The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

  Gripping her axe tight, Jen staggered for the truck. Shots rang out from behind her, and the zombies attacking the truck fell one by one. Two zombies still remained when she reached the truck. The one in the cab was on top of Doc, who fought it bare-handed, barely managing to keep it from biting. The other zombie, a large man who looked as if he had been a bodybuilder, stood between Jen and the truck, his yellow eyes glaring at her.

  Got to get to Doc.

  She ducked just before reaching the bodybuilder. He reached out, but grabbed nothing more than air, sending himself off-balance. Jen gave him a glancing blow to the shoulder and sent him to the ground.

  Jen grabbed the passenger door handle and yanked it open, her axe getting caught on the frame as she swung. She dropped it and grabbed the zombie's shoulders and pulled.

  Doc screamed and the zombie fell onto Jen, blood splashing the windshield.

  Jen rolled backward, tossing the zombie out the door. She grabbed the door and slammed it shut.

  "Doc."

  Doc's shirt was ripped open. Jen pulled the fabric back. His shoulder had a chunk of flesh missing and it bled steadily.

  Doc gasped for breath and grabbed her hand. "Have to get this to Dr. Cartwright."

  "What?"

  Doc pushed a thumb drive and the vial of spores into her hand. "Has data on spores and how they spread virus. All my research. Promise me you'll get them to Fairchild and Dr. Cartwright."

  Jen nodded and shoved the drive and vial into her pants pocket. She cradled Doc's head. "I'm sorry, Doc. I should've stayed with you."

  He shook his head. "Not your fault." He coughed. "And tell Dr. Cartwright that I wanted to make you my assistant, and that I think she'd be right smart to take you under her wing."

  "She won't believe me." Jen's eyes watered.

  He coughed and closed his eyes. "Tell her I said I'd eat a bug if it wasn't true. Tell her just like that and she'll know it came from me."

  "OK, Doc."

  "I've wondered what the change would feel like."

  "How does it feel, Doc?"

  He opened his eyes. "Hurts like a bitch." His brown irises had lightened, but he smiled. "Chill, dude."

  It wouldn't be long.

  The remaining zombie banged on the truck door, but slumped to the ground when Mark's mace crushed the back of its skull. He opened the door. "Doc?"

  Jen shook her head.

  "Take care of me," Doc said.

  Jen frowned. "What?"

  "Like you did for your father. Will you take care of me, too?"

  She caressed his head with one hand while she pulled her pistol with the other. Tears flowed down her face. "Of course, Doc. I'll take care of you."

  28

  Jen and Mark lowered Doc's body to the ground. Jen crossed his arms and closed his eyelids. "I'm going to miss you," she whispered.

  The phone rang. Grant scrambled to get it out of his pocket. He pressed the answer and speaker buttons. "Yes, Colonel."

  "This will be my last call. We're wheels up in ten minutes, with or without you. The situation here has become untenable."

  Mark faced the others. "We can make that time. I've got three sets of keys in my pocket. We just need to find a plane that matches one of them."

  The phone crackled. "Then I'll expect you here before we leave."

  "We will be," Jen said. "See you then."

  "Wait," the colonel said. "Dr. Wilson, the lab at Fairchild wants to know if you have any special equipment requests they can set up now so you won't have to wait once we arrive."

  Jen held her breath. Grant pressed the mute button. "What do we say?"

  "The truth." Mark pressed the mute button to clear it. "Colonel, I'm afraid we've lost Doc."

  "Lost?"

  Jen sucked in her lower lip. "He's dead."

  Silence. Jen squinted at Grant. "Did we lose connection?"

  The colonel's voice came over the speaker. "Then our mission is done here. We'll leave immediately."

  "What about us?" Jen asked.

  "You failed in your mission. I have no use for you."

  "But Doc gave me the spores and a thumb drive with his notes on it."

  The colonel's voice lowered an octave. "I never put much stock in what Dr. Wilson was to contribute, and I can't verify that you're not just saying things to save your skin. I won't risk my men any further."

