The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) (41 page)

“Good to hear you made it to the RV, Stan,”
Charlie’s cheery voice crackled.

“Yeah, good to hear from you, too. What’s your sit-rep?”

“Static at the depot. The cordon is out and the area secure. The mechanics are hard at it, but there’s only one bus here that we think has a chance at starting up.”

Stan glanced around him at the pathetic gaggle of survivors that had made it out. Some were sitting or crouching, and others were standing. All of them were exhausted and shivering from the cold. Some were clearly in shock, traumatised by the events of the day, and others were doing all they could to encourage and reassure the people around them. One thing that was evident from just a mere glance was that their numbers were nowhere near what they had been before the evacuation.

“I’m afraid that one bus will pretty much do it, Charlie.”

The line was silent for a moment, the cryptic message clearly unravelling itself in Charlie’s ears and filtering through into his brain with its full weight.

“Shit,”
he replied.
“That bad then?”

“Yeah, we lost about half. The base was overrun within minutes of the first gate collapsing,” Stan replied. “When will you be moving?”

“In about five minutes. Once we’ve finished the refuelling, we’ll see if we can fire up the engine. That’s when it’ll probably get noisy around here, so keep your fingers crossed for us, old boy. Wait out.”

“Get everyone ready, Taff,” Stan ordered, handing back the handset. “Whether they make it through or not, we’ll be moving soon.”

21

Al, Tommy, and Nobby were standing by the bay doors and tensely awaiting the signal from Charlie to begin sliding the heavy shutters across. Up until now they had gone undetected by the thousands of infected that were roaming the city, but the operation was about to change from covert to overt. Once the mechanics fired up the engine of the bus, the noise would instantly give away their presence. They would need to move fast, simultaneously heaving the doors open and beginning their escape before they were engulfed by the legions of walking dead.

Once the bus was through the opening, the security cordon would begin to collapse inwards and start mounting the vehicle before the dead had the chance to react and converge upon the depot. On completion, and with everyone accounted for, they would race out of the city towards the north and head directly for the rendezvous with the main body of the evacuation.

That was the plan.

“You sure this old bucket of shit’s going to work?” Charlie asked while wiping the thin layer of sweat that was forming across his brow.

The mechanic was sitting in the driver’s seat and nervously playing with the ignition key. He turned to Charlie with a look of disdain flashing in his eyes.

“I never said I was sure it’ll work. We’ve done what we can, but for all we know the engine could be fucked beyond hope.”

“At least
try
to sound positive.”

“Okay, I’m positive that in the next few minutes there’s going to be a billion dead people running towards us. Is that better?”

“There you go,” Charlie grinned back at him and patted him on the shoulder. He was just as scared, but he was dealing with his fear much easier than the man sitting behind the wheel. The mechanic was scared out of his wits, while Charlie was drawing on his skills and experiences, and running on high levels of adrenalin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“We’re ready,” the second mechanic informed them as he appeared at the door, his face pale and looking anxious as he climbed inside and took his seat behind them. “The moment of truth.”

The last of the fuel that they had managed to syphon from the wrecks within the garage had been poured into the tanks. The engine was primed and ready. The wheels had been changed, along with the oil and other vital fluids, and all other repairs and maintenance had been completed as best they could manage under the circumstances and with the equipment that was available. The bus was as ready as it was ever going to be.

“Okay, do it,” Charlie ordered to the nominated driver. He cocked his head and clicked his radio to inform Bryn who was still outside with the militia and controlling the cordon. “All call-signs, standby.”

The mechanic slipped the key into the ignition, adjusted his feet on the pedals, and double checked that the engine was in neutral. Turning the key to the first click, he saw the lights across the dashboard suddenly blink to life and then fade back to nothingness. A second later, and they came back, glowing in the darkness and informing him that the battery, oil, engine temperature, and fuel levels were all at satisfactory levels. He let out a long, groaning breath that he had been holding for the past few seconds without realising it. A shiver ran through his body, and his palms began to sweat against the steering wheel despite the chill in the air. He hesitated and glanced back at Charlie and the other mechanic. The trepidation was clearly visible in his face.

“Here we go.”

They nodded back their encouragement.

