the signs. We marked it when we thought we were going to defend it. There are obstacles on the bridge. You’ll need time to get across without company.” The Sergeant hollers out the window, “Hold this position. Until we clear the bridge. Then haul ass across!” He falls back inside in labored breath.

  Ethan hops from his Humvee.

  The Corporal escorts Amanda to him. “Get her across the bridge. We’ll follow up.”

  Ethan drags her to his vehicle.

  “I’m not some hunk of meat,” she protests.

  Bullets shatter the moment of stillness.

  “You certainly are to those biters. I don’t have time for politeness.”

  The Marines assume the checkpoints defensive potions opening fire on the Vectors.

  “Corporal, I could use you as we cross the bridge.” Especially when I have to shoot the Sergeant.

  “I’ll be right behind you. I’m after all the Vectors worst nightmare.” He climbs behind the Humvee fifty-caliber. “A nineteen-year-old American with a machine gun.”

  Now Ethan uses all his strength to hold the snarling Sergeant at arm’s length while he barrels through standing bodies. Ethan floors the accelerator. He doubts the stability of the Hernando de Soto Bridge after the earthquake. Limited options superseded his better judgment.

  Undead splatter against the grill raining coagulated syrupy mess across the windshield.

  Metal grinds on concert. The Humvee bounces off the barrier.

  The windshield wipers clear enough cadaverous fluids from the glass for him to make out trucks on disjointed pavement parked across the bridge’s center.

  The Humvee sputters and dies in a jerk as if hitting a wall.

  White smoke belches from the hood. Red and green fluid drip mixing with black goop. The smell of antifreeze overwhelms the rotten stench of stale blood for a second.

  Copper soaks his tongue. Ethan tastes the blood. He must have busted open his lip on impact.

  The heavy ther-rump of repeating 50-caliber rounds tells him the Corporal remains alive. Part of Ethan wants to go back for him.

  “Just shoot him!” Amanda screams.

  “Get out,” he orders through clenched teeth.

  Being fresh, the Sergeant maintains much of his human strength. Ethan stumbles from the driver’s door. He drives his knife through the Sergeant’s skull when he attempts to crawl after him.

  “You should have just shot him.”

  “The Corporal’s noise is keeping biters away from the bridge. I don’t need them coming up here for a bullet shot.”

  “You’re not much better than those doctors. You used those soldiers to ensure your escape,” says Amanda.

  “Our escape…”

  She points. “But if you had friends on the bridge you—”

  “Friends?” I must have hit my head.

  They fired into the engine block. I was so occupied with the biter I missed them. Oh, fuck me!

  A pick-up full of armed men blocks their escape. They have tied a naked woman across the hood like a trophy deer.

  Outgunned even with his speed and at this range, Ethan won’t get more than three before there automatic weapons cut him down. He doubts even his armored vest will stop enough bullets for him to kill a forth.

  “You killed my brothers,” the unknown voice screams at him.

  Ethan steps to the center of the bridge, gunslinger ready. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  The truck rolls forward.

  The fifty-caliber background noise fades followed by dying M16 fire.

  The soldiers have been overrun. Got to get off this bridge. Ethan notes the face of the man swearing at him.

  “Of all the people in all the world… How many fuck’n brothers do you have?”

  Kaleb Bowlin cuts free the woman, dragging her from the hood, twisting her around to reveal her face.

  She’s been tied there long enough to burn her skin in the sun. Dried blood crusts her naked frame. Her broken face will require reconstructive surgery, but Ethan recognizes Becky.

  Kaleb shoves her forward. She hobble-steps with her right foot pigeon-toed inward. Ethan guesses her hip has been disjointed. Becky didn’t let them take her easily and they made her pay for her resistance.

  She needs to move from before his target. Baby steps only move her a few inches forward and keeps her in the direct line of fire between him and Bowlin. Medically moving on her broken hip seem impossible. Compelled to escape keeps her on her feet.

  “Which Bowlin Bastard are you?”

  Kaleb beams. “You know who I am.”

  “I’ve killed enough of your brothers.”

