Nurse Alissa (Book 1): Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies

by Baker, Scott M.

  “Have you called 911?”

  “Several times, but we can’t get through. All the land lines are jammed. We’ve been trying for half an hour. The staff has been attempting to reach help through their cell phones but are running into the same problem.” The woman began to understand how critical the situation had become. “What should we do?”

  “Do you have a room in the basement without windows?”

  “We have the gym.”

  “Take everyone down there, then lock and bolt yourselves inside. Gather all the food and water you can because you might be there for a while.”

  “How long?”

  Alissa could not bring herself to tell the truth. “Maybe a day or two before order is restored.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “And for Christ’s sake, be quiet. Don’t let the infected know you’re in the basement or they’ll find a way to break in. I’ll let the police know you’re here.”

  “God bless.” The woman closed the window and headed off to get the children to safety.

  Alissa ducked into the faculty parking lot, cutting across it diagonally to a small copse of tress that blocked the view of the school’s tennis courts from the street. She made her way to a large tree close to the sidewalk and checked out the situation. Like before, only a handful of deaders were visible, and they were preoccupied with feeding. Stepping onto the sidewalk, she moved forward a few yards to get a better view of the bridge. As with the intersection, cars packed the structure, blocking all lanes leading out of the city. A handful of deaders roamed between the vehicles. God knew how many might be out of sight. The bridge stretched for a quarter of a mile and sat fifteen feet above the water so, worst case scenario, she could jump over the side and swim to shore. If she moved quickly and quietly, she should make it with no problem. Taking a deep breath, Alissa headed down the sidewalk, walking briskly and quietly.

  Traversing the bridge might not as difficult as she had imagined. A dozen or so deaders crouched between the vehicles, devouring those unlucky enough not to escape. None of them paid attention to her. She made it along the southern span and reached the swing bridge portion. Fifty feet in front of her, beneath the stairs of the control room that rested on a rusty, elevated platform, a pile of corpses sat in a pool of congealing blood. Making sure no deaders were nearby, she stepped over the metal guardrail between the sidewalk and road. She had made if halfway across with no—

  Something slamming against metal startled Alissa. She aimed the Glock and scanned around her, trying to figure out the source of the noise, but saw nothing. A ferocious snarl sounded above her. A deader stood inside the control room smashed its face against the window to get at her. On the third try, it slammed against the bridge’s control panel. A siren went off, a loud and tinny blare that could be heard for at least a mile. Every deader on the bridge stood up, about thirty in total, searching for the noise. Upon seeing Alissa, the pack rushed toward her from every direction.

  What concerned Alissa more than the deaders was that the center span began to pivot to the left. In less than a minute, she would be trapped with no means of escape.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alissa ran. Ahead of her, four abandoned vehicles sat with their front tires resting on the northern span and their rear ones on the swinging portion. The motion dragged each vehicle to the left, blocking the deaders approaching from the north, but also impeding her escape.

  The bridge turned far enough that the sedan on the far left spun around and slid off into the river, taking two deaders with it. The next vehicle, a plumber’s van, was parked far enough onto the northern span that it did not fall off, nor did the two cars to its right. The bridge’s metal frame pushed against them until the three were shoved together side by side. They began to buckle. Alissa jumped onto the trunk of the car farthest to the right, a Lexus GS 350, and made her way to its roof. The windshields on all three vehicles shattered, showering her in shards of glass, momentarily blinding her. The car in the center, a VW Beetle, collapsed under the pressure. When the Lexus jerked left to fill the empty space, it knocked Alissa onto the hood. A second later, the rear of the van imploded. The Beetle fell against the collapsed portion and slid off the span, splashing into the river. Alissa was tossed against the side of the van, cracking her head of the side mirror. Screeching metal told her she had to move now. Scrambling to her feet, she dove off the hood and landed on her left shoulder on the trunk of the next car in line, one completely on the northern span. The backpack dug into her abdomen. The right side of the swinging span passed a few feet away, its weight crushing the van and the Lexus. Alissa did not have time to breathe a sigh of relief.

