LZR-1143: Evolution (26 page)

I reached the top of the stairs and quickly scanned the bedrooms. Finding nothing but ruffled bedsheets and a pool of dried blood in the master bathroom—a scene that was not unusual anymore—we upended a dresser and moved it in front of the stairs leading to the bottom story.

Then we settled in to wait.

I moved a chair to the window of one of the smaller guest rooms overlooking the crossroads as Kate and Ky closed the door, locking it from the inside as an additional, albeit potentially useless, precaution. The room was musty, but well kept, with a small mirror over the nightstand, and an ironing board propped neatly behind the open closet door. Inside the closet, several shirts and jackets, as well as a large bowling bag, were neatly arranged.

I slowly pulled back the thin fabric at the window, raising the window by an inch, and pulled in a sharp breath.

How many could fit in that swath of corn?

A fuck ton.

There were hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies. They were in the corn, and on the roads. They covered the small crossroads and swarmed the grass and the concrete, their shambling, shuffling feet scraping against the pavement and the dirt, their moans distinct and eerie as they filled the small room. Ky whimpered softly and I was vaguely aware of Kate extending her arm and comforting her.

The early afternoon sun was bright in my eyes as I watched, stone still, from the window. They were everywhere, and they moved with a slow, deliberate purpose, eyes searching for prey. I started to pay attention to the individual creatures, and noticed an odd inconsistency; we had been traveling through rural Delaware, and maybe into Maryland by now, and should be surrounded by farmers and rural folk. But a great many of the creatures below wore suits, or business attire; some even wore the remnants of beach wear or casual tourist apparel. This herd, or pack, or whatever you called these damn groups of hell-bags, was composed of a wide cross-section of society and geography.

While this was an interesting sociological study, it was also an ominous sign about their grouping tendencies. They drew together from a distance.

The tourists in the group had to have come from the beaches, and those were more than sixty miles away. The business suits and work clothes had to have come from travelers or folks closer to cities—maybe on their way to the beach from work—but if they were still in their suits, they were probably victims on the highways en route, which could have been anywhere in a sixty to seventy mile circle from where we stood.

It was an unwelcome discovery, but one that posed interesting possibilities as well. Captain Allred on the Enterprise mentioned something about it when we first met; if they were grouping together, it made them harder to escape, but it also made them easier to kill with fewer weapons. Spread out, they were everywhere and everyone. In a group, they were like a living, breathing leviathan. One cruise missile could destroy thousands.

A sudden and abrupt impact from below jolted me from my thoughts, and I jerked my head up. Ky twitched and Kate shot me a worried look from the bed, where she and Ky were sitting together. I held my hand up slowly, indicating that we should wait and listen.

Another impact, and a slow, dragging sound, as if something had tried to go through a door or window, and then moved along the wall clumsily and ineffectually. Then, silence.

I sighed and returned to my perch, watching the dead walk.

The sounds repeated at fairly regular intervals during the afternoon, but there were no indications that the creatures had entered the house or, worse, discovered that we were inside. But they weren’t leaving.

They wandered the streets and the surrounding fields and woods, seemingly determined to locate the genesis of the sound that had drawn them in. The sun moved down toward the horizon, and the afternoon shadows grew long.

Ky and Kate slept as the day progressed, and I stood watch, mesmerized by the shambling, haphazard, but completely effective siege being unknowingly laid upon us. They moved randomly and without purpose, but they achieved their unintended goal. We were hemmed in, and had no way to leave.

Kate awoke before the sun set, and offered to take the watch. I gave up my seat willingly, but without hope that I’d be able to sleep. Ky was rooting through the closet, quietly looking for anything interesting or useful, with the short attention span of a twelve year old. I closed my eyes briefly, expecting sleep to elude me.

Her eyes are open and staring above a face that I had known and loved.

She cocks her head slightly to the side, waiting.

I acknowledged her presence from the bed, nodding once. I shifted, not nervously but warily. This was comfortable, but somehow not quite right.

