Zompoc Survivor: Exodus (5 page)

“Heard that, did you?”

“Oh, yeah. You sounded just like my niece. Except for the shooting.” She kept the truck going slow enough that the infected could keep us in sight and follow us. They were surprisingly fast for brain damaged cannibals. They kept up with us as we entered the residential area behind the school and rounded the first curve. It bent to the left, then back to the right, and they followed us through them without losing pace. When we reached the intersection for Walnut Lawn, it looked clear. The stop light was blinking red, but the road was empty. Behind us, the infected weren’t showing any signs of slowing down, so I turned back to the window.

“Alright, pick it up once we make it through the intersection,” I told her. She ran the blinking red light and hit the gas as we crossed the deserted street. Streetlights lit patches of road, but long stretches were dark as we drove toward Battlefield. Gunshots peppered the silence, and in the distance, I could hear the rhythmic thump of a helicopter’s rotors. Off to my left, I heard a single scream pierce the night before it was cut off.

Safe for the moment, I unslung the assault rifle and the two pistol belts, then pulled my backpack off and dug my sweatshirt out for a little protection from the chill in the October air. With it on, I stood up and leaned against the back of the cab. The cool air blew through my hair and I took a moment to process what I’d learned. Shooting the infected wasn’t enough to stop them. Only headshots put them down for good, and even that was a maybe. Even more frightening, I had watched dead men get back up and move. Diseases weren’t supposed to affect dead people. I considered and rejected the idea that they weren’t dead. One of the National Guardsmen that I’d seen had been missing too much of his throat to have survived, and none of the people that they’d shot should have been able to get back up. Ergo, this was no disease. It worked like one at first, yes, but after a certain point, it stopped working like any disease or virus and started working like something else entirely. My brain rejected the word that came to mind next, but as Porsche drove down the darkened road ahead of us, I forced myself to accept it.

Zombies. The Asura virus or whatever it was turned people into cannibalistic zombies. I was right in the middle of the fucking zombie apocalypse.

Chapter
5

Oaths and Anticipation

It is easy to make promises - it is hard work to keep them. 

~ Boris Johnson ~

              We rounded another curve in the road and Porsche slowed down. Ahead of us was the burning wreck of a sports car that had hit a minivan in the middle of the intersection of Battlefield and Jefferson. Battlefield was a four lane road that ran past the only mall in Springfield, so I’d expected some traffic there, but the wreck complicated everything by closing off the lanes heading east. A few cars were backed up on Jefferson, and I could only guess at how far back Battlefield was jammed up. I crouched back down.

“Take a right into the Kum’N’Go parking lot,” I said. “There’s a service road that goes further back. Stay on it until you pass the thrift store.”  She nodded and took the right. The convenience store was dark and empty as we passed it, and I glanced at the fuel gauge on her dash as we passed the gas pumps. She had just over a quarter of a tank, hopefully enough to get us to where we needed to go, and maybe a bit more. Now all we had to do was find a way to get there.

As she made her way through the parking lot, I dropped down to sit in the bed of the truck and pulled my flashlight out of my backpack to take a look at the rifle I’d picked up. It looked like it had seen some wear, but nothing rattled or looked like it was going to fall off. When I’d been in the Air Force, we’d learned how to shoot the M-16A2. I’d even managed to qualify for the Marksmanship ribbon when I shipped to Iraq. It had been a few years since I’d handled one, but I remembered the basics well enough to drop the magazine and reload a new one. I pulled the charging handle to make sure it wasn’t jammed, then flipped it over to look at the fire selector. Like the M16A2, this one had three positions: “Safe”, “Semi” and “Burst”. I set it for semi to conserve ammunition, then ran the light over the rest of the gun. With the telescoping stock and flat receiver top, it looked like I’d grabbed an M4 carbine. It had a short scope mounted on it, and when I looked through it, I could see the illuminated reticle. With that, I’d be able to make most of the thirty rounds in the fresh magazine count, assuming I could hold the rifle steady enough.

Screams came from the apartment complex to my right, accompanied by heavy pounding and the occasional breaking of glass. Movement in the distance behind us caught my eye, but whoever it was never emerged into the light. As Porsche made the turn into the parking lot of the Goodwill Thrift store, I caught a brief glimpse of someone running through the apartment complex as they passed between two buildings. Seconds later, a group of figures sprinted across the same narrow opening. My gut clenched when I heard the screams start a few seconds after that.

