Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Siren Songs (11 page)

He paused for a moment, as if steeling himself.

“Anyway, one of those idiots put a round into my car and it
struck Ginny in the back of the head. Poor girl died on the spot.
Once that happened I just got out and started walking around. I guess
I was hoping I'd catch a bullet too. It was so loud. So many guns.
Some facing the zombies. Many facing the police. I don't even
remember how long that went on. Hours maybe. As luck would have it, I
couldn't get myself shot. I did however see a zombie with his face
attached to the neck of a dead woman about the age of Ginny. It was
horrible; it was chewing through her neck… Let me tell you,
that woke me up. I found a gun that had been dropped by someone—dead
perhaps—and was more determined to get myself offed. I couldn't
figure out how to turn the rifle on myself so I did the next best
thing. I began walking toward the roadblock.”

Mr. Poole pointed to a chair in the front room. “Mind if I
sit down?”

They all moved into the front room and sat where they could.
Grandma had been sitting in the kitchen, listening, but as they
settled in Liam helped her sit down with them.

“As I was saying, I had that rifle in my hands—not
even sure if it had any ammo—and I began walking over the
bridge. I had to weave around many of the cars parked on the first
half, but the police had ensured no one could drive past some
concrete barriers they'd placed smack in the middle of that thing. I
just helped myself across those barriers and began walking across the
empty side of the bridge—pointing my gun in the direction of
the police. I hoped it was only a matter of time before they cut me
down.”

“Ha! Those bastards tried. They shot around me. In front of
me. Maybe they intended to miss. But soon there were other men next
to me. Others with equal desperation. First just a few, but then
dozens. They'd been sitting amongst those first cars, probably
waiting for a sign to try to cross the bridge and get up close and
personal with the people on the roadblock. I was the idiot who got
the whole thing rolling.” He gave a hearty but tired-sounding
laugh at the thought. “I don't think those police really wanted
to shoot us. I'm so large and long in the tooth, I didn't even make
it to the roadblock itself before everything was over. Some of the
police fought and died there. Most jumped in cars and fled. Some
surrendered—but that didn't turn out well.”

Poole took a deep breath.

“I've spent the rest of today walking home on the
interstate. I've been asking myself whether I wanted to live the
whole time. I thought I could just walk into a ditch, lay down, and
wait to die. Some people were already doing that, especially people
my age. It was so depressing. They looked so pathetic. In the end I
understood Ginny wouldn't want me to die that way. I struggled down
the highway, and just when I thought I was going to die anyway of
exhaustion, I was getting water from a bucket dropped from an
overpass. That helped me get through the last miles to make it home.
I wanted to talk to your dad to see how he was faring. He always
struck me as a guy with a plan.”

Yes, he struck me that way too.

“I guess you all should know the refugees are just outside
the subdivision now. They're spreading out on every side road they
can find. Some followed me in. Probably trying to find shelter for
the night. I'd expect they'll be thick on our street before
nightfall.”

“After spending the whole day with them, I might let a few
stay with me tonight. I really don't think I should be alone.”

Liam didn't know what to say. Losing his wife must have been
traumatic, but Liam couldn't think of any scenario where he'd invite
random people to stay in his house overnight.

Does that make me a bad person?

After a few minutes of small talk, Mr. Poole stepped back out the
front door to head home. He refused an offer from Phil to stay with
them. Liam was glad, but felt guilty for the feeling. He looked down
the street in the direction of the main road, disappointed to see the
first refugees were entering the subdivision and had already begun
knocking on doors.

Liam watched Mr. Poole walk away and found himself intensely
disliking the man. He knew he was being unfair. Poole himself said he
was leading a procession of refugees—and now they were walking
up this street. Liam felt he deserved a break after reaching his own
home.

It's just not fair.

The sun was getting ready to tuck in for the night, but Liam's
group was busy. Grandma had been able to catch a nap, as had
Victoria. Liam felt like a zombie; he hadn't gotten any quality sleep
since he was inside the Arch. There was no time now. Refugees had
been trickling up the street for a couple hours, but the flow had
become steady as dusk approached.

They were going to hunker down in the house and ride out the wave
of refugees. The main dilemma was whether to interact with them or
lay low and only get involved if the situation called for it. Mr.
Poole had said he wanted to be with them directly, so they knew the
house across the street would have refugees inside.

“It would be dangerous to invite people into the house, even
people we knew were harmless. Once it's known we are a safe harbor
for these people, it will never let up until we are overrun.”

Liam wasn't about to argue with Phil and his years of experience
dealing with the public, but he had a hard time wrapping his arms
around the notion they couldn't help anyone. After all, they'd seen
Mark help people up on the bridge a few hours earlier. “Can't
we help a few of them like Mark up on that bridge? It seems
un-neighborly to ignore them.”

“The difference is that Mark was helping them so they'd
continue down the highway. Because there weren't many options for the
crowd, it worked out well for Mark. He said he was doing it for all
the right reasons, and I respect his efforts, but the net effect is
that he pushed a few more people into
this
neighborhood rather
than his own. Now these folks are at the end of the line for the day.
They've been out in the open and running. They've finally reached
relative peace and quiet. There is no way to encourage them to keep
moving. Amongst all those sheep you see, there are wolves. Those
wolves burned Arnold to the ground. Those wolves are hungry. I'd bet
my pension they are out there. We have to be ready to meet them.”

Victoria was probably the least likely to want to interact with
dangerous people, after her close call with two of them back in the
Arch, but even she seemed unwilling to completely turn her back on
the families and kids now walking up their street. “Can't we
help a few of them—maybe out on the grass so they don't have to
come inside—so we can show the rest of the refugees that we're
good people? It seems like that would be better than constantly
slamming our door on them.”

