LZR-1143: Evolution (29 page)

We were now watching the theory in practice, as droves of zombies met their match on the sharp teeth of the unrelenting plow. On the sides of the vehicle, the shredding and tearing of flesh as the blades affixed to the long lateral panels tore through throngs of dead was loud in the air, accompanied by the thick and almost vibrating moans. Kate and I aimed forward exclusively, seemingly making little progress in thinning the massive herd, despite taking down three or four creatures with each shot. The guns had been modified, sawed very short for close range work; but even with an effective range of twenty feet, they were effective for antipersonnel purposes.

We had moved roughly halfway up the bridge when George’s voice shot into the cabin.

“We’re going to need to try something new,” he said, calling back to Ky. “Take the wheel, kid.”

She looked at me briefly before darting to the front of the bus.

“George, I don’t think ...” I began.

He waved his hand at me as she approached and he explained.

“Just keep the pedal down, stay straight, and for Christ’s sake avoid hitting a car. On the count of three, I’m going to remove my foot and you place yours right here, you see?”

He gestured at the pedal, indicating the correct angle, and amount of gas to use. She nodded, nervous but eager to help. Next to me, Romeo was panting and I knew he could smell the undead outside. I reached down and rubbed his head, receiving a brief thump of his cropped tail in return.

George’s voice cut through the din.

“One, two ... three!”

Ky’s foot took over and the bus accelerated briefly as she adjusted the speed to match what he had been applying.

“It’s slowing down,” she said worriedly as George extracted himself from the seat and came into the main cabin.

“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’ve got a special treat for these godless bastards,” he said, rasping the words as he lowered the cover of a panel on the left side of the cabin.

Several small pipes ran from the excess diesel tank underneath the bench, up to and along the ceiling, disappearing into the front cabin. He turned a knob near the diesel tank and flipped a small switch near the cab. Poking his head into the driver’s seat, he turned to Ky.

“These sons ‘a bitches killed your folks, huh kid?” he asked, a slow smile creeping up his cheeks.

She turned to him, frowning before staring back into the throng of undead battering their lifeless and bloody hands against the metal bars and mesh at the window. She yelled to be heard over their caterwauling.

“Yeah, they did.”

“Then you’re gonna love this,” he said, reaching for a small console next to the radio.

A small toggle glowed a dull red, and he flipped it up to green. From two small jets attached to opposite sides of the hood, two high powered streams of liquid jetted forward, covering the twenty or thirty creatures in the immediate path of the bus. The liquid stopped abruptly as George flicked the toggle to red again, and flipped an adjacent switch.

A stream of fire licked out from underneath the plow, igniting the doused creatures and a massive bonfire of instantly crackling dead flesh in front of the bus. The vehicle jerked forward as the fire helped eliminate some of the resistant mass of the undead, and turned the remainder to a softer, mushier obstacle. I watched, temporarily stunned, as the creatures burned, their skin popping and crackling, audible even over the loud moans.

From the front seat, Ky yelled.

“Eat that shit, you bastards!”

I barely repressed a grin as remembered my prior life, and my famous tag line.

We were nearly at the top of the bridge, and behind the burning zombies, the lane was clear, the horde thinning on the opposite side. I pulled the gun into the cabin and locked the steel plate over the hole, moving to the front to watch over Ky’s shoulder as she drove slowly and steadily forward. Kate was at the back window, watching the carnage behind the bus.

Smears of dark red blood and crushed white bone littered the cement, and zombies were slipping and falling in the gore we left in our wake. The fire was spreading as they clustered thickly together, passing the flame from dry, filthy body to the next. Soon, the entire horde was alight, and they burned brightly as we moved out of the press of bodies and into the afternoon sun once again.

“Good riddance,” said George, rubbing his beard and turning to me.

“See? Told you. No problem.” He turned to Ky. “I can take over now, kiddo.”

She nodded and slowly pulled the bus to the side of the empty road. As George slipped into the driver’s seat, I looked around, taking in the empty parking lot in the outlet mall next to us and the overturned ambulance in the ditch next to the closest store. The door hung open, and a rotten hand was grasping at the air outside, as if the body were strapped to the ambulance, desperate to venture free.

