Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7

by Isherwood, E. E.

  He looked at her expectantly, but eventually he figured out what she was avoiding.

  She went on. “Sometimes others came through the trapdoor. Men would be shot on sight. Women would be tossed in the cages. Sometimes that meant other women were taken out, to make room. That went on for a month, it seems...”

  “This is day twenty since the sirens.”

  “Oh. It feels like forever. Well, one day—not sure how many days ago—one of the new girls on the far end of the cages started acting funny. We could all see it happen. When we figured out she was infected, we all screamed for our lives...but no one heard us. She converted the other two in her cage, and then the disease spread down the cages day after day. When it got into the one next to mine, me and two women I didn't know started to throw ourselves at the front door and we managed to bend the lock. They built these things for dogs, not humans.”

  She paused, thinking.

  “But the real dogs were upstairs. My two friends ran up there to break out.”

  She teared up and spoke with reverent tones. “They shot them in the head and tossed them back down the steps. I was so scared I was next...”

  She sniffled. “When nothing happened, I moved them into the last cage to get the bodies away from me, but there was nowhere for me to go that was safe, so I returned to the steps. At least I couldn't see any of those sick women.”

  “And the men never came down to check on you?”

  “Naw. I think they infected us. Put us out of our misery. They argued constantly about money and drugs and turf while we were...up there.”

  It was horrible to contemplate.

  “Are you...infected?”

  “Kid, I'm having a real bad day,” she said with a spark of defiance, “what the ever hell makes you think I care if I'm infected, now?”

  Deep down, he wanted to express his intention to save her. She'd been through so much, he felt it was his duty to bring her to some form of safety. Make it all worthwhile. But the Zombie Apocalypse didn't work like that. Not anymore. There were no happy endings, as far as he could tell.

  The best he could do was get her to temporary safety, with the expectation the place would fall apart soon after that. The whole town was in danger of becoming one big war zone, if the patriots really intended to make a stand here. If he were in charge, he would take the patriots to some other city. A city not on the priority list for the remaining all-powerful government forces, led by the National Internal Security agents. That seemed like a solid strategy to him, though he freely admitted military strategy wasn't his thing.

  “I'm trying to get back to my girlfriend. You're welcome to come with me. If you aren't infected.”

  She studied him for a few seconds. “You may be the person I'd least suspect was in this shit hole for a girl. She must be pretty special.”

  As he collected his backpack, he nodded. “Oh, she is. But I'm not out here because of her. I'm out here because of my mom. She took me somewhere I didn't want to be, and now I'm trying to fix that mistake.”

  “Sounds complicated. I'll shut up, now.”

  “No, it's OK. And not that complicated. I found someone in this mess that I never want to be separated from again. Zombies aren't going to stop me. Toy tanks aren't going to stop me. Nothing on Earth is going to stop me from getting back to her.”

  “Wow, good. I want to stick with you.” After a pause, “Do you have a gun for me?”

  He wasn't sure she was ready for a gun, given how shaky and weak she appeared. Though it wasn't his place to tell her what she could and couldn't do.

  “The men upstairs had guns on their bodies. We should both grab what we can, and then get out of here.”

  She nodded.

  He ignored all the bodies in the cages as they walked for the stairwell. The cage that had been bowed outward had been pushed back in by the tank drone. He was unwilling to look at the zombie remains, though he sensed some were still hanging by their arms.

  The wooden steps had gouges torn from each riser where the mini tank had crept down and back up the stairs. It had been dripping with blood, now that he could see the steps in the light. The same blood that splashed him had also covered the chassis of the single-minded killer robot.

  Which Apocalypse am I in?

  5

  In the dim light of the stairwell, he turned to Denise and put his finger over his lips, indicating quiet. He had no idea if the killer drone was still upstairs, but he had to assume it was. He climbed the stairs like a snake and peeked over the top edge to see if he was about to take a shot to the face.

  There was nothing. He was impressed to see the big holes in the wall where the drone had shot at him earlier. Now that he knew it was aiming for the tag on his backpack, it made sense why the shots were too high as he crawled down the hallway. If he had stood and run, the shots might have been closer to his body...

  He crawled to the first hole in the wall, while Denise held fast near the top step. She wore his tan Yuengling shirt, thought it was now sickly red. He was bare-chested again, making him wonder if he kept doing that to show off.

  Yeah, I subject myself to insane situations so I can flex my muscles and impress the ladies.

  It was funny to him because he wasn't a bodybuilder. He was a runner. Perhaps he'd do it for Victoria, but not some random country music singer.

  He stifled nervous laughter.

  The hole revealed nothing. He could see down one row of the pet store's aisles, but he couldn't see much else.

  Something was in front of the next hole, so it was useless.

  The final hole in the wall was a bit higher. He could see the windows at the front of the store, but couldn't be sure the tank drone wasn't in one of the other aisles. The only way to be sure was to walk out there.

  Liam wondered if he could outlast the drone if it were there. It didn't make sense to have a drone sit inside the pet store unless it knew for certain he was there. And, if it knew he was there, it could have easily killed him down in the cages. That meant the drone was likely not there.

