“Fuck you!”
Alissa stood and fired a shot directly into the deader’s face. Its features collapsed as the back of its skull blasted across the lobby. It collapsed in front of her, twitching. She stood over it and emptied the rest of the magazine into the remains of its head and its chest. When the slide finally stuck in the open position, nothing remained of the deader above its chest other than a pool of gore.
The noise attracted the attention of a dozen deaders heading for the elevator. Spinning around, they rushed the stairs. Rather than seek safety, Alissa ejected the empty magazine from her Glock, dropped it into her pocket, and removed a loaded one. She slid the magazine into the weapon and pulled back the slide as the first deader reached the down escalator, scrambling up each step but going nowhere. Alissa concentrated on the three racing up the stairs, centering the site on their faces, consumed by hatred. Each time a bullet impacted into dead flesh she felt a sense of satisfaction. She expended an entire magazine taking them down. It had the desired effect, slowing the ones in the back, forcing them to climb over the carcasses. Alissa switched out the magazines, this time taking more careful aim, taking out seven more before the slide stuck open. The last deader, a burly thing wearing the torn uniform of one of the hospital valets, circled around the pile of bodies and jumped onto the up escalator, bounding up the moving steps. With her fury partially satiated, Alissa’s lust for revenge gave way to an instinct for survival. Knowing she could not reload in enough time to stop the last deader, she darted down the elevated walkway and ran for the garage.
Alissa approached the glass doors to the garage, studying the area ahead of her. No deaders were within eyeshot, although the corpse of a half-eaten EMT lay on the cement. Only then did Alissa realize she had miscalculated her escape. The doors were automatic and opened at the approach of a moving object. While that feature would be helpful in allowing her to escape, it would also allow the deader to follow. She had only one chance. Mustering her energy, she sprinted for the exit, putting a few extra feet between her and the deader. A click sounded and they opened. Alissa ran through the gap, spun around, and slammed them shut. At least, she tried to. Being on mechanical hinges, they resisted the change in direction. She pressed her weight against the rims, urging them to move. Finally, the mechanism shifted into reverse and they closed.
Not before the deader shoved its hand through the gap. It reached for her, trying to bite her through the opening. Alissa slammed the door repeatedly on its arm but, being unable to feel pain, it did not react. It clutched for her throat, desperate to dig into flesh and devour its prey. Instead, its fingers wrapped around the handle of her bag. With a yank, it drew Alissa closer to its gore-encrusted teeth. She inhaled its foul breath and the stench of chewed flesh and organs, wanting to puke again. Dropping her left shoulder, she allowed the handle to slide off and down her arm. The valet deader fell backwards, still holding the bag, and tumbled to the floor. Alissa ran over to the EMT, placed her Glock on the cement, removed its belt, and rushed back to wrap it around the handles. She finished securing the buckle as the valet deader slammed into the glass. The thing clawed at her, leaving streaks of blood along the pane. Alissa backed away, keeping a wary eye on it, hoping the belt would hold it back. It pushed against the glass and snarled furiously but did not break through.
Alissa backed away until something touched her back. She cried out and jumped forward, turning to face the new threat, breathing a sigh of relief upon discovering she had bumped against the railing of the stairwell. The scare snapped her back into reality. She needed to get to her car on the fifth level before all the noise attracted other deaders. Going over to the EMT, she retrieved the Glock, switched out the empty magazine and cocked the slide, loading a round into the chamber, and headed up to the next level. She slowed at the midway landing, raising the weapon and climbing one step at a time, scanning the area for deaders. A few wandered aimlessly through the parking garage, paying no attention to her. Alissa tip-toed around to the stairs leading to the fourth level, following the same procedure until she reached the top floor. Hugging the wall, she moved toward the garage, ready to use the Glock if necessary.
No deaders were visible on this level. Still, Alissa refused to throw caution to the wind. She broke right toward her Subaru, walking down the center of the lane so nothing could jump out from between vehicles and surprise her. Alissa reached her Subaru Forester, unlocked the car, and slid into the front seat, placing the Glock on the passenger’s seat. She inserted the key into the ignition.
