Hissers II: Death March (20 page)

From outside she heard new sounds now. What sounded like approaching rain, and trees swaying, and
what maybe was a plane in the distance. No doubt the military seeking out targets. Or maybe some government big wigs flying around high above the danger. Then the sound disappeared and she couldn’t be sure she’d even heard it.

The next few hours were lonely as she lay there li
stening to the Doug’s snoring. At first she was thankful because it was stopping her from dozing off, but then as her eyes grew heavy she began to wish he’d stop and just let her sleep. Ultimately, her eyes did close and she began to dream of her parents and of Castor. Not a good dream. Not the kind where you’re back where you want to be months or years prior to whatever traumatic event you’re suffering, but a current dream where people are still dead and nothing you to do will change it. Seth and Nicole were impaled on giant bones that jutted out from the side of the pizza place near her house. Their eyes were open and they were angry with her. She saw her parents’ bodies walking in an alleyway that didn’t even exist in real life, and they too looked angry.

She woke with a start and saw that an hour had passed. Doug was still
impersonating a Harley and it was still black outside. She got up, took the last cigarette from the pack and lit it up. After two drags she squished it out and fought back nausea. “What the hell did I ever see in these fucking things?”

Not knowing what else to do, she lay back down and stared at the ceiling and tried to remember the words to the Johnny Cash song they’d been singing
a couple nights ago. It was something about never forgetting those blue eyes and always missing someone you loved, and it was sad, and it kind of wanted to make her cry. Maybe it wasn’t such bad music after all. Some time later, she fell asleep on the job again.

SATURDAY 2:45
AM

It was cold spaghetti and meatballs but it was good. Connor wolfed it down so fast he choked. Olive hit him on the back with a flat palm. “Ease up there, kid, you’ll kill yourself on fake pasta.”

He cleared his throat, swallowed hard. “Mom stopped buying this years ago. She said it wasn’t a
good source of nutrition.”

“Well it ain’t.”

“I don’t care, it’s better than anything I’ve had in days.”

The red headed man came over and sat in front of them, scooted over the small space heater on the floor. Introductions had already been made a while ago. His name was Sean McCarthy, a local deputy who’d grown up in Wisconsin and had the telltale Green Bay accent to go with it. Unlike most of the other officers in the room, he’d kept his hair at a normal length. The mustache, however, was a spitting image of what rested on every
other male face around him.

“You guys feel warmer now?”

“I dunno about warmer,” Olive said, “but my ass ain’t itching from wet jeans anymore.”

“Gotta tell you, I haven’t seen such a wild thing as you two coming down that river like Huck Fin in some twisted Mark Twain kinda nightmare. Oh yeah.”

“Wasn’t fun,” Connor replied.

“You bet. But it hasn’t been fun down here either. This whole thing
hit us about four days ago. We had some warning, believe it or not, but we didn’t really believe it, and then there just wasn’t enough time to mobilize. The town’s too small to deal with this big a catastrophe. We called in for state support but by then all the resources were stretched too thin. My partner, Mark, he made a stand in the street outside the station, and it only took a few minutes to see we were not going to have enough numbers to fend it off.”

“Why leave the s
tation?” Olive slurped down a long noodle and wiped the cold spaghetti  sauce on her chin on her sleeve.

McCarthy pointed to one of the women seated against the wall. “My wife, Justine. Couldn’t just leave her. Hell, everyone you see in here is here because we left to get our families. Some of us were lucky, some of us not.”

“This your house?” Connor asked, noting the blank stares on some of the men. What he previously thought was just fatigue was clearly anguish and grief. Most of them had become widows in the last few days.

McCarthy hung his head. “No. Belonged to a fella named Tim. He was a local jack of all trades. Also the local paranormal investigator slash alien researcher slash tin foil hat-wearing oddball, you bet. We all knew he had this shelter because he took great pride in showing everyone. Said he’d be set when the aliens came.”

“Or the zombies,” Olive said.

