“Look,” Kit said, pointing at the massive white cross in the distance behind them.
Someone had painted the Eye and Three symbol in the center of the crosspiece. It was red, and the trails of runny paint looked like blood.
The truck headed east, soon coming to what had once been a residential area. A couple of large oak trees had uprooted in the storm and lay across the road. One of them had crushed the cab of a Honda sedan, and the surrounding houses exhibited an assortment of storm damage. Shingles had peeled away, windows shattered, siding bulged away from framing timbers, and garage doors hung in twisted folds. The truck rolled to a stop and the workers unloaded. A soldier brought a couple of chainsaws out of the cab and put two men to work cutting up the trees. As another soldier passed out digging tools, Bill nudged Kit over to the trees, where they began dragging branches out of the street and piling them into one of the yards.
“This is worse than having a job,” Kit said, wiping sweat from her forehead and accidentally smudging her fake mark.
“Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here. As soon as we get a chance.”
“I thought you were all ‘Mister Promiseland,’ like it was the answer to all our prayers.”
“I didn’t know those prayers would be answered by Reverend Ingram instead of God, and the answer would be ‘Welcome to hell.’”
One of the soldiers shouted over the growl of the chainsaws, and immediately Bill realized the problem: noise.
The kind of annoying noise that drew zombies like flies.
The soldiers must’ve had the same realization, because they motioned for the operators to kill the engines.
But it was already too late. In the sudden quiet, a scream erupted from down the street. The zombies must have been moving toward them all along, probably attracted by the truck driving up. Now they poured from backyards and driveways, shambling forth from all directions.
“Where were all these bastards hiding?” Bill said, spinning around and searching for an escape route. He pulled Kit down behind the sparse concealment of a sagging picket fence. “No way can three soldiers handle all of them.”
“They’re double deaders,” Kit said. “Must be a graveyard nearby. Look how gross and rotten they are.”
It was true. Most of them were dressed in decaying cloth that had once been finery—suits and dresses, ties, leather shoes. Others wore shabby, soiled pajamas and in some cases were without pants, evidently having been spared the indignity of a funeral viewing. A few were even naked, but these were little more than walking skeletons with rags of moldering meat clinging to the bones.
The soldiers started shooting immediately, but reflexively gathered together and worked their way back toward the truck. They were more interested in their own survival than protecting the people they’d transported.
“Should we try for the truck?” Kit asked. “If they reach it first, they’re going to leave us here.”
“No good. It’s not working out so well for those guys.”
A couple of women who’d raced ahead of the soldiers arrived at the truck only to find a deader was waiting, lurching out from behind the front bumper to grab one of them. As it chomped into the woman’s arm, the other woman tried to pull her free. Instead, she only succeeded in becoming a second helping.
Bill grabbed Kit’s wrist. “This way.”
He led her away from the largest gathering of people, in the opposite direction of the truck. Even though they were moving farther away from the safety of Promiseland’s perimeter, the zombies were more scattered here. Bill swooped down and grabbed a pick someone had left lying on the broken asphalt.
“Keep moving,” he urged Kit. “Run as fast as you can. Don’t wait for me.”
She sprinted ahead, but not at full speed, annoying Bill. He was already breathing heavily and would quickly be left behind. But if he died to help her escape, that wasn’t such a bad way to go, considering all the other alternatives.
A deader staggered out of a patch of landscaping, gray and ugly and sexless, seemingly ninety percent teeth. It moved between him and Kit, starting after her since she was closer prey.
“Over here, Grayskull!” Bill shouted, banging the tip of the pick into the ground.
The zombie turned, the corrupted gore in its eye sockets appearing to gaze deep into his soul. Or maybe whatever strange energy animated and mobilized the monster sensed warm blood and fresh meat.
As it loped toward him, its long white toes skittering over the pavement, Bill raised the pick. The thing might’ve been perceptive, but it sure wasn’t too smart.
