The Zombie Road Omnibus

by David A. Simpson

  He rolled a smoke and stared out into the blackness. No lights anywhere, no campfire glows in the distance. Only millions of dead wandering around aimlessly. It was well past witching hour and in the quiet predawn, with the steady and comforting noise of the train, he let down his guard and felt the sadness of the world on his shoulders. He’d been going so hard for the past month, staying so busy, he hadn’t had much time to just feel the emptiness and the death of seventy-five percent of the people. If the general was right, if most of the world’s Muslims had crammed themselves into the middle east for this year’s mandatory Hajj, there were only about two billion people left alive. There were ships with nukes and conventional artillery headed that way to blow the walls wide open and soon they would be in the same position they had put the rest of the world. It wouldn’t affect them quite as bad. Not initially. They knew what the enemy was, they wouldn’t be taken by surprise. They had advance warning and knew how to combat the undead scourge. He wondered if some of the things he’d done in the previous years had hastened this plan of unleashing the undead. If maybe some of the operations he’d been on after he was out of the service had spooked someone into acting brashly.

  He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out, field stripping the tobacco and putting the paper in his pocket before he settled down to doze.

  The Muslims could fight the undead, sure. But it was the Middle East. They wouldn’t be able to fight the famine or disease that was coming their way.

  13

  Lacy

  As they neared Lakota, they started seeing signs welcoming them and telling them to contact the town on channel 19 if they had a CB. As they approached the short line of cars waiting to get through the sally port, a squad of heavily armed men in uniform came to the driver’s window of the Earth Roamer.

  “Welcome home,” a grinning soldier said. “We’re glad you made it.”

  Before he could launch into the little speech he had given dozens of times about the procedures to get in the gate Lacy cut him off.

  “Is John Meadows still here?” she asked. “Or did he already take off for Atlanta?”

  The man was taken aback a little, but quickly recovered and looked closer at the blonde woman leaning past the driver of the oversized RV, and the teenager behind her.

  “President Meadows left yesterday, ma’am. Are you Mrs. Meadows?”

  “What?” she said “No. Sergeant Meadows. We heard him on the radio, I guess he’s using his old army rank.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the soldier beamed. “One and the same. He’s President Meadows now, and he’ll sure be glad to know his family made it safe and sound.”

  Lacy’s smile faltered as she glanced over her shoulder at Doug. His smile had faded also.

  The soldier sensed the unease and took in the appearance of the teenager. Dark hair. Glasses. Tall and skinny. Not at all like the strapping blonde teenager that had been described to them. The woman was his wife, that was obvious, but this kid wasn’t Jessie. He nodded and grew solemn.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. He was unsure what to do next, there were strict protocols they had to follow to keep the town safe, but this was the president’s wife. Surely the rules could be bent for them.

  Phil spoke up then.

  “Is this line for some sort of screening process?”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. “We let the cars in one at a time and the doctors check them over, make sure no infected gets inside the walls. You’ll be safe while you wait, we’ve had men watching the approaches for miles. They radioed that you were on the way, and we have sweepers that will go back along the road to eliminate any undead that have followed you in.”

  Phil nodded his approval. This outfit knew what they were doing.

  The soldier said a few words to his radioman then turned back to the anxious faces in the RV.

  “We’ll let HQ know you’re here, ma’am. They can radio the president’s train. If you’d like to come with me, we can get you to the front of the line.”

  Lacy acknowledged his kindness with a sad smile but declined.

  “Thank you, sergeant, but there’s no rush. We’ll wait our turn like everyone else.”

  She needed time. They would tell Johnny she was here, but they would also let him know she didn’t have their son. He hadn’t made it. She’d seen the smashed open door of the manager’s office at the Kwik Mart, had listened to Doug’s agonized story about Sheila and Gary and the last time he’d seen Jessie. They’d been looking for the keys and Jessie was running for that office. There hadn’t been time to look at the bodies they’d killed, to make sure, but she wouldn’t have wanted to see him like that anyway.

  14

  Gunny

  Gunny sat in the lead locomotive, slowly chewing on a casserole Griz had cooked them for dinner. He wasn’t tasting it, couldn’t tell you if it was pork or tuna based, just mechanically supplying his body with nutrition. The day had been mostly uneventful, the same old slowing for every bridge and intersection, switching tracks when needed. Lars and Bridget in shooting contests on top of the train when they would pass through small towns. The occasional backtracking to kill massive numbers of the undead chasing after them.

  They hadn’t seen any sheets flying across the tracks, there hadn’t been anyone trying to flag them down for a safe ride back to Lakota. The land was desolate and devoid of survivors. Maybe people hadn’t found the radio station yet, it had only been on for a day. Maybe people were trying to make it on their own in hastily armored cars and trucks. Maybe they were doing what Lacy and Phil had done: Just get in and go, never stopping, staying on the back roads in four-wheel drive vehicles. The undead were definitely slower and a little less lethal now. It had been over a month since it all started. She said they only had to refill the tank once to get all the way to Lakota, following a snaking path along the top of Alabama and Mississippi, avoiding the larger towns.

