Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Siren Songs (24 page)

Taken together, there was hardly a minute in the journey that the
couple was able to let their guard down. It took a toll on their
constitutions that could only be replenished with healthy sleep. The
nightmares kept pleasant dreams and healthy slumber at arms-length
for both of them. But now, on the fifth day since the sirens, they
could see their destination. Their own home.

“What in the name of God happened to our house?” Jerry
was looking down his street from the hidden safety of the woods
surrounding his neighborhood. The house looked like it was used for
target practice by a platoon of infantry. “And Poole's house
has been burnt to the ground.”

“What did we miss while we were gone?” Lana replied.

Thoughts turned serious once they realized Liam could have been
inside when it was attacked. Or in Poole's. No other people were on
the street, if they ignored the many dead bodies.

Jerry advised, “Let's use the woods to get behind the house,
then see what we can see.”

They moved through the foliage until they arrived at their own
property. From this vantage point they were horrified to see the
trees were gnarly and mangled from the effects of shots going through
the wooden structure. The backyard was littered with the remains of
the zombies who had been blown out the back. One grisly figure was
clawing himself around the yard with his single good arm. Everything
below his rib cage was...somewhere else. Scores of others on the
grass were much worse off. Here and there they could see lone heads
with mouths opening and closing, as if they were fish out of water.

“I hope those were zombies
before
they were shot, and
not anyone we know.”

They discussed their options and decided to move between their
home and the next, so they could enter through the front. The gore on
the back side was just too much. They weren't ready to learn the
identities of those—things.

They snuck to the side of their house. There were no windows on
that wall, so they kept moving to the front corner. Jerry studied the
scene. On the far side of the street Poole's place lay in ruin. The
fire had destroyed everything, and the house collapsed upon itself.
It was now a smoldering pile of roof shingles. Bodies were thick
between their home and Poole's. The front yard was as gruesome as the
back, though the pieces were smaller in the front. Lots of blood, and
relatively fresh because it still glistened on the grass. Jerry's
fought his unsettled stomach.

“Do you think this was an assassination attempt on us? Is
this what happens to people on the hit list?”

Lana couldn't or wouldn't answer.

“Cover me.” Jerry ran to the front door and waited.
Lana followed after he made it and turned around to watch her. They
didn't have to worry about knocking, or even swinging a door. It was
totally gone. Jerry moved into the house, incredulous at the
destruction. There was no doubt guns did this, but he'd never
expected his own house to absorb such abuse.

He whispered, “Who would use such firepower on our house?
None of the other houses have been attacked like this.” Poole's
house was an unknown. It could have been arson or something as
mundane as a cooking mistake. They'd seen lots of fires the past few
days.

Lana was unable to provide any answers. She went right into the
living room while Jerry stood near the door and covered her. The
front window had sprayed glass all over the inside, and the remains
of the television and numerous pieces of artwork had been shredded.
Body parts and blood had splashed everywhere—even the ceiling.
It was the stuff of nightmares.

Jerry took a step farther into the entryway, and heard the squeal
of a girl.

“Ouch!”

Jerry nearly jumped out of his skin. He did jump as he realized he
was standing on someone's hand. Lana swung around in surprise too.
The hand was sticking out from some debris. A piece of the wall had
fallen on top of her, knocking her flat on the floor. Lana had missed
her as she came through the front wall.

Jerry began uncovering the victim while Lana moved back to cover
the operation with her rifle. The load wasn't heavy; mostly drywall.
The victim was a young girl. A teenager.

As the debris came off she didn't immediately stand up.
Unencumbered, she grasped her bloody hip as she tried to right
herself against the remains of the wall behind her. “I've been
shot!” She adjusted for a second, appearing to get comfortable.
Then she paused, despite her own obvious pain. “Wait. I might
have been hallucinating, but did you say this was
your
house?”

“Yes, I'm Lana and this is Jerry. We live here. What the
hell happened?”

