Dawn of the Apocalypse: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel (26 page)

            "Man, they've cracked the window back here," Charlie said.  His eyes turned away to look out the front windshield.  "Are you going to try and plow through that?  Are you mad?"

            The mega horde on I-75 did look a lot thicker.  Even though the northbound side looked thinner, Charlie might've been right.  They were pressed together a lot more than on I-24.

            "Crap," I said and veered to the left.  "Let's see what US 41 looks like."

            Didn't matter.  I was committed.  Knowing zombies chose the path of least resistance helped.  At least at first there were a lot less of them on US 41.

            "Did you see that?" Charlie asked.  "When you turned off onto this road it looked like every z-bee headed after us."

            "Like a school of fish?" I asked.

            "Yes.  Exactly."

            There was enough gap between zombies to swerve around them in the new highway.  I was able to pick up the speed to 40 MPH at times.  After a few minutes the zombies in the bed sorted themselves out and returned to pounding on the back window again.  One of them even crawled up atop the cab.  I slammed on the brakes and he flew off.  Then I drove over him before he could get up.

            "Ouch.  Bet that hurt," Mike said.

            "Felt good to me."

            We came up to a bridge over a river.  It was acting as a funnel point.  I slowed down.

            "Mike, see if you can clear it with a few grenades.  While he rolled down his window, I moved over to the right side of the road.  "Tell me when you're ready and I'll turn left and give you a better angle."

            Slowing to 10 MPH, I noticed the zombies ahead all turned around to face us.  Charlie scooted over to the right side, rolled his window down, and opened up with the SAW in short bursts.  Zombies started dropping, but most got back up.

            It occurred to me that if they weren't mindless rage monsters, they could have made amazing soldiers.  Protect their heads and hearts, and they'd be unstoppable.

            "Ready," Mike said.

            I turned left.  Charlie kept the zombies away on that side.  Mike managed to get two grenades off before I had to turn back towards the right side of the road.   His grenades didn't reach the bridge, but knocked down a lot of them between us and it.  The next round he got another two grenades off, and hit the bridge both times.

            "Go!" Mike cried.

            I turned toward the bridge and plowed through those little monsters.  Mike and Charlie quickly rolled up their windows.  The zombies started to pile up in front of the truck.  They hadn't done that before.  I worried we'd be forced to a stop, so started zigzagging across the bridge, which dislodged just enough of them.  And as soon as I cleared the bridge, I stopped, backed up, and then continued forward around the pile.

            "We have to get one of those snow plow trucks for the next z-pocalypse," Mike said.

            "Stop making up new names," I said.  "My head already hurts."

            The number of zombies to either side of the road dropped dramatically.  I was able to open it up for short stretches, though I did spend more time on the shoulders of the road than on it at times.  The countryside was mixed forest, farmland, and residential.  It was not as rural as I at first thought.  Shit got hairy again when we reached Ringgold.

            The highway went right through the middle of the city.  As we approach a big grocery store on the right Mike got excited and pointed forward.

            "Get off on a side road!  Side road!"

            I saw it then.  The road ahead was packed tighter than a rock concert.  Those bloody monsters were coming back toward us, too.  So I turned on Old Alabama Road in front of the store.  The open land to our left was packed with more zombies milling around.  Hitting the gas, I sped across a small creek and to another cluster of structures.  There I turned back to the left.

            "Genius move, man," Mike said when that road curved around and back over the creek.  Suddenly we were back in the thick of zombies.  "Take the right just beyond the trees!"

            There was wooded land to our right.  I spotted the intersection ahead.  It went off in all directions.  I didn’t have the time to figure out how many streets met there, or where they led.  I took a hard right at the intersection and hit the gas.

            "Son of bitch!" I cried when a zombie went over the hood to smash into the windshield.  His hard head caved it in almost to the point of not being able to see through it.  "Shoot him, Mike!"

            He fired three shots before the zombie tumbled off the side.  By that time we cleared the woods on our right and blasted out into open country again.  There was a large structure ahead of us.  And a swimming pool.  We rounded a bend in the road, and it dead-ended onto Depot Street.  There were railroad tracks on the other side of the cross road.

            "Which way?" I asked.

            "Right," Mike said.

            So I turned right.  We didn't even get past the huge warehouse on the right before the way was blocked by too many zombies to force our way through.  I skidded to a stop, looking in all directions.  Just before I turned around, I noticed US 41 on the other side of the tracks.

            "Do you think this truck will clear those tracks?"

            "Worth a try," Mike said.

            "You're both out of your minds," Charlie said.  "But go for it."

            I drove off the road, keeping a wary eye on the zombies rushing towards us.  Since I wasn't sure about the clearance, I drove across the tracks at an angle, and then turned into the parking lot of another business.  Within seconds we were back on US 41 heading south to Dalton.  Shortly after that US 41 crossed I-75.  I only needed one glance to see US 41 would be faster, so continued on.

            Ringgold to Dalton couldn't have been more than twenty-five miles.  Still, it took us over an hour to cover it.  Most of the time I was driving less than ten miles an hour and plowing through groups of zombies.

            "Can zombies starve to death?" I asked.  "Because there cannot be enough for them all to eat."

            "We can only hope," Mike said.

            All of the stress was wearing on us.  Even though I was getting remarkably good at avoiding most collisions with them, every impact worried me it would be the one to bring us to a stop.  Engine failure there was certain death.

            "I'd like to get out of the horde before the sun sets," Charlie called.

            "You don't have to shout," I said.  Then I spotted a sign.  "Great!  We're almost to Dalton."

            "How large is Dalton?" Mike asked.  "Can we expect a lot more z-bees?"

            Dalton was a sizable city.  I wasn't sure about the population, but we couldn't expect the zombie population to drop.  Chattanooga zombies were already pouring into it.