  Cobb had let him know she had made it. Just her, not their son. Gunny had some time to let that sink in before they got her through in-processing and to the radio. A half hour ago they had spoken on the Ham, avoiding the hard subject until just before she signed off. If he thought there was any chance of Jessie being still alive, he would push the train to its full throttle stop day and night, obstacles be damned. But there wasn’t. Doug had seen him running for the manager’s office. Lacy had seen the door smashed open and hanging off its hinges. He should have left the Three Flags immediately, never should have waited to help, never should have agreed to this whole “save everybody” plan he’d been roped into.

  He was angry at General Carson. Angry at Cobb. Angry at himself for being angry at them. He had done the right thing; his head knew this, but his heart wanted to lash out. He could have saved them if he had left when he wanted. The rest of the people would have been fine on their own. Griz could have led them all to Oklahoma. Or Cobb. Or Collins.

  Probably.

  His mind kept reminding him of situations, things he’d done to make sure they got there safely. Someone else would have stepped up, someone else could have done everything I did, but probably better.

  Maybe.

  He sighed and set the bowl aside, pulled out his poke instead. At first he was going to stop the train and turn around, but they’d come this far, they owed it to anyone who’d heard the broadcast and was waiting for rescue to continue. Lacy was safe. Jessie was dead. Nothing would change that.

  Griz came in from the dining car and shut the door behind him. He sat in the jump seat and lit up one of the Cigarillos the boys liked so much. The scent of cherries filled the cabin as they both smoked in silence.

  “I figure we should run it all the way to Atlanta,” Gunny said after a time. “Bastille has been broadcasting the path we’re taking for days now. There might be survivors needing a ride.”

  Griz nodded. So far, the whole trip had been a big waste of time and resources, but they were only a few hundred miles away, might as well finish what they star
ted. Time clicked by as the men smoked, each lost in their own thoughts. Both had known losses, this one was different but the same.

  The hurt would fade.

  Life would go on for the living.

  Time would heal the wounds.

  “You plan on stopping for the night?” Griz asked after a time, the sun already casting long shadows in the darkening evening.

  “I think I’ll just slow it down to about fifteen or twenty and run for a while. We can get stopped in time at that speed. The moon’s almost full, there’s no cloud cover. I’ll be able to see for miles and check bridge damage before we cross,” said Gunny.

  Griz understood. It didn’t have to be explained that his friend of nearly thirty years didn’t want to lay down and be alone with his thoughts. He needed a job. A mission. Something important but mindless to do while he came to grips with his loss in his own way. He stood, grabbed the half-empty casserole bowl and gripped Gunny’s shoulder for a moment on his way out. It was enough. Meaningless words and platitudes and condolences weren’t needed. The firm hand of a good friend conveyed everything that words couldn’t.

  15

  Jessie

  Jessie slid into the parking lot of the substation and quickly killed the lights and engine, a cloud of steam billowing up from under the hood from the broken radiator hose. It wasn’t a bad leak, but it was steady. He’d had to stop twice and refill the radiator from ditch water on his way back. It was kind of ridiculous what had happened, after all he’d been through. He’d lost the horde and was hurrying back on a county road when he hit a deer. The brush guard and oversized tires had shoved it under the car instead of it bouncing off and one of its antlers had ripped the bottom radiator hose. Duct tape would hold it together for a few miles, but the pressure would build up and the water would start spraying out again. It took him hours to limp it back to the fire station.

  He hadn’t thought to tell Slippery Jim where they should meet up. The bus was gone from the orphanage and it obviously wasn’t here. He couldn’t go any farther tonight, it was pitch black and he needed to fix the car before he did serious damage to the motor. He listened intently for any sounds out of the ordinary, but all he heard was the ticking of the engine as it started to cool and the hissing of the radiator. He hopped out, grabbing his rifle from the home-made mount. The pistol stayed in the holster on his side at all times now, along with a spare magazine. He never took it off. He’d already been caught without a weapon once, and that was a hard-learned lesson. This cruel new world didn’t give many second chances. His old man used to say “two is one and one is none.” It didn’t make much sense unless you realized how easily anything you had could break or be lost. It was more important than ever to have backups of everything. His pistol backed up his rifle. His Ka-Bar knife backed up his pistol. The boot knife strapped to his ankle backed up the Ka-Bar. If he lost them all at once, he figured he was probably an idiot and deserved to die.

  The side door was slightly ajar since there was no way to latch it. He tapped the barrel of his gun against the metal door frame and listened again. No keening. No sounds of hungry, snuffling undead. No running feet. He stepped inside, snapped on his flashlight, and looked for any sign of the kids. There was a note on the table that thanked him for his help and guidance on where to go. They had waited for an hour, but when he hadn’t come back, they feared the worst and had departed for Lakota. There were some words in Latin at the bottom, Dominus Vobiscum, but Jessie had no idea what that meant. Good luck, maybe. He looked around for anything else, but the single piece of paper was all they left. He couldn’t remember what all he’d told Jim. Had he mentioned the zombies would follow in a straight line forever? Had he told him if they ever stopped, make sure it was after they’d turned off the road they’d been traveling? He didn’t know. Maybe he could catch them. Maybe he could help them get to Lakota.

