“Yeah, I kinda guessed that when you travelled halfway around the world through a demonic warzone to come rescue me.”
He grinned. “So what’s your regret?”
“That I didn’t say it until we’re both dying,” she said.
“Yep. That sucks. But hey, you got those children to safety,” he said. “That’s got to count for something.”
“And you brought news of the Pacific Alliance to Canada,” she said. “Giving people hope like that, it might have saved the entire world.”
“Or some of it.”
“Yeah.”
An uncomfortable silence settled, redolent of the unspoken words and companionable silences it would take a lifetime together to share.
“Too much time is spent talking about first dates,” Pete said. “No one ever talks about last dates.”
“Now that’s too dark,” she said. She grinned. “But it’d make for a great self-help book. Wait, did you hear that?”
“What?”
She stood and walked to the wide plate glass window. “I thought I heard… there!”
This time, he heard it too. “Shooting,” he said.
“Corrie,” she said.
A third and fourth shot had shaken the chill air before they’d opened the door. Outside, it was only after they’d sprinted beyond the tow truck that Pete remembered his rifle was inside. So was Olivia’s. And the machine gun the judge had left with them back on the road. They had their handguns and not much else, but they didn’t turn back because a trio of gunshots rang out, not far to the north.
Beyond an ash-filled block filled with the charred timbers of four houses that had burned to the ground, they saw Corrie in the upper floor window of a soot-stained house. Immediately below her, a red-tiled porch shielded her view of the cluster of zombies beating their fists against the smoke-blackened front door. More undead were gathered by the windows, the walls. Ten at least.
Corrie fired, shooting a zombie in the leg: an undead man in pre-torn jeans and a skimpy polo shirt utterly unsuited for the weather, or the decade. But the zombie was on the driveway, close to the ground-floor window, not by the front door. Worse, as it tried to put weight on its now broken leg, it toppled forward, staggering forward, arms outstretched, until it smashed into the window.
Glass broke, but with a dull, shattering crack. Someone, presumably the house’s former owner, had barricaded the window. Time-poor, they’d chosen the expedient of using a tall bookshelf. Improperly anchored, the shelves rocked, and toppled into the room as the zombie tore its flesh punching through the glass remaining in the frame.
“Buy me five minutes!” Olivia said, and dashed off down the street before Pete could ask what for or how.
The obvious answer was with the handgun. He drew it, braced his feet, aimed at the rearmost of the zombies by the front door. The figure’s floral shirt had been torn, exposing bare arms covered in gore, its white sweatpants covered in blood. Its scalp dripped black pus from where clumps of brown hair had been ripped away. And as it turned around, Pete saw the open mouth filled with broken teeth.
He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened except that the zombie completed its turn, taking one step, then another, towards him. He pulled the trigger again. Still nothing happened. He checked the safety. It was off, and the zombie had managed another two lurching footsteps.
It was only then he thought to check the magazine. It was empty. He’d fired his last bullet in the cellar where he’d been infected and not realised. Not remembered. Not known. Now it was too late.
He had no spare mag. He had no knife at his belt. He had no weapon. But the hamlet’s transformation into a fort had been well begun before its occupants had fled. On the lawn of the neighbouring house, two spades and a pick leaned against a wheelbarrow filled with soil from a half-dug well. Pete grabbed a spade for a weapon, and stepped forward to meet the advancing zombie.
“Hoy! Oy! Hey, you!” he yelled.
“Step back, Pete!” Corrie yelled. “I’ve got the shot!”
But Pete didn’t hear her.
Channelling all his anger, his frustration, his misery, his pain, he swung low, aiming at the gore-soaked zombie’s legs, hacking the tool into sinew and muscle. The zombie’s outstretched hand swiped out as it fell, its nails clawing against Pete’s palm. But he didn’t care. You could only die once.