“Yeah. Ain
’t that a bitch. Guess old Tim was on the right track, even if he got the specifics botched. But that’s for another time, I guess. What I need to know is where you’re headed and what you’ve heard out there. We get a couple frequencies on that radio over there but nothing worth anything. Just once we heard some news about the military coming, you betcha, but we never heard anything more. And considering what we saw outside a little while ago, I guess they haven’t come.”

“What happened to the ones that were following
us?” Connor asked. “The big spidery things.”

“Oh they’re still up there, maybe roaming around the house. But we’re a good two stories underground. They can’t smell or hear us. So we’re hoping they leave.”

Olive chuckled. “And if they don’t’? What, we live down here till the food runs out, then maybe eat the shelves.”

“It’s not like that, don’t ya know. We have a single camera out there looking at the house. Goes to that little monitor over there which is off at the moment because it runs on solar power and right now we’re trying to conserve what little juice it has left from today.”

Olive started laughing. McCarthy cracked a smile in response though it was clear he was in the dark about what was humorous. “What’s funny?”

“You,” she said. “You actually talk like the people in that movie. The one with—
”

“
Fargo
. Yeah, I know. Curse of the cheese curds, I guess. I didn’t pick it, my parents settled there because it was where Dad could build his farm. But I detect a bit of New York State in you. Right?”

“
I lived there for a couple years. Didn’t realize I’d picked it up.”

“It’s faint. But I’m a cop. I get paid to notice that stuff.
I also get paid to ask the hard questions.”

“You’re still getting paid?” Olive asked.

“Look, just humor me, okay. What’s going on out there? Where’d you come from? Where are you going? We need some SitRep out there.”

“The what?”
Olive asked.

“Situation Report,” Con
nor said. “They always say it in—”

“I know,” Olive cut him off, “your games.”

“Smart kid,” McCarthy said. “Yeah, what’re we fighting up there?  I mean the big picture. Start from the top.”

“We came from Castor,” Connor said, and then proceeded to fill him in on everything that had happened since the plane crash. He le
ft out everything about the flashdrive for now, for fear they would commandeer it from him. He lied about why they were going to San Diego, but it didn’t seem to matter. McCarthy took it all in with subtle nods and then stood up. He went over and talked to his wife for a few minutes, then kissed her and came back. “I buy most of it,” he said. “But there’s more going on which I really don’t feel like asking about. Based on what you’ve told me, the world up there is nothing but a nightmare. I don’t want to stay down here forever, but I think we’ve got a good chance of waiting things out. You’re welcome to stay for now, and when you go…. Hang on.”

McCarthy stood up and clapped his hands. All heads turned towards him.” Listen up, men. These two maniacs here are heading out to San Diego. Some of you have been itching to leave but we’ve been unsure of the situation. Well, Olive and Connor here have filled me in, you bet. And things are not good.
Shitstorm about sums it up. And they’re going to get worse before they get better.” He tapped his badge.  “We’re still here to protect and serve, right. We’re still law enforcement, right. I believe these two people here have a reason for going to California they’re not telling me about. And I’m not gonna pry, but I know some of you are looking for a reason to keep getting up every day, and I’ve been on your asses to sit tight. Well, now’s the time to decide what you want. I would very much like for a couple of you to escort Connor and Olive here to their destination. And perhaps, when you get there, you send word back about what you’ve seen and where we stand. Any takers?”

Through the wan light of the burning candles, three men
stepped forward. The first was an older gentleman with gray hair and plenty of stubble. He held out his hand and said, “I’m in. Name’s Hugh.” He had a beer gut and one ear sat lower on his head than the other, but he was formidable, perhaps a man who boxed for fun. Also, a man past early retirement who no doubt had decided to stay on the job out of boredom. Olive shook his hand and said thanks.

The next man was African American, six four, also with a beer gut and graying hair above his ears
, but younger, perhaps late forties. Despite his girth he looked fit enough to wrestle a bear and win. “They call me Cleo. I’m not actually a cop. I was the precinct mechanic. But I can shoot, you bet, and I can fix anything with a motor. And if you give me a microphone I’ll sing Sam Cook like nothing you’ve ever heard.”

“The resident crooner,” McCarthy said, smiling.

