The Undead World (Book 2): The Apocalypse Survivors

by Meredith, Peter

  The homes grew larger and were spaced accordingly, meaning he had to go further out of his way to come upon each disappointment. He found odds and ends: a can of soup on the side of the road, a box of candles among someone’s Christmas decorations, a decorative African spear with a sharp point that he had to leave behind because he couldn’t carry it.

  The only good news was that the zombie menace was correspondingly smaller. By now he had an aluminum bat he’d picked up in one house or the other, which he used when he had to.

  Eventually they ran out of land altogether. They topped a rise and saw to the west, the beginning of the Chesapeake Bay with Virginia, a hazy green in the distance. To the east was the Atlantic: a grey table that stretched beyond the curve of the earth.

  Jillybean looked out at the spectacular expanse of ocean and said, “My butt hurts.”

  Her rear had been hurting her for some time, what with the handlebars digging into unmentionable and tender areas whenever they struck a rut or a bump. Yet she had said nothing. After all, Ram had pedaled all day without complaint which must have been taxing. But since he had a complaint growing behind his eyes she felt that it would be ok to voice one at this point.

  Her complaint brought a smile. Tenderly he lifted her off the handlebars and set her on her feet where she immediately, and unselfconsciously, worked the wedgie of her panties out of her crack.

  “Are we going by boat now?” she asked, scanning all around. “We’re out of road.”

  “There’s a road,” Ram said, pulling out a map. He pointed to a thin strip of yellow that went across a bit of blue, joining two areas of green. There was much more to the map: hundreds of little words, numbers, and lines going every which way. However she didn’t need to know any of that. The blue was water, the green was land, and the yellow was a road—simple as can be.

  Except that it wasn’t.

  After allowing Jillybean to play in the grey surf as a grey rain slashed sideways for a little while to get feeling back into her legs and bottom, he turned them back inland to where route 13 lay waiting. This he took south and when they came to a big green sign dominating the landscape he stopped and stared at it in a troubled manner. Jillybean did the same, trying to reason out the letters.

  “What’s that say, Mister Ram? I see bay and tunnel, but what’s the rest?”

  It says: Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel,” he said. “The letters were too small on my map. I didn’t see the tunnel part. Damn it.”

  “Is a tunnel a bad thing?” In her mind she pictured the black tunnels beneath Philadelphia; her body shivered. It had been the height of bravery going through them as she did, but it didn’t mean she wanted to repeat the experience if she could help it.

  “Maybe,” Ram allowed. “It there are a lot of stiffs down in them it could be very bad.”

  This she understood perfectly well. “Can we go around?”

  He looked tired all of a sudden. “It’s a long way.”

  She said nothing despite the fear crawling up her insides; it wasn’t her place. They went out onto the bridge where the wind ran hard into their faces. Soon Jillybean was curled into a ball gripping the freezing metal handlebars with red hands. After a couple of miles of dodging around cars or monsters, they came to the first of the two tunnels.

  One moment they were high up on a bridge suspended over white-capped water and the next the road slanted down at the ocean which appeared to have grown a mouth in order to eat them. There was a small, rocky berm of an island around the tunnel, but still Jillybean wondered if the water ever went down into the tunnel during a big storm. She also wondered if the tunnel itself had collapsed at some time during the apocalypse so that they were heading straight into a trap. And finally, she wondered if the tunnel was on the verge of collapsing even then and that any little thing, such as a small girl screaming, would send it crashing down on top of them where the remains would then flood.

  These thoughts had her shaking. Thankfully Ram stopped the bike just shy of where the road ran down into the opening.

  “Looks sturdy enough,” he said to reassure her. The tunnel was dead black and there was a half mile of ocean before the road climbed up out of the choppy waters again…if it actually did. Nothing had ever looked less sturdy to her.

  Jillybean looked back the way they had come, thinking she would long to run away, instead her blue eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “Mister Ram, look.” Behind them a mob of zombies came crabbing forward through the rain. They had been drawn to the bridge by the movement of the two humans on the bike.

