All That I See - 02 (32 page)

The rest of the stuff in there was what you might expect a young family to have—clothing, toys, diapers…there was even some food in the tiny cupboard. The keys were in the ignition, and there was gas in the tank. I tried it, and it started right up.

I went out and helped Somerville get transferred over.

“Don’t forget to unhook it,” he said. “I noticed it was still plugged in.”

I went outside, and found a cord running from the RV to a receptacle on the outside of the church. There was also a water hose running from the church’s outside faucet. I unhooked all of that and noticed the vehicle had Michigan plates. The thing looked a whole lot smaller when I imagined this family of four travelling around the country in it.

Once I’d moved the supplies from the truck, I did a quick check on Somerville who was making himself comfortable on the bed in the back. From the time I found the map until I finally got on the road on my way to the Ohio River, it was more than an hour. At steady, even travelling on their part, that might have been another 60 tacked on to the space we had to close.

We made good time on the highway, going north through Grace County. I had made this trip a few times in the past week. We crossed into southern McCullen County, and the highway was still fairly clear, being a rural area. As we neared Singletree, the road was a bit more congested, but passable.

It became obvious as we entered the Singletree city limits that vehicles had been moved to allow passage—about the space of one lane. It looked like it had been done with something large, like a bulldozer. Some of the cars were even turned over on their side. This was an impressive feat, considering the distance between there and the river and the amount of traffic on the road. I had never seen this many cars in Singletree at one time. The town was smaller than Clayfield, but because of its proximity to
Riverton
, a city more than
five
times its size, it usually had more traffic than Clayfield, just never this much. I attributed it to evacuees headed to the river, or possibly the sick trying to get to Singletree’s hospital.

I didn’t deviate from the path provided, because I couldn’t. I just hoped it led to the riverfront. Of course, if Ben Parks, Sara, and the others came this way, they would have encountered the same path and been forced to follow it to its end.

The undead were there too. They were between the cars and in the cars. They watched us and followed us as we passed through this miles-long gauntlet of abandoned vehicles.

Chapter 38

Even though there were dozens of places where we could have accessed the Ohio River in
and around
Riverton
, the corridor led us right up to the floodwall and the main scenic access in the downtown arts district. This was always an inevitable and popular stop for tourists. Visitors could enjoy the masterfully painted murals that adorned the floodwall and depicted
Riverton
’s history, they could buy one-of-a-kind items made by local artisans, they could have a meal in one of the restaurants, or they could have a picnic on the riverfront and watch the towboats and barges.

The floodwall is a fifteen-foot tall concrete wall that protects
Riverton
’s entire downtown. Once the concrete ends, the protection is provided by earthen levees. The whole system stretches for more than twelve miles. In the concrete wall section, there are several gates that can allow access to the river most of the year, but that can be closed to seal the wall when the river rises. I was surprised to find the gates closed.

I stopped the RV, but I left the engine running. I hadn’t been paying attention before, because I’d been so distracted by the closed gate, but the cars on either side of me were literally bumper-to-bumper. They were pressed up against each other allowing
no space between. I got out and
looked down the cleared path, and there were no zombies coming through. The vehicles had been pushed together to prevent, or at least deter, the creatures from entering the corridor. I don’t know how far back this closed car barrier started, but it must have been for several blocks, because I saw no one in the road at all. However, on the other side of those cars on both sides of me, there were thousands of them moaning and lowing. It was loud.

I felt trapped. I couldn’t go forward, and I couldn’t turn around. If I wanted to get out of there, I would have to make the trip in reverse. But I didn’t want to get out of there; I needed to get on the other side of the wall.

I climbed into the RV, killed the engine, and went into the back.

“The floodgates are closed,” I said, waking Somerville. “If they came through
Riverton
, then they came through here. There was no other way.”

“If the gates are closed, somebody closed them,” he replied. “Did you try knocking?”

I imagined myself knocking on that massive metal gate and a hunched gatekeeper scurrying out to ask me a riddle before he let me through.

