Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Since the Sirens (27 page)

Her husband's avatar was next to her.

“Hello again Marty. You are on the Bay Bridge by the way.”

“You can read my mind?”

“Read? No, I'm
in
your mind. I'm with you inside your
head. I hear your thoughts as you think them in this place.”

“Where are we?”

“That is a very interesting question my dear. San Francisco,
California.”

“Al, even I know that. I can see the Golden Gate right
there. You know what I meant.”

“I suppose I do. You should ask Liam. He knows this place.
You and he are developing a special bond which I'm very happy to
encourage.”

Marty searched her feelings. Of course she shared a special bond
with her own grandson, though their relationship of the past few days
was turning out to be quite different than the previous years of
Liam's life all put together. Maybe something
was
changing.

“This isn't a dream, is it?”

With a gleam in his eye, Al gave her a big smile. “Are you
sure?”

“I remember going to sleep in the train yard after the kids
wheeled me down the railroad tracks away from that horrible battle at
the Arch. Unless I'm mistaken I'm still sitting in my wheelchair,
asleep. That means I've got to be sleepwalking or something, right?”

“You are asleep, but not walking. Let's leave it at that for
now—we can't afford to get into the weeds. Some things you have
to take on faith I'm afraid. While we are together I want to show you
this car.”

He walked over to the little green sports car and Marty followed.
The car itself was ancient. It wasn't as old as her, but she
remembered seeing these back in the 1950's and 60's. It was a coupe
with a white vinyl top and open windows, and the insides were covered
with bird droppings and nesting materials. The green paint was well
faded on the top, though it was still evident on the sides—bird
filth notwithstanding. It appeared to have been on the bridge for
decades, maybe much longer.

“This could possibly be the most important car you ever see.
Do you know why?”

“I can't think of any reason. I've never seen this car.”

“I'm sure you haven't. It's OK you don't understand the
connection yet. That it is here tells me you are very close to
realizing your full potential in this world. I can't say much more
than that or I could upset the delicate balancing act which is
leading you down this path. But you should take great comfort at
seeing this particular car, in this particular place.”

Marty looked at the car, then at Al.

“You look like Al, and my Lord how I wish you were Al. But
you can't be. Who are you, really?”

“You are very smart indeed. No, having conversations with
the dearly departed is generally frowned upon by...the system. In
this place I can look like anyone you have in your memory, put you in
any situation you can imagine, and if I'm really lucky I can guide
you on your journey through this troubling time.”

Marty suddenly felt very tired. Even so, she was not content to
accept such a deception without pushing back.

“Mr. whoever-you-are, will you please tell me why you've
been masquerading as my husband in these dreams?”

“Dearest Martinette, I never intended any harm to you. The
closest approximation to my true nature is what you would call an
Angel. I serve the Light.”

She looked intently at him.

“You are an Angel of God?”

“I make no claim to understand my creator fully, though like
you I hope to see His true face someday. In many ways I'm just as
real and fallible as you.”

She crossed herself, knowing she would have to ask the next
question.

“I mean no disrespect, but how do I know you aren't lying to
me again by saying that? Who you serve.”

Al considered. He stood up.

He snapped his fingers, and standing there in front of her as far
as she could see over the bridge were row after row of the infected.
An impossible number. Most were missing limbs or had large chunks
torn from their bodies. All were ruined in form and substance.
Somehow they were standing there, unmoving, all the way to the other
shore.

Al called out to them, “I serve the One True God. You shall
bow in His name.”

And then...impossibly...they all bent to one knee.

And then...predictably...Martinette fainted and fell back to the
ground.

Falling. Falling. Falling.

2

“OH MY GOD!”

Grandma woke up yelling forcefully. It must have been a nightmare
or something, because she practically exploded awake, tipping
dangerously forward in her wheelchair. Victoria was standing nearby
and had the good sense to grab her as she leaned forward. It was a
near-run thing. Would Grandma survive falling flat on her face like
that? After surviving so much, that would be a horrible way to go.

Liam moved closer, and spoke softly.

“Grandma are you OK? You were having a bad dream.”

“No. Yes.” She looked around and reoriented herself on
the rail yard. They'd found it after much walking and just as dusk
fell.

“No, I wasn't having a bad dream exactly. Yes, I'm fine now
that I know where I am.”

“Sorry. It's just that you made a lot of noise. We are kind
of hiding here from...them.” Liam didn't know how to say it any
more plainly without making her feel bad. Could anyone control
themselves in a dream?

Liam and Victoria were crouched together next to her, listening to
see if any zombies had become alerted by her nightmare. In the vast
rail yard it didn't seem likely, but Liam took no chances—made
no assumptions—anymore.

After several minutes, he breathed out a silent sigh of relief.
Nothing seemed to have been attracted to them. They were hidden in
the narrow corridor between two lines of train cars. The train yard
offered many such hidey holes, and in fact most of the police group
was in between the same two trains. Hiding and lying low. Resting
after their run down the railroad from the Arch. By virtue of their
slow movement with the wheelchair they found themselves at the very
back of the line, though the biggest cop—Jones—was also
back there with a shotgun. He was the rear guard.

Jones moved back toward Grandma, to check if she was OK after her
outburst.

The group was near the end of one of the trains. At that moment a
face popped around the last car, looking into the dark corridor
between both sets of tracks. Liam could clearly see the black man's
eyes—along with his red ball cap. He was a living, breathing,
person. Jones was still walking back at the time, so Liam made a
motion for him to turn around.

The man paused for a second before walking into the breach between
the two lines of cars, with his hands and arms reaching outward to
show he was unarmed. Now everyone could clearly see him. He was
wearing a white t-shirt, and even in the low moonlight it was
apparent he had a lot of blood stains on it. He did have a weapon. he
was carrying an ornate gold-plated pistol in the waistband of his
jeans.

