Hamsikker 3 (6 page)

He was ready.

CHAPTER FIVE

As they passed the crash site where multiple vehicles had been mangled and abandoned, Jonas could see the convenient hole through which Lukas had driven. The church spire was visible in the distance, and he felt confident that Dakota was safe. Nothing had come crawling out of the wreckage, and the town was quiet. There was a faint murmur in the background, like the humming of electricity, but Jonas couldn’t see the source of the noise. They came to a small park with a children’s play area fenced off, and they stopped. Bishop dismounted, and Jonas joined him, watching him tie Black Jack to the fence.

“We’re on foot from here on. The church is just the other side of this park. It’s too dangerous to take Black Jack where we’re going.” Bishop stroked Black Jack’s nose, and the horse responded by nuzzling up against Bishop. “Settle down. We’ll be back for you soon.”

Jonas looked around. The town was eerily quiet except for that throbbing sound in the back of his head. There was something unnerving about the place, as if it were too quiet. Jonas took his gun out and checked it was loaded. The stores across the road were empty, and the buildings were all bathed in glorious sunlight. So why did he feel so nervous?

“Best not to use that if you can,” said Bishop, drawing out his sword. “One shot, and you’ll draw the attention of every fucking zombie for miles.”

“Well, I’ve tried asking them to leave politely, but it didn’t work. I can’t rely on my wit and charm to fight off an army of the dead.”

Bishop chuckled and walked across to one of the vehicles that lay at the side of the road. It was some sort of delivery truck, and judging by the blood splattered across its hood and the smashed windshield, the driver had not come out of the crash well. Bishop began pulling at the huge side mirror that hung loosely, twisting and turning the metal until it snapped off. He held it out for Jonas. One side was jagged and sharp, and it would suffice for close hand-to-hand combat.

“This’ll do for now. I’m sure we can find you something else, but for now this will have to do.”

“What am I supposed to do with this, admire my reflection?” said Jonas taking it, wondering how the hell he was going to kill a zombie with a broken side mirror. No matter what Bishop said, if it came to it, he wouldn’t hesitate in using the gun.

“You’ll be fine,” said Bishop.

Jonas followed him across the road, and they quietly backed up against the wall of a post office. Bishop checked the street ahead and then turned to Jonas.

“Let’s go. It’s clear.”

As they walked down the street with deserted stores on each side it became apparent what had caused the huge crash. The road ahead was blocked completely, and the noise that Jonas had heard earlier grew louder. Soon, he saw exactly what the noise was, and where it was coming from.

A prison bus had come to rest at an intersection, smashing into a second hand clothing store. It had become tangled up with a garbage truck, and evidently whatever had caused the crash had happened quickly. It looked as if all the other vehicles behind had smashed into them, resulting in a huge pile of twisted metal. What had once been cars and trucks had become a magnificent work of art, merging into one, their bodies intermingling, and their scratched paintwork adding a colorful dimension to the scene.

“Jesus,” said Jonas as they got closer. Some of the vehicles drivers were still trapped inside, and the humming sound Jonas had heard was the clamor of the dead for freedom, a constant moaning sound that filled the air like a church choir singing a terrible, incessant hymn. As they neared the prison bus, it became apparent that the prisoners were still inside too.

When the prison bus had crashed, it lodged itself firmly into the garbage truck, and there was no way either was ever moving again. Power poles at the intersection had fallen across the bus roof causing the metal to buckle, and yet the front door was ajar. Had the guards not been able to free the prisoners? What had made it crash in the first place? Jonas could only theorize that it had been the dead; that even in this remote town the dead had risen, causing instant death, chaos, and carnage. Inside the bus, the prisoners were still moving, but they were still bound by their chains. Jonas wondered if they were chained to their seats, unsure what the protocol was anymore. Perhaps it depended on the nature of who was being transferred. Dead, rotting, horrible faces leered at them as he and Bishop approached the wreckage. The door to the prison bus was mangled but open wide enough for a man to slip through if he put his mind to it. As Jonas got close to it, the smell hit him.

“Probably a routine transfer that just got caught up in this whole sorry mess,” said Bishop, keeping his voice low. “There’s a correctional facility over at Oregon. These poor folks were either on their way in or out. Doesn’t much matter now, I guess. They got far worse than anything they were facing at Oakhill.”

“Why would they bring the bus through here in the middle of homes and shops?” asked Jonas.

“Beats me,” replied Bishop. “Could be the shit was hitting the fan, and they made a choice to get off the main road. From the way those men are moving around in there, I’d say they got the shackles off, but not the handcuffs. I’m not in the business of looking too closely at the dead. It’s the living I’m interested in.”

Jonas grimaced as they passed the door. The stench from inside was foul, worse than anything he had smelt before. It was as if the air’s very atoms had succumbed to death, and the putrid smell made his eyes water. The rancid stench permeated his sleeve as he held it over his mouth, and Jonas hurried his feet along. There was nothing he could do for them now.

“We’re going to have to go through the store on the corner,” announced Bishop. “The only way through the road would be to climb over that car, and I’m not about to risk that.”

Jonas saw the car that Bishop was talking about, a dark green Honda with its dead driver still buckled in, thrashing about like a fish on a hook. Climbing over the car would be relatively easy except the sunroof was open, and the zombie could easily reach them. Bishop was right, it was too risky.

“Through here. I think there’s another door on the other side, see?”

Jonas followed the direction of Bishop’s finger. The coffee shop had large windows, and being on the corner where the two streets met, it did look as if it had another door on the other side. They could slip through and avoid the crash completely.

“After you,” said Jonas.

Bishop winked and reached up to the door handle. “I thought you might say that.”

Jonas nodded, and Bishop pulled open the door. It was unlocked, and both men slipped inside the shop quickly.

