Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (34 page)

After prying the nail drum off, he screamed
when he found it empty. He’d have to make the trip back to the
store if he wanted to kill himself. “Un-fucking-believable!”

Desperate to end his life, he started to
giggle. The situation was laughable, and soon tears rolled down his
cheeks. He laughed all the way back to his black Riviera and all
the way back to his beloved store that he couldn’t wait to be rid
of. The streets were filled with shambling locals, and it looked as
if the entire population of Rubicon was lost, until a blood
curdling scream brought his attention to the far end of the parking
lot, stopping him from making the turn around the market and the
plywood enclosure the demolition men had erected.

The dead crowded around his car as he gazed
past their ravaged bodies. In the distance, a small band of zombies
chased a little girl.

He altered his course, running down the
zombies that clawed at his windows and smeared them with blood. He
pushed the old Riv harder than it had ever been pushed to get to
the girl. She was dressed for school, her heavy backpack weighing
her down as she retreated from the dead. Terrified and crying, she
ran into the alley between stores, unaware that it was a dead
end.

Simon reduced the mob by running them over,
sending a few flying several yards. He flung himself across the
bench seat to open the passenger side door, but still she timidly
cowered away.

“It’s all right,” he said. Once upon a time
he knew every face in Ruby, but over the years of decline he had
practically become a stranger in his own town. “I’m not one of
them. Come with me.”

She entered the old two-door, but just as he
was about to speed off, the car died.

The lot was filling up with the dead and
Simon couldn’t resurrect his trusted auto. He turned the key a few
times to no avail. They had to move before the zombies got too
close.

The girl faithfully followed him as he led
her toward a gap in the walking dead, away from his market. He slid
the hefty bag off her shoulders and gripped it by the straps,
unable to believe the weight of it and the fact she had to carry it
every day. He now had a weapon.

His market was once the center of Rubicon’s
retail hub, and it shared the parking lot with other businesses
that were likewise in decline from competition and the ease of
shopping online. Many places came and went, but one remained
despite having to change with the times and upgrade its wares to
compete--the video store.

Moving around the pillbox building, Simon led
the girl to the entrance. They stopped in the glass vestibule where
patrons could drop off their rentals at all hours. The girl looked
nervous as the dead rounded the corner after them, but Simon simply
shushed her. They were virtually invisible as long as the dead
didn’t look too closely. The sunlight on the glass caused a glare
that kept them shrouded.

The horde passed by, and Simon viewed the
zombies in great detail. Some were people he knew, people that
would say hello upon passing, offer a kind smile. Their faces were
lifeless and without emotion, those that still had faces. Almost
all of them wore a grizzly wound, ravaged areas of blood and meat
that were proof positive they belonged to the fold.

After the parade of horror trailed off, Simon
decided to try and get himself and the girl into the video store.
The bolt was visible through a gap in the frame, but Simon couldn’t
guess how to bypass it. He decided breaking one of the panes was
their best option. It took several attempts before he finally made
a crack, and he used the girl’s bag to finish the job.

Simon and his late wife never took to the new
ways of watching movies. They always rented from this store, so he
knew the place well. Though he was sure there would be no danger
within the thick shadows cast by the half-mast shades, he proceeded
to lead the girl with caution. From the front, he took her down a
diagonal aisle that lead to a small room where video games were
displayed.

The weak light from the partially shaded
windows reflected off of television screens set up to demonstrate
the different entertainment systems. It wasn’t until he had her in
the safety of this area that he dared to speak, “What’s your
name?”

“Alice.”

“Hello, Alice, my name is Simon.”

“Like Simon Says?”

“Yes, exactly like Simon says,” he told her.
“Simon says, stay here. I need to check that it’s safe. I’ll be
right back. I’ll bring you a treat. What’ll you have?”

Simon Brass kept to the near pitch black back
wall and headed around to the side windows. He wanted to see the
town, and what he and Alice were up against. All thoughts of ending
his life had to be put on hold. He had to live now that he had met
the little girl, because someone had to protect and provide for
her. She was the first of many.

As Simon stood among the sun-faded titles, he
realized it was a category he and Rachael loved--horror.

It was Rachael who insisted on renting at
least one scary movie they could watch together under one of her
homemade blankets, keeping each other warm and safe, with a large
tub of popcorn on their laps. He spotted one of their favorite
sub-genres--the living dead movies. In almost all of them, people
failed to survive after being bitten. He had always wondered why
these survivors didn’t use armor, but figured that would take the
danger element out of the film.

Across the street from their location was the
local Harley shop. This was where he donned his first protective
garment, the advent of armor.

Coming back to the present, Brass peels
himself out of his thick pads and leather, becoming Simon once
again. He is ready to join his family at last, comforted in the
knowledge his people are in good hands and his work is done.

He never saw himself as a hero, never wanted
to be a leader. He is an inventor, the creator of a marvelous
mechanism of survival. A well-oiled machine that in the hands of
the right operator will continue to thrive indefinitely. Abby is
that person, not him. Not anymore. Today Simon becomes ‘that guy.’
The one who refuses to leave. He knows his protégé will get his
people to safety, integrate into the new way of life down south
without compromising too much.

The second day after the plague was when
Simon Brass located and fired a gun for the first time in his life,
and today he fires one last round.

It
was
always
‘
we
,
’
never
‘
I
,
’
Abby
thinks.

Brass had never taken credit for Ruby, though
all within gave it to him, but he considered the place a team
triumph. Abby thinks of the last thing Brass said to him before the
convoy departed. Advice on how to acclimate to the new situation,
‘Remember these are our people, our guns, our animals. Don’t let
anyone tell you different. Don’t stop for anything. You can always
go back for anyone that falls behind. Get the majority to
safety.’

