Hurricane Dan (A Zombie Novel) (5 page)

Chapter 9

             
Artificial light fell across the cruiser as they entered the tunnel. It was almost a dim brown shade and it felt dirty. The smog was thick and the walls were tight, making everything feel uncomfortable. The tiles that lined the walls, once white, were now yellow with filth. Most were chipped or broken; all were cracked in one way or another.

They moved slowly, stopping and going with the traffic, penned in by the car in the lane to their left and the tiles on their right. Horns were going off all around them, even though they were moving. The sound echoed up and down the tunnel, drowned out only by the running engines.

Dicky drummed his hands against the steering wheel, Barns grabbed his beard with two hands and pulled down until it looked like he had two horns coming off of his chin. Both actions looked like nervous habits to Dan.

About a quarter of a mile in, they could see brake lights flash on, in a chain reaction from farther up the line. Dicky slammed the brakes and almost bumped the car in front of him. The car behind them did the same, squealing the tires as he did. They could hear the collision of two cars a short ways behind them but could not tell which cars had hit. Dan held his breath, no one was moving, all the traffic had stopped.

They sat there for a while, the engines rumbling all around them, exhaust filling the air.

"I think all dem cars has stopped moving," said Barns after a minute or so.

"Fuck!" said Dicky.

Dan looked around, he didn't want to sit there. Not moving felt wrong. "Maybe we should get out and walk."

"Let's give it another minute," said Dicky.

One minute passed, then another, and another; the cars weren't moving. It seemed like everybody was on their horns. Looking around, Dan could see the faces of countless people sitting in their cars, some angry, some bored.

“Let’s get this thing moving!” One man yelled from his car.

Dan looked closer at the people in the cars around him. Most looked fine but some looked pale, too pale. He had the sudden sinking feeling that the entire place was a time bomb, waiting to come undone.

"Okay, let's go," said Dicky, opening his door and getting out.

"Wait," said Dan. "My briefcase is still in the trunk."

It looked like Dicky was contemplating whether to leave him or not, finally he cursed and ran around to the back of the cruiser. He shook his head as he fumbled with the keys, unlocking the trunk. Dan watched him closely as he grabbed the suitcase and brought it around. He desperately hoped Dicky wouldn’t open it up and look inside.

Dan felt the weight of a million dollars fall into his hands as Dicky handed him the briefcase.

"I know it’s not yours," said Dicky. "But frankly, at this point I really don't give a shit."

Dan was thankful for that.

At first all they could hear was the honking of countless cars as they weaved their way through the tunnel. As more and more people began to get out of their cars to follow, they began to hear screams up ahead. Dan could not tell what they were, but as the noise grew louder and louder, echoing off the walls, he understood what they were.

Dicky began to pick up his pace, walking faster and faster until they were moving at a jog.

The screams grew in volume as they went, they were the howls of both men and women. They were desperate cries, the kind you only hear when somebody snaps their leg in half. The further they went, the more commotion came echoing towards them, they could soon hear people fighting. Breaking glass, screams, yells, moaning, it was all coming from just around the bend.

They were almost there when a man stood up from where he was laying against the tire of a black compact car. He started walking towards their group, stumbling, his head slumped and his arms hanging loose. There were around thirty of them, now that a bunch of people had left their cars to follow.

The man walking towards them was sickly and Dicky wasted no time putting a bullet in his head. A few people in their group squealed; no one protested.

“You shot him,” one woman whimpered.

Everybody stayed far away from the body as they continued on their way. One of its hands stuck out like it was reaching for them, ready to grab anyone that got too close. Dan stared at the body, its mouth hung open like the guy was gasping for air, the entire skull over the right eye was missing from the bullet wound. He had to force himself to look away as they moved on.

When they finally reached the other end of the bend, there was an overturned truck blocking their view. It looked as if the driver had just cut his wheel to the right and kept his foot on the gas until the truck rolled off the wall. There was a solid chunk of tiles that had been ripped free, leading to the truck.

The truck itself was a four door pick-up, it had an extended cab with dual wheels in the back. The top of the truck was facing them, the tools that had once rested in the back now scattered across the ground. The front windshield had been broken out and there was no one inside.

Walking around the truck, Dan could see twenty or so people crouching on the ground. More people lay underneath them, dead. The people crouching had their heads low, when they sat up strings of ligament were stretched from their mouths. Their faces were covered in blood and chunks of pale meat hung from their teeth.

