His father's voice popped in his head, giving one of his “life lessons” on government. “Always keep in mind the only thing you can count on in government is that they make things worse.”
Confidence is low.
He loved the military because his dad taught him to love it. It was one of the few exceptions to his father's otherwise total mistrust of government. Together they were fond of playing military video games, reading books about military history, and they both celebrated their ancestors who had fought for the United States. However, on this day, the military made it clear they weren't going to let him or his family across the river to find safety from the vile shroud being draped over the city.
Still, he took pride in what the army and air force were doing up the hill right now. As Dad might say, “We paid for those bombs, so they might as well be put to good use.”
The volume of sound continued to ebb and flow in the tunnel as he and Victoria pushed the wheelchair southward and out the back. He looked around for Hayes but didn't see him and figured the CDC man was up in the spearhead moving away as fast as he could. The guy wasn't his concern anymore.
As they rolled Grandma out onto the trestle, he got an unobstructed view across the river and above it. He was stunned to a halt. Victoria didn't see him pause, so she continued pushing the chair for a few paces before she also stopped. The wheelchair slowed and shifted to the left, allowing Grandma to see the same thing as Liam. He imagined he was in a movie about a global war. Dozens of aircraft swirled above, like an angry swarm of wasps.
Several huge planes droned by at very low altitude. Each had four propellers and the outer shells were painted dark gray. Two of them flew to the north, one behind the other, while a “crump crump crump” sound came from the guns hanging out their left sides. Liam had read about those big gunships, the Spookys, and recognized the sound was them throwing shell after shell into the horde under the Arch. Two similar planes flew in the other direction just a bit higher.
Far above the jumbos, several formations of sleek fighter planes flew in tight formations. As he watched, a plane would split off and descend toward the Arch grounds and release its payload on the zombies. Those were the big explosions he’d seen from inside the tunnel and they shook the ground whenever they dealt their death blows.
In intervals, a few ugly planes—A10 Warthogs—swooped in low and slow from over on the Illinois side and use their distinctive chain guns mounted in their noses. He couldn’t see the zombies behind him, but those planes surely tore apart infected people by the hundreds every time they went by.
The scene was spectacular to observe because so many planes moved in such symmetry. The coordination required to keep them all from colliding was amazing. And they all worked together to kill the infected; that made him very happy, despite the danger to himself.
“Liam, we have to move,” Victoria screamed.
He was about to turn until he noticed a formation of M1A2 Abrams tanks at a high point above the riverbank on the Illinois side. While he gawked, they fired in unison over the river into Missouri. The smoke from their guns was the only indication they were adding to the destruction, as the explosions in the park were constant and deafening.
Several little Coast Guard boats were on the water, but they weren't armed as far as he could see. He had no doubt armed soldiers were on board, however. No hope of swimming to safety, even if he had a way to get Grandma across the water.
High up in the sky, above everything, several B-2 Stealth bombers moved in lazy circles. Their black, triangular shapes reminded him of deadly raptors waiting to feast on the dead. He knew nothing good would fall out of those things. That, more than Victoria's sensible pleas, got him moving again.
“Since the zombies can't shoot back, they can put all these planes in one spot, but nightmares are about to fall out of those dark shapes way up there.” He finally spoke at an almost reasonable level, though he still felt the urge to yell because his ears rang like crazy, “so we have to move fast!”
“That's what I've been saying,” she shouted.
As he straightened Grandma's chair, he looked to his right—back into the city—toward a massive new hotel a couple of hundred yards away. It sat in the front row of buildings lining the western edge of the Gateway Arch grounds, and it caught his eye because it was circular rather than the typical rectangular skyscraper. Its base was thick with zombies, meaning the dead streamed in from both the north and the south now, heading toward the survivors and their loud friends in the sky.
We're drawing them out. Like bait.
He pushed Grandma with renewed enthusiasm.
They were several hundred feet farther down the trestle when a massive bomb blew up close behind their group. Once again, the shockwave hit them, warmer and with much more force than before. He turned around to see what had been hit.
“Oh, crap,” he said, not knowing if anyone heard him. “I hope everyone got out of there.”
A large plume of smoke churned upward like a black glove reaching out from above the tunnel they'd recently vacated. A few large rocks flew through the air nearby and broke windows in nearby warehouses. As curious as he was about survivors, time was critical in getting Grandma as far away from the action as he could.
He and Victoria did the only sensible thing left. They ran like their lives depended on it.
Behind them, the nightmares kept falling.
4
The explosions never let up, but after several more minutes of escape, he was pretty sure the military wasn't walking their barrage farther to the south. Though safe was a strong word to use, he felt they’d made it away from the bombs. The group they were moving with had become spread out, but all were on the tracks heading in the same direction.
They traveled on a narrow railroad trestle, well above street level. The sick thinned out the further south they walked, coinciding with the increasingly complicated street patterns in the warehouse district below them.