  A snarling face appeared in front of her. Alissa shoved the Glock into its mouth and fired, blowing the entire back of its head off. Before the body even hit the pavement, she rolled off the trunk, ignoring the pain in her side, and ran for the right side of the bridge. The opening of the swing bridge had cut off the deaders on the southern span from reaching her, but a dozen on this side remained a threat. Alissa could not make it past them before they converged on her, and they were too close to take out all of them with gunfire. That left one option.

  Reaching the sidewalk, Alissa bound over the guardrail and into the river. She sank a few feet, kicked her legs, and broke the surface. A dock floated less than a hundred feet away. She swam for it, each stroke with her left arm sending a shooting pain down her side. Behind her, three deaders fell over the guardrail. She turned, hoping these things couldn’t swim. They sank to the bottom. A minute later she reached the dock, climbed up, and sat on the wooden deck, catching her breath. Part of her could not believe she had survived.

  Alissa’s optimism faded when she heard the thud of falling bodies.

  The deaders continued along the northern span until it connected with land. One by one, they tumbled off the bridge into an adjacent parking lot. The first two crawled to their feet and charged the dock. The third snapped its leg and could not stand. Each of the other deaders landed on it, breaking limbs and creating a pile of living dead the others could not extricate themselves from. The two moving deaders approached the entrance to the dock, cutting off her only exit. Jumping up, Alissa raced down the dock and turned the L-shaped corner toward land.

  Alissa paused as the first deader rushed toward her, its teeth bared and ready to feed. She raised the Glock, aimed at its forehead, and fired. The round ricocheted off its skull. She fired again. This time the bullet thudded harmlessly into its shoulder. The swaying of the dock threw off her aim. She repeatedly fired at the attacking deader. Most of the rounds missed or hit non-vital parts. The third struck it in the forehead but did not slow its charge. The sixth ripped off and its jaw and the last punched through the back of its throat, bringing it down. Forward momentum kept the body moving forward for several feet before collapsing. Alissa backed up until the first deader came to a standstill and raised the Glock to fire at the second. The slide stuck in the open position. Alissa switched out the empty magazine with a full one but did not have time to load a bullet into the chamber. The second deader had closed to within three feet and prepared to tackle her.

  Alissa dropped to her hands and knees and braced. The deader tripped, kicking her in the bruised left side. The pain momentarily blurred her vision. She struggled to her feet. The deader had landed face first on the dock, shattering its front teeth and cracking its jaw. As the deader attempted to stand, Alissa shoved it, toppling it off the side. Its right hand clutched Alissa’s left ankle, knocking her onto her back and dragging her toward the edge of the dock. Planting her left foot on the nearby piling, Alissa stopped herself from being dragged into the river. The deader began pulling itself up her leg, hand over hand. Any second she expected to be bitten. Alissa kicked it, slamming her right heel against its face. Once. Twice. Three times. She knocked out most of its remaining teeth and broke its lower jaw in half, the two pieces hanging loosely by the joints. The deader continued its assault. It jumped onto the d
ock, clutching Alissa by the upper thigh, its weight dragging her farther toward the edge. She pulled back on the Glock’s slide, loading a round into the chamber.

  An angry snarl came from the right. One of the deaders had broken free from the pile in the parking lot and now raced down the dock. Alissa put three rounds into the face of the deader holding her. Its grip loosened and slid into the river, disappearing beneath the surface. Rolling to her right, she clipped the legs of the charging deader, sending it sprawling. Alissa continued the roll into a crouching position, stood, and approached the deader. It tried to get up. She placed the Glock against the base of its skull and fired. A splatter pattern of blood and gore sprayed down the dock and the deader collapsed, lifeless.