They had countless wounds that should have handicapped them, yet they kept on as if they didn't even notice. The bone was showing in the right arm of a man as he reached out to pull his food closer. The entire leg was missing on a woman just below her bloodstained dress. Some had bullet wounds all over their bodies, one guy had a hole so big in his chest that Dan could see right through it. Another guy had his face ripped entirely off, leaving only the skull underneath; it didn't even faze him.

It looked as though there had been a ten car pile-up, followed by a massive feeding frenzy. Five more of the sick crawled from the cracks of the wreckage. Another twenty or so cars were parked on the far side of the wreckage, people who had stopped to help. There was no one still healthy, save for the two or three people getting eaten alive.

Dan jumped as Dicky slammed something cold and hard against his chest. Looking down, he could see it was one of his pistols.

"Safety is off," he said. "Cock the chamber and you are good to shoot."

He lifted his own pistol and stepped out into the open. Countless gray eyes focused in their direction. Judging by their interest, they preferred a meal that was still moving over one that had gone still. Dicky dropped two before they started getting up; his third shot missed.

Dan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he spotted a sickly one getting to its feet and coming at him. It was the man that was missing his face. Dan cocked the chamber and aimed with two hands. He let three bullets fly, all of which hit the sickly man in the chest.

It kept coming, unfatigued by the fact that it had just been shot three times. Dan's hands were shaking as he took aim again; this time the sick man’s head flew back and his brains splattered the wall.

Dicky had dropped two more, unfortunately the rest were closing in fast. It was Barns who sparked the revolt. He kicked one in the chest that was about to bite Dicky and knocked it flat on its back. The rest of the mob ran forward, tackling the sick to the ground and trying to fight hand to hand.

Dan shot three more times, killing one zombie and missing two more. He was struggling to hit them in the head when they were moving around so much. Dicky killed another three but was also missing with his fair share of bullets too. Barns had continued to stomp on the one he had kicked until he had smashed in its skull.

"I think more be coming!" Barns shouted.

"Shit!" Dan said when he saw another twenty sick people stumbling towards them from farther up the tunnel.

"Fuck!" said Dicky.

A couple of their mob had been bitten, a couple others were beginning to lose control and about to get it themselves. They would be able to overpower the original sick people, but they had taken casualties and the next wave would overpower them. As Dan watched he could see even more coming into sight.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, bringing the gun up. One of the sick had come up from behind them.

"Look out!" he yelled and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit square in the temple, dropping the sick man like a rock. "They are behind us."

There were three more weaving through the cars, closing in behind them. Dan didn’t know in what direction he should be shooting. It felt like they were everywhere, the sick had accidentally created a successful ambush.

Dicky dropped his clip and loaded a new one. "This place is gonna get us killed, we have to go back!" He started moving towards the three stragglers behind them: "Follow me."

It took a few seconds for their group to separate themselves from the attacking sick and start moving. When they did, the sick were right on their heels.

Dan noticed even more of the sick trapped in their cars, unable to free themselves from the seatbelts that held them in place.

Dicky killed the first and second sick people in their way, Dan killed the third. Hands broke through windows and reached out, trying to grab them as they went by. A woman in their group was brought to a standstill as one of the hands snagged her pink dress. The infected people that were chasing them caught up and tackled her before anyone could help the woman. The distraction bought them some breathing room.

It was mostly healthy people in the cars, Dan could see. Sitting there, watching the scene unfold like some terrifying movie. They began to jump out and join Dan's group, running for the exit. The first few to try were quickly caught by the infected on their heels. Some were lucky enough to get out ahead of time and have a head start.

Dan could see the spot where they had come in, the light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately the ground was turning uphill at a steeper angle and making it harder to run. It was as if the tunnel were tipping its head back, trying to push the food farther down its throat.

Everybody was getting out of their cars now, scrambling under the heavy weight of an infected stampede. They were slowing the infected down, bringing them almost to a stop. There were so many healthy people to choose from that it caused them to bottleneck, allowing the others to get away.

Out of breath and ready to pass out, Dan burst into the light.

Chapter 10

             
"NYPD, I need your car!" Dicky said, slamming his hands down on the hood of a blue sedan that was turning into the tunnel.

A man in his mid-forties stepped out from the driver’s seat, looking pissed. "You don't have the authority to do this!" He squeezed his hands repeatedly like he was holding an invisible stress ball. The veins were popping out in his temples, making his face turn red. It made his salt-and-pepper hair look a little more salty and a lot less peppery. “I have to be somewhere.”