He swung the pick as if he were still the twelve-year-old Bill Flanagan that had played first base in Little League and managed to strike out only every other time. Luckily, the deader’s head was much larger than a baseball and the metal spike busted through the skull like it was a ceramic piñata.
Bill yanked the pick away and a leathery shroud of scalp hung from its tip. The shattered skull crumbled away into several pieces. The headless skeleton wobbled and dropped. The bones tinkled like an odious xylophone as they bounced off the pavement.
“Sweet!” Kit shouted, pumping her fist.
Bill ran after her, gasping for breath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Splitting up sucks,” Jacob said.
“I know,” Meg said, putting some of their clothes in a pack along with Mister Grizz. “But there’s no reason for us to stick together anymore. We had a goal, and we failed.”
The group had moved to a neighboring house the night before, none of them willing to sleep under the same roof as zombie corpses. Fortunately, this house had been completely abandoned, and it offered some fringe benefits as well. The home’s owners had been proud members of the National Rifle Association, and even though the gun case was open and empty, they’d still managed to find several boxes of nine-millimeter ammo for Meg’s Glock, a box of .32 rounds for Sonia’s and Sydney’s revolvers, and a twenty-gauge shotgun that Hannah had immediately claimed.
In addition, the garage was stuffed with survival gear. Propane bottles, sleeping bags, tents, space blankets, multitools, water-filtration pumps, a gasoline-powered generator, flashlights, and crates of dried and canned food were stacked along one wall. They’d spent most of the morning loading the Nissan cargo van with gear. Rocky and Sonia searched the ranch house more thoroughly and found the keys to a Subaru hatchback parked in the drive.
The group then held a powwow and decided it was time to go their separate ways. Rocky was going to try for his family in Smithfield. He would drop Meg and Jacob as near to downtown Raleigh as he could get, where Meg would begin to search for Ian. Sonia and Hannah planned to take the van west, hoping to find an isolated cabin in the mountains to ride out the worst. Arjun and Sydney wanted to stay in the survivalists’ house for a while, hoping the owners wouldn’t return and shoot them as squatters.
Now, as they gathered around the Nissan to say their goodbyes, Meg was nearly overcome with emotion. She’d grown incredibly close to these strangers in only a few days.
“Thanks for everything,” she said as they loaded their guns and split up the last of the food.
“I’d say ‘Stay in touch,’ but I guess we don’t have phones,” Sydney said.
Hannah gave the extra field radio to Arjun. “You guys can stay in touch with Rocky, Meg, and Jacob, at least for a while. We’ll be out of range pretty fast.”
“If we’re lucky,” Sonia said. “We’re going to have to refuel soon, and the pumps won’t work. We’ll have to siphon what we need.”
“You’ll make it,” Arjun said. “If things go wrong, find a motorcycle. Great gas mileage.”
Sonia slapped the side of the van. “I’m not ditching all these supplies. Maybe we can trade for anything we need.”
“Don’t get waylaid,” Rocky said. “Somebody might kill you for that kind of haul.”
Hannah held up the pump-action shotgun. “They’re welcome to try.”
“
What about you two?” Meg asked Arjun and Sydney. “How long will you stay here?”
“Five years or so,” Sydney said, taking Arjun’s hand. “Until the kids are ready for school. And then we might need to upscale.”
“Can’t you be serious about anything?” Arjun said. “Can’t you see she’s having a moment?”
Now that Meg had decided to look for Ian and as reluctant as she was to part with her new friends, she was impatient to get started. She dreaded dragging Jacob back into the chaos of the city, but he missed his father. She owed it to both of them—and to Ramona—to try.
But as she was about to ask Rocky if he was ready to roll out, the soft whine of an engine approached from the distance.
“I hope that’s not Mr. and Mrs. NRA,” Arjun said.
“That’s not a consumer vehicle,” Sonia said. “Engine’s too powerful.”
“Should we hide anyway?”
“Charlie don’t surf, and zombies don’t drive,” Hannah said.
“’Charlie don’t surf’? What does that mean?”