He grinned as he dragged the spade back, and punched it down onto the now fallen zombie’s skull. “You can only die once!” he yelled, charging at the crowd of zombies beating at the door. Swinging low, left to right, he cleaved the spade through one leg before thick muscle brought it to a halt deep within the creature’s calf. He yanked the spade free, stepping back a pace before punching it forward, into the zombie’s open mouth. Another step back and he swung again. This time high. This time right to left. This time into the side of a zombie’s face. Teeth flew as its jaw disintegrated, but again, he had to step back.
His charge had failed, but his attack hadn’t. The undead were lurching towards him. Only three were left by the door now. The others were coming on, towards him. Too many to fight, though that didn’t stop him swinging again. At a thigh exposed beneath a torn ankle-length skirt, smashing the hip, then into the outstretched many-ringed hand reaching out, clawing at him. Gold glistened, and jewels glinted as that hand curled around the spade, gripping, tugging downwards, pulling him off balance and the spade from his grasp.
Twisting as he fell, he nearly rolled straight into the partially dug well. A pivot and pirouette he’d never managed on the football field and he leaped over the hole, landing on the mound of loose soil on the other side. Grabbing the other abandoned spade, he straightened in time to see the bejewelled zombie lurch after him, and fall down into the hole.
“Should have looked where you were going!” he gleefully yelled, raising the spade. Three more of the oncoming undead were heading towards the hole, but there were others on each side who’d miss it. Three to the left, two to the right, the others too far away to be sure, with three more still by the house. One to the right as Corrie fired. Then only two on the left, with another zombie walking straight into the hole, landing with a bone-cracking thud on the already downed zombie.
He raised the spade. A twinge from his arm, and another from his leg told him he’d run as far as he was going to. This was where he’d make his stand. He braced his feet, waiting for death.
Behind him came a mechanical roar, followed by a thudding silence as the speeding tow truck slammed to a halt. Instinctively, he turned and saw Olivia jumping out, the large machine gun in her arms.
“Down!” she yelled, as she braced the weapon on the truck’s hood. So he did, diving forward, hugging the dirt, as she opened fire.
It sounded like a waterfall just overhead, a rain of nails hurled by a hurricane, and doing as much damage. It lasted forever. It was over in seconds. He rolled to his feet. Two of the zombies were trying to do the same, but the others, including those by the house, were dead.
Pete slowly walked over to the nearest of the crawling undead. It had taken a dozen bullets in its chest, and enough in one of its legs to leave it hanging by a sinew. He slammed the spade down on its skull. The other zombie was… he tried not to look at her small frame, before finishing her with as much dignity as haste allowed.
A clatter of wood came from inside. Then breaking glass. A gunshot. Then more falling wood. Pete was already walking over to the house when Corrie appeared, coming around the side.
“How many are left?” she asked, glancing behind her.
“Just the two in the hole,” Pete said.
“Watch behind,” Corrie said. “I think I got them all, but there’s always more.” She walked over to the hole, and fired down at the trapped undead.
Pete, eyes as much on the house as on where he put his feet, walked slowly backwards, back to the road where Olivia was peering at the machine gun.
“I think it’s jammed.”
“Let me take
a look,” Corrie said.
“But they’d have heard that, right?” Olivia asked. “They’d have heard the machine gun.”
“Who?” Pete asked.
“The zombies,” Olivia said. “Every zombie within a mile. Two miles. Four. However far the sound travelled. And they follow sound, don’t they? So they’ll be coming. All of them.”
“I guess so,” Pete said, walking over to the cab to retrieve his rifle. He ejected the magazine, checking there were bullets loaded in it. “Yep, I guess they will.”
“Here,” Corrie said, placing the machine gun back on the truck’s hood. “Try it now.”
“I’ll wait for the undead,” Olivia said, shaking her arms. “Wow. The recoil on that is something else.”
“You’re bleeding,” Corrie said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Pete said.
Corrie took the small med-kit, and tore open one of the last of the sterile wipes. “I think it does. Right up until it doesn’t.”