  Ram cursed expressively before coaxing the bike down the incline toward where a forever night awaited them. It was such an unnerving sight even that brave man stopped at the edge of the shadow.

  “Is that wind?” Jillybean asked. From the tunnel a low howling could be heard. It was like wind on a winter’s night. “That’s not monsters, is it? They don’t make that sound.”

  “It could be just the tunnel,” Ram said. “It could be just the way it sounds.”

  It could be the echo of a bajillion monsters down there, Ipes warned. Call to them. If nothing comes out, you’ll know it’s safe.

  Ram was already starting forward when Jillybean shouted, “Hey you! Monsters, it’s me, Jillybean.”

  Ram rushed back and tried to clamp a hand over her mouth, but she retreated. “If there are monsters in there, they’ll come,” she said and for some reason she now whispered.

  The pair turned to the black and waited. It wasn’t long before the howling grew and the first of many zombies came shambling up the incline to feast on the man and the girl. They spun to escape and stopped. In a long line that stretched back to the land, the bridge was filled with the undead.

  “We’re trapped,” Jillybean said in a hollow voice.

  Chapter 24

  Neil

  New Eden, Georgia

  “Neil!” Mark cried, sounding more like a ten-year-old who had just had a nightmare than a six-foot tall man armed with a handgun the size and weight of a tool box. “Get down here. They’re coming.”

  Neil hardly needed the warning. From his vantage on the platform high up in the tree he had a perfect view of the land all around, even with only the stars to light the field. There were indeed stiffs flooding in. He had time, not much, but enough to examine the wood planks closer, looking for clues.

  There were none. Even with his lighter casting a golden radiance, the pale white boards that formed the platform were clean and fresh, appearing almost if they had been cut and hammered into place recently. There were no blood stains to indicate a struggle. Nor were there scratches suggesting that Sadie had been dragged down against her will.

  “Neil, come on, man!” Mark begged.

  A glance over his shoulder, told Neil he had run out of time; the zombies had closed rapidly. It was time to go.

  He wasn’t keen on heights and had it been a normal night, he would have gone down the rough ladder hammered into the tree, clinging to each plank with the herculean strength that only someone nearly paralyzed with fright could manage, however just then his fear wasn’t turned inward.

  He was afraid for his little girl. She was injured. She was alone. She had disappeared. Neil zipped down the tree like a monkey and climbed into the Rover just inches ahead of the closest zombie. “Don’t floor it,” he ordered Mark, who looked as though he was on the verge of doing just that. “I want to be able to come back in the light and check for clues…if we don’t find her tonight.”

  His gut told him that they wouldn’t.

  Her ankle had been so swollen that she couldn’t place even the slightest weight on it. That meant she had either been given a ride or she crawled away—another reason to go slow.

  “Back up,” Neil told Mark. “Straight back the way we came. She could be out in the field, hiding from the stiffs and the last thing I want to do is run her over.”

  “Oh, this sucks,” Mark whispered as he drove in reverse, plowing over the grey b
odies of the undead. “I keep thinking that I’m hitting her.”

  Neil, who was turned full around in his seat assured him he wasn’t, though he didn’t really know. After they retreated to the corn, they stopped and just scanned the field as the zombies came chasing after them.

  “She’s not one of them,” Mark said. He had his high beams pointing full into the face of the horde. There was hope in his voice. Neil didn’t feel it.

  Of course she wasn’t a zombie; she had been safe up in that tree. What could have enticed her to climb down? Someone in need of help? It was true that Sadie was brave to a fault sometimes. Or was it someone looking to help themselves? She had been alone, unarmed, and injured. An easy target.

  “Go around the edge of the corn,” Neil suggested. “And roll down your window. I want to be able to hear her if she calls out.”