While he walked on the high trestle, he had time to watch zombies catch their human prey below. It pained him to see it, and he was helpless to interfere, but he had to know what they were dealing with. It also gave him something new to focus on, so his shaking arms and legs had a chance to settle down before his companions could see how scared he’d been.
A pair of zombies had caught up to a man walking with a leg injury. He had a pistol, but he unloaded the last few rounds killing the first of his attackers. Liam paid special attention to how that played out, thinking of the pistol in his own waistband. The man tried to parry the second zombie, which he was able to do pretty effectively for several minutes, but with his injury, he could never get away before it was back on him.
The man appeared to look for a weapon to use, but he was on a wide-open street, with only paper and other debris around. He screamed for help from some other survivors running by, but no one stopped. Many had their own pursuit behind them.
The man finally ran out of energy. He was so close to a fence, he might have been able to jump it and get away, but it looked like he just gave up. Death descended upon him and made short work. Unlike most movie zombies, this one wasn't eating brains or pulling out intestines. Instead, blood sprayed profusely, and the man screamed terribly as the thing chomped on his neck. Then, to Liam's shock, the zombie seemed to spend time preening itself, lapping up the fresh blood on the pavement and on its clothes as best it could.
“Don't waste food, there are starving kids in Africa,” his mom's voice warned from a dark place in his brain.
A hundred yards more down the trestle he finally looked back at the victim. He expected to see him reanimating, but the man still lay where he fell. His blood-soaked attacker had gotten up and walked quite a way toward the spectacle near the Arch.
After speeding Grandma along the rail line for a few more minutes, the trestle came to an end near a parking lot filled with old trucks and rusted metal debris. Many of the other people had stopped there to rest, giving t
hem a sense of a little security. It was also his last chance to observe any changes.
He asked Victoria to stop. He studied the dead man for several minutes while his companions drank some water. He was about to give up when the dead man shifted and propped himself up to a sitting position.
Liam froze in fascination and also realized his diversion did nothing to stop the shaking of his arm and leg muscles from the fear and adrenaline.
The new zombie looked around, and Liam became like a stone, so he wouldn’t attract attention. Something caught the zombie’s eye, but Liam didn't see any people near it. Soon it got to its feet and stumbled off in a seemingly random direction. A few moments later, it disappeared in the buildings.
“I just saw a zombie wake up,” he said clinically as he continued to grip the chair. “It took him about five minutes to change. They drink blood, I think.”
“Blood?” Victoria asked. “You said they were zombies. That means brains, right?”
“It would appear all the books and movies were just fiction, though some zombies do seem to eat parts of the victim.” He thought about a certain foot sitting in a certain car. “No one had actually seen a zombie until this plague came along in real life. I think it helps people to think of these sickos as something less than human. 'Zombie' has become synonymous with brainless—hopelessly ruined—humans. It’s only natural we would think they would also eat brains, as a subconscious way of reinforcing what they already lack. That's why I wanted to see what happened in sequence and how long it took. I think these things are more like vampires than zombies. They are clearly drinking blood while spreading the infection.”
“So, they're more like Vombies or Zampires?” Victoria grinned at him despite the morbid topic, then winced from stretching her bruised mouth.
“Hmm, I hadn't thought about it. Vampire-Zombies. VZ's? Like Veee-Zeee's. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds kind of like another word for poop,” she said with disgust.
“Yeah, let's forget that. VZ could stand for Venezuela. Maybe we call them ... zuellas?”
Victoria said it, testing it out. “Zuellas. Yeah, I like it.”
“Grandma, what do you think of calling these things zuellas?”
“I think you two should have more respect for the dead.”
Properly chided, Liam resumed pushing the chair, and Victoria followed his lead. Eventually, she added an addendum to their musings. “Whatever you call it, you should have tried shooting it to save the man. It was the least you could've done.”
“Believe me, I would've, but my little pop gun couldn't hit a barn at such a long range. My odds of hitting it and hurting it were effectively zero. Remember I told you only a direct shot to the head at close range will kill a zombie?” He didn’t reveal that if he let go of grandma’s chair his hand and arm shook like a wet noodle. She didn’t need to know that.
“Yeah.”
“Besides, Liam has to protect you, my girl,” Grandma said while trying to look over her shoulder. “You each must stay focused on what's important now. Don't get distracted by things you can't change. Know when to help your fellow man, but don't do anything that could endanger each other.”
She was essentially telling him not to be that guy and do something they'd all regret. He knew it was good advice, even if he was prone to such regrettable actions. He held his tongue.
Victoria was similarly silent.
“Why are you two looking at me like that? I know I'm just the old lady along for the ride, but I'm also an observant woman. I see the way you two look at and worry about each other. Even new friends can share strong feelings, especially in times of danger. It's OK. I get it, even if you don't.”
Grandma shifted in her chair as if getting ready for a long speech.
