DEAD RAIN: A Tale of the Zombie Apocalypse (15 page)

38

Sheriff Leeds parked his S
UV sideways across the wood-lined road and spread spike strips on either side of it. A fast moving car might get past his little barricade, but not with its tires intact. He’d taken a stab at hunting the girl and her comrades, but after reaching Route 47 he realized it was hopelessly blocked by countless crashed vehicles and dangerous downed power lines. Not to mention the roaming dead.

Route 9 was also a series of disasters, including a raging fuel fire that defied the pouring rain. It was there that he found his missing deputy Jonesy, pinned in his crumpled cruiser on the street outside the hospital. It disturbed him to see his most faithful henchmen with his face and hands half eaten, hopelessly trying to drag himself out of the wreck. Leeds drove off, leaving him there, hissing in frustration, unquenchably hungry. He loved Jonesy like a son, but wouldn’t risk interfering with the Lo
rd’s plan for his Resurrection.

The Parkway was an utter mess as well, with cars piled up on the on-ramps and off-ramps. Leeds could hear distant shouts and screams and crashes coming from the highway and realized it was prob
ably as impassable as Route 47.

That left just one open road leading out of the lower peninsula. His prey would be trapped if he blocked it. There was a slim chance they’d already slipped out, but if so there was nothing he could do about it anyway. He could only bank on the possibility that they were still in the area, and he felt it was a good bet they were. And so he returned to set up his makeshift barricade.

He checked the action on his rifle and snapped a fresh magazine in. Snug in the SUV’s driver seat, he had a good view of the road through the riflescope. With the nearest intersection half a mile away, he’d have plenty of time to set his sights if a vehicle turned into view. He could rip off several shots with his long-range weapon before his target realized what was happening. Once he killed the driver, the passengers—including that bothersome teenage girl—would be sitting ducks. And if those pesky state troopers turned up, he’d treat them to a similar fate.

Several minutes passed. Leeds sat quietly, ruminating on his many years of feeding the dead at the cemetery. It all seemed like some crazy dream now. He remembered the moment he learned of their existence, when his predecessor took him there, with a scar-faced thug in tow. He remembered the shock of discovery, followed by the thrill of the sacrifice. There were no stun
-guns in those days. He had to smack the unlucky captive on the head with his blackjack, stunning him into submission.

The man regained consciousness as the feeders swarmed over him. He tried desperately to roll away from their hungry mouths, squealing like a stuck hog through the rag stuffed in his mouth. But his hands and legs were hogtied behind him, to keep him from kicking or fighting.

Afterwards, old Sheriff Morton sat up with Leeds half the night, making sure his young deputy understood the big picture over coffee and homemade muffins. It was hardly necessary. Leeds had plenty of questions of course, but he took to the practice like a duck to water. It all made practical sense to him, and the Biblical justifications proffered by Sheriff Morton and reinforced by Reverend Adams the next morning erased any doubts he had.

Now those doubts were back to haunt him. He did his best to fight them down, but wished he had time to confer with the good Reverend now.

An engine purred in the distance. Headlights turned onto the street. Leeds lowered the SUV window and peered through his riflescope.

A big old pickup truck was rolling his way, its blue and white fenders dented and rusty. He focused on the windshield. A scruffy bearded man was driving. Leeds had seen him around, but never met him. He assumed the man was a resident of Cape May County. Probably the Villas.

The Sheriff was familiar with some of the County folk, but he had no ties to them and felt no compassion for them. They were outsiders. Gentiles. He stepped out of the SUV with his rifle, waved the pickup closer and flagged the driver to stop.

The man rolled down his window as the Sheriff approached. “God bless you, Sheriff. Don’t tell me you’re out here all alone
guarding the road?”

“Just doing my job.”

“Well then I guess you know what’s going on back there. People’re going apeshit. Tearing each other to pieces. It’s some kind of crazy riot or something. Everybody’s gone nuts.”

“Yeah. We’re working on it.”

“I think those psychos might get here pretty soon. You might want to think about that. There’s a hell of a lot of them and they ain’t too far aways back. Must be something in the water, or maybe in the rain, that’s the only thing I can figure. I’m headed up to Port Norris to get help from the state police. And I sure wouldn’t mind some company if you want to tag along.”

The Sheriff peeked into the pickup. “You’re all alone?”

“Yes, sir. Just me. I tried to help my neighbor Tracy and her two little girls, but it was already too late. Do you know if it’s safe up in Vineland, or is this happening everywhere?”

“No,” the Sheriff replied, “As far as I know it’s—” He aimed his rifle discreetly at the truck’s door and fired two shots. The high-powered rounds punched through the steel door as if it was made of paper, knocking the startled
driver halfway across the seat.

