900 Miles: A Zombie Novel (5 page)

“At this point, I don’t care who they are.  They just saved our lives.  Not a lot of that going around these days.” He motioned back towards the buildings
from where we had escaped.

“Yeah,” I snorted sharply. “I’m hoping we run into that little bald son-of-a-bitch again.”

“Not too many people you can trust right about now,” he agreed.

Eyeing him carefully, I
said, “You’re about the only person I trust at the moment.”

“My sentiment exactly. We should watch each other’s back.  No telling what these guys want.” Kyle tipped his chin toward our rescuers.

I nodded my head in agreement.

Now that we had a chance to breathe, Kyle and I checked out the Hummer, digging around for any hidden gems that would help with this mess.  Kyle peered into the glove compartment, and sighed with disappointment as we realized there were no weapons hiding behind its casing.  Instead, he found a Twinkie and a
Kit Kat.  With a grin, he asked, “Pastry or Chocolate?”

My stomach contracted sharply
, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

“Pastry,” I said.  He handed me the Twinkie, and I tore into the package, feeling famished.

As I dropped crumbs onto my own filthy, blood stained, white, button up shirt and black tie, I continued to survey the car.  There was a coat in the back seat along with a bunch of old wrappers from various types of junk food.  Candy, chips, pastries; there was even a half-eaten sandwich back there.  It only confirmed to me that my now retired boss was a bit of a filthy pig while he was alive.

A few from the group on the deck of the boat were now watching us rooting through the Hummer.  One of them pointed over in our direction and three of them started walking towards us.  They were dressed in similar clothing.  All black jump suits.  Not any one outfit was quite the same as the next.  Clearly, they had a dress code of some sort, but it wasn’t a uniform that they all “received
.”

“You ready for this?” I asked nervously.

“I sure hope so,” Kyle said with a more than serious face.

We both opened our doors and stepped out of the Hummer to greet the men who saved our lives.  Now, we just had to find out why.

With stone faces, all three of them stood there for a moment, sizing us up. We were doing the same back to them.

The largest in the group stepped forward. I remember thinking that I had never seen a real mustache like
the one he wore. It was a monster of a ‘stache,’ stretching across his face and then back up into his side burns. That coupled with a brown oversized cowboy hat and his black jump suit made me think some of the old toys I played with as a child. Give him a plastic machine gun, a backpack and a Kung Fu grip, and he’s the perfect GI Joe Action figure.

“You guys are nuts,” he proclaimed with
a smile, as he extended his hand.

I reached over and shook it, replying, “We were thinking the same thing about you.  We
’ve been watching you all morning, fighting off those creatures, saving people fleeing from the city.  Who are you?”

Mr. ᾿Stache spoke rather casually. “We’re the dudes that just saved your asses.  Let’s just say that we’ve been expecting this sort of thin
g for a while, and we’ve been
prepared
for it just as long.”

He went on to explain that he was the leader of the
New York chapter of a group of survivalists who, on any other day, would be considered a bit overzealous about the end of the world.  Mostly prepared for a nuclear strike, an invasion from a foreign nation or simply World War III. These people were the kind who walked around quoting Einstein by saying things like, “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

I recalled seeing something on TV about these guys.  Whatever show I was watching called them “
Pakers,” a term coined because they packed all kinds of stuff in preparation for the End of Days.  From canned food, to heavy artillery, these guys were known for having bunkers filled with Personal Accessory Kits (PAKs) to keep them alive while the world died around them.

Between conspiracy theories, and a general unfriendly disposition toward the government, most people would consider them totally insane.  That is, except on the first day of the Apocalypse. Today, they were the smartest people on the planet.

We learned that Pakers could be found anywhere, and this particular group was more organized than most, which was saying a lot.  They had a whole network that streamed through many major cities, including Cincinnati and Chicago.

Mr. Stache continued to explain that for the world to survive, Man had to survive as well.  Many
wannabe Pakers were probably held up in their bunkers to wait out the Apocalypse.  This group knew the score.  If man didn’t make it, these things would rule the Earth.

Kyle and I stole a glance at each other.  Maybe Lady Luck was suddenly on our side.

Mr. Stache looked back at the city that was now in the distance.  “Place went to shit fast. The government funded help, was out trying to pull it all back together.  We immediately mobilized and saved people, not the burning buildings.  Made seven runs so far since this thing started.  Saved over 120 people, including women, kids and even a few dogs.”

“Well, you’re right.  You saved our asses, too.  Thank you,” I said, while shaking his hand again.

I looked back at some of the other cars across the deck.  There were only a handful of others on this voyage.  I was surprised to see that there was anybody aside from us, based on how the streets looked back in the city.

“So, where are we heading?” Kyle asked.

One of the smaller guys, while pointing down the waterway, said, “We’ve been dropping people in Jersey, right near the I95 express way.  It doesn’t put you in the clear, but at least we’re getting people out of the city.  As we expected, all the bridges are shot, so helicopter and boat are the only ways to get out of Manhattan.  Lucky for you, that Hummer of yours made it to the ferry.”

Mr. ᾿Stache spoke up again, shrugging slightly. “Things aren’t great out there, but it’s a hell of a lot better than in the city.”

“How far has this thing spread?”  I asked, still holding onto a glimmer of hope that it was just in the Northeast.

“We’ve got
a HAM radio on this ship.  We’re getting reports from our sister organizations in Cincinnati and Chicago that they’ve been hit as well.   It started in New York, but now, it seems to be everywhere.”

“Even in the Southeast?  Near
Atlanta?”  I asked, feeling my stomach suddenly reel.