  Alissa checked her surroundings. Except for the pile of deaders in the parking lot, no others were in sight. Lifting the backpack onto her left shoulder and brandishing the Glock in her right hand, she set off down the dock and into the parking lot of the Residence Inn. Most of the guests and staff had already fled the city/ She crossed the road into Constitution Plaza. Another parking lot sat nearby, surrounded by trees. She made her way there, found a spot where she could keep an eye on everything, and sat in the shade.

  Alissa sighed. Not from an emotional outburst, but from mental and physical exhaustion. She had no idea how long she had been on the run. The past couple of hours seemed like a blur, although she knew the memories would become sharp once she got back to Nahant. If Alissa replayed all the close encounters she had gone through and all the people she had to leave behind, she would probably have a crippling anxiety attack. She couldn’t afford that, especially now being so close to safety. The Tobin Bridge stood less than a mile away. In another hour, she would be out of the city and beyond the outbreak. Then she could hitch a ride home, check on Archer, and take time to plan her next course of action.

  Alissa rested for ten minutes. When she stood, her muscles ached and her left side throbbed. Once she got home, she’d also have to take a hot shower and medicate the Hell out of herself.

  Mounting the backpack on her shoulder, Alissa set out along Constitution Road.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a ten-minute walk that led her past the U.S.S. Constitution, Alissa emerged onto Chelsea Street. Ahead of her were the approaches to the Tobin Bridge. The top span carried the traffic from the North Shore across the bridge into the city; one hundred feet to her left, the highway went underground, passing beneath the local neighborhoods and emerging near I-93. Directly in front of her, the underground highway from the city emerged from its tunnel and connected with the lower span leading out of the city. Once on the bridge, Alissa would be across the Mystic River within a half hour and back in Nahant a few hours after that. Experiencing an optimism she had not felt since the outbreak ravaged the hospital, she crossed to the bridge.

  Alissa’s optimism drained away when she reached the chain-link fence imbedded into the cement guardrail along the lower span. All three lanes were jammed with cars and trucks, stretching from well into the tunnel to as far as she could see along the span. Most had been abandoned. A flow of pedestrians walked between the vehicles, not heading north out of the city but back toward the tunnel. Alissa shook the fence and called out to attract someone’s attention.

  “What’s going on?”

  An older gentleman with greying hair sticking out from under a Red Sox baseball saw her. “The shit’s hitting the fan lady. What do you think’s going on?”

  “I mean, why aren’t you heading out of the city?”

  “Because the cops are being fucking assholes,” answered a teenager several yards behind the older gentleman who trudged along with the others, holding his girlfriend’s hand. “They won’t let anyone of the city. Keep spouting off about containing the spread of the infection, whatever that bullshit means.”

  Alissa did not bother clarifying. “There’s hundreds of you. Why didn’t you just push past them?”

  “Be my guest.” The teenager chuckled derisively. “There’s thirty or forty Staties up there with assault rifles, clubs, tear gas, and dogs. The first ones who tried to push through were roughed up pretty bad.”

  “He’s right,” agreed the older gentleman. “We’re all stuck here until the police say otherwise.”

  Fuck that, Alissa thought. I’m getting out of here while I can.

  Stepping back several feet from the guardrail, she scanned the upper level. Like on the one below it, the traffic extended from deep inside the tunnel along the span as far as she could see. And, like on the lower level, everyone had abandoned their vehicles and were on foot. Except they were heading away from Boston and back toward the North Shore. A handful of State Troopers stood among them, motioning to proceed and making sure no stragglers were left behind. The police up here had enough common sense to realize that since these people had not been in Boston, they were not contagious, and were allowing them to make it to safety. She had found her way out of the city, but she had to move fast.

