Dead and Back (The Zombie Crisis--Book 2)

by George Magnum

  The zombie’s teeth were just inches from Peterson’s face. Drool slipped out of its mouth and landed on Peterson. He was holding it back with all his strength, but it was stronger.

  There was a loud clap of a pistol shot, and an eruption of blood and skull sprayed on Peterson’s face. He looked up and saw Johnny-Boy, smoking pistol in hand. “Can’t finish the mission lying on your back, sir,” Johnny-Boy said, a smirk on his face, as he reached down and clasped hands with Peterson.

  Barely had Peterson set foot on the flatbed when the horde of zombies swarmed them, countless hands clawing from all directions and grabbing the side of the truck. The engine, alive and roaring, jerked hard into reverse.

  The zombies were helpless against the weight and power of the truck. It plowed over them as it propelled backward, bumping and jerking as it ran them over, crushing them. Peterson heard Armstrong screaming, “Faster!”

  The truck’s torque was powerful, and it kangarooed again, gaining speed, crushing a pathway through the walking corpses. Peterson watched as Dr. Washington drew his pistol and leaned over the edge of the flatbed. A zombie had latched onto the truck and was not letting go. Dr. Washington placed the barrel of his pistol point-blank in the zombie’s face and fired. The zombie fell.

  The truck broke free of the zombies as it continued to race backwards. The civilians started firing, shooting zombies that were grabbing onto the sides of the vehicle.

  “Cease fire,” Peterson yelled. “Save your ammunition.”

  Jack was an amazing driver, even as injured as he was. He drove in reverse, racing across the parking lot, and broke through the army of zombies. Still moving backward, Jack maneuvered through the entire parking lot until he reached the main road. He then slammed on the brakes and spun the truck around, skipping onto the main road, liberating them all from the parking lot.

  “Yeeehaaaa!” Cash screamed and pounded on his chest like a gorilla.

  Peterson was momentarily relieved. They had successfully made it clear of the hospital.

  CHAPTER 8

  Peterson stood on the flatbed, gripping the back of the cabin as the truck swayed back and forth. It was gaining speed, heading north away from the hospital, accelerating as much as the engine would allow. The road wound farther and farther from the hospital and Peterson watched as the hospital building grew smaller.

  He thought of all the people they were leaving behind, and was struck in his stomach with pang of remorse.

  If there is any possible way, I will come back to help them.

  It was hard, but he turned his back to the hospital, took out a pair a binoculars, and looked at what lay ahead. Mile after mile the roadway was littered with zombies meandering on the road, stumbling, walking, filling their pathway.

  About three miles down the road was the town. He could see burned-out houses, looted buildings, abandoned cars, plumes of smoke and fire. The farther they got away from the hospital, the more destruction they could see ahead. Civilization has been torn to pieces in just days. The end of the world was in front of them, and the truck moved closer and closer to it.

  As Peterson held onto the back of the driver’s cabin, he slid open the back window. “You know where you’re going?” Peterson screamed to Jack over the wind and the rumble of the engine.

  “Of course I do,” Jack yelled back. He looked pale, a cold sweat soaking his face. His arm looked bad. Strangely, however, he was smiling. “We’re on a one-way trip to the boat dock.”

  “We have to take Route Eleven,” Derek shouted, coming up beside Peterson.

  “Stay back,” Peterson ordered.

  Derek held his ground. “I grew up here, Commander. I know these roads like the back of my hand. Jack doesn’t. He made local deliveries once in a while, that was all.”

  Jack overheard the conversation. “We are going through town, kid. It is the fastest way to the docks.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Derek said with some fear in his voice. “We’ll never make it through Main Street.”

  Jack grimaced in pain. Blood had saturated his bandage. “You have no say in the matter, kid, now get the fuck out of my ear because I’m trying to concentrate!”

  Derek wasn’t afraid of Jack, and snapped back. “The roads are blocked by vehicles. You won’t be able to maneuver around them.”

  “I been driving trucks for thirty years, before you were even born. I can maneuver around everything,” Jack barked.

  Derek turned to Peterson. “No vehicle can make it down Main Street, especially not a truck.”