“Nothing confirmed that far down.  We’re not sure at the moment,” he said.

I thought of Jenn, down in a suburb of Atlanta.  I picked a hell of a time to take a business trip.  She was so pissed when I left the other morning.  I should have listened.

“Does anybody have cell phone reception?” I asked, hearing my voice falter.

“Phones are in and out. Depends on if the cell tower you’re around still has power.  Some of our guys have been able to use theirs from time to time depending on where we’re at.”

As we passed Ellis Island, I could see some of the dead running around on the shores of the former beacon of entry into
America. Back then, everybody came to New York for new beginnings.  Times have changed.  Now, we all just wanted to get out.

I pulled my phone from my pocket to check, praying there were bars.  Still no signal.  This had gotten old.  The battery was almost dead, but I left it on anyway, hoping we’d come across a working cell tower as we floated towards
Jersey.

Kyle asked the Pakers what they knew about the zombies.

They told us that depending on the source, these things were created by anything from radiation, to bad drinking water, to biological weapons.

The fact
of the matter was that nobody knew a damn thing at that point.

They went on to explain that, according to radio reports, and some chatter on the Internet, they were in fact the dead incarnate.

No shit, I thought to myself.

Stache told us a story about an autopsy that was aired the night before on a science video blog.

The scientists had one of the things tied down as they cut straight into its stomach and pulled out the guts, causing black ooze to flow out on the surrounding table.  They punctured its heart, cut off appendages, and basically tore the thing apart, limb by limb.  The whole time, the creature was lifting its head trying to bite the doctors doing the autopsy.  It wasn’t until one of them pushed a surgical saw straight through its brain that it finally stopped moving.

As we had learned during the lobby fight, the only way to kill them was to destroy the brain.  Talk about a stereotype. Who knew all those movies would be right?

There’s always some truth in fiction.

Mr. ᾿Stache informed us that
being bit by one of the undead only accelerated death with some sort of toxin.  Anybody who died, as far as the Internet was concerned, whether they were bit or not, would come back as a Zombie.  Basically, this meant that each one of us was already infected with whatever it was.

He paused on that thought, looking Kyle and I up and down.  Noticing my uneasiness, he said, “Calm down, just checking to make sure you ain’t got no bites. Can’t have you dying on us.”

He continued with a story about the second trip the Pakers made yesterday; there was a guy that had a small bite on his arm.  He was feverish when he got on the ship, and mid-way on the voyage, he suddenly turned.  He tore apart his wife before three of the Pakers threw him overboard.

I looked toward the shore,
and then down into the water. Thinking back to what Kyle said earlier, I again wondered how many of those things were down there.

Something buzzed.  Buzzed again.  It was my phone!

Communication.  A blessing or a curse?

It buzzed seven times before I fumbled the phone from my pocket.  I discovered that it was seven voicemail messages.  We must have finally hit a working tower, giving my phone enough time to download the messages.

Hands shaking, I cleared the message indicator out of the way, navigated to speed dial, and hit Jenn’s name.  I waited in silence as the phone paused for what seemed like an eternity.  It tried as hard as possible to catch a signal.  Then it beeped.  No service.  Closing my eyes, I silently screamed “FUUUCK!” under my breath.

Wait! I still had the messages. Swiping my finger across the phone, I feverishly navigated to the right screen.  All seven from Jenn.  My heart was thudding in my chest. I clicked on the first one, holding my breath.

“John, I don’t know what happened.  One of our phones must have lost signal.  When you get this, please call me back right away.  I’m scared.  Get to the airport, and come home to me!”

Next message.

“John, you need to call me back.  Don’t go to the airport!  I’m watching the news.  There aren’t any planes flying in or out of
New York right now.  They had a news reporter at the airport, John.  There were thousands of people trying to catch flights.  One of those…
things
suddenly emerged in the crowd.  It was chaos; everybody started crawling all over each other trying to escape.  It was a nightmare! You need to call me back, John.  Please call me back and tell me you’re not there.  Please call me back and tell me you’re alright.”

Message three.

“John, the outbreak is all over the place.  What started in New York is here in Atlanta, too.  There were sightings of these creatures downtown.  I’m not sure what to do.  Joe and Sue next door are talking about heading to their cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  They’ve invited me, John.  I may go with them to get out of here until you get home.  Please call me as soon as you get this message.  I need to hear your voice.”

Next
message.

“John, I can’t believe this is happening!  We’re in the car heading up to
Blue Ridge.  The roads are jammed though, John. We’re stuck in complete deadlock traffic on Interstate 400.  One of the people in the cars ahead of us ran into a few of the creatures back in the city.  One of the kids was bitten on the arm.  He’s burning up with fever.  We’re trying to find a doctor for him.  I’m not sure what is going to happen.  We don’t know how sick this kid’s going to get.  Please call me. 
Please
call me back, John!”

Message five.

“John, oh my God! The kid just turned into one of them.  He bit his mom, and she turned into one of them right away.  People are panicking.  The creatures are all over the place.  I’m hiding in the car with Joe and Sue.  I’m scared, John!  I don’t want to be bitten.   Oh no!  Oh no, John, one of them is banging on the window.  (SCREEECH)  Drive! Drive! Drive!  Push that car out of the way!”

The sixth
message.

“John, we are on a dirt road, parked. 
Sue hit her head when we were driving away from the highway.  A lot of blood, but I think she’s okay.  Joe drove right over two of them before we drove straight into the woods.  I don’t know how we made it out to this road. It’s a miracle.  I don’t know why you can’t call me.  I need to know you’re okay.  This is too crazy.  Please, John. Please call me.  Please come home to me!”