I forced myself to turn my attention back to the road as we emerged from between the thrift store and an upscale restaurant. On the far side of the road from us, a line of cars was backed up all the way to the next stop light and beyond. Porsche uttered some choice curse words as I knelt down to look in the rear window.

“We’re stuck here,” she hissed as she pulled through the parking lot and turned the truck’s dented nose into the parking lot’s sloped exit. I watched as more and more cars joined the line, then looked back over my shoulder toward the apartment complex.

“Wait for it,” I said softly.

“Wait for what?” she asked. To her credit, I saw her flex her hands on the steering wheel.

“Chaos,” I said slowly. “Somewhere along this line, some intellectual giant is going to figure out that things will go faster if…” I paused, and my faith in humanity was vindicated by the strident blaring of a car horn. More horns joined in the chorus, and I closed my eyes as a chorus of shrieks rose from behind us.

“Oh, no,” Porsche said quietly.

“Someone’s going to bolt, and that’ll give us a gap,” I said as I grabbed the M4 and looked left and right. Figures emerged from the shopping center to our right and charged the waiting cars. More screams erupted down the street as we watched the infected drag people out of their cars and fall on them in the road. I heard gunshots from my right, then the sound I’d been hoping for ripped the night open to my left: the sound of a revving engine and breaking glass. Two car-lengths to our left, a bright yellow Hummer H2 in the right hand lane was shoving a Hyundai Sonata out its way. The smaller car was no match for the massive SUV, and it slid into the middle of the road with a grinding of metal as the Hummer did a U turn and headed back west.

“Go! GO!” I yelled even as Porsche burned rubber out of the parking lot. The truck bounced onto the road, then I was flung against the right side of the bed as she slewed to the left. My back and left shoulder took the impact as my legs flew into the air. Desperately, I grabbed the window frame with my right hand and pulled myself up so I could see where we were going. My first thought was that ignorance had been bliss as we bounced over the curb. Ahead of us was the side of a house.

“Right!” I yelled frantically. “Go right!” Porsche yanked the wheel to the right, and her truck chewed up someone’s back lawn as we skidded through something that got us pointed at the gap in the chain-link fence surrounding a playground. Calling it a turn would have been generous. She hit the gas again and we sent a gout of dirt up behind us for a second, then I was pointing to her left.

“There! Behind the school. Cut across the field there. Then go right. That’ll bring you out on Kimbrough,” I explained. Without waiting for an acknowledgement, I turned and looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, we were being chased. I couldn’t tell how many, but the shrieks that were reaching my ears told me that it was too goddamn many. We opened up the distance between our pursuers and our tender behinds as Porsche crossed the playground, but they gained some of it back when she slowed down to make the turn to our right. Chain-link fence blurred by on either side as she poured on speed, and then we were fishtailing our way onto Kimbrough. The shrieks of the infected followed us as she wrestled with the wheel to stay on the road. An intersection loomed ahead, and the headlights illuminated the profile of a man in slacks and a suit jacket in the middle of the road. I felt the truck slow as Porsche took her foot off the gas pedal. In the split second before she could hit the brake, the man turned his head toward us. Blood covered the lower half of his jaw, and thick strands of gore dripped from his chin. A sound of disgust came from Porsche, then the truck surged forward as she hit the gas again and I found myself sliding along the bed of the truck on my side. Pain blossomed in my right shoulder as I hit the tailgate, and a microsecond later, I was bouncing off the floor of the truck as the bed bucked underneath me. My left hand grabbed the tailgate and I pulled myself up in time to see the mangled body of the infected man rolling along for a few seconds in the glow of the tail lights before the darkness swallowed him up again.

My shoulder and back hurt like Hell as I grabbed the M4 and crouch-walked back to the rear window. More shrieks came from either side to our rear as we flew through another intersection.

“Where in the Hell are we going, anyway?” she yelled over her shoulder to me.

:Sunset and Fort,” I called back. “Willow Gardens.”

“Campbell’s gonna be a bitch,” she said.

“Probably,” I said. “Get on the north side of Sunset. We’ll cross the ditch at Jefferson and get on the Greenways trail to avoid traffic.”

“You are completely insane, did you know that?”

“It’s one of my more endearing traits,” I said as I stood up again. This time, I made sure I had a good grip on the lip of the window. Street lights cast an orange glow on the street in front of us, and I could see headlights and tail lights in front of us. It looked like they were all pointed west, but it wasn’t until I saw the blur of lights going the opposite way across the intersection that I was sure. We sped through the last stop sign and came up on Sunset. Like Battlefield, Sunset was backed up headed west. Going east, it was pretty much clear. Aside from the one car that we’d seen, no one seemed too interested in going back
into
town. I didn’t blame them. Porsche stopped for a second, then turned right onto Sunset.