  The field was a perfect square, measured, very likely, by some long dead Euclidian farmer. Had Neil not been so upset he would have appreciated the perfect rows aligned with the cardinal points of the compass, and the symmetry, and the compulsive neatness involved. Now, he barely noticed. His eyes were on the ground just at the limits of the headlights and his ears were dialed in to hear over the moan of the dead and the growl of the Rover’s engine.

  After a full circuit with nothing to show for their efforts, he directed Mark to drive down both of the two trails that snaked away from the field. The first led through the corn on an easterly course and ended at a lone silo that stood stiff right next to a river bank. It was an eerie and oddly placed sentinel on guard among the trash trees of slash pine and Hackberry. Neil yelled for Sadie, somewhat quietly at first, but with growing volume when his initial efforts were in vain. Only zombies answered his call.

  The other trail cut northwest, passing by the blackened remains of a farmhouse before debouching onto the highway they had left hours earlier. Neil yelled himself hoarse until even he was sick of hearing the name Sadie.

  “She’s gone,” Mark said. “We should go. We need to hole up for the night. We’re just wasting gas out here.”

  Was this Mark’s cowardice talking or was it simple wisdom? After being left to die it was hard to see anything in the man’s actions that wasn’t related to fear avoidance.

  “We’ll look again in the morning,” Neil said. “Go back to the last house; the one with the porn and all the beans. She might have tried for that. We’ll stay there for the night.”

  “It was only a cabin,” Mark said. “It won’t hold up against an attack, and there are literally thousands of stiffs out here.”

  In Neil’s ear the words held all the manliness of a sheep’s bleating. He gritted his teeth, saying: “And we’ve drawn them all away from the cabin. They’re roaming the cornfields now and I hope to God Sadie isn’t in them trying to hide. You don’t have to worry about us, Mark, we’ll be safe enough, it’s your girlfriend who you should be worrying about.”

  “I am,” he said in a whisper, clearly nervous about how loud Neil was getting. “I’m scared to death for her, but right now I can’t do anything to help her and neither can you.”

  “Yeah,” Neil replied. He didn’t like being reminded of his present state of ineffectuality. They drove slowly back to the cabin and, knowing that sleep would be beyond him without a proper inducement, Neil went to the fridge, an old rusting relic from the 50’s that was barely four feet tall, and pulled out a warm beer. He then thought better of it and pulled out a six pack, thinking Mark would like one.

  Fours beers and two hours later Neil finally slept; his dreams weren’t pleasant. They were about being chased by zombies through a black and white world. Upon waking in a sweat, he discovered that his reality wasn’t much better. The day was gloomy with clouds, while outside the windows zombies moaned their way down the sunken road in long lines.

  “What do we do?” Mark asked in a whisper. “We can’t go out there.”

  “I’m going,” Neil said, taking the keys to the Rover from the counter. “And if you don’t want me to leave your sorry ass, you’ll come with.” It was so strange to him to be the “tough” one in the group, and, oddly it made him a little cranky. If there was one thing you were supposed to be able to count on with big people, is that they were tough.

  “Ok, hold on,” Mark said, putting on his jacket and staring out the window. “We just have to wait for a big enough gap.”

  “We don’t have time for a gap,” Neil said. “We’re going to make one.”

  Mark looked at him aghast. “What? No way. We can’t just run out there…”

  Neil did just that. He threw open the door, darted around one surprised zombie, knocked over another who was just turning in his direction, scooted around the Range Rover and jumped in the driver’s seat.

  Mark hadn’t budged.

  “Son of a bitch!” Neil seethed. Grey, scabby hands began to bang at the glass. He ignored them. Casually he started the SUV and then tapped lightly on the horn twice as if he was reminding a dawdling wife that they were going to be late for a party. In his mind he began a slow count to ten.

  At eight Mark threw open the rear passenger door and dove in, breathing like he had run a race instead of the eleven feet that it really was.

  “You’re getting better,” Neil said. It was in his nature to encourage others, just like it was in his nature to be nice. And truly he hadn’t wanted to be alone. Mark might have been an even bigger chicken than Neil, but his very presence was reassuring.