“Nothing personal,” the Sheriff said coldly, peering in at the dead man’s face. Climbing into the driver’s seat he drove the pick-up across the spike strips, puncturing its tires, and left it parked at an angle next to his SUV.

Climbing out, he checked the flattened tires, smiled in satisfaction, then tossed the truck’s keys into the nearby woods and climbed back into his SUV.

Ain’t nobody getting through now.

39

Bronski and Cat reached the local hospital but never made it out of their vehicle.

The scene was pure bloody mayhem.

Dozens of ghouls were feeding on the thrashing remains of nurses and doctors and visitors. The terrified screams of the living and the crashing of medical gear echoed through the halls and out the sliding glass doors of the emergency entrance, blocked open by fallen bodies.

Cat forced down an upsurge of bile as she watched a gray-haired woman bite into the midriff of an
adolescent girl who was lying on the concrete drive, frothing at the mouth and kicking her legs in a frenzy.

Bronski sat riveted by the hellish scene. “I guess we found out what’s happening down here.” Despite his calm demeanor he was terrified, but determined not to show it. He knew courage was a fragile virtue, dependent on how well one could bluff oneself in the face of uncompromising danger.

A man banged on his window. His face and scalp were mostly chewed off. One eye had been bitten in half, and jutted from its socket like a half-eaten egg.

Within seconds the vehicle was surrounded by hungry corpses pound
ing and clawing at the windows.

Bronski shifted into reverse. “We’d better head back now. While we still can.”

“We can’t just run, Nick,” Cat protested. “We have to do something.”

“Like what, Cat? What can we do? For fuck’s sake, look around.”

“I don’t know. But we have to help these people… somehow.”

“Cat, get real. We wouldn’t last two minutes out there and you know it. You’d be dead as soon as you opened your door. And for what? We couldn’t put a dent in whatever the hell is happening down here. If there are any survivors left at all, the best thing we can do for them is to get help and get it fast. Real help. We need to get the National Guard down here. And we needed them here yesterday.”

Cat realized he was right. “Alright, go. Go!”

Bronski backed down the hospital driveway, bullying through the zombies who wouldn’t leave the vehicle alone. He knew they were beyond redemption. He had to think of those who were huddled in their homes. People who still had a chance to be saved.

As they backed out onto Route 9, Cat gazed out her window at the countless zombies wandering about, their gruesome visages illuminated by flashes of lightning. Turning her eyes up the street she saw the fuel fire, burning like the flames of hell despite the heavy rain. None of it made any sense. “This can’t be happening,” she said listlessly.

“The rain’s letting up,” lied Bronski, trying to distract her. He knew the storm was just getting started. “Try the radio.”

Cat tried sending a transmission. “Radio check, this is state police unit One Alpha Two Four Seven, does anybody read me? Come in if you copy.”

A long fizzle of  static was finally broken by a garbled response. “Unit—four—State pol—mari— un—we–-” Heavy static drowned it out.

Cat tried again. “Marine investigation unit, this is Trooper Silverman from Troop A conducting an area recon. Do you copy?”

A reply came, but was totally indecipherable. Just one inaudible syllable made it through the static.

“Well at least we know the marine unit is still active.” Cat checked the map. “Let’s head down to their Wildwood station. It’s just a few miles from here.”

“That would only delay us from getting real help. We don’t even know if that was the Wildwood station or the one up at Bivalve. And they might have been responding from a boat out at sea. Besides, one unit isn’t going to help. We’re going to need every trooper in the state as well as the National Guard. Or the army out of Fort Dix.”

“We should check in on them anyway,” Cat argued. “They might need help getting out.”

“Are you serious? This is their turf, Cat. If they can’t get themselves out, what makes you think we could do any better? Look, I don’t like it any more than you do, but the best thing we can do for them is call in the cavalry. And every minute counts.”

Cat sat back, feeling defeated.

Bronski sighed. “And if you think I’m just scared, you’re right. But if we try to help them and get trapped, who’s left to go for help? Obviously that Sh
eriff is not planning to do it.”

“You’re right. Let’s go.”

Bronski looked over at her. She seemed lost in thought.

“You alright?” he asked gently.

“That’s a loaded question. Will we be alright, Nick? Will anyone ever be alright after this?”

“I don’t know, Cat. People recovered from Sandy. Jersey tough, right?” He forced a smile. She didn’t smile back.

“All we can do is get help,” he continued. “Another few miles and this hell will be behind us. In a few hours we’ll have the region completely sealed off. Then we can start cleaning up the mess and figure out what caused it in the first place.”

As they sped through an intersection Bronski slammed on the brakes—just barely avoiding a collision as Deputy Hayes’ cruiser cut them off, swinging around the corner from the cross street, turning to head in the same direction they were.