  Mark grabbed the phone from Grant. "Wait. What about the nukes? When will they fall?"

  A light clicking sound came from the phone. "Colonel?" Grant asked.

  "Standard operating procedure is two hours after we're wheels up. I suggest you get in a vehicle and get as far north on the other side of the mountains as you can. Good luck."

  The phone went silent.

  Grant flung the phone to the pavement, and it broke into several pieces and scattered. "If I ever catch up with him, I'll give him his good luck."

  Jen hung her head. "So what do we do?"

  Mark pulled the keys out of his pocket and jingled them. "We find the plane that matches one of these keys and fly south."

  Jen looked at Doc's body and her chest ached. "No time to bury Doc."

  Mark put a hand on her shoulder and guided her to the truck bed. "Come on."

  When they reached the planes, Mark pulled out one set of keys and gazed at the tag attached to it. Jen peeked over his shoulder. The tag said "Mountain View Aviation," then underneath that was handwritten N400204.

  "That's the tail number?" she asked.

  Mark nodded as he scanned the planes before them. "Don't see it."

  Jen pointed to one of the piles of plane debris. "There." She ran over to it and lifted what was left of the tail. It had three numbers visible, and they matched the last three numbers of the key tag.

  Mark tossed the keys to the ground. "Guess that one's not flying." He pulled out another set.

  The number on that tag didn't match any of the surviving aircraft, either.

  "You sure there aren't any more keys in that building?" Jen asked.

  Grant frowned. "We didn't have time to go through every drawer and pile of shit. These were the only keys on the board that was marked 'Keys.'"

  "We did check in the desk beneath the board and around that area in case any of them fell off," Mark said.

  Jen's heart thudded against her chest. Outrunning the nuke in the truck seemed like a long shot. And who knew what kinds of hordes they'd have to fight through to get there?

  Mark took out the last pair of keys and read it. He looked at the three undamaged planes and shook his head. "Not here."

  Jen stuck her hand out. "Can I see?"

  He dropped the keys into her hand and she looked at the tag. Like the other tags, it had the name of the air service and a tail number. The damn number didn't match any of the three planes before them. "Shit."

  She flipped the tag over.

  "Guess we better load up, then," Grant said. "But I'd like to find something bigger than this truck."

  Jen brought the tag closer and squinted. In faded ink, it said, "Ted Stevens."

  Ted Stevens? The late senator?

  Grant climbed into the truck and started it. Mark stood, holding the passenger door open. "Jen?"

  "I know where this plane is."

  29

  Mark peered at the tag. "Where does it say its location?"

  She pointed out the faded writing. "It says Ted Stevens."

  Grant turned the truck off and ran over. "What's going on? We need to get out of here."

  Mark took the airplane keys from Jen. "She says she knows where this plane is, but all it says is Ted Stevens."

  Grant's eyebrows lowered. "Ted Stevens? He was Alaska's senator, but he's dead. What would he have to do with a plane?"

  "Who's Anchorage International Airport named after?" Jen asked.

  Grant snapped his fingers. "Of course. So the plane's out there?"

  "Why not?" Jen said. "There are a ton of small planes parked out there."

&nb
sp; Mark shook his head slowly. "I don't know. How can we be sure?"

  "You can't," Jen said. "But even if this plane isn't there, a hundred more are."

  Grant crossed his arms. "But that's back across town, and we have less than two hours. The drive out of town will be quicker." He jerked a thumb at the highway. "The way out's right there."

  "Sure," Jen said. "And where are we going to go after we get out of town? Canada? Do you think they'll let us in? How do we know the virus hasn't spread there?"

  Mark slid the keys into his pocket. "Either way's a risk."

  Jen pulled the thumb drive and vial from her pocket. "Here are two good reasons to fly."

  "What's that?" Grant asked.

  "Doc gave them to me before he died. The drive has all his data on the zombies, and the vial contains the original spores that spread it. They don't have these at the CDC. It could be important in stopping this shit."

  "We could fly right to Fairchild," Mark said, "and get the information there faster. It could make a big difference."