"I have the authority to do whatever the fuck I want," said Dicky, flashing his gun. He turned to Barns and Dan. "I want you two to find a way off this island, any way you can."

"It sounds like you aren't coming," said Dan.

"I have decided to head back in and take control of the situation. I thought it was bad before, going into that tunnel has shown me how much worse it is. If the chief is in charge, a lot more people will die than have to. It might even spread beyond the city. I have to go, I have to do something."

Barns started to shake his head, "Dis no time to be no hero."

"That's my car, you are in big trouble buddy. I won't stop until I have your badge," said the pedestrian.

Dicky grabbed him by the chest and threw him to the ground: "You are testing my patience."

Pure shock read on the man’s face as he looked up from the ground. He appeared like he was about to go on a rage, but he didn't get up or protest.

"I'm not being a hero. We need SWAT and Riot Patrol prepped and ready to go. By the time the chief gets to that point, it will be too late. We need it now, I'm going to go make sure that it happens, simple as that."

Dan nodded, he had his briefcase and he had Barns, that was all he cared about. "Good luck, man."

Dicky shook his hand, then hopped into the car and sped off. His tail lights flashed and he slid around a corner, out of sight. They could still hear the car’s engine rev as he grew farther away.

As soon as he was gone, the pedestrian got up. "Who does he think he is? You’re in trouble, you're all in trouble!"

"We be homeless," Barns told the man. "What dey gone do, lock us in a nice warm cell and feed us?"

This seemed to fluster the man: "You can't do this!"

"We just did," said Dan. "Come on Barns, let's get the hell out of here."

As they began to walk away the pedestrian started throwing rocks at them. Dan couldn’t believe it, he was actually throwing rocks.

“You stole my car, you motherfuckers,” the guy screamed, hefting another rock into the air. “Do you have any clue who I am? Do you have any idea who you just fucked with?”

Dan protected his head with the briefcase until they were a safer distance away and the man had given up.

“You’re dead, do you hear me? You are dead!” The guy pulled out his cellphone and started dialing. Dan took that as his cue for them to pick up their pace.

"Where we be going now?" asked Barns as they got a little farther down the street.

"The Hudson river is close, we should look for a boat there."

"Dat be a mighty fine plan, Dan. Maybe da boat will have some flip flop on board."

"Wouldn’t that be nice."

The street they were on was worn and cracked, same as the buildings. The result of neglect in a less popular part of town. Everything had a factory feel to it; a few miles away was where they sold products, this had to be where they made them. There was a gigantic puddle in the center of the street as the result of a poor drainage system.

Barns and Dan were pretty much the only two walking down the sidewalk. It actually felt like a pretty shady street to be walking down without any protection. The only exception was a group of construction workers, replacing broken windows on the upper floors of a redbrick building. A man in a hard hat and a red vest waved Dan and Barns around the giant crane they were using to lift the glass.

“Watch your step,” he said as they crossed the street to the other sidewalk.

Dan waved his thanks before continuing along.

The sun was slowly but surely beginning to rise. The shadows from the buildings were starting to melt away, only the far sidewalk was shaded by then.

They followed the curve of the road until the buildings opened up and they were standing on a sidewalk overlooking the river. New Jersey stared at them from the other side, daring Manhattan to try and cross the expanse of brown water.

There was debris everywhere, the storm had done a number out where there was no protection from the buildings. It was going to take one hell of a clean-up to get that part of the city back into shape.

They stood at the city’s end: the buildings made it crowded behind them, the water made it wide open in front of them. The sidewalk was wide, built to bring people down to enjoy the view.  It would have looked nice except for the fact that every single garbage can had spilled its guts into the wind.

There was a large military warship anchored to the dock by gigantic chains. It dominated the shoreline, daring any attackers to challenge its might. The thing was as big as a football field, tall, gray and intimidating. It was so long that it stuck a ways out into the river.

"It too bad that that’s only a museum," said Barns.

Dan looked it up and down, trying to find sailors and soldiers, anyone that could fight off the sick. "Museum?"

Barns nodded, "Yup, dey retired her here to be a museum."

"I don't know about you, but I have no idea how to get that thing across the river," said Dan. "So I suggest we keep moving until we find a boat we can operate."

They were soon hustling down the barren sidewalk, moving as fast as they could without wasting energy. They were already tired because of their little run in the Lincoln tunnel and were wary of any extra exertion.

A gust of wind swept the pavement, sending a mini-dust devil of paper cascading through the air and consuming them. Dan waved his hands, frantically trying to clear a line of sight. He felt a piece of paper strike him just right, leaving a small cut on his wrist. It forced him to place a hand over his face to prevent something similar from happening to his eyes.