  The retaining wall for the upper level stood ten feet in height. Fifty feet down Chelsea Street, an Xfinity installation van had been left on the side of the road. She ran over to it. Three ladders rested on racks along the right side. Alissa removed one, brought it over to the retaining wall, and placed it against the outer façade. It did not reach the top, so she extended the length and climbed. Once at the top of the ladder, it was a five-foot drop to the highway below. Alissa sat on the wall, swung her legs over the side, and pushed off. A bolt of pain shot up her left side when she landed but, other than that, there were no injuries. The others were already well ahead of her. She set off after them, rushing to catch up while trying not to attract attention.

  Alissa had walked for half a mile, slowly closing the gap between her and the last stragglers. As she approached the first span over Little Mystic Channel, a State Trooper who had stayed back to help noticed her. As the last pedestrian passed by, the trooper maneuvered himself to block Alissa’s path. She noticed that his right hand rested on the weapon in his holster.

  “Hold up there, ma’am.”

  “It’s okay. I may be slow, but I can make it on my own.”

  “Ma’am, that was not a request.” The trooper gripped the weapon’s handle. “I need you to stay where you are.”

  “Sure.” Alissa stopped, her mind desperately racing to figure a way out of this. “What’s wrong?”

  “You need to turn around and go back into the city.”

  “Why?”

  “Ma’am, I can’t let you pass.”

  “I don’t understand why. I haven’t been in Boston.”

  “Really?” The trooper removed his weapon, although he did not aim it. “Then why are you covered in blood?”

  Alissa mentally swore to herself. When she checked her clothes, she realized she had blood stains on her civvies from where she killed those deaders on the pier. Alissa fought to come up with a believable explanation.

  “I got this trying to help someone else.”

  “From the city?”

  “I… I don’t—”

  “Ma’am, you’ve been in contact with people from Boston, which means you may be infected. I can’t let you cross this bridge.”

  “Please. I’ve not been bitten.” Alissa raised her arms and turned them from side to side. “I can show you.”

  “Stop right there, ma’am.” The trooper stepped forward. “If you try to get past me, I’m going to have use lethal force. Please back down.”

  Before Alissa could think of a response, the trooper mumbled and raised his weapon. She closed her eyes and waited for the gunshot. Instead, she heard snarling and the sound of running feet. Spinning around, Alissa saw deaders thronging between the abandoned vehicles. The trooper maneuvered around Alissa and fired into the pack, his bullets uselessly against the horde. With his magazine empty, he lowered the weapon and stared in astonishment.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I would run.” Alissa broke into a sprint, headi
ng north along the bridge.

  The trooper followed close behind. As he ran, he reached up and pressed the TALK button on his shoulder-mounted microphone. “This is Harrelson. We have incoming. Prepare the charges.”

  “Say that again,” came the response through the speaker.

  “The infected are heading your way. You have less than a minute or we’re screwed.”

  Alissa had driven across the Tobin Bridge hundreds of times but never realized its true length until she had to cover the distance on foot. After a few minutes, she began huffing and her heart pounded in her chest. Harrelson did not seem to be doing much better by the way he gasped and panted. By the time they reached the expanded section that used to contain the toll plaza, both had to stop and catch their breath. Alissa leaned against the cement guardrail where the booths once sat. She felt as though she would be lucky not to pass out.

  The deaders had closed to within fifty yards. Harrelson swapped out the empty magazine.

  “Aim for their heads,” huffed Alissa. “It’s your only chance of taking them down.”

  Harrelson fired the first two rounds into the head of the closest deader, a woman in an expensive but gore-covered business suit and flats, blasting away everything above its jaw. The carcass tumbled to the road, blood flowing across the asphalt. Seeing that the tactic worked, the trooper double tapped the closest deaders, taking down another four before he ran out of ammunition.

  Having caught her breath, Alissa began running again, with Harrelson only a few feet behind her and the deaders fifty feet beyond. Harrelson attempted to switch out magazines, discarding the empty. His fingers fumbled the new magazine, letting it drop. He stopped to pick it up, a decision that cost him his life. A deader in a city bus driver’s uniform tackled Harrelson, pinning him to the cement and ravaging his neck