“My name is Victoria. Liam and Grandma and I escaped the
city together.” She winced as she grasped her hip tighter.
There wasn't a lot of blood from the wound, but enough.

“Grandma? Liam! Where's Liam?” Lana looked around,
searching.

“If there aren't a bunch of Army trucks still on your front
lawn, he's gone. Grandma's gone, too. Taken.”

Jerry remained kneeling. Lana came over as she slung her rifle
behind her back so it was out of the way. She squatted next to
Victoria to look directly in her eyes. “Victoria, who took our
boy? Did they mention anything about a hit list? Was he taken because
he was on that list?”

“The CDC took him. Some guy named Hayes. But they didn't
take Liam specifically. They took Grandma. Liam went with her to look
after her. I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about a list.”

“That doesn't sound like Liam.” Jerry asked. “So
he did take her guns. He's protecting her?”

“After what he's been through, I don't think you'll
recognize your son.”

Thinking of their own journey in and out of the city, Jerry
couldn't argue. “No, I don't imagine we would.”

Lana began reaching for her backpack medical kit. “Let's get
you patched up. Then, tell us everything.”

2

14 hours before the sirens

Angie Jacobi was Marty Peters live-in nurse. She was finished with
her chores for her friend tonight and went to pick up her
granddaughter from work. Her mom had called and begged Angie for this
favor. She knew better than to even think about arguing with her
daughter-in-law.

“Thanks for picking me up Grandma. There were some creepy
people coming into the store today.”

“I don't know why Cheryl kept the place open. Everyone
should be staying home now.”

“Well, they sold out of shovels, hoes, machetes and all
kinds of other yard junk. You should have seen how many chainsaws we
moved. It would be great if they weren't using them for the wrong
purpose. People said they needed them for defense now. How crazy is
that?”

Angie took a moment to consider. “I'm sure they're just
scared. We all are.”

“You're scared? I've never seen you scared—about
anything.”

“This isn't
anything
. This is
something
.”

“You believe all that internet stuff about zombies and the
undead? I've seen videos from overseas, but it looks fake to me. Not
half as real as those zombie TV shows.”

Angie steered the car through the evening traffic. Mary Beth lived
in the county with her family, but worked in a small corner hardware
store near the double flat she shared with Marty. She spoke with her
mother and they agreed to let her stay in the city for the night.
Tomorrow Mary Beth would get a ride back home—to hell with
working in the dangerous metropolis. She couldn't imagine why her mom
insisted she go to work but knew better than to question her about
it.

The fuel shortage was acute so traffic was unusually light, but
Angie's tank was full because she did very little travel. She could
afford a couple-mile round trip to pick up her granddaughter. The
young girl had access to the internet and what was happening
overseas, but Angie had spent time in a local clinic as a volunteer.
She held her tongue about the things she'd seen “disposed of”
by social services. The sickness wasn't just overseas…

“Once we get to Marty's I want you to stay inside, do ya'
hear? I have a bad feeling about the direction things are heading.
There are even fewer cars than normal out tonight. Something is
wrong.”

The only regular traffic she could see were emergency vehicles.
Several times during their trip through the city blocks she had to
pull over to allow the howling cars and trucks to get by. They were
coming and going like angry bees.

“We're almost home, thank God.” Angie could see
familiar territory. She drove in front of Marty's house on her way to
park the car around back. “Do you want to get out here, dear?
You can run in the front.”

“Nah, I'll go around back, walk you in. We have to stick
together, ya' know?” Mary Beth smiled.

Angie nodded and continued down the block, turned right at the
corner, and was just about to turn right into the alleyway when her
car was bumped from behind.

“Oh dear!”

The collision wasn't forceful, just a strong nudge. It frightened
her and she put on the gas rather than the brake, sending the car
past the alley. She pumped the brakes and was surprised to see a
black van pull around her and then veer to the right, in front of her
car. She put the car in park a few feet from the side of the van, and
wondered if she even had her registration and insurance information
where she could get it.

