Snareville (3 page)

As I reached in through the shattered glass for the shifter, I glanced into the back seat.

“
Shit,” I whispered. I dropped the car in neutral.

“
What?” Jennifer asked.

“
Nothing.” I straightened and signaled for Tom to push the car out of the way. I turned to Jennifer. “Don’t look in the back.”

“
Why?”

The image of the dead toddler stuttered around in my head. At least his death had been quick. The tire iron brained him before it ended up in the car seat with him. I closed my eyes and saw the flies crawling across his little face.

“
You don’t want to know,” I told Jennifer.

“
Oh.”

She turned and mounted the step to the semi when Jeff brought it up. We all climbed into our vehicles and moved through the intersection. Another mile, and we rolled onto Interstate 80.

Forty-five miles from Snareville to Geneseo. We were more than halfway there, heading west. I’d never seen that road so quiet. We were the only ones mobile. We passed a car now and then in the ditch. Others stagnated in the median where some idiot or another tried to turn around. We saw a yellow-and-white state trooper squad plastered to the supports of an overpass. Intentional or not, he’d been headed east pretty fast. I didn’t look inside as we passed. The trooper was either zombie chow or a greasy spot on the column. Either way, I didn’t want to see.

I’ve heard the rural areas of this country called the “American Outback.” It’s appropriate. What the urbanites never understand about the sticks is that you can travel for miles without coming across another town. More people move to the cities than those who choose to stay on the farm, so unless you get into an urban area, you’re not going to find a lot of folks. That's the main reason there’s never been a lot of traffic out here, even on a normal day. You always could buzz down I-80 pretty fast, until you got into Chicago or the Quad Cities.

Geneseo is a decent-sized little burg in between. Jeff geared down as we turned onto the ramp to go into town. Halfway down, he stopped.

“
How many people lived here, Dan?”

“
Little over four thousand. How many you think are still around?”

“
Dead and chompin’ or alive and hidin’?”

“
Both.”

“
Don’t know, man, but we gotta do this. Is there any other way in?”

I thought about it. “Only if we go all the way around town and circle back. Adds about twenty miles. I’d like to save the fuel.”

“
All right. Let’s do this.” Jeff gave me a weak smile.

“
Just drive around what you can, and don’t stop for anything.”

Jeff took his foot off the brake, and we rolled forward. We didn’t bother to stop for signs. It was easy going at first. On the edge of town, businesses catered to the Interstate traffic. Eateries, gas stations, and video stores. No traffic, of course, and very few cars in the parking lots or along the road. We didn’t come across any choked roadways until we got into the residential area.

As we approached a clot of cars stuck in the road ahead, Jeff slowed. Another wreck. We stopped a few truck-lengths behind the mess. Looked like it was about a half-block long and involved all directions of a main intersection. Matter of fact, it was the intersection where we needed to turn left.

Damn.
I keyed the radio. “Bill, you back there?”

“
Yeah, Boss.”

“
We gotta check this out. We’re gonna have to find a way around. You stay behind the wheel and keep it running. Jeff’s going to do the same up here. Chrissi, John, hop out and help cover.”

I checked all directions. So far, so good. No deaders. Maybe we got lucky and they all took off.

Right
.

I popped the door on the rig. “Jeff, you keep this thing runnin’. Lock your door. We come back running, you be ready.”

Jeff nodded. I could feel the sweat rolling down my back, prickling like a million ants.

“
Let’s go, Jennifer.”

She had hold of that shotgun hard enough to strangle it. We hopped out of the cab. John and Chrissi sidled up along the side of the trailer. I held my finger over my lips for silence, then I stepped around the front of the truck.

Rifles at half port, we quick-stepped through the yards. I didn’t want to get up against a house and have a door pop open with a surprise. My crew knew their jobs; Jennifer was our only unknown factor. Now I knew she could handle the shotgun, but she’d never been in a fight before. I didn’t want her to get killed, but she’d have to take care of herself.

We reached the last yard before the intersection. The ground felt solid. Hopefully, it was solid enough to support the semi. Maybe we should have brought a bunch of pickups instead. Less weight, but I wanted to load up as much as we could in one trip.

We stood in front of the house for a moment. I hadn’t rounded the corner yet. One last breath, then we stepped into the west yard. The pileup stretched almost the length of the block, but I saw enough room to get the rig back on the road. I started to relax, then Jennifer’s shotgun boomed.

I swiveled as Jennifer pumped the gun and fired another round. From the north came a swarm of Zeds. John started to light up his gun, then Chrissi fired to the east. Just like that, we were about to be surrounded. Fast movers, too.

I cranked up my rifle. I watched a head explode in my sights, then I moved on to the next.

“
Back to the trucks!” I shouted.

We fell back in order, a small cluster of controlled fire. One of the deaders came running at us. A young guy in his teens, missing an arm. He got past the rifles. Jennifer dumped him at our feet with a shotgun blast.

“
I’m out,” she said. A simple statement—no panic in her voice.

I turned to look at her. Her brown eyes darted around us. I wasn’t about to let her die.

“
Go!” I barked.

We turned and ran for the trucks. In moments, I snagged the door on the rig, flung Jennifer inside, and jumped in behind her. I slammed the door and hammed the lock. Jeff looked at me, eyes wild. We’d stood down some small swarms before, but that was with the entire group.

“
Around to the left,” I said. The Zeds were all around us now. “Go to the left, turn the corner, and hit the pavement.”

“
What about these things?”

“
What about ‘em? Drive over the top of ‘em. Just don’t let Bill get cut off.”

“
Right.” Jeff pulled his foot off the brake and gave the beast some throttle. He eased across the street and thumped over the curb. I heard Jennifer behind me, sliding shells into the shotgun. She pumped the action and stuffed in another. Ready.