  Grant patted the truck's hood. "If we're going back across town, we need something better than this. Something bigger, more solid."

  Jen put her hands on her hips and scanned the area. Where can we find something bigger than a pickup? She snapped her fingers. "I know."

  "What?" Mark asked.

  She pointed past the Glenn Highway. "Two blocks that way. I had a friend who worked for the city's street maintenance department. They have a storage facility over there where they keep the dump trucks and snow plows during the summer. Those bad boys are huge and heavy."

  Grant smiled. "That'll be perfect."

  They loaded in the truck and Grant drove onto the highway. A few zombies staggered across the road in the distance.

  Jen pointed in the air. "Look."

  A C-130 climbed into the sky over JBER. "There goes our ride," Mark said. "I guess the clock starts ticking."

  Jen directed Grant across the highway. "Take a right there."

  They drove along a road with a fifty-foot drop-off to Ship Creek on one side and warehouses on the other. The warehouses ended with a fenced-in equipment yard containing dozens of heavy vehicles.

  "This is it," Jen said.

  Grant stopped the truck next to a double gate and they got out. Mark grabbed the padlock and chain locking the gate. "Well that sucks."

  "Use your mace," Grant said.

  Jen slipped her axe into a belt loop. "Might as well ring the dinner bell." She hauled herself onto the chain link fence and scaled it ten feet to the top. "Try to keep up, fellas."

  She dropped to the ground and crouched as she scanned the lot. Mark and Grant landed next to her, and she led them between a road grader and a sand spreader. There, backed up to the rear of the lot, was a row of big-ass yellow dump trucks.

  "I think those might work," Mark said.

  Grant's eyes got big. "Beautiful."

  Jen grabbed his arm. "Wait." She pointed to a truck in the corner with a huge V-shaped plow on front. "Just what the doctor ordered."

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" Grant ran up to it. "You could plow through almost anything with that. Damn thing has to be at least sixty thousand pounds."

  He climbed into the cab, looking like a kid at Christmas. Rolling down the window, he stuck his head out. "The keys are in it."

  A whirring sound came from under the hood and it broke into a full-throated roar, with black smoke shooting from the pipes.

  A chill-inducing grinding of gears echoed over the lot, and the truck lurched forward, stopping next to Jen and Mark. Grant turned off the truck and climbed out. "I think we've got our transportation."

  "How's the fuel level?" Mark asked.

  "About three fourths of the tank."

  A single screech sounded from behind them. Jen whirled to face a thirty-something zombie with a heavy beard and overalls. He streaked toward her. In one motion, she pulled her axe, sidestepped the zombie, and swung the blade around, taking a chunk of the zombie's skull off. "How about a little off the top?"

  Mark nodded, smiling. "You're getting pretty good with that thing."

  "I've gotten a lot of practice lately."

  A series of screeches sounded from several directions. Mark opened the passenger side door. "Let's see how well this thing works."

  Grant started the truck as Jen hopped in and sat next to Mark. A half dozen zombies had reached the outside of the gate and pressed against it.

  Jen laughed. "I forgot the gate was chained and locked. They're not getting in here soon."

  Grant put the truck in gear. "That's our way out. We have to go through the gate and the zombies." The truck shuddered and bounced, the engine rumbling. A dozen zombies stared back at them from the gate.

  "Damn things are multiplying," Grant said. "Better hang on."

  He got the truck rolling and the point of the blade hit right between the two gates. It snapped the chain and shoved the gates to either side, knocking the zombies away.

  "Stee—rike," Jen said.

  The truck rumbled onto the road and Grant took a hard right, the force of the move pressing Jen against the door. She caught a glance of Grant's face, and he looked the happiest she'd seen him. "Yee haw," he yelled.

  Jen ran through the possible routes to the airport in her head. The most straightforward route would be to follow the highway to downtown and take Minnesota Drive south to International Airport Road. But the smoke from downtown still rose thick into the air and the narrow roads and close buildings would make it difficult to avoid hordes.