“Obscure cultural reference,” Sydney said. “Google it someday, if Google ever exists again.”
“Hold your ground but be ready,” Rocky said. “Even if they mean no harm, scared people are dangerous people.”
The engine grew louder as it approached. Meg ordered Jacob to hide behind the rear wheels of the Nissan. He ducked into the wheel well underneath the cargo area.
The vehicle turned a corner and came into sight. It looked like a hopped-up dune buggy painted in a camouflage pattern.
“LSV,” Rocky said. “Light strike vehicle. It’s military.”
Rocky told everyone to lower their weapons. After their experience in Promiseland, Meg wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the military these days, but she trusted Rocky’s judgment. He put up his hand in greeting, and she was glad he was still in uniform even though most of the others had changed clothes after scavenging wardrobes. She tucked her gun in the rear of her waistband.
The vehicle slowed as it approached them. Two soldiers sat within the cage of roll-over bars and a small machine gun was mounted in the unoccupied rear cage. The soldiers wore body armor and helmets, and tinted goggles concealed most of their faces. It was difficult to judge their expressions.
The soldier in the passenger seat got out when the vehicle stopped twenty yards away. He carried his rifle, even though it wasn’t aimed at them.
Rocky gave a casual salute, although evidently he outranked the other man. “Private. We’re glad to see you. We’ve been out here for days and the only support we’re getting from the army is friendly fire from above.”
The soldier didn’t seem as welcoming as Rocky. “What unit are you with?” he said in a rural Southern accent.
“Eighty-first Infantry. Reservist. I was called up when the shit hit the fan. What about you?”
The soldier ignored the question. “Where’s your mark?”
Meg noticed the soldier bore Reverend Ingram’s symbol on his hand. And the same symbol was spray-painted amid the camouflage pattern on the vehicle’s hood.
“I heard about that, but I was sent out before it was a requirement. I was assigned to escort these people to a research facility.”
Meg could feel Rocky’s tension increase. The others noticed, too, and they swayed uneasily, fidgeting with their weapons. Meg glanced at Jacob to make sure he obeyed.
“Ya’ll don’t look like no researchers to me,” the soldier said.
“I’m Sonia Thorpe.” The woman stepped forward, not as imposing in the drooping gray sweatshirt and blue jeans she now wore in place of her power suit. “Acting director of North Carolina’s public safety department.”
The soldier sneered. “You ain’t done so good at public safety, now, have you?”
Sonia kept her cool despite the taunt. “We were given our orders by Reverend Ingram at Promiseland.”
“You mean President Ingram, don’t you?”
President? Meg was shocked, despite the preacher’s sudden stardom in the wake of the outbreak. She exchanged glances with the others, who were similarly stunned.
“We haven’t heard anything about that,” Rocky said. “We’ve been out of contact since Easter.”
“Things have changed. And everybody’s got to get the mark now. Especially soldiers. We need to know who’s who.”
“I’ll let my CO decide that, Private. Are you guys patrolling for zombies?”
“Zombies and other hostiles.”
Meg didn’t like the way the driver slowly raised his rifle into a ready position. “We encountered some deaders inside that house over there,” Sonia said, indicating the ranch house. “Other than that, it’s been quiet out here.”
The driver rose out of his seat and poked his head up into the roll cage. “Any problem, Matt?”
Matt held up his free hand in response while keeping his other hand close to the trigger guard. To Meg, he said, “Then where ya’ll going if it’s so safe here? Looks like you’re all packed up.”
“Back to Promiseland,” Rocky lied. “To report on our failed mission. Assuming we can make it after the Air Force blasted everything all to hell.”
“The flyboys are expanding the ZFZ. Zombie Free Zone. Doing God’s work.”
“Well, they’ve killed plenty of innocent people in the name of God,” Sonia said, barely restraining her anger. “We’ve seen them. A busload of kids—”
“Nobody’s innocent out here, Sister. Especially the ones who ain’t got the mark.”