  Now that he’d gotten them out of the orphanage, he felt responsible. Wasn’t there an ancient Chinese saying about that? If you save a man’s life, you are responsible for it? He wasn’t sure. He knew a handful of Chinese proverbs, but they were stuff like Confucius say man with itchy butt wake up with smelly finger or dog who bark not cooked enough. Which probably weren’t ancient, or even Chinese.

  Maybe saving a handful of kids could ease his conscience about the three deaths hanging over his head. Maybe saving three lives would even things out, make up for the three he’d gotten killed.

  Jessie opened the garage door and got the old chop-top Merc in the bay. After he’d secured the building the best he could, he stretched out in the back seat. It was near dawn, he needed a little shut-eye. The pistol was on the floorboard, the rifle on the package tray, and his knife in his hand. He was safe from the zombies inside the armored car, but it couldn’t protect him from his nightmares.

  16

  Daniel

  “We’re going to have to fall back!” Daniel shouted at the crew refilling the vehicles at the little gas station in the Chambersburg Mall parking lot. He jumped down from the roof of the bus at the end of the line where he was standing watch and ran to his squad. He’d already lost some of his men on this journey, he wasn’t making the same mistakes twice.

  The small convoy was still lined up at the underground tanks, only one of them had been fueled, the rest nearly bone dry with gauges bouncing on empty. They had come over two hundred and fifty miles that day, staying on back roads and winding their way through the mountains of New York and Pennsylvania. Whoever was in charge of fuel stops hadn’t planned very well. Probably basing their estimations on how far they could go in the buses, not the Hummers.

  “There’s too many of them!” he said. “We can’t hold.”

  All around the fuel drop, the men had taken a knee or were leaning over hoods. They were popping heads as fast as they could when the runners came into view, giving the refuel men cover while they worked, but they’d never be able to finish up before they were overrun. They needed to go, to keep moving. That was the secret to staying alive. They never should have stopped here. They should have hit up some tiny tourist place in the mountains, where they could have dealt with a handful of zombies, not come into a large city. He had learned a lot this day, their first day out in the world and actually seeing what they were up against. If he would have been part of the planning, there were a lot of things he would have changed. Like going to a mall to get fuel. He wondered whose bright idea that was.

  His Marines had been assigned as guards and refuelers, while everyone else was dropped off to go inside with the other group of soldiers. There were fifty-odd men they hadn’t even known about until they went to the garage to help ready the vehicles two days ago. It wasn’t obvious, and he wasn’t 100% sure, but Daniel got the feeling that the men with the black uniforms were guarding them. It felt like the president trusted her mercenaries more than she trusted the Marines.

  Daniel had to make a decision fast. He could already see the ocean of undead swarming into the far side of the parking lot. No time to refuel. Not enough bullets to make a stand. He’d witnessed the horde filling the four-lane road as far as one could see, sprinting toward them as fast as their decaying bodies would allow. Those things knew where they were and they wanted their blood. Something wasn’t quite right with this new president, but he hadn’t reached the point where he was considering mutiny or treason. He’d sworn an oath to follow the lawful orders of his command when he’d raised his right hand, and he wouldn’t bail just because it was getting hard.

  The two black-clad men with them joined in the firefight and a withering wall of lead continued dropping the dead. More were running in from the other side of the station and Daniel pointed and yelled at the two men. “Cover our six! We’ll get a bus. They’ve got enough fuel to get us out of here!”

  The men turned and ran for the Hummer, Daniel thought to help steady their aim, but they both jumped in it instead. They said nothing as the driver fired up the engine and sped off across the parking lot. Daniel
glanced over his shoulder as he was reloading a spent magazine and watched them drive off toward safety, leaving their rear unguarded. The running undead ignored the vehicle as it flew by them and stretched out their arms for the fresh blood only yards in front of them. Daniel turned just in time, swinging the barrel of the gun around and pulling the trigger at a leaping corpse. The bullets shattered bone but missed the head and it landed on him with a flopping arm and gnashing teeth. He headbutted it, smashing his helmet against its searching teeth and sent them scattering across the pavement. He rolled out from under the mangled thing and bashed its face again with the buttstock of his gun. Two more were already reaching for him as he half aimed and pulled the trigger, walking the bullets up their bodies and into their heads.

  “To me!” he yelled above the hammering of the guns. “Fall back to the Hummer!”

  His squad didn’t need to be told twice. They’d never make it to the buses at the end of the line.

  “Jimenez! You drive!” he told the man beside him in the middle of a reload and he broke for the nearest Hummer, getting it fired up. The men aimed and shot, dropping the lurching runners most of the time. Even if they missed the mark, they would take out the one behind. Most of the lead elements were being chewed up, brains exploding out of the backs of their heads and bodies crumpling to the ground. The domino effect had more and more of them stumbling and falling, faces smashing into the pavement, bodies being trampled from the stampeding horde. They kept coming. For every one the men would kill, there were a hundred more right behind it.