  He stayed low in a crouch, but walked from one end of the store to the other, using the back row to look down each aisle. The drone wasn't visible. A large hole in the front facade suggested the entry and exit point.

  When he got back to Denise, he let himself talk a little louder than he had before.

  “I think we're clear. I don't see the tank drone or the helicopter drone.”

  “There's more than one? That's horrible.”

  “I think the floating one tags zombies, and the other goes around shooting them.”

  Though he couldn't rectify the difference between the blue tags and the red ones.

  A distant beeping sound resonated from the streets outside. It was the tank, and it was far away.

  “We just have to avoid any drones, if we want to get out of this place.” He meant the city, but right now he would be happy to leave the building behind. His bare chest was an itchy, drying mess of blood. A pool of water was high on his list of requirements for the day. Or a hot shower...

  “First, if you come up to the front, we can find you a gun.”

  She smiled and followed.

  They both stayed low. There were several men on the floor, surrounded by pools of fresh blood. The blue arrows made him think them through. The red arrows were for living, animated creatures. That's why it was shot at him but hit his backpack.

  The blue tag was for dead people. As in, no longer moving. These men were tagged after they'd hit the floor. That's why all the arrows pointed toward the window.

  He searched the room for the red tags. They were all sitting in a neat row on the checkout counter like they'd all deposited them there. He could visualize the drone going by, shooting tags at the men inside the pet store. Mystified, they pulled them back out, gathered to compare notes, and were taken by surprise when the tank drone arrived.

  But if they took out the arrows, how could they be targeted?

  He looked at the
red arrows with the purpose of solving the mystery. The only way they could be targeted after the darts were removed was if the darts deposited something inside the victim. The dart itself was secondary.

  When he looked at the tip, he didn't see anything obvious to suggest there was something attached, but he knew there was. There had to be.

  It made him sad to do it, but he took off his backpack and emptied it. Whatever was on the dart, it was probably still inside the pack. He couldn't take that chance.

  He transferred what he could to the pockets of his jeans, and tossed the backpack out the front window. He half-expected it to be shot by a waiting drone but breathed a sigh of relief when it harmlessly fell to the ground. Around him, the store had been ransacked and gutted, but there had to be some sort of doggie baggie, yuck yuck, he could use to carry his stuff.

  Denise made noises near the back of the store. He heard the clank of metal. It sounded like someone had dropped silverware on the hard wooden floor.

  He walked in her direction, searching for a bag, and wondering to himself whether Victoria liked country music. They'd never spoken of music, though it was something he was fond of talking about before the sirens. It was one other thing, besides gaming, that he did pretty much all the time. It would be cool to roll into Forest Park with a big country music star on his arm. Extra points if Victoria liked country music.

  He had a smile on his face when he rounded the corner.

  A bloody knife was on the floor.

  His country music star was already dead.

  Chapter 3: Tracers

  Liam ran like hell. Straight out the front of the pet store, into the street. He didn't care about zombies. The death rattle of the country singer snapped something in him. It made his suffering through the dog kennels and his fight with the tank drone seem irrelevant.

  He'd failed to anticipate she'd do something like that. She'd asked for a weapon as soon as she could, but he assumed she needed it to defend herself from both zombies and the sick men who had abused her.

  But she used it for a much darker purpose. He didn't want to envision the level of sadness he'd have to endure before he'd consider ending his own life. Also, he pushed down the suffering she endured with the other women in those cages...

  So he made for the exit as fast as his feet would carry him.

  He turned the corner and ran the street with the Foxes' tipped tour bus at the far end. He had his rifle in his hands, ready to fire. As before, the zombies on the street stood around looking at him, but they didn't move from their positions. When he reached the big converted tour R/V, the chains around the feet of the zombies explained the why of it. Though he was nearly out of this horror scene, he stopped to look back.

  The trap was nearly perfect. The one side of the street had seven or eight zombies tied to the building and some of the parking meters near the curb. At first glance they appeared to be threatening—as if they would cross the street. The zombies set up near the tipped R/V kept a wandering survivor from running in that direction. Left with few alternatives, a new arrival would see the “safe” sign on the wall and run to and through the mysterious door, to safety.

  Only it wasn't safe. It was, as Denise said, Hell.

  Victoria said we'd all be killing each other. We'd become bad people to stave off the worst people.

  It was all coming true.

  He skated by the remaining zombies and the R/V. A whole new stretch of city opened up in front of him. He could see to the west for many blocks as the hot afternoon sun shone in his face. Far ahead he saw one of the floating drones, but he didn't see the land-based model. For the first time, he considered that there could be several of each kind.

  The middle lane of the five-lane avenue was dubbed the “suicide lane” by his older friends who could drive. It was the only lane where you could go either way, making it instantly dangerous. He chose that one and leaned into a jog again.

  The rhythm of running returned, and after the first block, he felt comfortable with what he was doing. His heart slowed down from his panic, and he forced himself to take deep breaths to support his oxygen levels.