“Idiot!”

“He’s obviously in a panic,” said Cat. “Looks like he has the same idea we do. See if you can catch him. He might know something we don’t.”

Bronski turned on his siren and lights and sped after the fleeing patrol car.

***

At the wheel of Hayes’ cruiser, Ryan heard the siren and checked his rearview. The troopers’ SUV was hot on his tail. “Shit. I think it’s that damned Sheriff.”

“Don’t let him catch us please,” pleaded
Emma, sinking into a fetal position in the back seat. “He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us all.”

With no choice but to accept the challenge, Ryan floored the gas pedal, his nervous tension undercut by the thrill of speed and power, a cocktail of adrenaline and testosterone. Guns, gas and girls, not to mention the threat of zombies. His teenage male
hormones were pumping overtime.

The troopers were fazed by his sudden acceleration. “He isn’t slowing down,” said Bronski. “He must be in cahoots with that Sheriff. I don’t know what their game is, but it’s about time we found out.”

But suddenly Ryan hit the brakes, bringing the cruiser to a screeching halt. He gazed through the windshield at the roadblock ahead. It was a hundred yards away, but he could see the big Stetson hat of Sheriff Leeds silhouetted through the SUV window and could also see the high-powered rifle in his hands. “Shit. It’s him. The Sheriff. The bastard’s blocked the road.”

“Then who’s that chasing us?” asked Kerri.

As if to answer her question the troopers’ SUV slid to stop alongside their cruiser. Cat jumped out, her trusty Sig pistol in hand, and knocked ardently on Ryan’s window. The action was just what she needed, snapping her back in control.

At the barricade, the Sheriff poked his rifle through the SUV window and studied the scene through his scope. He saw Cat tapping on the cruiser window, then swept his scope to the windshield to find Ryan in the driver’s seat. The cruiser’s soggy windshield obscured his face, but it certainly didn’t look like Hayes.
What the hell? That’s not my deputy.

Ryan rolled his window down. Both he and Kerri held their police Glocks in hand but out of sight, ready to rock if necessary.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Cat, surprised to find a teenage civilian at the wheel. “Deputy Doogie Howser?” She quickly studied Ryan and his companions. Reading their fearful expressions and non-threatening body language she judged them no immediate threat.

“We’re just trying to get out of this hellhole,” Ryan answered nervously. “Who are you?” He tried to check out her uniform but her plastic poncho covered it.

“State police. What are you doing in that vehicle? You’re not a cop. What happened to the driver?” Her finger felt suddenly itchy on her trigger. Her combat honed instincts sensed impending danger.

“It’s a long story.”

“Give me the Cliff Notes. I don’t have all night.”

Before Ryan could answer, a rifle shot rang out, hitting Cat in the upper left arm, spinning her off her feet. Yelping in pain and surprise she hit the ground.

“Get out of here!” Ryan yelled through his open window. “He’ll kill you! He wants us all dead!” Shifting into reverse he floored the accelerator. A high-powered round cracked through the windshield, just missing his head as the cruiser swerved crookedly backwards. Emma screamed and Kerri ducked low.

Cat rolled into a firing position prone on the road and fired back at the Sheriff, ripping off three quick shots.

Leeds dove for cover as the hot slugs punched through his SUV’s door and shattered its rear window. He cursed as his rifle got snagged on the windowsill and fell out the open window. He kicked the door open and slid out after it, cursing the freezing puddles of rain as he dropped to the ground to reclaim his weapon.

Bronski quickly realized what was happening. “Jesus. Cat.” Grabbing his assault rifle he hopped out and started firing, forcing Leeds to crawl
into cover behind his vehicle.

With the Sheriff pinned down for the moment, Bronski slipped around the back of the vehicle and peeked around the side at Cat sprawled on the ground. “Cat! Get in the SUV. I’ll keep you covered.” He fired a few more rounds, watching through his scope as the Sheriff ducked out of sight. “Now, Cat! Go!”

Cat scrambled to her feet and climbed into the SUV, her upper arm seared with pain. Bronski fired a few more shots to buy precious seconds, then sprinted back to the driver’s side and fired a few more rounds, keeping the Sheriff pinned down.

Cat lowered her window and fired her Sig, buying time for Bronski to get back in
to the vehicle. He hopped into the driver’s seat and shifted into reverse. Cat kept up a steady stream of gunfire as he swung the SUV into a wild reverse T-turn and they sped back to the nearest intersection.

Leeds watched as they disappeared onto the cross street. He cursed angrily, cold and wet and trembling from his close encounter with death. He climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV and took a few deep breaths, rethinking his plan.

They won’t be back this way. Not until they exhaust their other options. And I can’t risk them finding one that works.