  The bridge metal contorts in the wind.

  “You mother must have never gotten off her back.” Most rednecks can’t abide mother insults even if they know she was worthless trash. Ethan needs this man angry, unthinking.

  “I don’t excite as easily as my brothers.”

  Damn. He noticed the hook.

  “I take my time. Enjoy the moment. Make it last.” He yanks Becky by the hair. The jerk sends her back into his arms. “This one knows I take a long time.”

  Where is the baby? Chad? The others?

  “You’ve had your fun. I know you want me dead for killing your brothers. Before we relive the O.K. Corral on this bridge don’t you want to know why you had to chase me all the way to Memphis? I didn’t come here to scavenge for cans of beans. You and I both know there are plenty of neglected food marts in Missouri ripe for foraging.”

  Caught up in his thirst for revenge, Kaleb never considered why this man would lead people from Fort Wood in personnel carriers only to hike to Memphis. Kale would want to know. “You’re stalling.”

  Damn right! You should have killed me the moment I stepped from the car. Don’t play with your food. It never worked for the coyote. Once you’re in range—I kill you.

  Ethan lays all his cards on the table. “Scientists in Memphis were developing a vaccine against the biters. This woman’s blood contains antibodies preventing an infected from turning you into the walking dead.”

  “There is no cure.”

  “I didn’t say cure, you moron. I said vaccine, like for the measles. We can’t cure, but we can prevent future outbreaks.” Ethan won’t pander to Bowlin, not now.

  “Who taught you how to negotiate?” Amanda asks.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Ethan whispers. “Show your arm.”

  Amanda holds up her arm. Keeping the grenade behind her back with the one.

  “She’s been bitten and they’ve healed. She’s not going to turn.”

  “You think I’m stupid. You want me to believe this girl survived a bite. Take her back to my camp and allow her to infect my people.”

  “Bites don’t heal. But they did on her. The vaccine works.”

  BAM. BAM.
BAM.

  Bullets shred Amanda.

  Blood bursts from her wounds.

  Ethan’s no allows splashes of a copper taste into his mouth.

  He dives for cover. His first shot wild. Before he aims, he falls to the pavement.

  Amanda uses her last ounce of life to propel a grenade at the truck. Ethan’s drop prevents any reaction other than to scream Becky’s name.

  Unable to react, the explosion propels her against the center barrier. Helpless, Ethan witnesses her shatter against the concrete much like a crumpling rag doll does on the floor. Flames lick Becky’s naked back from the ensuing fireball.

  Screams of men on fire drown in the gas tank explosion.

  Biters on both sides of the river cease their mindless droning, scuttling toward the loud excitement.

  The pavement has yet to warm in the sun. Ethan has a second to formulate a new plan of escape.

  Aftershock.

  Or the expulsion destabilized the bridge. Either way Ethan’s glad he’s on the ground already. So much for the seismic retrofitting project.

  The impact of Kaleb’s tackle radiates through Ethan, reawakening the pain of the beating, and even the bruises from the bullets he took to the chest.

  Old.

  The first thought racing through him. Hell, not even a twenty-something could take such a beating and not be traumatized even if it’s physical. The human body remembers. They say it forgets pain. But not the joints and tendons. They remember. They resist. They tire of fighting. The body gives in.

  Ethan fights his body to move as much as with Kaleb. Why does a family he’s never met before want to destroy all he’s worked to build? He may have killed some of them but they were ravaging young women. Terrorists in the new age of undead. They represent the darkness overcoming so many. Ethan won’t allow such people to exist in the new world he’s created.

  Now his mind betrays him. Time to throw in the towel. Give up. People are safe. Life will go on even without a vaccine.

  The bridge shifts. The burning truck disappears through collapsing pavement plummeting toward the river.

  The crash distracts Kaleb’s advance on Ethan.

  Nothing noble about Ethan’s next move. His knife flashes red from the hole he punches in Kaleb’s side. The little man squeals. Ethan summons every ounce of strength he has and heaves the man over his head. The shoulder press maneuver performed with ease becomes complicated when he tosses.