  I'm going to run straight through. No more detours.

  He made it two more blocks before he tripped on a small rope someone had strung across the road. He saw it as he approached, but ignored it because it—when he was ten feet away—was positively on the pavement. It was just past a small four-door subcompact that had been abandoned in the middle of the lane. His eyes were drawn to the car, and at the last second the rope sprang up.

  He tumbled hard, and it knocked the wind out of him.

  As he struggled to figure out what was happening, he heard the footfalls of someone running. Several someones.

  Something smacked him on the side of the head…

  When he woke up, it was nearly dark. Several propeller-driven aircraft buzzed above the city, but the cracks of gunfire nearby were of more concern.

  And something burned on the skin of his neck.

  I've been bitten!

  He put his hand on the painful patch and was relieved and distraught to feel the familiar shape of a needle. Not a bite. While he was out, another drone must have hovered by, noticed he was still alive, and tagged him. For termination.

  Getting to his knees took some effort. His head spun, and he felt as if he'd been kicked in more places than just his head.

  He'd been relieved of everything. He'd been attacked by thieves this time. No rapists, murderers, or cannibals. In the hierarchy of evil, he figured he'd gotten off lightly.

  It took him a few minutes to collect his thoughts, then snake his way to the nearby derelict car. The metal hulk would give him a piece of safety from which to consider what to do next. Part of him wanted to find a place to spend the night, but an angry part of him wanted to continue his run—no matter what. Victoria was still only an hour away.

  And each second I waste out here, the more danger she's in.

  That probably wasn't true. Deep down he knew she was as safe as anyone could be in the city. She was probably eating more cookies in her dorm room, wondering when he'd be back. If all had gone to plan, he assumed he'd have been back well before dinnertime. Now the sun was almost down.

  Gunfire.

  He also heard the familiar beeps of the droid tank. It was backing up, somewhere nearby.

  The ground shook beneath him. A powerful explosion had gone off, to the north. A few seconds later he felt a dull shockwave of air.

  The high-rises of St. Louis were many blocks behind him. The city was too small to have many, in the first place. He was now in a less-crowded section of the city with two- and three-story buildings along the street. Ahead he could see what appeared to be a larger seven- or eight-story hotel. Beyond that, more of the same stretched westward until he'd reach the much taller row of hospitals that lined the eastern edge Forest Park. He couldn't see them yet, however, because he was looking up a large hill. The street would take him up the hill that in a previous life had given his dad fits when he ran marathons in this town.

  I can do this.

  His fingertips felt the soothing cool of the car. Then they pushed him off into the sunset run.

  2

  Unencumbered with anything besides his shoes and jeans, he felt light and fleet. It was disappointing to lose another of his dad's guns—he lost “Moses” two weeks ago—but he didn't have that far to go, and despite his emotional and physical exhaustion, he felt good enough at the moment to assure himself he could make the jog to Victoria.

  In a couple of blocks, he started to see some zombies on the ground. Shot in the head with a high-powered gun, just like he'd seen done by the drone tank. If he took the time to search the corpses, he was sure there were little arrows stuck to them.

  More planes flew overhead. They conducted a ballet in the sky much as they had done many weeks ago above the Arch. Somewhere, out in the city, he imagined Jason and his Tiger tank driving frantically to avoid the ire of those birds ab
ove. His mom made the best decision possible when she abandoned the tank inside the lobby of the skyscraper. Until the planes were gone, tanks were more or less useless.

  His mind drifted as he ran, though he shook his head roughly to try to keep himself focused on all the dangers around him.

  Zombies, for starters.

  Emotionless drones, for a second helping of fun.

  Random falling bombs, for dessert.

  And that didn't include the things he couldn't predict, like dog cages full of captive zombies.

  Block after block passed by. He struggled up the urban hill and took in the view on the other side. The sunset was a brilliant orange and pink and was much more vivid than any sunset he could recall seeing in his life.

  The world is on fire, and it looks beautiful.

  Someone fired a gun—close by—interrupting his appreciation of the sky. The pavement snapped near his feet.

  “Die you zombie scum!”

  He had no time to argue. He sprinted toward the other side of the street doing the zigs and zags he'd seen a million times on TV.

  Another shot chased him.

  “That's right you little shit, run and hide. We're gonna get ya,” a deep male voice called out.

  With no choices, he ran between two buildings. If the shooter was directly behind him, he'd be an easy target with no way to jink side-to-side. Another shot did follow, but he heard no ricochets or whizzing, so he began to think he had a chance. As he approached an eight-foot chain link fence blocking the alley, he sprang to the top, more or less carefully climbed over the top, and dropped to the far side. In two more seconds he had the corner of the building between himself and the bullets.

  His breathing was heavy, forcing him to lean over to catch his breath.

  This is where they get you. A million books on zombies say this is it.

  What he didn't know was whether he would be shot for looking like a zombie—his upper torso was still covered with the dried blood of the dog cage zombies—or would be killed by a zombie for looking edible. The mosquitoes of July swarmed him, adding the final insult.