I realized abruptly that that was probably exactly what had happened, and that the body attached to that hand was likely strapped to a gurney inside the vehicle, unable to free itself. I shivered at the multiple horrors like that one that must have occurred in the early hours of the outbreak.

We kept on until late afternoon, when George turned off the main highway and onto a small access road leading to a minimart. He parked the bus facing the road, and left the engine idling, moving to his CB. He had stopped at intervals along the road, trying to raise his friend to no avail. He was concerned, as were we all. None of us knew how to run a large ferry, and wouldn’t even know where to begin. This friend of George’s was the only shot we had to avoid the bridge in getting to D.C..

George stayed on the radio for ten minutes, tweaking the frequency and broadcasting the same message each time.

As he removed the headset and unplugged it from the unit in frustration, I asked, “Do you know where he was broadcasting from?”

He nodded once. “Pretty much. It was close to the water, and it was a commercial space. He ran a fishing and tackle and Army Navy surplus store on the main drag, mostly supplied the boaters and tourists. A lot of folk made the trip across the bay from Annapolis on the ferry—older sorts, tourists and veterans. Liked to look around his shop and buy stuff from the old days. He’s probably there.”

“So we can just go check it out,” I said, glad to know that we didn’t have to rely on the old CB radio to check on their well-being.

He nodded, but looked worried. “Wildflower wouldn’t let his CB go dead unless something had happened,” he said, moving to the cab and putting the bus in gear.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I said softly to Kate.

I sat down heavily and looked at her as she rolled her eyes. In the back of the cabin, Romeo barked as Ky tried to make him sit for a treat.

I hadn’t felt good about anything in a long time. What was one more bad decision in the scheme of things?

She looked at me and back to the radio before speaking, eyes resigned and voice even.

“Well, you dance with the horse you rode in on, or something like that, right? Let’s go check on Wildflower.”

I leaned back, frowning. George, overhearing the conversation, grunted once and pulled onto the road.

Chapter 30

The town, like all towns in the area
—
possibly most of the country
—
was deserted.

It was a small town, with two rows of stores on either side of a street running directly to the marina. At the end of the street was the ferry, docked safely and securely, lashed to the pier and looking abandoned, but safe.
A small fire burned in a hardware store on the corner, and as we passed the front window, we saw the charred corpses lying at the doorway; whether they were dead or alive when they burned, we couldn’t tell.

It looked like it made most of its money from tourists and boaters, carrying a distinctly nautical theme. Two seafood restaurants and a beachwear shop sat on the main drag next to the bookstores and coffee shops and ice cream parlors. A large fake lobster dominated the external decor of one of the two restaurants.

Vaguely, I wondered what the inside of that place smelled like now.

Not good, I’m sure.

The bus moved slowly down the street, and I asked George as he drove.

“Where’s the shop?”

He jerked his head forward, motioning toward the waterfront.

“There’s a road that parallels the water up here, but it’s too narrow to take the bus. Used to be a foot path, but the town widened it for one way traffic a few years ago.”

I nodded, realizing we’d have to hoof it a block or two to the store.

I told Kate, and she turned to Ky, explaining that we had to leave but that the engine would remain running, and that she and Romeo had to stay as backup. We didn’t want her to know that we were trying to protect her, or she’d insist on coming.

She reluctantly agreed as George parked the bus facing the ferry access, ready to board the large boat on a moment’s notice. George grabbed a shotgun and an automatic rifle from the rack in the front, and tossed me a gun. I had given my remaining M-16 rounds to Kate, preferring the smaller MP5 that George was offering.

“Where’d you get these guns, anyway?” I asked as George popped shotgun shells in the large pocket of his overalls. “You’re packing some fancy stuff,” I said, briefly holding up the MP5, which I knew to be an expensive German brand.

“My son,” he replied curtly. “He was a collector, and had some of them with him when he ... Well, he won’t need them anymore.”