            "Check the map," I said.  "I don't think we have to drive through the city."

            While Mike studied the map, I spotted the Interstate up ahead.  I-75 was packed with zombies following it south.  Mike quickly confirmed that US 41 looped around the northern edge of the city, where we needed to turn off onto another highway going to Chatsworth.  The road to Blue Ridge ran out of that town.

            "Jesus Christ, those bastards give me the creeps," Charlie said, staring at how thick the horde became around the highway.  We'd have to drive through them.  "Don't hit them too fast, and don't stop for any reason."

            "I'm all onboard with that plan," I said, lifting my foot off the gas.

            About a hundred yards out we slammed into the horde.  They immediately turned on us, fighting each other to get to the pickup.  It sounded like the inside of a drum in that cab.  It was the worst yet.  I was amazed the side windows weren't shattered within the first minute.  They were jumping on the hood and into the bed.

            "Shoot through the windshield, Mike," I said.  "It's already busted."

            I was more worried a zombie would finish smashing it away.  It wasn't much of a barrier as it stood.  I heard the back window cracking, followed by Mike cursing like a sailor.

           
Boom!  Boom-boom!

            Three zombies dropped from above as we passed under the Interstate.  The first one landed on the hood, the other two on the roof.  They caved the truck's cab in enough to force Charlie to duck.  Both Mike and Charlie emptied magazines into the roof, so blood started dripping all over us.

            I slammed on the brakes, throwing all three off, and then hit the gas hard.  We powered through the underpass, which didn't have very many zombies, before plowing into the horde on the other side.  There was way too much open land around that intersection, allowing far too many zombies to congregate.  Even that big truck had trouble pushing through them.

            "Finally!" Mike cried.

            I signed gustily.  I felt like I'd just swam a mile.  We were back to scattered groups of zombies just crossing the road, north to south.

           
Ratta-tat-tat-tat!  Ratta-tat-tat-tat!

            "What the hell!"

            Charlie finished off the last belt of SAW ammo on the zombies in the bed.  I didn't know why, but it was done.  He was looking a little wild-eyed, so I kept my mouth shut.  Even Mike chose discretion for once.  Charlie threw the SAW through the shattered back window and into the bed.  It was useless to us now.

            "Sorry," he said with a hoarse voice.  "I couldn't take them pounding on the window anymore."

            We whipped around Dalton, and turned onto US 76 East to Chatsworth.  Halfway there I noticed the mountains off in the distance.  It was pretty rough country between Dalton and Chatsworth, though with lots of open farmland.  Still it was not very easy to traverse on foot.  So the number of zombies dwindled.

            Mike studied the map, and found a turnoff to Georgia Route 52 into the mountains.  A sense of well-being and accomplishment washed through me.  That was almost a straight line home.  If all went well, I could reach the cabin in an hour or two.

            We found zombies in Chatsworth, but they were milling around looking for survivors.  I tore through the little bit of town Route 52 passed through.  Zombies came a-running when they heard the truck, but it was too late.  I was feeling pretty good about it, even when we passed out of the town and into an open area with a lot more zombies.  Then we came up on Holly Creek.

            The bridge was gone.

            We bailed.  Mike and Charlie each grabbed a pack.  The horde was converging on us quickly.  It was amazing how fast they could move when motivated.

            I led the way across the creek.  As expected, the zombies stopped at the water's edge and just stared at us.  Problem was there were more zombies on the other side.  Most of them were to our north and south, so I started running for the mountains.  Right down the middle, shooting left and right as the gap closed.

Chapter 39

            Everyone was called to the Meeting House again.  Dread filled my heart.  There could only be one reason, and that was to announce we were bugging out.  Sean had scouted out the mob earlier in the day and discovered they didn't leave the area.  They just went down the mountain a little further.  That could only mean they still wanted to take us out.

            It was personal now.

            Our position was precarious, so I was sure they were going to tell us to get ready to leave.  The meeting was probably to vote on where we headed.  There was a large map of the US nailed to the wall, with two routes drawn in red.  One line went west to what was left of the United States of America.  And the other was a route north to Canada.  Personally, I wanted to go north to Canada since it was only half as far.

            "Are we all here?" Sean asked.

            He was the man now after Bill's passing.  There was no vote.  Everyone just knew he was in charge.  Sean was the only one who showed any leadership.  We were a community of business leaders, but had turned into followers.

            "Thank you for coming," Sean began the meeting.  He indicated the map.  "I think you can guess why we're all gathered here this afternoon."

            "So the mob isn't going away?" Amy asked.  "They are willing to risk another gas attack?"

            Sean gave a half-shrug.  "It would appear.  Perhaps they believe we hit them with all we had.  Maybe by using Molotov Cocktails they think we're out of ammo and thus vulnerable."

            "Maybe they just want to hurt us as badly as we hurt them," I added, making everyone uncomfortable.

            "That would be my guess," Sean said.

            We couldn't surrender and throw ourselves on their mercy.  Mobs were worse than rabid animals.  They might torture us to death, including the children.  Just thinking about it made me heart-sick.

            "I think you're missing something, Sean," Paul said.  "There is only one road out of here, and I don't think the mob will let us pass."

            "True, there is only one road," Sean said.  "But we're not going to take the road out."

            I thought Paul was foolish to even think we'd take the road.  Going cross-country was the only option.  We'd be slowed, of course, but for all practical purposes we'll just vanish.  I couldn't imagine a mob of city people would consider giving chase across mountain wilderness.

            I glanced at the map.  Both of Sean's proposed paths took us through the mountainous Cohutta Wilderness to the west.  I didn't know the area very well, but no city-born mob could survive long there.  We'd be living on what we carried.  I guessed Sean picked Chattanooga as our first destination so we could look for food before heading north or west.