The third man took of his Red Sox baseball cap and rubbed his hand over his bald head. “Andy.” That was all he said. He was shorter than the other two, but skinny, and his laconic nature was just weird enough that both Connor and Olive found him somewhat of a wild card.  

Mc
Carthy saw the worried look in Connor’s eyes. “Andy lost two sons and a wife in this. Don’t let him scare you, he’s just looking for some undead blood. He’s on our side.”

Andy sneered. “Till death do us part.”

“We need a car,” Connor said, sounding like the seasoned vet he was at this point. If he had a nickel for every car they’d taken and lost he’d be rich. If money mattered anymore.

“And a game plan,” Olive added.

McCarthy walked across the small room and turned on the monitor. On the black and white screen appeared an image of the house shown from the backyard. The spider monsters sat still on the back lawn. Some forty to fifty hissers milled around the perimeter of the house. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the group. “Gonna need some firepower, that’s for sure. Hugh?”

The old cop moved over to a mound of something covered by a tarp. He whipped it back, revealing a stack of semi-automatic rifles, pump action shotguns, and at least two dozen Glocks. “I took the armory before we left,” he said.

PART
III

HIGHWAY TO HELL

SATURDAY, 9:14 AM

“Okay, go!”

At Doug’s command, Amanita detached herself from the tree and sprinted into the road, jumping over the dead hisser sprawled across the double yellow line. Doug was on her heels, a shovel in his hands. They
hit the parked SUV with flat palms and yanked on the door handles. Locked. “Great.” Doug tried the back door with the same result.

“Coming up the road,” Amanita said, pointing back behind them.

Doug turned and saw the group of hissers ambling toward them. They still hadn’t seen Doug and Amanita, but the hiding spots were growing thin and it wouldn’t be much longer before they were noticed. Since leaving the house a half hour ago, the woods had thinned out to open fields and houses were spread out too far to provide quick escapes. Doug had figured they’d be walking to California until they saw the SUV abandoned in the road. But getting to it meant leaving the tree line and exposing themselves.

It was worth the risk if
the vehicle would start. But they couldn’t get it in, and breaking the windows would attract the creatures.

He peered in th
rough the window. “Tank’s half full. That’s good. No keys though.”

“I think they see us.’ Am said, her voice shaking. No sooner had the words left her mouth than Doug heard the
slapping of running feet. He looked up again and saw the horde coming on fast.

“Fuck it,” he said, running around to the hatchback door. The shovel made short work of the back w
indow. He reached in, undid the lock, dropped down the gate and crawled inside.

“Hurry hurry hurry!” Am said, slapping her hands on the passenger side window. Doug got himself in the driver’
s seat—not an easy feat with his width—reached over and unlocked her door. She jumped in, looking out the open hatchback. “They’re moving fast! What’re you doing?”

Doug
yanked a screwdriver out of his pocket and jammed it into the steering column, crowbarring the casing off. With the starter solenoid exposed, he used the screwdriver to bridge the terminal connections and get the motor running. “Thank God this piece of shit is from the nineties.”

Am frantically hit him. “Go go go!”

He stepped on the gas and spun out, let the tires grip the road and tore off down the street. A decaying hand reached up from the back seat and yanked Amanita back by her hair. Her screaming echoed through the vehicle like a klaxon. Doug steered with one hand while using the other to try and stab the hisser that had managed to crawl into the back. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed that he couldn’t stop the vehicle yet without getting overtaken in seconds; the horde was still giving chase. But Amanita would be hisser food in a heartbeat if he didn’t do something.

The creature thrust its head in the front and bit at Amanita,
its teeth just missing her chin. Doug grabbed it by the back of its head and rammed it’s forehead down into the gear shift.

“The screwdriver,” he said.

Still screaming, Amanita grabbed the screwdriver from Doug’s hand and brought it down with all her might into the thing’s skull but it wouldn’t pierce the bone.

“Go for its eyes!
” Doug said.

She tried again and again, until finally she grabbed the thing
’s head and forced the screwdriver into its eye socket. It went still, blood oozing out onto the car’s console.

Gulping for breath, Amanita pushed herself against the door to get away from the snarling face. “Don’t touch
it,” she said, checking herself over. “We have to get it out of here.”