And that was the crux of the problem. It all came down to
appearances. Should the group present a house that appeared
antagonistic to the desperate people walking by or should they show a
softer side, appearing friendly to them. Phil was unwilling to
interact with the refugees at all. Liam and Victoria indicated they
wanted to at least acknowledge them so as to be seen as friendly.

That left Grandma. “Phil, I trust your judgment. I really
do. But I've been among those people for several days. If I was
walking—or being dragged—up this street after a long
journey on a dangerous highway, I think even I would be angry at any
house that purposely ignored our plight. Won't you reconsider? I
really think we should be unanimous in whatever we do here tonight.”

Phil looked outside for a long moment. Weighing the options.

“You guys aren't going to let me say no on this, are you?
Look, I hear what you're saying. I wasn't out among those people so
I'm probably not the best person to judge them. However, I'm a safety
guy. Can we agree on helping them without allowing them to come
inside the house? Once they're inside, we may never be able to get
them out again.”

“So what do you guys want to do?” Phil asked.

Liam wasn't ashamed to say it; Mark from the bridge had rubbed off
on him. “Why don't we provide a safe patch of grass and some
clean water for them? Surely we can spare water to help them out? Mom
and Dad filled our bathtubs with water before they left. They were
really thinking ahead—and planning for a long outage.”

Everything came together quickly once they had the framework
sketched out. They were unified in their plan of trying to help the
refugees out in the front yard—outside the house—by
providing water and a place to lay down. Phil suggested they make it
clear they would also provide security for those folks to further
reinforce the notion Liam's group was “the good guys.”
They all agreed the plan made the most sense given the circumstances.

“I think even my dad would like this plan.”

The final piece depended on finding the right kind of refugees. It
reminded Liam of his own selection process days ago where he scanned
the crowd at the Arch to find the least intimidating people so he
could get Grandma under a shade tree. He selected a tree with a
couple families and one harmless looking sleeping woman on the
ground. That young woman turned out to be Victoria.

I chose pretty well.

He was beginning to believe reading all those zombie books had
given him an edge in decision making under the stresses of the Zombie
Apocalypse.

2

It wasn't quite dark, but the shadows were long on the street and
it was getting hard to see the characters walking their way. They
decided they had to make a decision soon or they'd have trouble
determining good from bad.

“Right there! Those folks walking with those kids.”
Liam pointed to a group of about twenty moving together.

Phil looked out the front window, then he and Liam walked out the
front door and across the grass of the front yard. Liam noticed
refugees were sitting in many yards already. They were staying close
to the street, as if unwilling to impose on the owners while
simultaneously staking out the patch of ground they needed to survive
the night. Liam's front yard had no trees, so it was one of the only
yards not occupied. They were about to change that.

Phil did the talking. He stayed in the yard so as to give them
some space from the people in the street. “Excuse me. Would you
folks like a place to rest for the night? We have a safe yard here.”

The small group of people directly in front of Phil stopped, and a
pretty woman with expensive hiking boots and large backpack seemed to
speak for them all. He noticed the woman had a small rifle tucked
inconspicuously behind her back.

“What do we need protection from? Rapists like you two?”

Liam mentally slapped his forehead.

I look like a rapist?

Phil, probably used to such charming banter from the public while
on patrol, was nonplussed. He looked at the others in the group as he
addressed them. “It's up to you guys. My friends and I live in
this house and we're willing to provide you guys a place to crash for
the night. On the lawn. We can give you some clean water and we'll
defend you as best we can.”

“Why can't we come inside? Why are you going to make us lay
out on the grass, exposed to everything?”

Phil still wasn't letting her get to him. “It's your call.
We're going back inside. You are welcome to our front yard. If not,
there are plenty behind you and we'll invite them.”

Phil motioned to Liam and they turned around to walk back in the
house. Liam expected the group to call them back but no one made a
peep. They were inside the house before Phil spoke. “It'll be
fine. Even if that woman doesn't plop down, the others were eying our
yard with longing eyes. They'll override her if she's their leader.”

Liam was less sure. He peeked through the curtains to see what
would happen. They were already sprawled on the grass of the yard.
“Wow, that was fast. It looks like you were right. They're
already in our yard. Except the woman. She's standing in the middle
of the street, looking lost.”

“I pantsed her pretty hard; she was being unreasonable. She
actually thought we were going to rape her.”

Liam stood watching the woman for several minutes. Several other
refugees had walked by her in the street, but she didn't drift off
with them.

“She still isn't doing anything.”

Victoria moved into the room and looked out the window too. She
had ditched her cocktail dress and was wearing a pair of jeans and a
black tank top. He knew they were his mom's clothes but was surprised
they fit. He was about to ask her where she'd gotten them, but she
walked away just as quickly as she'd arrived.

Phil still wasn't cutting the woman on the street any slack.
“She's probably crying because she lost her group. Serves her
right.”

Liam watched for several more minutes, and tried to get a better
look at the people sitting in his front yard. There were several
older children—pre-teens—and two couples who looked like
parents. There were a few older men and women, maybe in their
fifties. None of them looked prepared to be out hiking. None save the
woman.

He focused his attention back on her and saw she was talking to
Victoria.

What the hell?

Liam looked around the room. “Victoria is out there.”

Phil returned his attention to the window. “What's she
doing?”

Grandma was sitting on the sofa listening to everything happening.
“Liam, you should go out to her.”

Liam looked at Phil, who was peering out the window. “I
guess it would be better than me going out. I'll cover you in case
anything happens.”

He was out the front door in moments, and moved fast across the
yard, avoiding the people now encamped there. He felt the pistol
against his hip, aware he may need it but wondering if he could pull
it in such a pathetic crowd.