Abby can’t dwell on Brass too long. He hasn’t
the time to mourn. They have just passed Harrington and are
entering uncertain ground. Only a few of the soldiers from Rubicon
have travelled outside of their staked territory before, but this
is different. They won’t be returning. It feels like being adrift
on the ocean with no idea what they may be heading into. They’ve
been on the road for the better part of the day, stopping only to
fuel the thirsty machines and swap out weary drivers.

The men and women of Ruby must keep a
watchful eye. Not only do they suspect the new breed of dead has
taken out the northernmost outpost and could possibly be on their
trail, but there are pirates about.

Unlike Brass and all those embracing the Ruby
way, these are gluttonous folks that have gotten a taste for
lawlessness and act on any dark impulse or perverse passion that
enters their minds. The men and women who serve the greater good of
Rubicon never kill a fellow survivor unless they are left
absolutely no choice. They simply displace them. Some questioned
this in the past, warning that the likeminded bands may find one
another and form a much larger ‘id army.’

“Abby, we lost contact with our recon car,”
Lady Luck says. They are so close to their goal, have traveled so
far without incident, but getting there without a single snag would
be asking too much.

Abby is topside, and he leans on the rails of
the heavily armed tour bus to scan ahead of them. Through a set of
binoculars, he searches for the jeep they had sent out ahead to
scout. All he can find is the smoldering undercarriage.

“Keep it tight!” he commands all drivers over
his radio. “All eyes on the lookout!”

The sight of the wreckage they pass tells
Abby that the ruffians have also located military weapons, or have
been able to improvise their own.

“The road ahead is blocked,” Lady Luck says.
“The bulls want to know if we’re plowing through.”

“It was clear when we came this way,” Carla
adds.

“It may be booby trapped,” Abby says, and he
doesn’t want to risk stranding the train out here. “Blow it
away.”

The discharge of the tanks’s primary weapons
shakes the ground all the way to the back of the convoy. The blast
clears the area for the bulls to crush a path through the
debris.

“I’m hoping they only meant to stop you guys
on your return trip,” Abby says without apology. “And weren’t
expecting this much firepower.”

The convoy slows as the vehicles are forced
to constrict their formation to pass through the wreckage left by
their artillery. The air is tense as men and women look down their
barrels and through scopes. They know if they are hit here it’ll
come from the sides. Up ahead is the perfect spot for an ambush.
Large rest areas flank the highway on either side and are joined by
an overpass that contains a chain burger joint. Whoever took out
the scout could hide anywhere among the pumps and buildings, or
even above them.

Abby has the tanks take aim on the suspended
restaurant after they pass under it, then the armored vehicles open
the distance between themselves to allow the rest to get through as
quickly as possible. As imposing as they are, the long caravan is
an awfully tempting target, possibly worth the risk for the guns
and food.

Once the tanks are positioned to the sides,
the rest get the go-ahead to speed through. The move may force the
hands of the bandits, should they become fearful of losing their
quarry, or they may bow out with the cannons aimed at them point
blank.

A rocket is launched that strikes the iron
hide of one of the bulls. Its effect is minimal, but the tank can’t
return fire until all the vehicles are clear of the overpass. The
machine guns reciprocate instead, roaring into action with
devastating salvos that cut through the fast food restaurant’s
windows. Others in the convoy have the on and off ramps covered,
ready to fire on anything that moves.

Teeth gritted tightly, Abby begs the
non-combatants to hurry up so he can neutralize the threat. The
Gunship and the twin tanks bringing up the rear pass underneath as
another rocket is fired from above, striking one of their
semis.

“Fuckers!” Abby says. “Take it down!”

Deafening blasts from the tanks precede the
explosive result. The fast food place falls across the road, along
with whoever dared to fire upon them. The semi sustaining the
enemy’s attack is injured, running on flattened tires and weaving
from side to side. The Gunship rides up to take its place as
protector of the school buses when it lags behind, burdened by the
load it hauls.

Gunfire flies at them from all sides. The
bandits are like hyenas trying to isolate an injured gazelle from a
herd. The Rubies return fire, and the disregard for human life
shown them.

“Get the driver!” Abby calls over all
channels, to anyone capable of saving the man behind the wheel.
“Let ’em have the truck.”

Carla and Oz drop to the lower section of the
bus and head to the door. They ride alongside the defunct semi,
which struggles to stay on the road, and they beckon for the driver
to jump. He unfastens his seat belt and maintains control one
handed while creeping to the passenger side door.

The driver takes a leap of faith, diving into
the Gunship while his truck gets left behind. He is caught and
pulled into the bus. The bandits fire from the sides of the road,
as if to let the convoy know that the truck is theirs now. Rubies
track them by their muzzle flashes, unleashing short salvos in
return.

The abandoned truck comes to a wobbly stop as
the rest of the pack continues forward. Abby had hoped it would
have been enough for the raiders, but another rocket is sent after
them. A warning not to turn around or linger too long where they
are not welcome. It strikes one of the buses at the heart of the
herd.

The propelled explosive was meant for the
Gunship, but it veered off course mid-air and found the rear wheel
well of one of their non-combatant transports. The long tail end
drags, making sparks as the front wheels work hard to keep up with
the surrounding vehicles.

“Slow the pack,” Abby says. “We need to get
them off.”

The gunners spare no rounds covering the
rescue operation. They’re out for blood now. The emergency door of
the bus is used to evacuate the men, women, and children that Brock
Rottom helps off the handicapped transport. He had been asked to
ride with the civilians to help keep up their morale.

Carla receives the people and helps them onto
the Gunship while the war rages on around them. About to get the
last of them out, Brock crumples to the ground. He’s been hit.

“Come on!” Carla goes to him.

“There’s one more.” The clown fights her to
get back onto the bus.