At that moment, all the bent up the emotions of the last hour gushed to the surface. Alissa laid her head against the steering wheel and cried.
Chapter Nine
Alissa awoke with a start. She scanned the area around the Subaru for deaders as she reached for the Glock on the passenger’s seat. Her heart pounded as she aimed in every direction. It took a few moments to realize nothing threatened her. She had merely dozed off, although she had no idea how long she had been asleep. It could not have been more than a few minutes, fifteen at most. The nap had done her good. Alissa felt a little more at ease and had time to think rather than react.
Reaching over, she opened the glove compartment, took out her cell phone, and pressed the power button. It took several seconds before a series of pings echoed from the device. She punched in her four-digit passcode, wondering who had texted her. It turned out no one had. She had received over a dozen warnings about road closures and the civil disturbance in Boston. Alissa chuckled. A civil disturbance? They were experiencing a fucking apocalypse. Deleting the warnings, she attempted to text her neighbor to see what things were like on Nahant. Hitting SEND, a red warning box popped up stating the message could not be delivered. Three more text attempts failed. Alissa tried to call her neighbor only to have a recorded female voice announce that all circuits were busy and suggest she try her call again later. Not that it surprised her.
Alissa climbed out of the car. Blood and gore stained the driver’s seat, reminding her she looked the same way. Moving to the back of the vehicle, she raised the hatch. A backpack lay in the corner against the rear seats. Reaching in, she pulled it toward her. Paul, the amateur survivalist, had given it to her three years ago, insisting she always keep it in the Subaru. He called it a bug-out bag. Alissa referred to it as her snowbound bag, figuring she would only use it if she got stuck driving home in a blizzard. Who figured he would be right?
Unzipping the bag, Alissa emptied the contents onto the deck. It contained a change of clothes, which she desperately needed, a pair of waterproof hiking boots, and a camouflaged baseball cap. A pair of military-style tactical gloves. A small thermal blanket rolled into a bag six inches long by four inches in circumference which, according to the label, would keep her warm at temperatures above zero degrees Fahrenheit. A first-aid kit. An MTech fourteen-inch hunting knife with leather sheath. A box of matches. Three bottles of water. A bottle of multi-vitamins. And five multi-grain granola bars. Alissa opened the first-aid kit, expecting to find band-aids and aspirin, and pleasantly surprised to find it stocked with stitching needle and thread, a small bottle of alcohol, a tube of antibiotic cream, a roll of gauze, and other items.
Shit! When she let go of the bag to escape from the deader in the garage, she lost the gauze for her hands, the penicillin pills, and the two vials of blood. She reminded herself to pick up more of the first two or, better yet, see a doctor once she got out of Boston.
Alissa placed the cell phone into the outer pocket of the backpack and slipped out of her soiled clothes and shoes, putting on the clean items Paul had stored. The jeans were a little loose and the red flannel shirt baggy, which made her smile. At least she had lost some weight in the past three years. Opening one of the bottles of water, she drank half and poured the rest onto an unsoiled portion of her scrubs, rubbing down her face. When done, she crouched and checked herself in the side mirror of the Subaru. The change of outfit and clean up helped. Except for her hair, whic
h had streaks of blood and a few chunks of gore in it, she was presentable. As she untied her ponytail, she discovered that blood had soaked the scrunchy, so she would have to let her hair down for a while. Using the wet portion of the scrubs, she cleaned her hair as best she could. A shower would be necessary to get out the rest. At least being brunette the stains were not as noticeable.
She removed the remaining three extra three magazines from her scrubs and tossed the soiled clothes against the garage wall. Her killing spree at the escalators had wasted two full magazines. What a dumb move. She chastised herself and resolved to be more careful. God only knew how much ammunition she would need to get out of Boston. She slid the weapon into the waistband of her jeans and the magazines into her left pocket. She attached the hunting knife to her belt and strapped the sheath to her right leg, then tossed the pack onto the rear passenger seat. If Paul could see her now.
