Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Siren Songs (25 page)

The girl had stopped moving. Angie could see her through the tears
in her eyes. She took a step back. The person or persons in the van
were making no effort to help.
They
had done this
intentionally.

When she looked back inside, the thing was looking up at her. She
had a second to put another foot behind her, and she did try to close
the door. It more or less slithered over Mary Beth, and fell out of
the doorway to crouch on the pavement. It looked at her with empty
eye sockets. Angie felt a wave of despair envelope her. She stumbled
and fell to her backside. She had to resort to crawling backward with
her elbows…

The thing jumped on top of her, covering her with the Mary Beth's
blood.

“Oh God, no! HELP!” She screamed as loud as she
could—as if finally realizing there was a need for it—willing
someone in the neighborhood to rescue her.

Pinned to the ground, her last thought was of the girl in the
front seat. How she failed her so completely. How quickly this all
happened.

She felt the teeth go into her. She struggled as best she could,
but the fear was absolute. She went from panicked resistance to
abject surrender in moments. Her vision floundered. Her breathing
became labored. She closed her eyes, asking God for forgiveness.

An eternity later, she saw a man. He shot something at the thing,
and it ran. “Are you OK?” he said in slow motion. Then he
shouted, “RUN!” before moving out of her field of vision.

Angie got up, teetering on the edge of awareness. Mary Beth was
gone. Not in her seat.

That's a shame huh?

Angie walked up the alley; compelled to reach the safety of her
home. She looked down at her feet, but the sight of those shoes
plodding ahead, one after the other, made her stomach churn. She
tried to keep her head up, but that was painful. Her neck was burning
on the left side.

Angie went through the rear gate, and stumbled up the walkway
through her backyard, and into the narrow channel between her home
and the next. She held her arms out and could almost touch both brick
walls. She giggled as she tried.

She rounded the corner of the house, and moved up the ramp to the
pair of front doors. Marty's door was on the right. She looked at it
for a long time. Marty could call for help. Marty could—

The cloudiness in her brain wouldn't allow her to complete the
thought.

“I must get home.” Returning home was
important
.
She desired it the most.

She moved to her own front door, to the left of Marty's. It was
unlocked, but was stuck—as usual. She gave it a good shove and
it pivoted inward for her. She swung it shut, and looked up her
steps. The steep wooden stairway was looming in front of her. The
bright lights in the entryway and on the stairwell were hardly
registering.

“I'm coming Mary Beth.”

She held on to the bannister as she took each step one at a time.
She pulled herself with her hands as much as she used her legs.
Several times she became so dizzy she nearly let herself go. She
giggled again, this time at the irony of surviving a grievous neck
wound, only to die falling down some lousy steps. A pause was
necessary at the top. She fell to her knees, depositing blood on the
floor.

“I'll clean that up later, don't worry Marty.”

Angie dragged herself to her door a few feet from the steps. The
handle was a convenience to help her regain her feet. It was
unlocked. She tumbled through.

Eying her bedroom, she wobbled in that direction.

I'll just put myself to bed. I'll feel better in the morning.

3

“You sure this worked?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't it? We saw she was bitten, then she went
inside her house. I'd say that's a job well done.”

“Yeah, though we both know HQ won't like it if we don't get
this thing correct. Using infected victims to kill people isn't
exactly a tried and true method of assassination.”

“That's why it's so perfect. We can take care of this list
and no one will suspect a thing. That will make the boss very happy,
don't you think?”

“Yeah, I guess. This test scenario did go better than I
thought. Shame about the girl though. She wasn't on our list.”

“Let's not mention that in our report huh? We'll just tell
them the package was delivered to Marty Peters. She'll be dead by
morning.”

“Who's next?”

The man pulled out a smartphone, and scrolled through his text
messages.

“Looks like they want us down south. A couple of
high-priority targets. Jerry and Lana Peters. The grandson of the
soon-to-be-deceased Ms. Marty Peters. They live down in Jeffco.”

“Aw hell. The sticks? Let's do that in the morning. We only
have a couple more days before the world goes to shit. I want to
enjoy some R&R in the city, ya' catch my drift?”

The van's driver stared out his window at the house across the
street. He wondered if Angie would do as she was supposed to. Surely
the old woman in the lower level couldn't escape her own sick nurse.
It was truly the perfect crime. But he knew the world
was
ending. His organization was helping it along. All the more reason to
enjoy one more night of normal.

“OK, but you're buying the first round. Tomorrow we hunt
some more.”

Liam was embedded with a gaggle of elderly
survivors from the government camp run by the CDC, Homeland Security,
or whatever. It didn't matter now because the camp was just a smudge
on the landscape after the aerial incineration. His concern was how
to get both himself and Grandma home, while doing right by the others
who had escaped with them.

They had walked out from the camp, maybe a mile at
most on the road, and everyone seemed beat. Many had taken a seat on
the metal guardrail. Grandma was leaning heavily against his side,
indicating she was also spent.

There was nothing hospitable where an unusual
group like this could find safety for a night. The highway ran in
both directions to their right and left, the camp they'd just left
was behind them, and across the roadway was an even larger piece of
woodland preserve, though Liam couldn't remember what it was called.
He did know it tied in with a large Boy Scout reservation just down
the interstate.

Hmmm. That's an idea.

The safest call was to hole up inside the fence of
the camp from which they'd just emerged. At least they knew there
were no zombies inside the fence yet, unless the Chicagoans climbed
out prior to the fireworks. However, Liam was worried Hayes and the
military men would come back to check the status of the trashed camp,
and they'd be recaptured. He wanted to be far away.

By his estimation, the most sensible course of
action then was to cross the highway and get into the woods. Spend
the night in the forest resting so they can move again tomorrow.