I nodded, knowing not to press the matter further. He hadn’t volunteered who he had lost and we hadn’t ask. In this new reality, I didn’t think it was considered polite. Besides, his “World’s Best Grandma” mug and his other hints didn’t leave much to the imagination.

George ruffled the dog’s ears and gave a mock salute to Ky as he reached up to the hatch on the roof and pulled it down. A narrow ladder dropped into the cabin and we went up, one by one. I was the last one out, and turned back to Ky.

“You kids behave, got it?”

She made a face and I reciprocated with the same look I had given her several days ago.

She laughed despite herself.

“You really are slow, aren’t you?” she asked, still laughing.

Chuckling, I jumped up top and slammed the hatch, turning the wheel hard until it clicked to a lock.

The interior of the bus was only accessible through the roof, just one more fail safe against zombie-incursions. It made getting the dog in and out for bathroom breaks a little difficult, but he was so athletic that he needed very little help. A ladder was fastened to the roof that flipped down the back, and retracted back up to prevent hop-ons.

Or shamble-ons, I suppose they would be called.

We jumped off, and George pulled the chain on the pulley that moved the ladder back to the roof. When we returned, a small latch would activate a simple spring mechanism that pushed it back over the edge. It was primitive, and dangerous if you got between the ladder and the back of the bus as it came down, but better than the alternative of trying to climb the blades affixed to the sides.

I squinted in the sun, the bright light painful as I held a hand to shelter my face from the strong rays. Beside me, I saw Kate do the same. Must have been the time inside the blacked out bus.

We scanned the area as we walked quickly toward the shop. Another fire was eating slowly away at a small boutique store standing alone near the waterfront. A half-eaten corpse lay on the brick walkway, head destroyed from behind. An empty pistol was clutched in the dead hand, slide pulled back as if emptied while firing.

The store was within sight, and we slowed, cautious not only for zombies, but people. Many folks had a “shoot first, ask questions never” kind of mentality, and while Wildflower might be a friend of George’s, they’d never met in person. He was just a hairy old guy with a rifle as far as Wildflower was concerned.

Shit, I didn’t think
I’d
open my door for him.

We approached the glass front of the store warily, and I whispered to George as he moved toward the door.

“You really think he’d hole up here?” I asked, looking around again.

Several seagulls were perched on a thick wooden pylon, staring at us as we stood at the doorway.

“It may look like a shop of used crap, but he’s got a safe in back full of guns and other fun stuff,” he said confidently. “If he’s alive, he’s here.”

He tried the door, finding it predictably locked. Kate was watching the road and squinting into the setting sun. The Bay Bridge was visible in the distance, stretching over the long expanse of the Chesapeake, rising high into the air.

I cupped my hands over my eyes and looked inside. Clothing and old canteens and belts littered the floor, as if there had been a scuffle or someone had moved through in a hurry. The cash register was upended, and a pool of blood stretched from the showroom floor, to behind the counter. I started to tell George, but as I turned to him, his shotgun blasted through the quiet.

“Shit, man! You’re gonna bring hundreds of those things with that noise!” Kate was livid, and I wasn’t too happy either.

He snapped back as he pushed the door in. “If they’re in here, they’ll need help. If not, then we leave. Either way, we won’t be here long.”

He disappeared into the room and I turned to Kate.

“You want to wait here?” I asked, and she shook her head.

“Hell no. I want to be in there making sure as hell he moves quickly and gets back to the bus.”

We followed him into the store, and I tracked back following the blood to behind the counter. An older woman in jeans and a denim blouse was stretched out on the ground, a piece of skull missing from the back of her head. An old baseball bat on the floor next to her had blood smeared on the side, as if it were the murder weapon. George took it in briefly, before moving to the back room, cautiously calling out in a softer voice.

“Wildflower, you here?”

He moved back in the store as I spotted some handy equipment on the wall. I motioned to Kate to follow him in back, and grabbed a pack, stuffing several items into the bag. Night vision goggles, two long-bladed, World War II-era bayonets, and a two reinforced jungle machetes in canvas sheathes. I also grabbed a packet of MRE’s and a GPS. Several rows of batteries sat next to the cash register, and I pulled those into the pack as well.