Fountain of the Dead (17 page)

“She keeps this up we won’t need to run any down.” Sam reached into the Explorer and scratched his mutt’s head. He was greeted with hot dog breath. When the barrage was over Sharon handed down the rifle and slid off the roof. She looked in on Micah still in back seat of the explorer and gently rubbed his shoulder.

“You leave any alive?” Frank asked.

“Enough for you to finish off. Micah, out of the car.” Micah slid off the seat and stood in back of Sharon. He went to reach for the strands of her brown hair that poked out from the cap.

“I’d kill for a cow catcher on this thing,” Sam said. The dog bolted over the back seat, and perched in the passenger’s side seat, paws on the dash. Sam climbed in as the fuel cans were unloaded.

“Get it down to a manageable number, and then we’ll join you. Don’t kill the vehicle, we’re going to need it and don’t go in the buildings, chains or not, those doors don’t look very sturdy,” Catherine said. “We need swords, or bows,” she said.

“We need a sporting goods store,” Frank said.

They watched Sam speed off in the Explorer, the dog barking all the way down the small hill. He left deep burrows in the ground. Sam hit the parking lot with a screech of the tires and the dull thud of a dried body against the bumper. They fell under the tires of the vehicle, bounced off the hood and side panels. The tire tracks stopped being from mud and turned into ground up gore. He skidded to a stop, pinning one between the rear bumper and the basketball hoop. Sam jammed it into reverse, until the pole bent and the zombie slid apart in two different directions.

Sam climbed out of the car and slipped on some meat. He used the door for support, and then scraped off his shoe on the side of the building. The tire treads were filled with gore, chunks of bone and scraps of skin. Broken bodies littered the parking lot like discarded coffee cups. Sam found a tire iron on the ground and jammed it in the chain between the door handles to reinforce. Something inside noticed him.

They shuffled to the door, slow at first and bumped into the Plexiglas panels. Sam turned at the noise; cold dead eyes stared out him. Dead hands clawed at the doors, skin peeled off, fingernails cracked and shattered, with no notice. Sam took a step back and slipped in some more gore. He imagined a children’s center back in the day, drawings taped to the walls, small plastic tables and chairs across the indoor / outdoor carpeting. The only things recognizable were the dead.

“Alright, I’m coming back.” Sam climbed back in, made sure that his shoes were clean and shut the door. He took off again, giving a quick grind to some of the zombies that still twitched. He didn’t notice the zombie torso clinging to the undercarriage of the car.

“Better than a walk in the park, eh pooch?”

* * * * *

“We got about an hour to get to Danbury if these maps are right. It’s supposed to be friendly and have shelters.” Frank said.

“You know where to go?” Williams asked.

“Police station. They have supplies and fuel.”

Pierce sighed and turned his attention from the window to the front seat. “And how do you know that?” Pierce asked. His distracted eyes scanned the others but didn’t see anything. “I mean was this little side adventure really necessary?”

“We heard a broadcast back at the village,” Gerry said.

“And you believed it? It could be a trap, people trying to lure us in, take our supplies.”

“How about we just drive straight down to Florida, without stopping and without refueling? Would you like that you crazy asshole?” Frank spat. Pierce leaned forward. Williams prepared to grab and subdue him.

“I hope you get bitten when we get to the Glades and I won’t cure you.”

“And I hope you get bitten, so I can put a bullet through your fucking head,” Frank growled.

* * * * *

Frank pulled off the highway and handed the maps to Williams. Gerry readied his pistols. Streets were blocked off by police barriers. Warning tape wrapped around telephone poles and light posts, flapped in the winds like tattered flags. The streets were “mostly” clear. Nothing shambling, nothing groaning, nothing gnawing on dead things.

“I don’t like this,” Gerry said. Frank turned on the radio and switched it to AM.

“See if you can find the broadcast.”

“Something’s not right,” came through the radio from Tony.