The engine whined and groaned, echoing through the cavernous garage like a huge beast stirring from a long slumber. It chugged and rumbled, but ultimately failed to start. He turned back the key, paused for a second, and then tried again. This time it sounded as though there was more life in the bus as the painful grumble of the engine sounded louder, but still labouring and failing to fire up completely. Again, the mechanic eased back on the key and pressed his foot down on the pedal a few times before trying for a third time. The sputtering drone continued as the driver frantically pumped at the accelerator, growling through his teeth and hoping to force some fuel into the pistons.

“Come on,” he snarled, caressing the steering wheel affectionately. “Come on, you big, beautiful bitch.”

A shudder rippled through the length of the bus causing the seats to vibrate and the windows to rattle as the machine finally came to life. The coughing rumble of the engine quickly began to grow into a loud roar as the mechanic grinned hysterically and pressed his foot down hard, causing the needle of the revolutions counter to rocket across to the right before swinging back and settling within the green portion of the dial. Again he pushed down on the pedal, laughing and whooping with delight as the exhaust boomed beneath them and cleared out years of carbon and clogged dust in huge and dirty, black clouds.

“We got it,” the driver howled back at Charlie. “The old bitch is working.”

Out to the front, Al, Tommy, and Nobby began hauling the doors open as the building seemed to shake around them from the deafening noise of the bus. The monstrous sound of the engine was terrifying, especially when they knew that every ear in the vicinity would be able to hear it and easily zero in on their location.

“Heave,” Nobby groaned loudly, wanting to increase the speed of the opening shutters. “Put your backs into it.”

The doors screeched along their rails and banged against their frames as the gap slowly widened. The garage of the depot was now ringing with the noise of the bus’s engine and the clamour of the massive doors, destroying all continued hope of remaining undetected. It was deafening and nerve wracking to anyone who heard it. In the otherwise silent night they were now ringing a dinner bell and inviting every infected body that was within earshot to their location. Only the driver seemed unaffected by the uproar as he sat bouncing in his seat and screaming for the others to get the doors open.

“Go, go,” Charlie cried from behind him when he judged that the opening was wide enough for them to fit through. “Get us out of here.”

The mechanic threw the vehicle into gear and released the brakes with a loud hiss. The old bus, weighing almost eleven tons, violently lurched towards the doors. The people inside were flung back into their seats and then forward again as the axles and wheel discs that were almost completely seized from years of inactivity threatened to collapse and shatter the chassis. The driver, fearing that the bus was about to stall, released the clutch completely, sending the huge vehicle hurtling towards the bay doors.

“Move,” Al screamed, diving for cover and dragging Tommy with him and out of the path of the oncoming bus.

The bus rocketed passed them, catching the bay doors along its side and sending out a shower of sparks as the paint was gouged and the metal torn. Once clear, the mechanic threw the wheel across to the left, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the rusted old hulks that was sitting in the courtyard of the depot. The bus rocked and dipped as it hit a series of potholes, battering the bodies of Charlie and the other mechanic who were being tossed around inside. They were headed directly for the exit and racing away from the main building of the depot, the driver showing no signs of slowing. 

“Stop,” Charlie yelled as he climbed forward towards the driver’s seat and smacked the mechanic across the back of his head. “Stop the bus, you fucking idiot.”

The driver stepped on the brake far too heavily in his excitement and fear, causing the vehicle to come to an abrupt, shuddering halt that almost separated the body from the chassis. Charlie flew forward and crashed into the frame of the front window and then tumbled into the short stairwell leading down to the door.

“Sorry,” the driver offered sheepishly as Charlie regained his feet and glowered at him. “I flapped.”

They could see that the protection force were already collapsing in towards the centre, retreating from the perimeter while Al and the others sprinted from the main building to catch up with the runaway vehicle. Bryn was the first to reach the doors as the sound of gunfire erupted from behind him.

“They’re coming,” he cried as the first group of militia began piling into the bus, pushing and shoving at one another as they scrambled for safety. “There’s fucking thousands of them, and they’re coming right for us.”