Jeff cussed as we rolled onto the grass. The truck started to sink, but he feathered the throttle, and we kept moving. I heard shots behind us and figured it was John and Chrissi clearing a path. Jeff just plowed right through the swarm. We could feel the thumps as the wheels rolled over the bodies.

Still, the Zeds started to climb onto our truck. They banged on the windows and grabbed at the mirrors. Jeff picked up as much speed as he could, and we rounded the corner of the yard. Some of the older, slower deaders splattered against the grill. Jeff smiled, shouted, and gave the truck more gas as he aimed for the open road. He cranked the wheel, and the Zed on his side lots its grip. It fell off, and Jeff ground it under the wheels of the rig.

We picked up more speed as Jeff steered us through the yards. We reached twenty miles an hour by the time he jumped over the curb and back onto the pavement. Then he really gave it some hell. One deader still dangled on my side of the rig, hanging on to the mirror and door handle.

“
Get that fucker off us!” Jeff shouted.

The Zed licked the glass with its rotten tongue. It left a smear of black slime. It snarled at us.

“
I don’t want to break the window. We’ll just let more in that way.”

The muzzle of Jennifer’s shotgun poked past my face. “You crank. I’ll shoot.”

“
Right.”

I ducked down, grabbed the window crank, and lowered the glass. I made about four inches of opening, and the shotgun boomed. The Zed’s body went limp, then fell away.

“
God, they stink,” I said as I rolled the window back up. Jeff turned on the air conditioner. That helped—a little.

In the mirror, I could see Bill’s pickup. We gained speed now. We weren’t the types to drive through town at sixty very often, but we did that day. A couple of Zeds still hung onto Bill’s truck. He whipped the wheel one direction, then the other. The deaders fell off and rolled like rag dolls along the pavement.

“
That it?” Jeff asked, pointing at a building ahead. The sign out front displayed a shooter with his line of sight on a distant target. They made good guns there. Rifles and pistols both.

I saw an office window busted in. The front door hung ajar. Someone beat us to it.

“
No, not this one. Keep going.”

Three miles farther, a small Mormon church stood on the corner of an unmarked city street. Down that way lay the main industrial area of Geneseo. We turned in there. A cluster of brown-and-gray buildings took up the second block. We pulled in, and Jeff started to back toward the dock.

“
Wait,” I told him. I didn’t know yet which door we’d use.

Bill pulled in beside us as I surveyed the building. This one looked tight. I didn’t see any broken doors or windows. We waited a few beats. No deaders appeared.

I popped the door and stepped out. Jennifer followed.

“
Back the truck in when you saw a dock door go up,” I told Jeff. “Don’t leave the truck, and keep your rifle handy.”

Chrissi met me beside the truck. I saw tears in her eyes as she handed me her rifle.

“
What’s this for?” I asked.

Neither Bill nor John would answer as they walked up.

“
What’s going on?” I asked.

Then I looked at Chrissi—really looked at her—and saw the bite mark on her neck. They’d tried to stop the bleeding, but fresh-red blood still pumped from the wound.

“
Deader broke out the back window, Boss. I blew its head off, but it got Chrissi first.”

“
Chrissi…”

“
Dan, I can’t be one of them. You have to do it.”

“
I can’t do—Chrissi, don’t make me do this.”

I felt the tears start up. I’d known Chrissi nearly five years. We dated for a while when I first moved to town. We once made love wrapped up in a sleeping bag.

“
I’m Catholic, Dan. Not a real good one, but I still know suicide is a ticket to hell. I’m already close enough to that here, and I don’t want it in the afterlife, too. I can already feel that junk in my system, so come on.”

She walked away, headed for the front of the building. Against my will, I followed. Around the corner, under a big maple tree, she knelt in the soft, spring grass. She looked out over the cornfields, then she bowed her head and started to pray. Tears streamed from her eyes, and I felt a few run down my face, too. My hands shook, trembling on the grip of the rifle. After a few moments, Chrissi crossed herself and opened her eyes.

“
Sure is a pretty day,” she told me. “You’re a good man, Dan. I’m ready.”

I brought up my gun. The muzzle shook in the air a foot from her temple. Just one shot, and her death would be instant. My hands wouldn’t hold still. The damned sight danced around. I couldn’t breathe.

Chrissi started to hum. A little tune I’d heard in church as a kid. First song I ever learned:
Jesus loves me, this I know…

I started to hum along. The rifle barked and shattered the morning.

I turned and walked back to the trucks.

The others stood around, staring hard at the gravel. Jennifer dragged the toe of her boot through the limestone dust. No one looked at me.

“
Next time we go out, these trucks have armor over the windows. I don’t want to have to do this again.” I looked at my crew. “We came here for supplies. Let’s get it done.”

Bill and Jeff stayed with the trucks as the rest of us headed inside. The windows were barred here, and the doors were made of steel, closed up tight with deadbolts and door-handle locks. We walked around to the employee entrance. It was locked, too, but the door there was made of barred glass. I busted it out with the butt of my gun, reached inside, and turned the lock. No electricity; no alarms. Inside, we passed through a second door the same way. Then we were in.

At the end of the manufacturing line, I saw racks full of rifles. The racks themselves were labeled with model and caliber. I knew how the system worked here. Those guns at the end of the line hadn’t been test fired yet. Off to the south lay the loading dock. We walked out there and found pallets of boxed rifles. There, the pallets were marked. We wanted one type of rifle in two calibers.

I rolled open a dock door and signaled for Jeff to back up. He did. Bill locked in the trailer and chocked the wheels so it wouldn’t go anywhere. Meanwhile, Jennifer marked the pallets we wanted. Back in one corner, we found a pallet of pistols; we marked them, too.

I jumped up on a forklift. That’s what I used to do for work. I loaded trailers.