Sunken eye sockets and reddened rims surrounded white irises; irises that used to be a pleasant color—a color that I woke up with and to for years.

“So, you finally got it, huh hero?” she asks, never blinking, never moving. Nothing but her lips and her tongue. Her voice is dry, as if talking through dust or dirt. Gravelly, like she has been smoking for years.

I nod.

“I should have known better, but I was so confused.”

She simply stares.

I speak again, to relieve the quiet.

“I know you meant the best—that you couldn’t have stolen the virus. I know that you were trying to protect me from something much worse. You couldn’t have known what would happen to me. Or to you.”

I knew this as truth.

She continues to stare, eyes wide and unblinking. Her mouth forms a shape, as if to make words. But she is silent.

My curiosity is intense. There are so many questions. I tried to remain calm, but the situation felt urgent.

“You found out about Kopland’s plan, but why didn’t you tell anyone? If it ... if he was so dangerous, you could have reported him. Why stay silent?”

But as I asked, I knew the answer.

She stares. Dead, withered hands come up from where they are clasped on her lap, revealing an empty syringe—the syringe that had saved my life, after condemning me to prison.

“You know this, Michael. He was not alone. He had—he has—friends. In power.”

The syringe drops to the floor, needle burying itself into the hardwood planks and vibrating slightly as it settles in place.

I nod.

“I tried. I did what I could.”

I knew this.

Fred had confirmed as much on the roof of the facility in New York so many lifetimes ago. Kopland didn’t work alone, and couldn’t have pulled it off without someone complicit in power.

She nods once more, as if reading my mind, eyes staring, lips pressed firmly together.

Suddenly, the door behind her shakes in its housing. Her head snaps around, eyes blazing.

It thunders again in the quiet room. Dust falls from the ceiling and I begin to get sleepy.

She turns again, and her face is distorted, terrible. Her teeth are broken, and her eyes weep with blood.

“Go now,” she says.

I stare.

Suddenly, she is on top of me, her head darting for my neck.

“Leave!”

I cringe, and close my eyes.

“Mike, wake up,” Ky whispered urgently. I shot up into a seated position, looking around groggily.

“There are some of those things inside the house,” she said, her soft whisper worried, but calm.

I looked around, searching for Kate.

“She went into the hall to look,” said Ky. “She said to wake you up and send you out.”

I nodded, shaking the cobwebs off and slowly pulling the slide back on my pistol. The Glock from the police officer lay on the dresser, and the M-16 leaned against the window ledge. For now, the sound of gunshots was not our friend, and I hoped to not have to use the weapons. I glanced at Ky and her crossbow, recognizing the simple, and strategic, beauty of the silent anachronism.

Kate was crouched behind the dresser that blocked the stairwell, staring through a crack between the furniture and the wall. She turned once as I approached and then back to the lookout, motioning me to come close and look. I squatted next to her, placing one arm reassuringly on her back as I leaned close, sharing the view. Her hand wrapped around my back familiarly.

There were only two, and they were knocking around the bottom floor aimlessly, making no move toward the stairwell. I stared for a moment more, then sat back, jerking my head toward our room. She followed, and we silently closed the door. I slowly turned the lock latch to avoid the telltale click.

We gathered in the small closet, eager to mask the quiet sound of our speech, even as we whispered.

“There’s only two of them,” I said, intending to comfort Ky.

“But how did they get in?” asked Kate, stymying my efforts.

Ky shifted her weight uncomfortably, and I spoke up.

“They must have pushed through one of the doors. They weren’t secure, and the hinges were popped. Right now, they’re just wandering aimlessly. As long as they don’t start up the stairs, or try to get through that dresser, we’re still fine. At least until we run out of food.”

Oops.

This thinking positive stuff was hard.

We went back to the room, walking carefully on the wooden floor. I took over window watch, and Kate laid down. The house was dark, and the only light came from the blinking red stop light, and a flickering neon white light hanging from a post near the gas station. Absently, I wondered how and why this small area had power in the midst of a seemingly state-wide outage.