With a tired sigh, she said, “Can you check the glove box.
My car registration should be—”

The door of the van slid open in front of them. It was near-dark
outside, so it was difficult to see who or what was inside. It was
parked so she had a view of the driver's seat through the opening
created by the sliding door, but she couldn't make out the driver.
Her headlights shone into the van, but revealed nothing.

Angie reached for her glove box to help Mary Beth with the search,
but stopped for a reason she couldn't explain. The van wasn't just a
normal van. It was an armored van. She could see the partition behind
the front seat. It was a lattice of metalwork, like a dog catcher
would use. No one got out of the van to exchange paperwork.

“Grandma? Everything OK?” There was just a touch of
heightened concern in her voice. “Should we maybe leave?”

“Yeah, maybe—”

Before she could finish her thought, the front window of the van
descended. A few seconds later the occupant threw something at them.
The heavy object banged against the glass of the windshield, though
it didn't break.

“What the? Is that...”

“OH MY GOD!” Mary Beth began shrieking. The object
looked very much like a bare foot.

Something pushed the car from behind. Another van had come up to
block them in.

Time stood still for Angie. She could see something emerging from
the emptiness of the cargo van. An arm appeared first. Then a head.
The creature was large. The size of a very big man. In fact, as it
emerged she could see it
was
a very large man. He came out on
all fours. Sniffing the air.

It jumped onto the hood of the car, attracted to the bloody foot.
It was a hulking thing, wearing nothing but bloody cargo pants and
boots. Its upper body was lacerated in many places, though the blood
had long since dried. It was gaunt, but the muscles stuck out like
some kind of sick medical dummy. The side of his neck was a festering
explosion of veins and arteries, as if he had been assaulted by a
ravaging wolf. His head was skeletal, with very little hair.

And the eyes...

Angie reached over to Mary Beth and put her hand over the girl's
mouth. “Shush girl.”

Mary Beth nodded, but had to put her own hands over her mouth to
control her involuntary sobs.

“Listen. I need you to run to Marty's. I'm going to run the
opposite direction, and draw it away.”

“It's looking—at me.”

“No, it's looking at the foot. You have to do as I say.”

The girl shook her head vigorously in the negative. “I...I
don't know where she lives. These houses all look the same from the
back.”

“Run back up the street. Find her house from the front.”

It was the best plan she could summon in the seconds it took to
think it. With a final look at her granddaughter, she pulled her keys
from the ignition, and opened her door. She ran like hell. As fast as
a woman of 58 years in decent shape could run in a pair of cheap
tennis shoes. She left her car door open, assuming the thing would
follow her. It did jump to the ground as if to pursue, but it stood
up and turned to Mary Beth instead.

“RUN!” Angie screamed.

The thing turned around, giving her an open-mouthed yell, but then
jumped in the car. Mary Beth had opened her door, but wasn't getting
out. Not knowing what to do, Angie ran behind her car, and up to Mary
Beth's open door. The girl was screaming in mortal terror.

So much blood.

Angie tried to pull the girl from the blood-splashed face of the
creature, but her seat belt was still hooked.

“Oh God. Your seatbelt!”

“Grandma, help.” She wheezed, like she was out of
breath.

Angie moved so she could get a better look at the thing. The
creature was now in full sight, tearing into the soft flesh of the
teen's side. To get to the seatbelt release she'd have to reach
between the thing's teeth and her granddaughter's bloody side. It was
impossible.

“Oh God please help me.”

Her backseat was empty. She turned forward. She saw the foot,
lying on her windshield, nearest the passenger side. She reached for
it and brought it back to the gap of the door, ignoring the
disgusting feel in her hands. She tried to wield it as a weapon,
swinging it as an awkward club against the thing's head. It looked up
and snapped several times at her. She tried to swing the foot again
as it looked at her, but it was too slippery. It fell uselessly to
the floorboard in front of her dying granddaughter.