Run (Book 2): The Crossing (12 page)

17

A few dozen undead milled around a solitary farmhouse in the center of miles of corn. Some walked into the back of the house through a broken rear kitchen door, and others came up or went down through a bulkhead into the basement. Access to the first floor of the dwelling was no longer limited. More undead had shown up since Seyfert’s brazen act of heroics.

The noon day sun was high overhead and it was hot. The stench from the dead wasn’t overwhelming, but it wasn’t by any means easy to take.

“Do you think he made it?” Chris whispered to Rick.

The live humans were hidden on the second floor in the master bedroom, with the door closed. With no stairs, the things below couldn’t figure out how to gain access to the second floor.

“I hope so.” He looked at his big friend, unconscious on the bed next to him. “I hope we all do.”

“What do you think happened to the tank?”

“I can’t figure that out. If they broke down, they would have radioed us. I’m worried about them too.”

“So do we just wait here?” Anna inquired. “What if more of them come?”

“Anna, we don’t have enough ammo for the ones that are here now, and even if we got to the yard then what? We don’t have a ride. We can’t outrun them on foot forever. Besides, Dallas isn’t running anywhere. We’ll wait for the LAV, and if they don’t show up by tonight, then we’ll I’ll make a break for it and find a vehicle. We need to plan first.”

“You can’t go out there alone, Rick…”

“Well, somebody has to. We stay here and we starve, but we should wait for a while before making any rash decisions. We could…” Rick noticed that Chris had his head cocked and was listening to something intently. “Chris? Chris, what—?”

“Ssshhh! Do you hear that?”

“All I hear is them. What do—?”

“Music!” He smiled. “I hear heavy metal dammit!” Apparently, so did the things in the back yard, because they all started moving back into the corn. Rick peeked through the curtains, and noticed that they were all leaving, heading toward the sound, which was now clearly audible. He could see them filing out of the back door and the bulkhead as well.

“What the hell is this?”

Anna put her hands to her face. “It must be Seyfert or the LAV! They’ve come back!”

Teems gave a cockeyed smile. “So once the ruckus starts, they all hit the road to see what it is, and we swoop in and save the day. We’ve done it a bunch of times.”

Seyfert nodded his head understanding. “A sound diversion. That’s how I brought them into the corn and away from the house in the first place.”

The two and four others had left the main group two hours previous, and were now within sight of the besieged farmhouse. They had ditched their bikes in lieu of a red Dodge Ram 2500. All their eggs were in one basket, but Calvin had modified the vehicle to be extremely quiet while driving.

“Well, they aren’t that bright,” Teems said, “but they’re no fun in numbers.

Where—?”

An argument had broken out behind Teems and the SEAL, and they both turned around to see what was happening.

“…a total whack job, Ed,” said the doctor to one of the bikers. “You can’t start with
Stupify
, you have to start with
Down with the Sickness.
The irony is too significant to go unnoticed, even by the living dead”

“Ridiculous, Doc, you start with
Stupify
and it leads into
Down with the Sickness
.
Both
are significant. Have you seen a zombie yet that isn’t both stupefied and down with the sickness? Duh.”

Teems stepped in. “You’re both crazy. Drop some plates on their ass. That’s what you do.”

Ed and the doctor looked at each other. “That’s why he’s the boss,” Ed said. “Genius.”

“He really is,” agreed the doc.

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Seyfert.

“Disturbed,” all three men chorused back to him at once.

“Who’s disturbed? What do you mean?”

“Jesus Christ, who is this person?” asked Ed.

All the bikers were chuckling. “Disturbed is the name of an extremely powerful rock band. They’re loud. Very loud.”

Seyfert stared blankly.

Teems shook his head. “We’re going to play some loud music as the diversion remember? Disturbed is apparently today’s diversion.”

“I was always more of an Elton John fan myself…”

Jaws dropped all around. “I thought we were mighty kind not shooting you when you might have been infected,” the doctor said, “but this is not as easily forgiven. Elton frigging John indeed.”