*

As they did so, neither of them noticed one of the prisoners straining at the bus door, leering at them, gnashing its teeth, and pulling furiously at its chains to get out. Having become aware of the presence of the two living men, all of the prisoners had shaken off their lethargy and started trying to free themselves. Fortunately for Jonas and Bishop, but unfortunately for the dead prisoners, the chains held fast, and as the two living men disappeared into the shop, the prisoners began to groan and move around in the bus with more urgency. The one nearest the front tried to escape, and pressed himself up against the door, but with his hands chained together was unable to figure out a way through. Over the months it had spent in confinement, constantly pushing and pulling at the cuffs around its wrists, the zombie had worn away the dead skin on his hands and wrists. The metal handcuffs were no longer rubbing against skin or muscle, but against pure bone, and the cuffs had started cutting into the fragile bone, slowly wearing it down day after day after day. As the dead man strained to get out it kicked its legs and surged forward.

Suddenly it was free.

The bone on its left hand snapped, leaving the dead man with a bloody stump, and a bony, severed hand at its feet. With the handcuffs now dangling free on its right hand, the prisoner swiftly began to force his way through the door. Inch by inch, he managed to press himself through. The other dead prisoners watched on, still locked up in their confined bus, still chained, unable to break free.

*

“Over there. See it?”

Bishop and Jonas were knelt in front of the exit to the coffee shop, a glass door that opened out onto a smaller street, away from the crash. The glass was smeared with handprints and dirt, and the name of the shop was stenciled on it in thick letters. The whole place still had that faint aroma of coffee, and Jonas couldn’t help but think of the lazy brunches he used to share with Dakota. Those days were gone, and he missed them. He wished he could offer her more, provide some sort of refuge where she could be safe, but he knew it was still a way off. He just had to get through this and get her to Canada. Once they got to Janey’s place, everything would be all right. They could find a sense of normality again, a place they could raise their child. Jonas knew they had to get out of Janesville in one piece before that could happen. He peered through the glass door, looking at what Bishop was pointing out to him, and felt that getting to Thunder Bay was going to take longer than he thought.

“Above the optometrists,” said Bishop. “I couldn’t ignore it.”

“You were right not to,” said Jonas, feeling an anxiety growing in his gut. Directly opposite them was an optometrist, and surrounding it there had to be a hundred zombies. They were all crowded around the front, jostling each other for position, clearly trying to find a way in. “How long you think they’ve been there?”

“Maybe since the crash? All I know is they wouldn’t be there if there wasn’t something,
someone
, in there that they wanted. The sign hanging out of the window looks old. It’s faded around the edges as if it has been in the sun for a long time. Whoever is in there must’ve been in there a good length of time.”

The sign Bishop referred to was a large sheet attached to two upper floor windows. It hung outside, flapping gently in the breeze. In large red letters, it simply read:

HELP

“You see anyone at the windows up there? Any movement? Any sign that whoever is inside is even still alive?”

“No, nothing,” replied Bishop.

“Shit.” Jonas rubbed his forehead, wishing his headache would go away. “You realize that by going in there we’re going to attract the attention of all those dead fuckers. Whoever is up there might not even be alive. We could be wasting our time here, Bishop.”

Bishop looked at Jonas. “It’s a possibility, I’ll give you that. But then when I came across you, I thought you were dead. If I hadn’t tried, if I had just moved on, what would have happened to you? You prepared to turn away from this now, after what you’ve seen? You think a hundred dead folks would still be hammering away at that place if there was nothing inside but a shuffling corpse?”

“Shit,” said Jonas again, knowing that Bishop was right. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, there are two options. One, we cause a diversion. One of us goes out there yelling at the top of their lungs, and runs for it. Take their attention away from that door, so the other can get inside and hopefully pull out whoever is up there.”

“Well, I didn’t plan on committing suicide today, so what’s the other plan? Anyone who goes running out there isn’t going to get far. One end of the street is blocked by the crash, and who knows where the other will lead you? For all we know those zombies could be runners. We have one gun each. How many can you take down with them chasing your ass? No, that’s not going to work. So, what’s plan B?””

“The other plan? Hmm.” Bishop rubbed his chin. “Well, to be honest, I hadn’t got that far. I was kind of hoping you would go for plan A.”

Jonas sighed. “Shit.”

Bishop looked around the coffee shop for inspiration. There was a chalkboard still adorning the wall behind the counter offering breakfast specials and coffee to go. The tables and chairs were a mess with moldy food and dried coffee stains everywhere. The place had been left in a hurry. Perhaps Janesville had been left in a hurry. If they were lucky, the only dead left in town were all crowded around the optometrists over the street. He realized he was asking a lot of Jonas, but now they were here they couldn’t give up. He couldn’t give up. Annalise would never let him.

“Okay, like you said, they all have their attention on the shop front. I think if we’re quiet, we could get over there without them noticing. We could sneak over there, both of us, together. You see the sandwich shop next door? The door’s wide open. If we can get in, we can get upstairs and find a way through into the next building to whoever is stuck in there. We could find a fire escape out back, or there might even be a door connecting the two buildings. Often these old places were all connected before they were subdivided into separate stores. What do you say?” asked Bishop. He couldn’t see any other way and began to believe it might work.

Jonas checked his gun again. “I say let’s do it. I’m not sitting here all day waiting for divine inspiration. Let’s get this over with. Before we rush out there like the fools we are, though, how do you plan on getting back out? I doubt we’ll avoid all of their attention, which means some of them are likely to follow us into that sandwich place. We won’t be able to go back the same way we go in.”

Bishop shrugged and smiled. “Something will come up.” He put his hand on the door handle, and prepared to run across the street. “You ready?”