  Peterson looked back and forth between Derek and Jack, unsure. He addressed Derek. “What are other options?

  “We can take Route Eleven. It will take us to the town’s east border, and then swings back west.” Derek pushed out his chest, trying to be confident. “The road is wider, and less traveled.”

  “How much longer of a trip to the docks?” Peterson was tense. Time was against them.

  “It’s about three times the distance.” The wind whipped Derek’s face as he turned his head and looked ahead. “The on-ramp is coming up real fast, sir.” Derek pointed just ahead in the distance. Peterson saw the sign: Route 11 East.

  He had to make an immediate decision.

  Peterson leaned down and shouted at Jack through the cabin’s back window. “Slow down,” Peterson commanded.

  Jack didn’t slow down. Instead, he picked up speed. Spit shot from his mouth as he screamed, “Route Eleven will take us too far out of the way, Commander, and it can be just as hard going. Anything happens on the road and we will have a shit distance to travel on foot.”

  The Route 11 sign, and the on-ramp, was just about to be upon them. Peterson growled, “Stop the damn truck.”

  “Just grab your balls.” Jack’s voice was. He changed gear and slammed on the gas. The truck accelerated.

  Armstrong’s voice boomed, “Follow orders.”

  Peterson watched as the exit to Route 11 passed them, and then caught Jack’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Jack winked.

  *

  Jack was refusing to follow orders. He had become uncorked. The infection was spreading fast through his body.

  Peterson braced himself as the truck swerved onto Main Street, the tires screaming. Being on the back of the truck was like surfing a wave in rough waters and the vibration of the road shook Peterson as he fought for balance. The smell of burning tire rubber blew in the air. Several abandoned cars were dead ahead, but Jack didn’t slow down. He zigzagged and jockeyed between the stranded vehicles, the truck cutting hard from left to right. Surprisingly, there was no collision. Jack was proving himself right.

  The truck roared up a steep hill and reached its peak, providing a momentary panoramic view of the town in front of them. Peterson tensed. He realized now what Derek was talking about: it was an obstacle course, with abandoned, crashed, and smoking vehicles littering the streets. It was a deadly maze. Some points seemed impassable.

  Main Street led straight to hell.

  Shit.

  Making matters much worse, zombies occupied the roadway. Hundreds of them. Not only would Jack have to somehow drive around the wreckage, they would have to keep moving fast enough not to become vulnerable to the zombies. If the truck slowed or, the unimaginable, got stuck, they would be at war with the largest army of infected they had yet encountered. Peterson felt a lump in his throat. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn back and around make it to Route 11.

  But Jack wasn’t listening to his orders.

  “Jack, turn around.” Peterson had already realized Jack’s senses were leaving quickly, and screaming at him wouldn’t do any good. He spoke in a cool and calm voice. “I understand your point of view, and you are a great driver, but what lies just ahead isn’t something we should tangle with. Please, Jack, stop the truck and turn it around.”

  In response came the sound of the engine revving, and the truck picked up even more speed. Peterson looked into the cabin, and saw in Jack’s eyes something od
d. His pupils seemed to be darkening. Peterson didn’t know exactly how fast the infection spread, nor did he know the effect it had upon the human mind.

  “We’re fucking going through Main Street!” Jack screamed, and then started laughing. “I’m going to die, Commander, and it is your fault.”

  What made the difference between Peterson and Armstrong was that Peterson was always cautious. He thought about all possible scenarios before acting. Armstrong, on the other hand, sometimes would be led by his emotions, not his mind. And when Armstrong lost his temper, well…

  Armstrong grabbed the back of Jack’s neck with one hand and grabbed the steering wheel with the other. Peterson wanted to scream at Armstrong to stop, but before he could, the truck swerved sharply to the right and skipped and jumped onto the shoulder of the road.

  Peterson lost his balance, and he fell on his back. His body skidded toward the edge of the flatbed. Instinctively, he reached out for anything he could grab. There was nothing. He felt what was coming. He would fall off the side of the truck and get steamed-rolled underneath its wheels—crushed to death like a rag doll.