He shrugged, indifferent. He understood why it mattered to his sister, but it truly didn’t matter to him. Not now.
“Weird,” Olivia said after a few minutes. “We should have seen some more by now. Those can’t have been the only ones here.”
“I think they were,” Corrie said slowly.
“Where did they come from?” Olivia asked.
“Do you see over there, the house with the open door?” Corrie said. “I thought the buildings that had been torched were those with the infected inside. I assumed that the general had searched all the other buildings. Clearly not.”
“And all these zombies were inside that house?” Pete asked. “Why?”
“Let’s go take a look,” Olivia said. “Because I really don’t think any more are coming.”
Twenty seconds later, they were running back outside, and over to the cover of the tow truck.
“That’s what I think it was, right?” Pete asked. “Taped to the wall.”
“Yeah, that was a bomb,” Corrie said. “Probably a mining explosive, set to a remote detonator.”
“Did you see the speakers?” Olivia asked.
“I only saw the explosive,” Pete said.
“I think they used the speakers, and music, to lure the zombies into the house so they could blow them up.”
“Burn them down, I think,” Corrie said. “It would explain all the other burned buildings.”
“Right, so let me get this straight,” Pete said. “The general had some people turning this place into a fort. They began, but didn’t finish, because the zombies turned up. Some of the houses were burned down. Some weren’t. That explosive didn’t go off.” He frowned. “Yeah, that doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t the general have searched this place? Or the judge.”
“I think this place was abandoned before the general’s army came through here,” Olivia said. “As to why the general didn’t search it, building to building, why would she? They’re trying to reach Ottawa.”
“Yeah, but why…” Pete frowned. “I mean, why would anyone want to lure zombies inside a house so they could blow them up? Or burn them down? Why not finish building the wall? Why not run? It’s weird, right? What do you think, Corrie?”
“How are you two feeling?” Corrie asked.
“Tired,” Pete said.
“Ditto,” Olivia said. “But fine.”
“Good, because I have two questions I want answered. How did the zombies get here? Is everywhere nearby like this? And where did the people go after the explosive failed to go off?”
“That’s three questions,” Pete said.
“No, that’s just the first question,” Corrie said. “The second is whether there are more zombies buried in the burned ruins. We’ve got a couple of hours before dark. Want to go check it out?”
But there weren’t any bodies in the other ruins. Nor did any more emerge through the trees before darkness descended.
“Weird,” Corrie said. “They lured them to a house, tried to burn them down, but didn’t. But they did manage to burn down half the other houses.”
But Pete didn’t care. The day, and his life, had caught up with him. Beyond exhausted, dead tired, he decided it was time to, finally, sleep.
7th March
Chapter 34 - Second Chances
Whitney, Ontario
Pete was woken by a nuzzling against his leg. He opened his eyes to see an impatient Rufus desperate for his attention.
“I’m awake,” he said. “What? Wait. I’m awake? I’m alive? I’m alive!”
He looked at his hands, his arms, and tugged at the skin on his face before noticing Olivia, sitting at the end of the sofa, watching him.
“You’re alive,” she said. “And so am I.”
“That’s impossible,” Pete said.
“And yet undeniable,” she said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, though automatically as his brain processed the impossibly glorious truth. “Did we not get bitten?”
“I know I did,” she said. “I love you.”
“You said that.”
“I know. But I like saying it. I like being able to say. I’m alive. You’re alive. We are alive, Pete!” She grinned, but Rufus interrupted her with a bark. “I think he wants a tree.”
Outside, the stars were fading as the promise of dawn swept in over the horizon. The air felt cold, but the glistening dew wasn’t frozen. Spring had woken from its long winter slumber, and with it came the promise of a new year. A hope for the future matched by the song in his heart.
“We’re alive,” he whispered.
“Yep,” she said. “Feels great, doesn’t it.”
“But how?” he asked. “We were bitten. I know I was.”