“Told you,” Pierce sang at them. Frank went to elbow him in the head but thought better of it. “I told you people what would happen, by all these little side trips.”

“What else is down here, if this goes south?” Frank asked. Williams shuffled through the maps. “I’d kill for a Triple A book right now.”

“Couple museums, some more parks. Not much else,” Gerry said.

“Can you find a strip mall?”

“Not on these maps.” Williams turned to Pierce, whose mouth was poised to open. “Say anything at all, you crazy asshole and I’ll kill you.” Williams flashed the blade of a knife and Pierce turned back to the window; he pulled his pack up from the seat and held it to his chest. Frank slowed the Jeep down, and stopped at an intersection. The radio played nothing but static, no matter how many times Gerry scanned the channels. Frank pointed out of the windshield.

Jersey barriers were set up around the police station. Barbed wire was spun around poles driven into the ground. The pavement was littered with bodies and bullet shells. Packs of scavenger birds pecked at the flesh. Empty cruisers lined the sidewalk in front of the station, blocking the stairs.

“Everyone stay in your car,” Frank said into the radio.

“Pretty sure that was the plan,” Sam answered.

“The gas is around the back. They have private tanks for the patrol cars. I don’t think we can get past the gates though. Even if we smash through there’s a chance we won’t be alone.”

“Forget the Police Station,” Catherine said. “I saw signs for an airport, there’s a chance for fuel there.”

“Fuel is the thing,” Sam said. “This beast is running a little low and I’d rather not hit the reserves yet.”

“Alright, we’ll try the airport. Follow the signs and hope for some gas,” Frank led them away as a crow pecked the eye from a corpse.

* * * * *

Frank pulled into the small parking lot of the airport, more private than public, sporting several small jets and single engine planes.  He looked around hoping for a sign post pointing the way.

“We can’t use airplane fuel, so let’s hope there’s a tank and a pump for ground vehicles.” Frank drove past the buildings and the tower to the runway. They passed workers in overalls, wandering lifeless across the tarmac. Ragged orange windsocks flapped in the breeze. The grasslands bordering the runways were overgrown and clogged with weeds. Some of the runway and parking were dotted with meteor hits. The airport had been “spared” of the big strikes.

“I almost owned one of those,” Williams said pointing at a single prop plane.

“You know how to fly?” Pierce asked spinning his head around so fast his neck popped.

“No, but I almost owned some planes. Had a business venture go bad, before the storm. Air taxis out of Logan.” Pierce turned back to the window mumbling. “Trust me, if I could fly I would have been out of Boston long ago.”

“Logan’s been closed for years, no one in or out. It’s a death trap,” Gerry said.

“Unless you know the right people. Crenshaw keeps a runway cleared, just in case.”

“So why doesn’t he help people get out?” Gerry asked.

“He was a greedy asshole before the storm. He’s gotten worse since. If you can’t earn your keep in that little section of town, you’re on the streets.” Williams glanced at the maps. “You people don’t know how good you have it.” Frank led them to the end of the strip and back again.

“I think we’re shit out of luck.”

“There’s a service hangar over there,” Gerry said. “Where they do repairs. Run over there real quick.”

“I was low on gas,” Sam said. “Now I’m on fumes.” The radio crackled. Williams used the chance to quickly turn his radio on. Frank stopped the Jeep on the edge of the runway and stepped out. Gerry hopped out and looked at the shed through the rifle’s scope. It was clear all around. He turned and fired at the zombies on the tarmac.

“It looks clear to the shed and back,” Frank said into the radio.

“We could just use the gas in cans in the SUV,” Pierce said.

“Emergencies only,” Frank said.

“The only emergency here,” Pierce added, “is we’re not in Florida.” Frank walked towards the shed, guns drawn. Frank smiled for a moment with the passing thought of hitting Pierce in the bridge of the nose with a rifle stock. The crack of bone and spray of blood and if he did it right, send some bone shards into his brain.