  Suddenly, something stopped him. It was Derek. He was holding onto Peterson’s ankle for dear life. The truck swerved hard again. This time in the opposite direction. The back wheels of the truck bucked like a bronco, and the bending of metal shrieked through the air. The truck sailed off the road.

  The truck ran into a group of about twenty zombies and the impact made the truck jolt. The zombies bounced off of the grille, catapulting in all direction. One zombie, however, was hurled directly into the sky. Peterson could barely believe his eyes as the zombie sailed over the cabin.

  Son of a bitch, a flying fucking zombie.

  With a wet slap, the zombie landed on the back of the truck. It now lay next to Peterson, looking at him. Peterson looked back at it, amazed. Without wasting a second, Peterson grabbed the zombie by the face. He pressed his thumbs through the zombie’s eye sockets--deeper and deeper. The zombie moaned, which sounded a lot like pain. This surprised Peterson; he didn’t figure they felt pain. With one final thrust of force, Peterson forced his thumbs to pop through the zombie’s eyes and penetrate its brain.

  Take that, fucker.

  Derek watched the gruesome kill with astonishment. Peterson didn’t have time to care about what the kid thought and lifted himself to the cabin window just in time to witness the truck moving directly toward a dump truck.

  Armstrong and Jack were still fighting over the wheel. Jack yanked a pistol from his ankle holster and pointed it at Armstrong. Peterson reached into the cabin and grabbed Jack’s wrist. Jack fought back, but it was futile. Peterson was much stronger, and pulled the pistol underneath Jack’s chin. Then it fired.

  The bullet entered from beneath, entering Jack’s chin and coming out through the top of his skull, leaving brain matter on the ceiling of the cabin. As Jack’s hands went limp, and let go of the wheel, Armstrong finally had control of the steering wheel.

  The dump truck was closing in too fast. Avoiding a collision seemed impossible. Armstrong still tried. He leaned backward, turning the heavy wheel with all his strength.

  The last thing Peterson saw was that Armstrong, despite his best efforts, failed.

  The collision was like a wrecking ball meeting a building. The screeching, discordant sound of bending metal, along with shattering of glass, made it seem as if the truck was imploding. Peterson was slammed face first into the back of the cabin. He recognized the feeling of losing consciousness. Black and white speckles—stars. A flashing pain through his temple…and then darkness, like a hot blanket.

  *

  Derek was scared. The moans of the infected were vulgar, and they were coming from every direction. He had almost forgotten how damn scary the zombies sounded, if just for a minute, while he was in the safety of the hospital basement. But it wasn’t only the zombies that were making him feel unsettled. There was something in the back of his mind that was bothering him.

  Derek tried to concentrate but, confused and disoriented, he couldn’t. He was sitting on the shoulder of the road and had a terrible pain on the right side of his head. He couldn’t remember how he got onto the side of the road, but then, a distance in front of him, was the eighteen-wheel truck. It was twisted, the cabin demolished, its metal intertwined with the dump truck. Derek didn’t need more of a reminder. They had crashed.

  Barbara, sitting next to him, took hold of his right arm and squeezed tight. She was a year younger than him, and in high school, they would exchange unpleasant words from time to time. He didn’t know why because he never instigated it. She was always the one who, when passing in the hallways, would make some sly remark. It felt almost like she was a child pulling his hair.

  Derek was intrigued by her, though. He noted that she was always alone, always wore black, kept her hair short, and had some cool tattoos on her arm. She was tall, too, and walked with a sway of confidence, like she owned the school.

  Despite her attitude toward him, Derek didn’t dislike her. Her face was so pretty, and she was self-assured, like she knew something nobody else did. But she had personal problems. It was clear as day. Derek’s curiosity about her only grew as the years went on.

  Now she was pulling Derek’s arm, trying to help him, when she should have been holding her rifle, protecting herself. Before Derek spoke, as she rubbed up against him, he noticed how good her hair smelled.

  “Barbara, let go of my arm. I’m okay,” he said.