  "Better go back the way we came," she said. "At least we know the roads aren't too bad up to Northern Lights."

  Mark nodded. "Good idea."

  Grant drove the truck through Merrill Field and onto Debarr. A few stray zombies charged them and were crushed beneath the truck's wheels.

  He turned onto Bragaw and drove down the middle of the road, the V blade parting wreckage and debris like the Red Sea. Grant pumped his fist when the truck's blade tipped a school bus out of the way. "This is working better than I expected."

  Mark waved his hand in front of Grant.

  "What?" Grant asked.

  "We can do a lot in this truck," Mark said, "but we're not invincible. We still need to avoid hordes and pileups if we can."

  Grant waved him off. "I got it. I got it."

  Jen sighed. Just when she'd started trusting Grant to not screw up, he was making her nervous again. But who am I to talk? I made the biggest screwup yet.

  Grant slowed the truck and eased around the big pile of blackened, twisted metal at the intersection of Bragaw and Northern Lights. A few zombies screeched and jumped onto the truck, two climbing up the back of the bed and another on the running board outside Jen's door.

  Mark nodded at the door. "Sit back and open the window." He took out his pistol.

  Jen leaned back and slid the window down. The zombie, a dark man with an eye missing, held onto the side view mirror with one hand and clawed at her with the other. Jen plugged her ears, and Mark's gun went off in front of her. When she looked out the window, the zombie was gone. She raised the window. "Thanks."

  Mark smiled. "I haven't had many easy targets like that."

  Screeching rose around them. Grant switched gears and the truck rumbled on.

  "Take this road to the Seward Highway," Jen said. "We'll have more room to maneuver there. Then we'll take the Old Seward to International. It's a straight shot to the airport from there."

  Grant gave her a salute. "Didn't we come through there on foot earlier?"

  "Exactly," Jen said. "The intersection was clear and the zombies were only moderately heavy."

  They plowed through a dozen more zombies before hitting the Seward Highway. "This ain't right," Mark said. "Where the hell are all the zombies?"

  "They're out there," Jen said. "I'll be happy to avoid them."

  A dead semi lay ahead under the sign indicating that the Old Seward turnoff was the next exit. Gr
ant downshifted and eased the truck around the wreckage.

  "Oh, shit," he said.

  A milling horde of hundreds of zombies blocked their off-ramp. The mob turned as one and let out one hell of a zombie howl.

  30

  Grant let off the gas. "Shit. That's a lot of them."

  "Gun it," Mark yelled.

  Jen's breath hitched. This would be the real test to see if they'd picked the right vehicle. "Go right down the off-ramp, then keep straight."

  Jen braced herself. Grant got the truck up to forty before it plowed into the screeching crowd and decelerated as bodies flew to the sides. Blood and body parts shot over the plow and painted the windshield in gore.

  Grant downshifted, and the truck pushed through the crowd. More zombies streamed from between buildings, jumping onto the truck. Just like the damn convoy. They were going to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

  Yellow eyes glared at her through the window as bloody hands grasped at the glass and slipped away.

  Zombies on the hood blocked their view. A trickle of sweat rolled down Grant's cheek. "What do we do now?"

  "Whatever you do, don't stop," Jen yelled over the growls of the undead inches from her face.

  A muscular zombie on the hood slammed his fists against the windshield, and others followed his lead.

  "Get us the fuck out of here," Mark said.

  Jen checked the magazine in her pistol as Grant shifted gears. The damn truck bounced so much, she'd have a hard time hitting her targets, even at that close distance.

  She pointed the gun at the windshield. "They get through and I'm going down fighting."

  Mark leaned against her, his pistol in hand. "Save the last bullet for yourself."

  "I can't see shit," Grant yelled. He turned the wheel, and the truck ran over something on the right side. Jen grabbed the door handle to keep from falling into Mark. The truck tilted to the left and wavered for a second before slamming down, which knocked half of the zombies off the hood.

  "We're on the Old Seward," Jen yelled. "Speed this piece of shit up and go straight."