Alissa bent her pinky and ring finger, rating the pain a level five, but at least she could still use it. The bandages were blood soaked; nothing she could do about that. At the first opportunity she would swing by a CVS or Rite Aid and stock up on medical supplies.
What do to now? Getting out of Boston was the priority, especially with this infection spreading more rapidly than expected. Ideally, she could make her way to the cabin in New Hampshire. It provided the perfect location to wait out the outbreak—isolated, well stocked with food, and had a secret stash of weapons and ammo for the apocalypse that Paul always told her would happen. Once there, she….
Shit! She almost forgot about Archer. He was home alone and had no way to fend for himself. She lived in Nahant, north of Boston, so the detour would not take long. With luck, they would be in New Hampshire by midnight.
A commotion on the Longfellow and Massachusetts Avenue Bridges scanning the Charles River warned Alissa that estimate would probably change. She rushed to the side of the garage overlooking the river. Cambridge Police and State troopers had set up roadblocks along the structures, preventing anyone from leaving Boston and stopping the infection from spreading. Vehicles packed the bridges, the gridlock extending to Storrow Drive. Hundreds of people had abandoned their cars and stormed the barricade, trying to escape on foot. Most ignored the police and tried to break through. The police fired a volley of warning shots over their heads. When that did not stop the rush, they fired into the crowds. Men, women, and even children were being cut down by the gunfire. The situation spiraled out of control. Even worse, the deaders rushed toward the noise, approaching the Boston side of the bridges and feeding on those near the rear of the mob. Within a few minutes, the number of living dead would be too much for the police to handle.
To her right, the same situation occurred on the road by the Museum of Science and on I-93 heading north. Police had set up roadblocks. Nothing moved. She assumed the same took place all around the city. The authorities must have decided to isolate Boston in the hopes the infection could be contained and would burn itself out. They were sacrificing the entire city. She had to move now or she would be trapped in a killing zo—
A tanker truck turning on the road to the Museum of Science exploded, probably ignited by the police shooting into the crowd. Flames shot out everywhere, incinerating dozens of people close to the tanker. Others ran away engulfed in fire, collapsing onto the road as their tissue and muscles burned. A few good Samaritans tried to douse them with their jackets, only to succumb to the burning river of gasoline flowing down Storrow Drive. As the gasoline spread, it ignited other vehicles, including a packed Metro bus. Alissa felt the bile rise in her stomach as she heard the screams of those trapped inside being burnt alive. A few seconds later, the bus and several enflamed cars exploded.
The concussion from the blast rocked the garage. The car alarm of a BMW parked a few spaces away went off, the high-pitched noise echoing throughout the garage. From the lower levels, snarling and the thumping of feet on cement warned that deaders were racing toward the noise.
Spinning around, Alissa ran for her SUV.
Chapter Ten
Alissa reached the Forester and slid into the front seat as a dozen deaders swarmed around the corner and lunged at the BMW. She closed the door and started the ignition. The deaders turned their attention from the car and rushed her. Shifting into DRIVE and slamming her foot on the accelerator, she barreled out of the parking space, scraping the fender of the Toyota Corolla parked beside her. A deader in a nurse’s uniform attacked from the right. Alissa turned the wheel, pinning it against the front of the Corolla and ripping it apart. She gunned the engine, pushing aside the others. They spun around and chased after her.
At the end of the ramp, she made the turn onto the next level and into a pack of ten deaders. Alissa clipped the first one, dressed in a Boston PD uniform and missing its left arm. The deader bounced off the front fender and across the hood, rolling off to the side. Swerving to avoid the pack, she hit a young deader no more than twelve years old. Its legs shattered on impact and toppled backwards. The Subaru bounced over the body and Alissa swore she could feel its head explode under the weight of the front tires. The Forester slowed and the ride became bumpy. At first, she thought the vehicle had a flat. Checking the rearview mirror, she noticed the body of the young deader had gotten caught in the undercarriage, the rear left tire lodged against its ribcage and spinning in the gore as if on ice. Alissa applied the brakes. A dozen set of hands slapped against the windows, fingernails scratching against the surface. Alissa ignored them. Shifting into REVERSE, she backed up a few yards, shifted back into DRIVE, and shoved her foot against the accelerator. The SUV lurched forward, this time having enough traction to drive over the carcass, shattering its ribcage. Now the deaders ran along beside her, smearing the windows with bloody hands.