  It was then that Derek realized what else was bothering him, pulling at the back of his mind. Derek’s initial reaction to the Special Forces team was that they were incredibly professional. However, so much arguing had been taking place between Commander Peterson and Sergeant Armstrong. Also, that crazy soldier called Cash didn’t seem to listen to anybody’s orders. Come to think of, it was all of them, the entire Special Forces team. As Derek looked at the crashed truck, and the horrible situation they were now in, he realized that the military team wasn’t as cohesive and in control as Derek first thought. They were no longer on firm footing.

  It was Derek’s confidence in these soldiers that had led him to volunteer. Now he was losing that confidence, and beginning to wonder if he made a terrible mistake.

  Derek noticed Johann staring at him, so he stared back. Johann was squatting with his rifle along the side of the road. He seemed completely in control, and ready for action.

  “I was in the CIA,” Johann said to Derek.

  “What?” Derek responded, trying to figure out what Johann was talking about.

  “In Vietnam, I was a CIA agent.”

  “A CIA agent?” Derek remembered when he was thirteen years old and threw a rock at Johann, the town’s homeless man, a stain on the otherwise pretty suburb. It was a coming-of-age ritual, and Derek in his immaturity had joined in. Derek remembered that moment as he looked into Johann’s burning eyes. The world has turned upside down. It was now a place where the dead walked, homeless men were CIA operatives, and himself, a simple eighteen-year-old kid, now on a mission to save the world.

  Derek watched as Armstrong gave some hand signals to the team. He didn’t know what they meant, but he didn’t have to. Cash, Sharon, and Johnny-Boy moved in unison, simultaneously standing up and perching themselves on the surrounding cars. There was no turning back now; a new plan was in motion.

  *

  From the complete darkness and depths of his mind Peterson was swimming to the surface. Drawn by a sound, like a force he could not resist. There was a light above, too, at the surface. Wrapped in agonizing pain, he fought. The sound drew him toward the surface. The closer to the light, the louder the sound, until it became a voice.

  “Jacob?”

  The voice rippled in the depths of his soul.

  “Jacob? Do you believe?”

  “Believe in what?” he asked.

  Peterson felt the familiar fear of the sound of those creatures. But he still couldn’t tell what the soun
d was exactly. He was swimming up, reaching for life. He was suffocating and out of air. He was going to die if he didn’t break the surface soon. The sound drew him upwards, and upwards.

  The light was like a drill penetrating his eyes, and then the pain traveled through his temples. He felt wetness all around him, but it wasn’t water. It was blood. He lay on his back, confused and spinning. He had regained consciousness.

  I’m hurt bad.

  A zombie stood above him, drawing closer. It was once a sanitation man. Maggots were eating his face. It opened its mouth and let out an unearthly moan. Then, the familiar pop of a rifle, followed by the zombie’s brains and blood showering the ground. Peterson saw Cash appear above him, his barrel smoking.

  And as quickly as he had regain awareness, the world began to turn black again. This time, like a simple light bulb. Everything just dimmed to complete darkness.

  Down under the water of his mind he traveled again.

  *

  Peterson is a strong man, perhaps the strongest I have ever met.

  Many in the group believed Peterson wasn’t going to come around, to wake up out of his coma. Derek wasn’t one of them.

  It had been a week since the truck accident. Derek held a firm conviction that Peterson was going to regain consciousness, to arise out of his coma. However, the other civilians began to feel Peterson might never come back again. The military team had been carrying him around, and it was a risk they did not think twice about, except Armstrong. If Peterson died, Armstrong kept reminding everybody, he would rise again and join the ranks of the walking dead. It was a risk carrying him around, and it wasn’t one worth taking.

  They were resting in the woods. Peterson was laid on his back and, as usual, Sharon rubbed his feet with a wet towel. She was gentle, her expression forlorn. Sharon had a special connection to Peterson, and, Derek came to realize, it was more than just a professional connection. After the accident, Sharon was shaken to the bone, and took Peterson under her complete care. And, like a grizzly bear guarding her cubs, no person or zombie could get near Peterson. And, yes, there were many moments when he was threatened. The fight into the woods had been a battle like Derek had not experienced before.