Teems laughed and looked at Ed. “How many discs do we have left?”

“Nine. Of the Disturbed disc anyway. Hang on.” Ed strode forward, hefting his baseball bat. A lone zombie had discovered them and was stumbling out of the field. Ed pointed, calling his shot and thumped the creature in the temple. He returned as if he had just gotten the morning paper. “Discs are okay, but we’re running out of radios and batteries.” He cleaned off his bat with a rag.

Teems harrumphed, “The only thing on the damn box in two weeks has been those nut-jobs out of Lincoln.”

The SEAL looked at Teems. “The Three?”

“Yeah, you heard them too?”

“Yeah, and we’re pretty sure they have functioning aircraft, which means that their claims of having a shit-load of people must be true. We saw an A-10 drop some serious ordnance a few miles from our position yesterday, and it was followed by two helicopters, one of which looked to be an appropriated news chopper.”

“This is not good news,” said the doctor. “We found a man and his teenage son the other day. They had been in with the group from Lincoln, and they said it didn’t go to well for them. Apparently one of the leaders of the group liked one of the women that was in the guy’s group. The family was invited to dinner with the top brass of the organization, then they disappeared. The guy tried getting the rest his group to leave, but they wouldn’t go. He cut out with his kid when they were on a scavenging detail.”

“I would like to talk to this man.”

“He wouldn’t come with us,” Teems said. “We gave him some food and water, but we couldn’t spare any weapons. He thanked us and we went our separate ways.”

“Okay, we can talk about that later, but first let’s save my friends.”

A map was spread across the hot hood of the red pickup. “There’s a small access road here,” one of the men pointed to a winding red line on the map. “It’s only three hundred feet away from the house, but you can’t see it through the corn. That means they won’t see us coming and we can get out quick.”

Teems and Seyfert nodded. They all jumped in the truck and drove toward the access road. Ed was unwrapping a new CD to put in a new boom-box they had appropriated. He noticed Seyfert looking at him. “Eight D cell batteries would have been a small price to pay a year ago, but they’re almost priceless now. Can’t just walk down to the convenience store and grab them anymore.” He fumbled with the boom box for a second more and then the most horrible sound (other than a zombie) that Seyfert had ever heard belted from the machine.

“That’s the music you guys were talking about?” he shouted over the cacophony. “It sounds like chainsaws cutting through steel!”

“That’s why they call it heavy metal boy!” Teems shouted from the driver’s seat, which was immediately next to him. All the others were now singing:
  It seems what's left of my human side is slowly changing in me. Will you give in to me?

Several minutes later Ed was putting the now silent boom-box in the middle of the road. The truck was pointed away from it, and they were ready. Teems gave a double thumbs up and Ed pressed the play button and cycled through the song numbers until he found the one he wanted. A rumble came from the box before the lead singer screamed. Then Ed increased the volume and ran for the truck.

“Damn that’s loud,” Seyfert said.

“I turned that shit up to eleven!”

Teems’ grin went from ear to ear. “Every rotter in a mile radius will be listening to the musical stylings of Disturbed up close within the hour.”

“Don’t they attack the radio?”

“Nope. Sometimes they’ll touch it, but they never hit it or pick it up. They just kind of wander around looking for who’s singing.”

Plates on your ass bitch! Plates on your ass!

Teems put the truck in gear and they drove back toward the crossroads. Seyfert looked in the mirror and noticed an undead farmer in blue overalls mosey out of the stalks and stare at the boom-box. He couldn’t tell if it was the same one who he had seen in the corn earlier.

18

Dallas was awake but woozy when Rick dared a peek into the first floor of the now stairless farmhouse. No zombies were immediately visible, but there was some shuffling going on down there, so he knew where they stood on that score. He looked through the back window in Amy’s room, and through the front window over the farmer’s porch, and couldn’t see any of the dead around.