“Can’t stop yet. Its friends are stilling chasing us. Can you push it out the back?”
“What? No. I’m not touching it either. I know what happens if it bites you and I’m sure as shit not putting my hands on it. I’ve seen horror movies. They’re never dead. They pop up.”

“Well give me the screwdriver. Fast.”

“Why? I said I don’t want to touch—”

“Give
me the screwdriver now! Hurry! I’m not messing around, Am.”

Ahead through the windshield the road was about to
make a dogleg. A guardrail ran along the front of a small rock hill warning people about the blind turn. She saw now that Doug was unable to turn the wheel. They were going to crash if they didn’t stop, but that would mean dealing with the horde in pursuit.

Cringing, she put hand against the wispy gray hair of the undead thing, and used her other to yank the screwdriver out of its eye. Blood flowed out on to the floor near her feet.

Without looking, Doug grabbed it from her hand, jammed it in the steering wheel. He tried to bend it forward but wasn’t having any luck. “Kick it,” he said.

“What?”

“Kick the screwdriver. Hard. Now or we’re gonna die!”

“How?”

“Just kick the damn screwdriver!”

Amanita got herself positioned above the dead hisser and kicked out with all her might. She screamed as pain raced up through the bottom of her foot. The screwdriver bent. There was a loud crack that sounded like everything in the steering column breaking.

Doug jerked the wheel and the SUV skidded into a left turn just centimeters from the guard rail, throwing Amanita against her door. The dead hisser flew back into the backseat and rolled into a ball.

With screeching tires, the SUV finally straightened out again
on the road and Doug got control of the wheel. “Thanks,” he said. “Frigging lock pins. Can’t turn the wheel without the key even if you get it started. I didn’t even know if that would work. Someone up there must like us.”

“You steal a lot of cars in your day?”

“Rebuilt my 64 Ford by myself. Well, me and my Dad. He taught me most of what I know. Cancer took him when I was thirty five. I used to think it was a hell of a way to go, but I’m glad he didn’t have to become one of these things instead.” He drove for another two minutes, then slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. “Okay, I think we’ve got enough of a lead, let’s get this thing out of here.”

Doug threw it in park but kept the engine running.
Together they raced to the back of the SUV, reached in through the open hatchback, grabbed the hisser’s feet and yanked it out. Its head made a thwacking sound when it hit the ground. An old man, missing teeth, a faded USMC tattoo on its forearm. A single toe sticking down from under its chin.

“It didn’t get me,” Amanita said. “I mean, it didn’t bite me, in case you’re wondering.”

“I’m not.”

“
You’re not even a little worried? What if I turn on you in the car?”

“
You would’ve changed by now. So until I see your eyes go yellow in front of me, I’m gonna keep focused on getting us west. Now get in before the rest of them bastards catch up. We got a half a tank of gas and we—”

“What
will
you do if I turn?”

“Am, darling, I’m not gonna let that happen. Now get in the car.”

They drove for another ten minutes, swerving around the occasional abandoned car, before Am tried the radio. Even though she knew what the result would be should had to test it. All it played was static. She turned it off again and slumped in her seat, her feet up to keep them out of the hisser’s blood. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the road, trying her best to block out memories of her parents, of Nicole, of anything that had once meant something. She imagined herself at a punk rock concert, dancing carefree to three-chord anthems. She dined on brick oven pizza and sipped coffee with Graham Michaels, the star of that terrible werewolf movie she hated. The one where they twinkled. Whoever wrote that was dumb. Monsters didn’t twinkle, most certainly not these undead bastards. But Michaels was a rising movie star. Only nineteen and already taking Hollywood by storm. She imagined herself on a date, and him leaning over the table and kissing her. And just as he was about to tell her he loved her, she woke herself up snoring. Which was just as well, because she felt the car slow and heard Doug curse.

“What is it?” she said.

He didn’t answer.

Exhausted, she opened her
eyes and looked out at the world in front of her.

It was on fire.