“I think we’re immune,” Olivia said.
“No one’s immune,” Pete said. “No one’s special. It’s one of the rules.”
“Then you’ll need a new rule,” she said. “Conrad thought he was immune. He wasn’t, but he said there were rumours on the—”
Footsteps crunching on the soft leaves made them spin around, but it was only Corrie, except she had her rifle raised.
“It’s okay,” Pete said.
“You’re still…” Corrie trailed into silence.
“We’re still us,” Olivia said. “And still alive. We think we’re immune.”
“No one’s immune,” Corrie said.
“I just said that,” Pete said. “And yet, here we are. Rule fifty… which one was it? Well, either way, the next rule is that some people are special.”
“Jenny heard some rumours,” Olivia said. “And so had Conrad and Naomi. With most viruses, some people are immune.”
Corrie lowered the rifle. “There are other explanations. You could be carriers. Or you could be having a delayed response. Or, somehow, you didn’t get infected. It doesn’t mean you’re immune.”
“I’m not saying we go find a zombie to put it to the test,” Olivia said. “But I’m not going to spend another minute here fretting that I might turn any second.”
“No, you’re right,” Corrie said. “We’ve got to get back to the general. We’ve got to tell her, and tell her to stop shooting everyone who gets bitten.”
Twenty minutes later, they were in the tow truck, and on the road, driving south, with Corrie at the wheel, and Pete with his head by the open window, enjoying the cold breeze.
Only when Rufus whimpered a frozen protest did Pete wind the window back up. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Whitney,” Corrie said. “That’s where the rendezvous is supposed to be.”
“Wouldn’t Wawa still be closer?” Pete asked.
“But it’s the general who needs to know,” Corrie said. “She can issue an order, or…” She trailed off.
“Or what?” Pete asked.
“Exactly what I’m wondering,” Corrie said.
“You mean there’s nothing she can do?” Olivia asked. “Or that she might even already know.”
“I don�
��t think she knows,” Corrie said slowly. “But maybe she does. No. No, she can’t, because she’d realise news like this will get out soon. It’ll spread fast, and then everything will change. Get more difficult. We’ll have to leave guards with the injured. But she does need to know. Everyone does. Whether it brings comfort or false hope, they should know, which means telling her first.”
Pete closed his eyes, leaning back against the headrest. He slept.
And was woken when the tow truck braked. Not hard, but quickly as Corrie pulled the vehicle to the side of the road.
“Why are we stopping?” Pete asked, seeing the answer even as he spoke. A convoy approached. Riding up the hill below them were dozens of buses and vans. There wasn’t a single military vehicle among them, but each flew a flag. Among the forest of maple leafs glinted a few white stars, offset by an occasional tricolour.
The lead vehicle, a four-door truck, came to a halt in front of them. The driver disembarked, waving the following bus onward. Wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, a holster at his waist, a week of stubble on his chin, and a badge on a chain around his neck, he ambled over to the tow truck, but took a step back when he saw their bloody uniforms.
“I know you,” Olivia said. “Sergeant Wilgus! From South Bend.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, puzzled. “You have the advantage of me.”
“We met at the hospital,” Olivia said. “I went there the night the outbreak began. My roommate had died, so I went to the hospital, and was helping out there. You sent me home. When I got back, the hospital had burned down.”
Wilgus nodded slowly. “I remember now. Yes. First a nurse and now a soldier. Or does that say ‘Press’ on your body armour?”
Olivia looked down. “I forgot about that. Yes, we’re sort of the press corps and messengers for the general.”
“General Yoon?” Wilgus asked.
“You’ve met her?” Olivia asked.
“She sent these people to the rear,” Wilgus said. “They’re supposed to retrain and properly equip.”
“They’re all soldiers?” Pete asked, pointing at the convoy slowly rumbling by.
Surviving The Evacuation | Life Goes On (Book 2): No More News Page 28