But the old folks didn't like the idea of spending
time traipsing around in the woods. “We have to find a police
station or fire department. They can call us an ambulance or
something.”

Another older woman agreed, adding, “Surely
we aren't a threat to anyone. Perhaps someone on the road there will
give us some food and water?”

A third person said, “I ain't goin' into no
woods.”

The conversation was subdued—none of them
wanted to follow Liam's path. They were convinced they would find
help by going toward “civilization.” Liam didn't know
about help, but he knew the chaos would be stronger if they went
toward the urban core. Better to lay low out in the sticks. He did
worry about finding food and water.

“Grandma. What do you want to do?” He
was speaking quietly so the nearby group wouldn't hear their
discussion.

“I know I sound like a broken record, but
I'll do what you tell me to do. I trust you to find us the safest and
best way home. You're the one who has to carry me.” She
chuckled at that.

“But maybe it's safer to stick with the
group and go back into town?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Besides you, no one has
any weapons. No one at all has food or water. I think this group is
going to be a burden on anyone they cross. I'd not expect much
sympathy, either. None of those people down on the highway look
anxious to have more mouths to feed.”

Liam watched the sad lot moving down the highway.
None seemed very healthy. “I want to get you to safety across
the highway before we're captured again. I think Hayes will be back.”

“I'm really tired, Liam. My legs are shaking
as we stand here. But I'll try to get across that highway with you.”

Liam thought one or two would go with him, but
there was a kind of groupthink and once they'd convinced themselves
help was just a little ways back into town, they were unshakable in
their desire to go that way.

As everyone stood up, one man near the middle of
the pack seemed to sway heavily as if he had a head rush. He fell
backward—and slammed hard to the tarmac. He was one of the men
who shared the ride in the MRAP earlier that same day, though Liam
couldn't remember his name.

He was holding Grandma so he couldn't run over to
check on him, but another man bent down to confirm he had passed. A
couple of the men made the effort to drag the man off the pavement
and into the tall weeds. It was what passed for burial these days.

Grandma softly prayed for the man as they walked
toward the highway. “Goodbye, Ralph. Rest in peace.”

“Amen.”

The bulk of the main group was already moving up
the side street, heading back to the suburban sprawl. Their fates
diverging, Liam was ready to focus on the task at hand.

As was his custom, he tried to find a gap in the
people walking down the highway so he'd have the least chance of
interacting with anyone. In the old days he did this out of habit
because he didn't like talking to people, but now it could be
considered a matter of survival. He had to time things right because
Grandma only had one speed: slow.

A man passed on a bicycle. Rifle slung over his
shoulder. He gave one quick glance in their direction; he kept
pedaling.

Suits me fine.

He made his move after the biker was well away.
They emerged from the weedy shoulder area and began moving across the
first two lanes of traffic. There were people far to the left, but
even with Grandma inching along, they'd clear the road before they
made contact.

This area had very few cars, and was mercifully
clear of dead bodies. They stumbled into the middle, which was a
grassy depression between both directions of the interstate. It was
lined with a strong cable to prevent vehicles from crossing between
the lanes. The wire was about three feet high.

“Grandma, can you step over this?” He
asked the question, but was positive she would find it hard to step
over a shoebox given her condition.

He had an inspiration. “Here, let me step
over first, and I'll lift you over with me. When I pick you up, try
to put your feet behind you, like you're praying.”

He was able to hold her while he stepped across,
then he turned around and bear-hugged his 104-year-old companion,
gently lifting her over at the same time. She cooperated as best she
could, and together they crossed the barrier.

“Liam, I'm very dizzy.”

He looked both ways. People were getting closer.
He considered carrying her, but knew that was dangerous for a lot of
reasons. “Let's just get over there and then we can rest. One
more set of lanes.”

He didn't wait for her. He held her as she walked
next to him, and he tried to provide as much support as possible.
Even so, they ran into a few dirty travelers walking by, though again
when they saw the young boy and old woman they made no effort to
bother them.

Liam's paranoia was telling him the reason they
weren't interested was because they carried nothing of value—except
for his gun, which was hidden from view. If they were carrying a
bucket of chicken the entire highway would no doubt be his friend.

Or my worst enemy.

They found their way into the weeds on the far
side of the highway and Grandma practically collapsed. Liam felt they
needed to be further into the woods, so no one could see them from
the road.

“I've got to sit down, Liam.”

He geared up for something he would have never
considered doing a week ago, no matter how much he wanted to. He was
going to tell her no.

“Keep moving. Our lives depend on it.”

“I can't. I just can't.”

“You can. You have to.”

They made it a dozen yards when Grandma slumped
over in his arms. He had to stop and turn to her as she fell over
like a fainting damsel. He kept her on her feet, and began dragging
her as he walked backward. Her oversized orthopedic shoes were secure
to her feet, so they provided good cushion while he pulled her over
the rough ground. They were at the threshold of the woods and there
was no stopping.

In the previous world, the sight of anyone
dragging a body would be enough to require a call to the police.
Today, if anyone happened to notice them, it favored no extra
attention. People ignored him and went on their way.

Liam finally had her far enough into the woods
where the highway was no longer visible. He was running out of
energy, too. His poor diet and bad sleep habits the last few days
were grinding him down.

“Here you go, Grandma. I'm so sorry I had to
drag you like that.”

He set her up against a stout oak tree.

She was out cold. She was also suffering from the
poor food being served in the Zombie Apocalypse. He didn't have a
crumb to give her.

He sat down next to her, intending to keep silent
vigil.

2

Marty woke in a dream. She was a veteran of these
vivid episodes.

She looked around but didn't see her husband. He
was a mainstay on all her previous dreams—or nightmares
depending on which ones she was thinking about.