Making the level three U-turn, only a few deaders sauntered between the parked cars, which she easily avoided. Alissa gunned the engine, putting some distance between her and the chasing deaders. The tires squealed as she swung around onto the second level.
Half-way down, a Prius blocked her path, sitting at a forty-degree angle across from the parking space it had been pulling out of, the front pointed down the ramp, the driver’s side open. The owner must have abandoned it or, judging by the puddles of blood on the cement and dripping off the handle, had been overpowered and eaten. Alissa dropped the Forester into the lowest gear possible, aimed her right front fender for the front left tire of the Prius, and accelerated. The SUV crashed into the Prius, shoving the smaller vehicle aside. Shattered glass exploded across the hood of the Forester, accompanied by the scraping of metal against metal. On the dashboard, the CHECK ENGINE and deflated tire lights burned yellow. No big deal. She would be clear of the garage soon and could check on the Subaru later.
Rounding the corner onto the final ramp, Alissa’s heart sank. Two vehicles blocked her path. A Volvo had been backing out from one of the spaces along the right and was more than halfway into the ramp when someone in a black Dodge Ram pulled out, T-boning the Volvo with its back bumper. The front fenders of both vehicles were still in their parking space, making it impossible to break through. The driver’s sides of both vehicles were open. Blood covered the cement, flowing beneath the Ram. A body lay between the angle of the Ram and the Volvo. She saw only one way out of this and prayed the keys were still in the Ram’s ignition.
Shifting into REVERSE, Alissa backed up to the wall at the top of the ramp and paused. A moment later, the deaders chasing after her surrounded the Forester. As they clawed at the windows, she reached into the back seat and moved the backpack into the front seat beside her, then removed the Glock from her belt and slid the barrel under her right leg. Alissa waited, allowing all the deaders to gather around her. Shifting into DRIVE, she accelerated down the ramp, hugging the line of vehicles parked on the left with barely a two-inch gap. Reaching the accident, she turned the steering wheel right, slamming the front of her Forester against the Volvo, blocking the deaders from getting to her.
Alissa jumped out, reached around for the backpack, and slung it over her left shoulder. Twenty to thirty deaders stood along the right flanks of the Forester, desperate to reach her. A female deader in running shorts and a tattered T-shirt crawled across the SUV’s hood. Alissa stepped up, placed the barrel three inches from its face, and fired two rounds. The female deader collapsed onto the hood, blocking the other from getting across. Alissa jumped into the driver’s seat of the RAM and closed the door. She leaned to one side and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the keys were still in the ignition. Starting the pick-up, she shifted into REVERSE and accelerated. Nothing happened. Alissa pulled forward four feet, shifted back into REVERSE, and gunned the engine. This time the rear end of the RAM crashed into the Volvo, shoving it to the side. She kept up the pressure until the front of the Ram cleared the parking space, then backed down toward the exit, making a three-point turn in the open area by the entrance. The wooden gate sat across the ramp, not that it posed much of an obstacle. The Ram tore the gate off its mounting as it passed through into the outdoor parking lot.
Most of the deaders were either still hunting inside the hospital or had chased after the noise on the bridges spanning the Charles River. She stopped at the exit onto Blossom Street. With the parking lot clear of immediate danger, she had a moment to plan her next move.
Turning left toward Storrow Drive would be suicide. Between the gridlock, the deaders, and the police gunning down everyone in sight, she would be lucky to last ten minutes. As stupid as it sounded, her best of chance of survival would be to head back into Boston, cut through the city using back roads, and get across the Tobin Bridge before they shut down that as well. If that closed, she would be screwed in trying to get to Archer.
Turning right, Alissa headed down Blossom Street and into downtown Boston.
Nurse Alissa (Book 1): Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies Page 5