Al ran towards the vehicle with Tommy and Nobby close on his heels. He could hear the moans of the dead above the rumble of the engine and the chatter of the rifles that were growing in volume. As planned, the northern part of the cordon had retreated into the centre leaving the southern perimeter manned as they faced the direction of enemy threat. Once the order was given, then they too would move to the bus, but not before the other militia units were in and secure. A full withdrawal with each unit moving at the same time would not only leave them unprotected, but would cause a massive bottleneck as close to thirty men and women fought to mount the bus.

“We need more men,”
someone cried from the cordon.

“Tommy, with me,” Al shouted back, and sprinted by the vehicle and towards the main gate of the depot and the open street.

They reached the area where the fire was loudest. There were at least a dozen of the militia troops still in position there, firing from behind rusted cars and crumbling walls. Their base-line spanned the width of the street that led south towards the city centre, and they were laying down a wall of defensive fire that would hopefully slow the advance of the infected, enabling them to make their escape once ordered to withdraw. People were screaming to one another, calling out target indications and states of ammunition, all the while controlling their rate of fire and avoiding the urge to loose off long volleys that would be ineffective against the dead. Faced with overwhelming numbers of blood-thirsty ghouls that were creeping ever closer, the militia managed to keep their heads. Even amongst the mayhem and deafening blasts of rifle fire, Al felt a pang of pride for his troops surge through him.

In the road beyond the line of defence he could see the dark mass of bodies that were headed towards them. They were nothing but a black, unstoppable wall that was inching its way forward. Tracer rounds were whipping along the street and creating bright, narrow beams of light that bored through their ranks. Scores of them were falling, but their progress was steadily increasing as they staggered along the road with more of them pouring into the area from adjacent streets and buildings. The rate of fire increased and waned alternately as magazines were changed and ammunition was hastily redistributed. Still, no amount of suppressive fire and devastation would convince the dead to retreat.

A man stepped back from the line, releasing his spent magazine and replacing it with a fresh one. He saw Al and Tommy and jogged across to them while shouting over the raging din of battle. It was Trevor, one of Charlie’s men.

“They’re getting closer. Nothing we do will slow them down, and we’re low on ammo. We need to move.”

Al glanced back towards the bus. The first group of militia were almost on board, and he could see Charlie waving back to him. He turned and checked the area to the north of them. The streets remained empty with all the infected having converged on the centre during the past few days.

“Okay,” Al yelled back at him. “Get them moving.”

Within seconds the last of the defending troops were jumping from their positions and racing towards the bus. Trevor, Al, and Tommy remained in place to monitor the dead and ensure that no one was left behind. With the fire suddenly abating, there was nothing to hold back the crowds of infected now. Their ranks surged along the street unobstructed and rapidly gained ground. As the last of the militia raced by and screamed at them that she was the last, Al and the others began to fall back.

“Last man,” Al cried, bounding through the door as Trevor and Tommy piled inside. “That’s everyone complete. Go, get us out of here.”

The doors closed behind him with a hiss and the vehicle rocked as the driver pressed his foot down hard. Al fell backwards as the bus came to an immediate stop again, the wheels locking, and the noise of the engine falling deafly silent. Al caught his balance and stared at the driver, his eyes bulging as he realised that the vehicle had stalled. Without the growl of the engine, the voices of the dead outside quickly grew to an ear-splitting and ghastly roar.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouted. “Get us out of here, now.”

The driver fumbled with the key, frantically turning it while the lights of the dashboard blinked back at him. He was whining, pleading with the engine to start while he stomped his foot down on the accelerator pedal, over and over.

“Don’t, you’ll flood the engine,” Charlie shouted, reaching across the driver’s counter and gripping the man by the collar of his jacket. “Get your foot off the pedal.”

The man could not hear him. The only sound in his ears were the moans of the dead that were growing louder as they drew nearer. He looked around him, ignoring Charlie’s commands and the tugging against his clothing. Peering through the windows of the bus as he continued to twist the key, he saw the long shadows of the dead reaching towards him from beyond the downed fence of the depot. Their faint, wraithlike and twisted shapes stretched across the ground like an oozing liquid that would gradually swallow them up. He yelped as he saw the first of the corpses appear at the fence line, stretching its mouth wide as it identified the bus as its goal.