Was this some kind of gang banger looking to kill them in the
equivalent of a dark alley? Liam felt his pocket for his own pistol
but made no effort to draw until he saw where this was going. Jones
would be far more intimidating.

The man looked over his shoulder, back around the train cars,
before turning his attention once again to Liam and his friends. He
appeared to be studying the situation, making a decision. Jones stood
where he was, but otherwise made no threatening gestures. His shotgun
was held casually in the low ready position.

Seemingly satisfied, the man motioned around the cars with his arm
again, signaling someone to come to where he was standing.

Liam's hand was now inside his pocket unlatching the safety. If
there was more than a couple men he knew he'd probably be outgunned
in this narrow space but he was going to help Jones no matter how
futile.

Ten seconds later a teenage black girl ran around the corner,
toward the group. She was followed quickly by a younger girl holding
the hand of a third small girl. Then a couple of very young black
boys came around. They were followed by a string of about ten black
children of varying ages. A couple of grown women followed the
procession. Impossibly another handful of small kids followed them,
including one or two small white children. Finally another grown
black man rounded the corner, the only difference in attire and
appearance with his mate was the crazy amount of gold chains he was
wearing. Liam couldn't help but remember a different encounter with a
man wearing so many gold chains...

The men followed their charges, and while they looked at Liam and
his pals wearing grim smiles as they ran by, they said nothing. Soon
they disappeared down the line between the rail cars.

Liam's hand left his pistol as his blood pressure came out of the
stratosphere. For several minutes he was sitting with high tension,
wondering if anyone else in their group would be surprised by this
unlikely mix of people running by, but thankfully no gunshots rang
out. Well, not anywhere close. Gunshots were becoming so common as
background noise in the distance no one paid much attention. Many
shots were coming from on the nearby river—an ominous sign the
swimmers were having problems.

It would be safe to say Liam and Victoria were both exhausted
beyond words. They settled in next to Grandma, using Liam's backpack
as their mutual pillow. Jones hunkered down low several paces toward
the back of the line, but made it clear he was awake and on duty for
them.

“I'll make sure he stays awake. I've been asleep in my chair
most of the past few days.”

“No arguments here.” Looking over at Victoria, she had
fallen right asleep.

It wasn't long for Liam to drift off.

He felt the world owed him a nice night of sleep.

3

Thirty seven minutes later, Liam woke up when Jones gave him a
manly chuck on the shoulder, and a hand over his mouth. Jones was in
his face giving the “quiet” symbol.

He did the same for Victoria.

Then he pointed underneath the last train car of the line next to
them and made a motion suggesting they look and see what was on the
other side.

In the low light of a partial moon Liam could see lots of undead
meandering around an open section of the train yard. They were moving
without a unified purpose, but were more or less moving south. It was
impossible to know how many were drifting through the disjointed
train cars all around them.

Liam privately thought this was some kind of nightmare. How likely
was it they would be sitting here in the train yard with fifty other
people, hoping everyone could be quiet so as not to alert the
insatiable bloodthirsty zombies? He quickly calculated the odds of
warning everyone, versus just sitting there doing nothing. A very
small part of his brain was also running the numbers on grabbing
Grandma and Victoria and fleeing southward down the corridor.

The shambling dead still hadn't noticed anyone. Were they able to
see in the dark? Did they have hearing or smell that was better than
a live human? No one really knew the capabilities of these
creatures—other than their one apparent skill—finding
blood.

In the minutes they sat watching, Liam became sleepy; he just
couldn't help himself, and his mind was adrift. He absently wondered
if they did have any superpowers, like any number of books he'd read
on zombies. Some were fast. Some were strong. Some couldn't be killed
except by complete decapitation. Some were supernatural spirits.

His mind jolted back to reality.

Zombies aren't real, are they? These are just sick humans, right?
In real life the sick are just sick. Maybe this was all a dream?

He couldn't see much detail in the night, but if he didn't know
who they were he'd have never been able to pick out a pack of zombies
from a similar group of humans just standing around. Rather than the
archetypical zombie running around shouting “brains,”
these were just housewives, bankers, and students who got sick with a
disease that seemed to cause them to wander around aimlessly. But he
knew they only looked innocent and docile from afar. They have a
plague so bad it keeps killing even after the host is dead. If they
knew healthy humans were hiding so close, they'd be swarming to the
buffet table.

“All we need to make this scene uber-surreal is the crazy
priest who tries to reason with them because he believes they are
still the children of God, and then gets eaten, and dies with that
look of shocked surprise on his face.” Liam actually looked
down the path to see if a Priest was coming. And there he was!

Oh.

He realized he was hallucinating. He had enough sense to know he
could put everyone in danger if he let his exhaustion get the better
of him, but he didn't know what he could do to stay awake even with
the stakes as high as they were.

The sick seemed to float around gently in the cool evening air.
The moonlight gave them a ghostly pallor. A dreamy look—

He felt himself nodding off once more.

His head tilted forward.

Victoria was giving him a little shove, telling him to stay awake
without using any words.

They smiled at each other, then went back to watching the shadows
dancing. Something had to give soon.

Liam jolted awake, but didn't yell. He couldn't believe what he
was seeing on the other side of the rail car.

Victoria!

There, not fifteen feet away was the most beautiful girl he had
ever seen. She was dressed in a sheer pink nightgown, and Liam wasn't
embarrassed this time as he drank in her curves. The gown absorbed
the light of the moon and made her seem to glow.

Liam felt himself stand up to get a better view, like a peeping
Tom at the girl's summer camp.

“Oh Victoria, you look amazing tonight. Why are you dressed
like that?”