“I've been watching things carefully since Liam and I left my house. Sure, I've slept a lot, but I've also seen my share. I listen more than you know, even when my eyes are closed,” she chuckled. “But you kids have to be aware of the new reality here. Society is going to break down. It is breaking down. The only thing we can do—you, me, Victoria—is go on surviving day after day. We should try to stick with these good men and women, but that won't last unless we all get well outside the city. There are just too many infected people here.”
She paused for just a moment. “You two have to care for each other. Avoid distractions. It won't be easy, but it's easier if you can tolerate being around each other. I think you do,” she completed her statement with a denture-filled grin.
Liam blushed. Victoria's face was bruised and swollen already, so it was difficult to read her, but he noticed a hint of a smile breaking through her distorted facial muscles.
“Just promise me one thing,” Grandma continued. “When my time comes, don't either of you risk yourselves for me. I won't become your distraction! Please promise me.”
Victoria only said, “uh huh,” without enthusiasm. He also tried to remain vague, only committing to, “I'll try.”
Would he leave Grandma to such a horrible fate?
He was ready to tell himself he would never, ever abandon her. But for the first time, his life or death equation was more complicated. What if he had to choose between Grandma and Victoria? Sure, she was a girl he'd just met, but he liked her and liked being around her. He figured that was enough of a foundation for mutual survival, and—? He pictured himself having to choose. It hurt even to think of it.
He resolved that he was going to ensure Victoria and Grandma got out of this together, and if possible, himself. He could not pick one life over another.
Yeah, I can live with that equation.
5
The group of survivors who had escaped from the Arch came back together near sunset about a mile or two south of the tunnel. The trestle had gently brought them back to street level, but they were a good distance from any pursuit. Human stragglers kept coming down the trestle, but precious few were from his group.
Liam was dismayed to learn the captain wasn't among the survivors. Repeated radio calls came up empty. Officer Jones was there, as was Hayes. Most of the families and children appeared to have made it, but the number of officers was much reduced. There were a few of the gang members still left, as well as a healthy grouping of regular citizens with firearms.
Left leaderless, the group was suddenly faced with competing interests. Many of the families of the lost officers were understandably distraught. The surviving police were embedded with their loved ones.
The yuppie-looking guy, with his wife and daughter and her spastic border collie, spoke first. “I live pretty close to here and have seen nothing but destruction since I left the house this morning. We should try to swim across to Illinois. There's no way we can escape the number of plague victims we saw back at the Arch. They're going to get through the warehouse district, then swarm this direction and eat us. Even if the Army kills every last one of them at the Arch, there's still a whole city of them to the west of us. We can't outrun them all.”
Liam could empathize. He'd thought about swimming every time he looked at the river.
“O fa-show. We ain't getting' wet, yo,” said one of the pistol-packing gang men. Liam noticed a couple of young children were attached to him, as well as a woman who appeared to be their mother; an even older woman held her arm, making three generations.
The big police officer, Jones, said Osborne intended for them to keep moving south until they got clear of the city. He was going to uphold that course of action.
Another guy, one of the hunters, seemed anxious to travel into the city. If he didn't know better he'd say the man had lost it—he wanted to hunt the zombies to help clean them out of the town. No one seemed anxious to link up with him.
The discussion went on, occasionally punctuated by a snap of a rifle. Infected wandered everywhere now, though not in force. The bombs to the north acted as a zombie-magnet of sorts.
Victoria moved him off to the side. “Well partner, what are you thinking?”
He folded his hands across his Mountain Dew shirt as a way of steadying his shakes, but he was happy to see they were almost gone.
“I'd vote to stay with the largest group going south. It's where we need to go, for one thing, and I trust the captain knew what he was talking about. I can't imagine he'd have wanted us to swim to Illinois or head back into the depths of the city. What do you think, partner?”
“I agree with you. Our best bet is to stick with a group and move south. As much as I want to go back to my dorm and grab my Bible and a fresh pair of clothes, there's no way I'm going back into that mess.”
He couldn't deny he was secretly happy she had decided to throw her fate in with his, but he also suffered some serious guilt about feeling anything good while the city itself was being consumed by a tenacious disease. He was unsure if that made him a good person for feeling bad or a bad person for having thought it in the first place.
This, Grandma, is why I'm unsure about religion. It makes you feel guilty about everything!
“Sounds like we're in agreement, then,” he replied. “Let's see who we're going with. Looks like a decision has been made.”
The main group was splintering. The majority, including the core unit of police officers and their families along with a few of the pickup gang members and armed civilians, were heading south as planned.
A few men and women threw in with the local who wanted to swim to Illinois. A couple of families were going, but mostly it was single people, many without weapons. They decided they were going to give the river a shot when it turned dark. They said the only hope was to get out of the city as fast as possible, and the water was the quickest way. None of them believed the Coast Guard would shoot them.
The last little group was with the crazy hunter. He somehow recruited a young family and a second hunter to go with him. They stood clear of the main group already, gathering their things. The husband was a bit on the heavy side like exertion was foreign to him. The wife was very attractive and in much better shape. Their two young kids—one girl and one boy—looked to both be about kindergarten age.
Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7 Page 19