SATURDAY, 10:43 AM

“We open the hatch at the top, and you head for the front door. We’ve got a collection of these things milling around out there like they’re waiting in a bread line.” McCarthy handed Olive a walkie talkie and she clasped it to her waistband. “Frequency is on 700.”

“Yeah, I heard you tell the others.”

“Just making sure. Connor?”

Connor stepped forward. McCarthy took the gun from him and checked it over, then handed it back. “From now on you hold it up. You accidentally fire downward out there you might blow your toes off or send sand and pebbles ripping into everyone’s face. You accidentally shoot up…hell, you hit the roof, or outside maybe you get lucky and eat hawk for dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Connor rep
lied, not bothering to tell him Olive had already taught him this.

“Polite kid. I’m sorry your parents aren’t around to see you turned out alright.”

“I’d rather not talk about them.”

McCarthy straighten
ed up. “Fair enough. You keep to the middle of the group. Hugh and Andy will go first. Then you and Olive. Then Cleo in back. Shoot straight and run fast. We’re only gonna have a window of a few minutes here. The RV is out front. It has gas and runs well.” He handed over the keys to the vehicle as the other people in the room judged the situation.

This is their escape
vehicle too, Connor realized. I’m taking it from them. Hopefully, maybe, for a good reason.

“We’ll cover you for as long as we can, but we’ve got crabs up there and we can’t be out for too long.”

Crabs was the word McCarthy and his band had given to the spider monsters. Connor supposed it didn’t matter what you called them, so long as you defined them with multiple appendages.

They made their way down the lo
ng hallway then ascended the ladder. Hugh, Andy and Cleo had already gone up and were waiting to open the hatch. On the count of three they threw it open.

Andy popped up and fired off a half dozen rounds. He hauled himself up to the ground level floor, Hugh coming up behind. By the time Cleo was up the gunshots were popping like a brick of fireworks. Olive went
up before Connor, turned and reached back for him. She grabbed his hand and yanked him up. When he was in the house proper, he saw that the windows had all been smashed and hissers were already racing about the rooms.

“This way, boy!” Cleo yelled as he squeezed off two round
s, pitching an old dead women backwards into the kitchen stove.

All of them
jogged through the living room to the front door, threw it open, and made their way out to the driveway. The RV sat there like some sort of castle, big and dirty and just strong enough to keep out a roving horde.  Hugh was climbing into the driver’s seat before Connor even touched the pavement. As he jumped through the side door, the engine whirring to life, Olive fired over his head. The sound of something wet exploded right behind him and his ears rang so loud he thought he might pass out.

“’C
’mon, kid!” she yelled.

A small couch lined the side and he flopped into it, sticking his gun against the window. There were no slats to shoot
out of from here. The RV had not been upgraded with sheet metal and barbed-wire like in so many survival video games he’d played. It was just an average vehicle that smelled musty and old and probably had too many miles on it to do any good.

A second later, Hugh back
ed it down the driveway and ran over a handful of hissers coming up the street. The RV lurched and threatened to turn over but instead slammed back down on it wheels with enough force to rattle Connor’s teeth. Connor looked out and saw McCarthy and some of the other cops firing for all they were worth. Then, with a quick hand signal, the red-headed cop ordered them all back into the house where they could go back down the hatch and live for another month or two. Hopefully more. Who knew.

“They’re following,” Connor said, watching as the undead frantically raced after the vehicle.
“Can’t this thing go faster?”

Olive sat down next to him,
put her arm around him, probably to calm him down. “Yeah, let ’em chase us. Least this way McCarthy and his boys get back down into the shelter safely. You all good?”

“Aw, he’s fine,” Cleo chimed in. He sat in the seat opposite the couch. “You’re a brave
one, boy. Wish my own boy, Eric, was here to see you. You’re about his age. You’d get on well, I can tell you.”

Con
nor didn’t bother asking where Eric might be; in this crazy world there were only two answers: hiding in a safe room, or dead. Okay, three answers: He could be a hisser running around the streets. By the look in Cleo’s eyes, Connor assumed the kid wasn’t a hisser. Which meant he was probably dead. Or maybe Cleo was divorced and Eric lived in another state with his mother and was safe and sound in his own bunker. It was possible.