Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 3): Liberation (4 page)

By the side of the road, Jacob squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his rifle to his chest. He knew beyond a certainty that what he was hearing couldn’t be real. He had watched his town washed away by a torrent of walking death. Fellow citizens, neighbors, friends, co-workers… family, had all been altered, replaced by horrifically obscene facsimiles of their former selves. He alone had survived and that also was obscene to him. Jacob knew that he too had been altered, that who he was now was also just a facsimile of his former self. A lawman wasn’t supposed to hunt those he was charged with protecting, wasn’t supposed to turn his gun upon them. What had happened in his town,
to his family
, had happened everywhere and only he remained. He knew all of this, and knew also that he was powerless to change any of it. The part of him that knew, denied that what he was hearing was real. He could not bring himself to confirm it, would not rip open the door to the truck and see the dried out eviscerated remains of someone else’s friend or neighbor. Words of comfort and hope, of survivors were a delusion. His eyes grew heavy and he slept.

Five

The engine wound down to a distant hum as the electrical repair truck disappeared over a rise in the highway. As the sound faded to nothing, Jacob snapped awake. He didn’t move as he got his bearings, only slowly realizing where he was. He gathered himself and scrambled up the hill to the highway.

Nothing
…

He looked East, then at the concrete under his feet. Stooping down, he picked up some pebbles, next to which was the faintest outline of tire marks. Jacob stood and rolled the pebbles around in his hand. He looked West. All that greeted him was morning stillness, the world and all its creatures not yet awake.

But some creatures never slept…

The thought spurred him on. Tracking the Walker had forced him to come out on the highway East of where he had originally parked. Jacob turned West and started walking.

Mark sat holding the steering wheel and stared out through the big windshield at the road sign that read,
Marshall’s Pass Turn on headlights
. Beside him, Beverly and Tommy did the same.

“Around or through?” Mark said.

Beverly chewed her lip and for the tenth time cut her eyes between the tunnel and the highway behind them, reflected in the side mirror.

Mark flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and sighed, trying not to let the frustration get to him. He thought about doing some of the relaxation techniques Dr. Weber had taught him. The controlled breathing and focused thinking strategies, meant to help him function with a degree of normalcy amongst groups of people, had been mildly effective. When they had first heard the broadcasts and decided to go for it, Beverly had asked him if he was ready, for the journey and to be around people again. He had joked that there was not a better cure in the world for fear of large crowds than a zombie apocalypse, that large groups of people might not be the problem they used to be. It was true. After the incident at Sunny Island, just a step out the door took a month of behavioral therapy. The Dead walking had a clarifying effect on him. It was like his mind knew it had a job to do and could no longer tolerate the luxury of being broken.

“I don’t know, Mark. It would definitely be quicker to go through, but going back to the exit driving around gives us a better chance in case… you know?” Beverly said.

Mark continued to stare straight ahead. “I mean, I hear ya. I’m just saying that if we turn around, it’s gonna take the better part of a day to get the distance we can go in… I don’t know, a lot less time,” he said.

Beverly continued chewing her lip and looked at the tunnel entrance before again cutting her eyes to the mirror.

“It’ll be fine,” Mark said as he flipped on the headlights and pushed down on the gas.

“What are you doing?” Beverly asked, almost in a panic.

“Making an executive decision,” Mark said as he drove into the tunnel.

It wasn’t a particularly big mountain, but it was big enough. Added to that, was the creeping pace Mark was forced to drive. The highway through the mountain wasn’t any more narrow than the highway outside, but it had become a choke point nonetheless. The headlights played across smashed and overturned vehicles. Unable to drive a straight line, Mark had to negotiate the big truck through a maze of mechanical carnage, all of it headed East. The scene told the story of people moving fast, of the insatiable desire to self preserve and the fatal carelessness that can result. The big engine raced and idled as Mark drove around what he could, and pushed out of the way what he couldn’t.

In the shadows of the tunnel something else moved and pushed through the darkness.

“Mark,” Beverly said.

“I see them,” Mark replied, increasing his speed through the maze.

Looming from the blackness on either side, the Undead had been attracted to the new stimuli of light and sound. The tunnel was no longer a choke point for the living in their cars. As the horde moved along its circuitous route, their meandering brought them to this tunnel. Mindless in their migration, they did not seek to go around, but bunched up, pushing and squeezing through the dark passage. Invariably, some were pushed to the sides and in between the detritus of the once fleeing. These bumped and wandered along in the maze like cavern until, perhaps jarred loose by the return trip of their macabre kin, they were replaced by others whose turn it was to wander in perpetual darkness. It was they that threw themselves at the electrical repair truck.

“Look out, on your left!” Beverly screamed.

Mark cut the wheel hard to the right and the big truck rocked and lolled with the momentum. The front fender dented as it made hard contact with a spiked haired zombie donned in a soiled and torn sequenced Western suit.

“I think that was one of the Dicks,” Beverly said as Mark struggled to right the truck.

The truck lights shown on the horror in front of them. All around them the Dead began to close in. Mark was forced to slow to a crawl as he inched through a snarled tangle of twisted steel. Sensing their prey, the Dead closed in and assaulted the truck from all sides. They slammed themselves into it and clawed and hit at it with their hands, now nothing more than filthy talons.

In the passenger seat, Beverly gripped the handhold above her head with one hand and clung to a fearful Tommy, with her other. Her eyes were wild with fear as she saw the way of escape start to close off.

Mark whipped the wheel first left then right as he careened through the death and darkness. As they plowed through a Stratus and a Corolla, the road again opened up.