As the papers fell he spotted a boat out on the water. It was small, a ski boat. Even from his spot on the sidewalk, Dan could see that it was packed with people. The thing was speeding away from Manhattan like it was running from a bomb.

He spotted three other boats shortly after, all small and packed with people. Somebody had gathered up a bunch of boats and was using them to ferry people away.

"That's it," said Dan. "We have to get to where those boats are launching from."

"We best be hurrying or we won't get there in time," said Barns.

He had a point, Dan knew. How many more boats would take off before they were all gone? "It doesn't look like it is more than a mile or two, if we stick to the coast."

Barns hiked up his pants and started moving, "Da quicker we get there, da quicker we can find some flip flop on the other side."

They had only gone another block when two sick people walked out from the buildings and stopped twenty feet in front of them. They stood there, looking out at the river, sniffing the air, hunting.

One was a balding man, his nose was missing and his clothes hung in tattered straps. The other was a woman, her hair had been ripped out in a giant patch, revealing the scalp underneath. They looked dead, they were that pale. The skin under their eyes was so dark that it looked like it had been colored in with a marker. Black drool seeped from the woman's mouth, running down her chin and staining her white blouse.

They turned at the sound of Dan's gun being cocked, and began to moan. They had that hungry look in their gray eyes as they began stumbling forward.

It took Dan two shots to put down the woman; one in the neck, one in the forehead. Barns knocked the guy down, which made it easier for Dan to kill. He was a better target trying to stand up rather than walking. He put the bullet right into the top of the guy’s head. The bodies fell motionless on the ground, spilling their brains into the gutter. Dan nudged them with his foot, thankful they didn't start moving again.

"Oh dat ain't good," said Barns.

Dan looked up and spotted fifteen or more of the sick turning in their direction. They had been wandering in the shadow of the sidewalk, and the gun had sparked their attention. It was odd that they knew enough to stick together like that. It made them a lot more formidable to deal with.

"I don't think we can take them, Barns, there are too many," said Dan.

"Then we must get ta runnin’."

The sick were slow, yet they didn't walk. They tried to run, their poor coordination keeping them from going any faster than a steady jog. Their arms flailed loosely and they stumbled and tripped after their prey.

Dan found himself wishing he had done more cardio in his life. It didn't take more than fifty yards for him to get winded. He pushed on, hearing both his own and Barns' breathing growing louder.

They were elongating the gap between themselves and the sick, but the amount of space they gained was diminishing with every passing minute. It was not long before they were no longer achieving separation at all, and even less before the sick began making up the ground they had lost.

They were persistent, never slowing, never tiring. At the end of one mile, they were right on top of Barns and Dan.

"They... gone... catch... us," Barns wheezed.

Dan pulled out the gun and pinched the briefcase against his armpit so he could cock the barrel. "Don't... talk."

The nearest sick person was right on their heels, reaching out, his hands were mere inches away. Dan put a bullet in his head. The next, he hit in the throat and even though the damage looked to be fatal, the guy kept coming. He dropped him with his second shot, his body tripped up two others as he fell. All three went tumbling to the pavement. That left six that were still up and dangerously close.

Ahead of them, about a hundred yards, there was a large group of people gathered at the shoreline. They were all moving and mixing around, it was hard to tell why from so far away, being chased by zombies. All Dan knew was that it had to be where the boats were picking people up.

Dan mustered up what was left of his energy and picked up his pace. A few yards farther, he turned back, and began firing on the sick people behind him. He tried to take out as many as he could in the hope that the crowd would be able to take care of the rest once they got there. By the time his gun clicked empty there were only two left and they were a good twenty feet behind.

Dan and Barns were getting close enough to the crowd by then that they could get a good look at what was going on. What Dan had not noticed from a distance was that the crowd had already been infiltrated by the sick. Everybody was fighting, some wrestled on the ground, others on their feet. A woman was getting eaten alive on the pavement, blood soaking into her yellow, polka-dotted dress. Two men kicked one of the sick while it was down, it was getting harder and harder to tell that it had ever been a person. There were pitched battles everywhere; some of the healthy were winning, most were being overpowered by the unrelenting sick. Everybody was yelling, screaming or moaning, each calling for their comrades to assist them. Four or five people took off running into the city, disappearing around a building. Twenty or thirty took off splashing and swimming into the water, the sick pouring in behind them. The last boat was speeding away in front of them, the water turning red below them.