  They drove back to the solitary tree that stood high in the middle of the turned up field and while Mark kept watch, Neil gazed all around the ground. He was no detective but he didn’t need to be one: the tracks of another vehicle showed clearly now in the light. It had come up the rows with its tires in the ruts instead of crossing over them as Neil had.

  “There was a car of some sort that came through here,” Neil said excitedly. “It headed up that way, toward where that burned down house was.” A car meant humans and humans meant guns. The two men checked their weapons: A twelve gauge for Neil, while Mark had his hand cannon and an M16.

  Slowly the smaller man drove toward the house, one hand on the shotgun and one hand on the wheel. Across his forehead were beads of sweat, and his ass was puckered tight. Still he looked better than Mark, who seemed ready to bolt in panic.

  The trail, a mere pair of grooves worn into the high grass, first went past another silo before ending at the house. There wasn’t much to the building besides part of a wall and a chimney that was black as soot, inside and out. The remains weren’t even warm. While Mark stayed in the Rover, Neil poked around, looking for any clues. On the ground there were hundreds of prints, most of which were shoeless and thus probably made by zombies.

  Sadie had been wearing black canvas high-tops, size 7. He knew because he had brought them home for her as a gift. None of the tracks looked to have been made by them.

  With an over-large shrug, Neil signaled Mark that he hadn’t found anything. Meanwhile Mark was signaling Neil as well. He was frantically pointing behind Neil at a zombie. The creature was a big one, with the emphasis on one. Had there been more Neil might have been worried, but he was no longer afraid of a single zombie, especially when he was hefting a shotgun. Like a veteran Neil shouldered his piece, thumbed the safety to fire and took a bead on the fat head of the zombie. It had been eating well and that meant it would make a sizable mess. He wasn’t one for messes, even in the back woods of Georgia.

  And the noise might attract more stiffs, Neil thought. The idea made him pause and after a second he lowered his weapon and then jogged toward the silo. A split rail fence marked the boundary where the front yard of the burned up farmhouse ended. Remembering to switch his weapon back to safe, Neil climbed over the fence and waved for Mark.

  “Come kill this thing,” he bawled across the yard. The zombie had reached the fence and in its near brainless state it just ran up on it and was walking in place, stretching out its arms. “You need the practice.”


  “I’ve killed plenty of them,” Mark replied in indignation. Since it was daylight and there was only a single stiff to deal with, Mark’s fears had retreated, while his more annoying personality traits had re-emerged.

  Neil glared at him. “First off, shut up. You don’t want to get the thing looking your way. And second, you need to practice killing stiffs without a gun. You can use Sadie's Louisville Slugger. It’s in the back seat.”

  “But…”

  “I said shut up! Being quiet is the first step. Now, this is going to be easy. I’ll keep talking and all you have to do is come up from behind and smash in its brain. He’s not using it anyway." When he saw Mark reach slowly for the bat, Neil turned to the zombie and said, "Who’s not using their rotten brain? You that's who. There you go, Mark…no. Leave the door open. You don’t have to worry that a zombie will just wander in, and it’ll be easier to get back to safety…just in case.”

  The big man walked through the grass, barely breathing, with the bat cocked above his head. He hesitated only feet away.

  “Look at me, Zombie!” Neil cried, waving his hands to keep the beast’s attention on him. “Now Mark! It’ll be easy. Just step up and Bammo! Knock it a good one. Just…whoa…hey…crap!”

  Mark had done what Neil had asked. He put all his strength into the blow and the zombie’s head came apart like a cheap piñata, covering Neil in blood and black brains.

  “Shit. Sorry, man,” Mark said, before he began smiling. It became a wide grin and he came close to chuckling. “I didn’t know it would come apart like that. Did you see it explode? Holy crap.”

  Don’t be mad, Neil said to himself. He was just doing what you asked. Aloud, he grumbled, “That was great. Can you get me some water and some paper towels or something?” Afraid to move, Neil stood with his face squinched up until Mark doused him with water and wiped the blood away.