Hours passed, and shapes still wandered aimlessly in the night. Once during the night a zombie moved up the stairs and reached the dresser. I moved to the doorway but didn’t touch the knob. Ky and Kate slept, and I listened and waited.

It slammed its hands against the wood paneling at the rear of the dresser once, then went silent. A soft moan drifted under the crack at the bottom of the door, and I cringed involuntarily. Then, I heard the soft sounds of feet moving back downstairs, and I relaxed.

Around midnight, my eyes were taking in the general movements below rather than specific shapes, my ears cautious only for sounds of intrusion.

I blinked once as I stared into the distance, having seen what looked like headlights.

I sat up straighter, and peered into the darkness. The lights had disappeared.

Then, seconds later, they reappeared, closer and brighter than before, wobbling in the far distance as they passed along the dark road leading directly toward us.

I swore silently under my breath and leaned closer to the window, trying to make out the shape of the oncoming vehicle, and whether it was alone. Reaching back for Kate, I squeezed her foot briefly to wake her and let her know of the oncoming vehicle.

She stirred, and softly sat up, careful to be quiet in the night.

Suddenly, a crash sounded loudly and clearly from the living room below. A table or chair had toppled from where it was placed to ward out intruders.

I shifted my gaze to the forms below, careful to keep my head from view. Several creatures had turned, moving lazily to the sound beneath us, unable to differentiate the noise of the undead from the signals of the living.

The headlights were much closer, and I could hear the roar of an engine in the distance. The lights were incredibly bright, and there were more than headlights. Spotlights were mounted on the front of the cab, forcing bright beams of stunningly white light before it into the night.

Below, more zombies had turned toward the house, and were starting to stream slowly in the direction of the rest of the herd. More had heard the approaching engine, and were splitting from the main herd toward the new sound.

Directly outside our door, the placid steps of curious footfalls were replaced by quicker steps up the stairs. Many, many more of them. A quicker cadence was now sounding on the dresser. Aimless lethargy had just morphed into hungry curiosity.

More fists, more strikes, more urgency.

I cursed, audibly this time, and moved to Ky’s side, placing my hand over her mouth and then whispering quickly in her ear to get up. She started, eyes widening, then understood. I removed my hand and walked to our door. Outside, the dresser was moving, legs creeping back against the hardwood floor. More feet moved below, and on the stairwell.

I reminded myself that they were still just curious, and had no idea we were here—at least until they started to pound on the door, and we had to either shoot them, or climb outside on the roof.

The engine roared below, and I had my first look at the offending vehicle.

I was stunned.

A large, bright yellow school bus sat at the intersection, engine revving obliviously to the herd of undead that had quickly gathered around it.

But this was not a normal school bus.

High energy halogen spotlights had been welded to a wire mesh cage that surrounded and protected the windshield, more spotlights attached to a metal bar that circled the top of the entire vehicle. Thick gauge wire mesh covered the windows along the side of and in the rear of the vehicle, also welded to a thicker bar surrounding the body of the bus.

In the front, a massive metal plate with a small mesh opening for air intake in the center almost obscured the front of the engine housing. The bottom was serrated, like a giant bread knife, and on the sides, three-foot long heavy steel blades extended to the sides at six-inch intervals. Along the long sides of the bus, welded to a separate metal bar at a midpoint positioned between the bottom of the cabin and the bottom of the windows, at approximate head height, were welded smaller, but equally dangerous-looking blades, roughly two feet in length and interspersed every two to three feet.

The wheel-wells were heavily reinforced around huge, thick, off-road tires, mounted on a slightly raised frame. In two windows on the left side of the vehicle, the barrels of what appeared to be shotguns were protruding from small holes, seeming to have been drilled out of the window frames, then surrounded by metal sheeting. On the roof, a larger hatch had been fashioned from the standard emergency hatch, and reinforced with a stronger steel door.

Below the stenciled writing on the side of the cab, the school name had been crossed through roughly with red spray paint, replaced with the crudely scrawled slogan, “School of Hard Knocks.”