He was thinking that this would be a perfect time to make a break for it when a red pickup came skidding to a halt outside in the dirt driveway. Several armed men dressed in biker’s gear were in the back, and Rick had time to think
Oh shit!
before a familiar face jumped out of the passenger’s side of the vehicle.

“Do you need a God damned engraved invitation? Come on!” Seyfert yelled at the house.

“Rotters,” one of the men in the back of the truck yelled, and two shots rang out. “Clear the house,” yelled someone else. Three men and Seyfert entered the house and one more shot was heard. “Rick! Come on you guys, we don’t have time to screw around!”

Chris and Anna poked their heads over the second floor railing. “Nice to see you, Jarhead!”

“Dammit woman,” Seyfert said with a smile, “how many times I gotta tell you, I’m a SEAL! Get your asses down here, this is a rescue!”

Rick showed up with Dallas, and they passed the three sniper rifles down. Low whistles came from two of the men dressed in leather when the saw the guns. Anna dropped down and Seyfert caught her, Chris followed, and then Rick helped Dallas. Soon all four were clasping hands with their friend, and they were rushing for the door, Dallas on unsteady feet.

“There’s food in the pantry,” came a shout from the kitchen. Two of the bikers ran into the kitchen and another shot was heard. Then another. They came running back out in less than a minute with their friend, and all jumped in the back of the truck. “The basement’s full of rotters,” one of the leather clad guys said, “we couldn’t get all the food.”

“Forget it,” said the burly driver. “Is everybody in?”

“Yeah, Teems, hit it!”

“I see dead people,” a middle-aged man with glasses said from the back seat and pointed back toward the homestead. He was the only one save the friends from Alcatraz not dressed in biker garb. Exhibiting extreme patience, the driver put the vehicle in gear, did a three point turn, and drove back toward Route 20. Several undead had lurched into view near the house and seemed confused as to which way to head, after the truck or the music. They kept turning their heads, some eventually going in each direction.

Dallas, Chris, and Anna had gotten in the back of the truck with the other men, but Seyfert had Rick get in the cab. “Rick, this is Ed and Doc, and the guy driving is Teems.”

“Thanks for the rescue, Mr. Teems.”

“Just Teems, and you’re welcome.” He extended his hand toward Rick, who accepted it. Teems didn’t take his eyes from the road when he asked: “Didn’t you say there were two more Navy guys?”

“Yes, they’re in a vehicle. They drove off to try making the dead follow them. We haven’t heard from them since.”

“Well I’m not going to lie, that don’t sound too good. We’re going to have to find them too I guess, huh?”

“You’ve done enough for us, Teems,” Rick said. “We couldn’t ask you to do any more.”

“Been over this with your soldier friend, Rick, you don’t have to ask. The way I look at it, humans have become an endangered species. As long as we don’t throw away our lives needlessly, we should save as many as we can.” He looked in the mirror. “Your friend back there, the big fella, he ain’t bit is he?”

“No, he took a blow to the head, he should be fine in a day or two.”

“I’ll take a look at him when we get where we’re going,” the doctor piped up. “A concussion could be serious with no treatment.”

The doctor did just that a half hour after they arrived at their destination. A large concrete service building poked out of the fertile Nebraska soil. It was a depot for combines, tractors, and other large farm equipment. There were no fences or gates, but Calvin had been correct, the building itself was indeed a fortress. Two huge steel garage doors and one smaller door opened on the front of the building, and a service window was already being boarded up. There were men on the roof with binoculars and hunting rifles. The exterior of the place had the look and feel of an armed encampment. A diesel and gasoline pumping station adorned the left side of the depot, with one pump each.

The interior was enormous; a hangar-like structure with multiple levels, a kitchen, an extremely large work area, and two full-size bathrooms complete with multiple stalls, showers and lockers.