“What are you doing?” I ducked down to ask.

“Getting on the other side of Sunset,” she said with a smile. “Trust me, I’ve got plan B covered.” She headed down Sunset, and beyond the last of the cars, then took a left turn onto a short maintenance road. Once we were past the curb, she turned back to the left, and followed the sidewalk toward a thicket of trees that came to the edge of the concrete. While we bumped along over the grass, I grabbed one of the pistol belts and pulled the Beretta from its holster. The magazine that dropped into my hand had a reassuring weight to it, but I changed it out anyway and chambered a round just in case, then thumbed the hammer down.

“There’s a round in the chamber,” I said to her as I passed the belt into the cab. “Fifteen rounds of nine millimeter bang-bang in that. Just aim for the head and pull the trigger.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“Already got one,” I said in an outrageously bad Monty Python accent. “It’s verra nice.” As I was making hash of British humor, I buckled the other belt around my waist. Her laugh was quick, and I could hear the first hints of hysteria in it. We passed the trees, and Porsche cut across the field that opened up to our right toward Jefferson Street. Luck must have been with us, or maybe we’d managed to fly under its radar, because there weren’t a lot of cars on Jefferson. We crossed the bridge that ran over the creek, and she followed the concrete trail as it led behind the trees and sheltered us from sight. Behind us, the shrieking of the infected sounded, and we heard chaos erupt again. I could hear Porsche’s voice rising and falling in a steady chant through the window.

“Hold it together, just hold it together, You can do this. Just hold it together,” she was muttering to herself. She jumped when I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Porsche. Turn your headlights off. Drive slowly. Inhale, exhale, repeat as necessary…just breathe. We’re going to make it.”

“What about them?” she asked as she pointed toward the screaming.

“They’re in Someone Else’s hands now. Our job is to stay alive. I don’t know about you, but I have people who are counting on me to be there for them. I don’t mean to let them down by getting myself killed.”

“I don’t have anyone here,” she said as she turned her head back to face the trail. “No one to look out for and no one to look out for me. I don’t suppose there’s room on your list for one more is there?”

“There’s always room for one more friend on the list,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I think you’ve more than earned it tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said as the truck slowed to a stop. Campbell loomed ahead of us, with cars backed up as far as we could see from the trail. I stood up so I could get a better view, and found myself at about eye level with the curb because of the Greenways trail’s lower elevation. Cars filled all four lanes and every single one of them was pointed south. None of them were moving, though most looked like they were running. Behind us, the shrieks and screams were getting louder as the infected found more victims. I had minutes left to come up with a way past this. My brain raced to find an answer, and when it came to me, it was another cat that delivered it.

As the infected devoured the living, I watched a calico cat emerge from the brush beside us and trot confidently down the trail and follow it under the bridge. Moments later, three half grown kittens scampered after her. The trailway was too narrow, but the spillway beside it was just wide enough for Porsche’s truck. It had been right there in front of me the whole time. I squatted down.

“Under the bridge. And don’t spare the paintjob.” She nodded and put the truck into gear. We hit the concrete spillway and she aimed the nose for the opening in the middle. The thick cement partitions were just barely wide enough to slip between. Her side mirrors scraped against the sides for a few feet before they bent back on themselves. The headlights came on, and she drove us through the darkened passage and out the other side. I let out the breath I’d been holding once the night sky was in view again, and Porsche headed for the right bank of the creek again. She turned her headlights off before she got us back on the Greenways path, and we were on our way again.

The trail led us back to Sunset, and we followed it to where the street became a divided road. There were very few cars on this side of Sunset, and we had no trouble getting into the west bound lanes. It was quiet here, the screams of the dying just a faint whisper in my ear, and all the more sinister for that. I stood back up and leaned against the cab, eyes forward. My girl was less than a mile away, and getting closer every second. The blinking red lights of the intersection were my beacon, and Maya was just beyond them. I could feel my heartbeat faster in my chest as we got closer to the intersection, and my breath seemed to be just a little short.

“When we get to Fort, go right and then take the first street on your left,” I directed Porsche through the window. She took the right turn smoothly and eased her way through the left turn. The red brick front of Willow Gardens was barely visible in the lights of the parking lot, but I could see enough to start grinning. We were almost there, and Maya was as good as in my arms again.

And then, the building blew up.