“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about!” Mark shouted as he hit the gas and tried to put distance between them and the Biters.

He glanced over at Beverly and the two shared a quick smile. Movement caught Beverly’s eyes and she whipped her head back to the front of the truck.

“Look out, Mark!” she screamed.

Mark snapped his head around and saw them. Ambling across the road and coming directly into their path were three hulking Walkers. They wore football uniforms complete with shoulder pads and helmets. Behind them and to the left was a wrecked bus. On the side were the words
RIVER CITY ROUGHRIDERS
.

Mark turned the wheel hard to the right, but it was too late. He smashed into what was left of the Roughriders’ defensive line and sideswiped the tunnel wall. He overcompensated and the big truck lurched hard to the left. The momentum, combined with the impact of the wall, sent the big truck crashing over on its side. It slid across the highway before coming to a screeching stop.

Inside the truck, Mark felt concrete and broken glass underneath him dig into his cheek. Above him, Beverly hung suspended in her seat by the seatbelt. Tommy clung to her crying, his feet, kicking beneath him, threatened to do even more damage to his father below. Behind them, in the road, the Dead advanced.

“Get Tommy out of here!” Mark screamed.

Above him, Beverly was bordering on shock. She didn’t know if she should go up and out or down to her husband. Sound dulled in her ears, as if she was hearing someone call to her while she was underwater. Gradually her confusion began to dissipate as Mark’s shouts cut through her fog.

“Beverly! Beverly! You have to go! Get our son out of here, now!”

Beverly nodded and pushed at the spider web cracks in the side window. The glass splintered and fell around her in tiny pieces, cascading over Mark below.

“Go Tommy! I’ll be right behind you!” she screamed at her son.

Tommy climbed up and over his mother and hauled himself out of the window. Beverly was about to follow when she stopped and looked down at Mark. He was pinned in his seat by the seatbelt he couldn’t undo. Panic seized her heart and she rushed toward him, grabbing the belt and pulling at it. A guttural rage erupted from her as she fought the nylon strap. Mark grabbed her hands and held them in a tight grip. He did not yell at her, but spoke in a calm and even tone.

“Beverly, you have to go… you have to go…”

Beverly stopped and stared at her husband through a haze of anger and fear. Her face contorted in grief as resignation set in.

“Mark… I…” she said, her words failing her.

“You’re my girl, and I love you, Bev,” he said.

Beverly rushed down to him and they fell into a passionate kiss. The moment was shattered by the sound of Tommy’s voice outside the truck.

“Mom!”

Beverly rushed to the window above her, a mother’s protective love making her desperate. When she had cleared the window, she turned and looked down at Mark. He stared back up at her with an almost serene look in his eyes. Mark was a no nonsense cop on the job. The “bad cop” in any interrogation situation, but everyone knew that Beverly was no nonsense in her own way, too. Mark uttered the words to a song by THE WHO. It had always been a joke between them, a jab at the perceived dynamic of their relationship.

“When I say I love you, you say…”

“…You better, you better, you bet,” Beverly replied.

They became lost in each other in that moment and all the world around them seemed to grow quiet. A second scream from Tommy shattered the silence and then she was gone.

Outside the truck, Tommy was bathed in the white light of the truck’s high-beams. He bounced in nervous agitation and pointed back past the truck into the darkness beyond. In the inky blackness Beverly heard the shuffling sound of many feet. Above that emanated the low thrum of the groaning Dead.

“Come on, Mom! We have to hurry!” Tommy yelled.

Beverly rushed up to her son.

“Tommy, your father… he-”

Tommy cut her off. “He’ll catch up to us, Mom! Come on!”

Tommy grabbed his mom’s hand and pulled her away towards the pin prick of light at the other end of the tunnel. Beverly followed. Her eyes fluttered, both at the realization that her son was now oblivious to the loss he was suffering and in an effort to clear her mind of the devastation that she painfully knew was all too real.

Six

Jacob saw the exit and took it. It was the last one before Marshall’s Pass. Through the pass was quicker, but it was a tunnel and Jacob didn’t do tunnels. It wasn’t a fear of the dark or enclosed spaces, or cave-ins he was afraid of. Maybe it was a little fear of the dark, but Jacob knew better than to venture in somewhere he didn’t have a clear line of sight. He took County Road 45 instead. From there he passed through fields and valleys, eventually hitting Rural Route 17. It was a short jaunt on County Road 92 leading back to the I-70 and the overlook on the other side of the pass. The horde went in one end of the tunnel and when they came out, Jacob would always be waiting for them.

He checked his watch and hit the gas.

Beverly and Tommy shuffled along the I-70, heading West. The gunshots they heard from inside the tunnel had divergent effects on them. Beverly knew it was the last stand of her beloved. Tommy figured it was his father, his hero, taking out Zombies so he could protect them. Of course he would be back with them soon.

He came back before…

Like any good hero, he had a job to do first.
Beverly was numb and she did not have it in her to try and make Tommy understand. They had passed numerous wrecks, some that looked drivable, but none that were. The sun was beginning to set as they emerged from the tunnel and Beverly and Tommy ran. She did not let them stop until she felt confident enough that the things behind her were not after them.

…the ones her husband couldn’t get…

Now fatigue and mind numbing grief only allowed her to move at a snail’s pace, West on the 70.

The Dead behind her suffered no grief, fatigue did not slow them down. Five miles on the other side of Marshall’s Pass, the vanguard of Jacob’s horde caught up with Beverly and Tommy. Beverly saw them, a group of thirty runners. She cried out and grabbed Tommy’s hand. At first, Tommy did not understand. Beverly pulled her son off the road, then he saw them too.