“Keep those sights on me, Gerry.”

“Already done. I guess you have about 300 yards to the shed.”

“Longest walk of my life,” Frank muttered.

Beverly stood near the open trunk of the Monte prepared for an emergency. She knew there was no cure for zombie-ism, aside from a bullet. Kill the motor functions, kill the beast. Catherine stepped out next to her. She’d heard that amputation early enough after the bite might work.

“What’s on your mind, Bev?”

Beverly stuffed her braid into her shirt, annoyed by the stray hairs tickling her face.

“There’s no cure, except for a bullet. I’ve heard burning them works too.” She nodded towards Frank. “If he or any one of us gets bitten, again. Do we kill them? Hack off a limb and hope we catch it before the spread. We can’t suck it out like snake venom.” Beverly sighed, her hand poised on the handle of the med kit in the trunk.

“What if this is all folly, Catherine?”

“We have to try, Beverly.”

“You said that. But this is death, and nothing can stop death.” Beverly turned away to locate Frank on the tarmac. “I can stitch and treat minor wounds. I don’t know if I can fix gunshot wounds or worse.”

“We have to hope that we can. Keep the faith. If there’s even the slightest chance this man Pierce has found something, it is up to us to guide him, and gather it. Put an end to all this,” Catherine said, patting Beverly’s arm. “And don’t belittle yourself. We’re all in debt to you.” Catherine looked around the airport at the parked planes and small buildings. There could be living, breathing people in there. Live in the planes, forage from the buildings. Airplanes had some supplies, but how good would 10 year old water and peanuts be? She knew some pilots used to keep guns n the cockpits.

“We should have tested that water sample on Pierce. Let something chew on him for a few minutes,” Beverly said.

“Don’t think that didn’t run through my head,” Catherine said. “I spent hours contemplating this trip and I should have spent days. It was a spur of the moment decision, but if it can help us, help anyone. You know the speech, Beverly.”

“Yes, I do.” She eased her grip on the med kit. “There’s still time to test it, proper.” A smile played across her face.

Sam, Micah and Lily piled out of the Explorer, the engine still running. The legless zombie dropped from the undercarriage of the SUV and inched its way forward on gnarled fingers and cracked nails. Its black tongue lolled out its mouth in anticipation.

* * * * *

Frank approached the doors to the shed large enough to let planes taxi in and out for repairs, or be towed in. There was no way he was getting the main hangar doors open by himself. He stepped around to the side and looked for the service entrance. There were two doors, one for people and a garage door for vehicles. A small smile threatened to creep across his weathered face. The service door was locked, the knob crusted with dried gore. There was no remote for the door opener; Frank tried the handle but the door didn’t budge.

“Get ready for some gun play,” Frank said into the radio. A sign above the service door read “Employees Only.” Frank stood back away from the door and the concrete ramp that led to it. He readied his guns and opened fire. The door splintered; the lock and knob shattered and fell down in bits to the ramp. Frank checked the guns, still plenty of bullets left.

He waited for the onslaught of undead; the flood of walking corpses to pour out and stumble towards him. Instead there was nothing. He stepped forward and pushed the door open with his foot. When nothing jumped out and attacked, Frank walked inside.

* * * * *

“You guys hear something?” Lily tilted her head at the odd scratching noises and screamed when jagged teeth ripped through her pants and into her calf. She stumbled forward as the dead hands latched onto her leg and climbed. Another bite and the legless zombie came away with a mouth of bloody skin and muscle. It chewed automatically, ravenous for the next bite.

“Get it off, get it off!” Lily grabbed on to Sam’s shirt for support, dragging him down to the asphalt. The thing looked up at Lily and part of her calf dropped from its mouth. Gerry moved forward, with the butt of the rifle knocked it in the head until it dropped off her leg. It continued to claw and reach for the fresh supply of meat. Gerry turned the rifle around and ended the creature with a bullet through the nose.