Meg saw this was leading nowhere. She was hoping the soldiers would offer to escort them as far as they could, but now she just wanted to be rid of them. “Thank you for the information, sir,” she said. “But it’s time we went on our way.”
The soldier raised his rifle and pointed it at no one in particular but directed toward the group nonetheless. “You go when we say you go. Let’s have a look at what you have here.”
He started toward the rear of the Nissan, where the cargo door was still open. Meg was afraid he’d see Jacob, so she steeped in front of him to block his path. “This stuff is ours,” she said.
The soldier braced his rifle before him and shoved Meg, sending her sprawling backwards. Jacob wriggled out from his hiding place, shouting “Mom!”
The soldier, surprised at the sudden movement on his periphery, turned and fired. The wild shot pinged off the Nissan’s flank. He took more careful aim at the charging boy.
Before he squeezed off another round, Hannah leveled her shotgun.
KUH-BOOM.
Double-aught buckshot ripped the soldier’s flesh around his body armor.
Rocky yelled, “Get down!” as the driver stood up in the LSV and released a three-shot burst. Hannah launched into an epileptic dance. Her shotgun dropped to the pavement. She gave Meg a wide-eyed stare of disbelief as she fell, two red holes punched in her leather jacket.
Rocky and Sonia opened fire on the soldier simultaneously. He tried to drop down behind the protection of the vehicle’s engine block, but the vehicle wasn’t armored. Sydney and Arjun shot at him, too, and his limbs flailed for a moment before he fell still.
Meg knelt beside Hannah, tears in her eyes. She pressed her hands over the two wounds to stanch the bleeding, but most of the damage had been inflicted upon exit. A pool of blood already spread from underneath her.
“You saved my son,” Meg whispered as Jacob dropped to his knees beside her.
Hannah tried to speak, swallowing hard. Then she smiled, but the pain reduced it to a grimace.
Rocky kicked the fallen soldier to make sure he was dead, while Sonia went to check on the driver. Arjun and Sydney gathered around their fallen friend. Meg gave up on her futile attempts at nursing and instead took Hannah’s hand. Already her flesh was cooling from shock.
“Can we do anything?” Sydney asked, choking back a sob.
Meg shook her head. Hannah closed her eyes, breaths coming in small, wet sighs. A fleck of blood appea
red on her lower lip.
“You fought for both my children,” Meg said to Hannah. “I’ll never forget that.”
Hannah did manage a smile this time, endorphins kicking in to help her relax and usher her into the afterlife. “War is hell.”
“You’re not going to hell. You’re leaving it.”
Jacob, whimpering, gave her a kiss on the forehead and patted her hair. With effort, Hannah opened her eyes. “Promise me…you won’t let me…”
“I promise,” Meg said.
Hannah gave one final gasp that didn’t quit finish, and the half-breath drifted up out of her lungs to join the big sky.
The group sat around her for several minutes, none of them speaking. The breeze sifted through the new green growth on the trees. The honeyed scent of lilies arose from the subdivision’s flowerbeds, and bees went about their business. The seasonal rebirth was in full bloom, irrepressible in the perversion of human life the outbreak had spawned.
“Who’s going to do it?” Sydney asked.
“I will,” Meg said. “I owe her that much, at least.”
“I’ll find a shovel,” Arjun said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“How do you feel?” Reverend Ingram asked Sarah Beth.
“Perfectly fine. A little warm, maybe. Can we open the window?”
“In a moment, dear.”
Ingram leaned forward in his chair beside the narrow cot, wiping at his wife’s face with a moist cloth. She was pale and her green eyes were haunted and bloodshot. The virus had painted mottled grayish patches around her freckles. Her lips were dry and chapped, but she refused water.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s not your fault.”
Ingram knew perfectly well who was to blame. The mark was supposed to protect them. God had all but promised, through the granting of such omnipotent power to him.
And God had lied.
“I know I can’t be seen like this,” Sarah Beth said. “What would people think? But can you get one of the medics? The pain’s almost more than I can bear.”
Revelation: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Arize Book 2) Page 17