The newcomers were welcomed with open arms. Anna was playing with some kids, and Chris was helping to get a wind-driven generator working with a few of the bikers. Dallas was laying down on a steel medical table and the doctor diagnosed him as having a mild concussion. Rick and Seyfert were yet again in front of a map, but this one was framed, and attached to the wall in one of the upstairs offices. The map was a series of aerial photos strung together to make a large chart of the area. They were pointing at different locations with their index fingers and talking about each one.

Seyfert looked at his surroundings again. “What is it?” Rick demanded.

“This place. I understand the need for the vehicle lifts, and all the tools, and even a bathroom, but what the hell are medical facilities doing here? What kind of tractor repair depot has medical diagnostic equipment, and a wind-farm for power?”

“Wind-farm?”

“Yeah, look,” Seyfert pointed again at the chart. He traced his finger from the depot along a blue line to a series of poles half a mile away. “Those are windmills. They must power this whole facility.” The structures Seyfert pointed at were difficult to recognize as windmills until Rick looked at the shadows on the ground. He could see the shadows of three huge blades in varying positions at the top of each pole and he understood.

“It does seem a little odd,” Rick agreed with furrowed brows. “The walls are double thick concrete, and the garage doors are like nothing I’ve seen.”

Seyfert nodded. The seaman looked over the catwalk and spotted Teems moving a box of stuff. “Teems! Where’s Calvin?”

Teems looked around and nodded his chin to his left. “I’m here,” the mechanic shouted. “What do you need?”

“You, could you come up here for a sec?”

Calvin showed up in short order and looked confused. “What’s busted? I should tell you that I don’t know shit about computers.”

“That’s okay. How did you know about this place?”

“I used to drive by here on my way to Sturgis and back on my bike. I live… lived in Ohio.” He looked away for a moment. “Ohio is bad now.”

“Did you ever see anything…weird here?”

It was Calvin’s turn for furrowed brows. “Weird? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, any strange vehicles, or did the road close down near here?”

“Nope, nothin’ like that. I drove by all the time, and thought that the place looked a little like a castle. When all this,” he waved his hand around, “happened, Teems came and got me, and we high-tailed it out of Ohio using back roads. We got to Sturgis, but it was overrun, and the Army was shooting people up there, so we left before they could decide all bikers were degenerates and tried to shoot us. I thought of this place when we hit Nebraska, and we came almost straight here.”

“Not all bikers are degenerates, but you sure as shit are.” Teems had come upstairs and was leaning against the door frame. “What’s going on?”

“They were just grillin’ me about this place.”

Yet another furrowed brow. “What about it?”

“The place is an actual fortress,” Rick said. “Look at how it’s built, and it has its own power source, and I’m guessing water too.”

“And medical stuff way beyond what a tractor shop should have,” Seyfert added, “and lockers for fifty, and I swear,” here he pointed to a shelf attached to a wall, “that is a rifle rack.”

Teems stuck his lower lip out. “Don’t look like one.”

“Because you’re thinking of horizontal display racks for rifles, that one is vertical, to store more in less space.”

Teems tilted his head. “Yeah, it could be. But so what? Maybe they were hunters.”

“What would they hunt? Are there bears in the corn? Deer?”

“What difference does any of this make?” demanded the big biker. “We’re here, and we’re safe for now. Also, don’t we have to find your friends?

“We do.”

“Then let’s talk about that.”

They moved on to a conversation about what could have happened to the LAV. That particular vehicle would be hard to stop, and only a huge ditch or a break down or heavy ordnance could stop it. They hadn’t heard any explosions and the LAV had just been serviced the month before. Insofar as ditches or cliffs, they were in Nebraska, and it didn’t get any flatter than this. A big hole in the ground maybe, but who would have a big hole in the middle of their cornfield? Besides, they had last seen the LAV driving down the middle of the road. The conversation lasted a half hour before they decided what to do. The entire time Seyfert couldn’t shake his feelings of unease about the building they were holed up in.