“Even if there was someone on the other side to let me in, they’d never hear me banging on that gate. It is crazy loud out there.”

“This thing’s got a horn doesn’t it?”

I grinned sheepishly, “Yeah. I’ll give that a try.”

I went up front and got on the horn for a good ten seconds. Then I went outside and waited. I saw no movement on the gate and all I could hear was the undead. I decided to climb up on top of the RV for a look.  I was too far away from the wall, because of the front of the truck, to climb up on the wall itself, but standing on top of the back of the RV, I could see over. What I saw took my breath for a second.

As
many creatures as there were on my side of the wall, it was nothing compared to the other side. They were tightly packed on the dry land for as far as I could see (about the distance of two city blocks either way). Then they continued down into the water, first ankle deep, then knee deep, chest deep, then floating around like bugs in a swimming pool.
On the
river, a chain of barges, two of them loaded with coal, stretched across in an uneven line forming a floating bridge.

On the upriver side of the barges was the beautiful Chickasaw Queen, a steamboat just like the kind you might find in a Mark Twain novel. It had been a big tourist attraction, offering short day cruises, meals and dinner theater. Now it was anchored and
empty. My ex and I had gone out to dinner
there back when we were dating. I was kind of glad to see that it was free of the undead. For a couple of seconds, I had a fleeting thought of commandeering it, and traveling up and down the river. But who was I kidding? I didn’t know how to drive the thing.

On the downriver side of the barges, preventing them from going with the flow of the river, were three towboats. The barges were loaded with undead. Some of them attempted to climb up the mounds of coal, but none ever made it to the top. I looked across the river into Illinois. The banks on the Illinois side were just as crowded, and they were coming across the barge bridge. There was an exodus taking place, but it wasn’t from the south; it was from the north. In the fa
r distance in Illinois, there were
columns of smoke rising in five different places. It was so loud out there, I could barely think.

“Don’t open that gate!” I heard someone yell out. I looked around for the source, and I saw a man dressed in red coming toward me, walking across the top of the floodwall. He was carrying a megaphone and a rifle. I pulled the pistol, just in case.

He put the megaphone to his mouth, “Replace the weapon, or you will be shot!”

I looked around to see if there was someone else around.

“Building on the corner,” the man said. “The Riverman’s Pub.”

I scanned the buildings. I saw a sign with those words. On the third floor, I spotted an open window and someone pointing a rifle at me with a huge scope. I put my gun back in my pants and raised my hands. The man walked up until he was close enough to get a good look at me and me at him.

He was short, in his early 3
0s, and except for the gun, he looked like he might have been dressed to go see a ballgame. He was completely decked out in official Cincinnati Reds gear—jersey, pants, cap (turned backwards), even a fanny pack with the Reds logo.

“We’ve closed the gate to keep them from coming in,” he said.

“How long?”

“Please repeat.”

“How long!?” I yelled.

“Three days.”

“They made the bridge and the dead came over,” he said. “We had to hold them off. You should back out of here. There is no way through.”

“Who made the bridge!?”

He stared at me, trying to figure out what I said.

“Who!?”

“We didn’t know them. Not from here,” he said, shaking his head.

“There is nothing for you here,” he said. “You should leave.”

I had a lot I wanted to ask him, but there would be no way to have a conversation in this noise. I motioned to him trying to ask how I could get up there with him.

“Please back out the way you came, and do not attempt to open the gate,” he said in the megaphone.

I didn’t know why he kept telling me not to open the gate. For one thing, I didn’t know how. For another, I’d be a complete idiot to open it. I didn’t think it would even be possible to open it from my side.

I looked over
at
The Riverman’s Pub, and they still had a bead on me. I waved at them, because…well, what else was I going to do? They gave me a wave in return but didn’t turn their rifle away.

I climbed down and went inside.

“What are we doing?” Somerville called out when he heard me come in. I went to the rear of the vehicle and sat on the bed.

“We don’t want to open the gate,” I said. “It is like a horror movie on the other side. There are some uninfected people out there, but I’m not going to be able to get much information out of them in this noise. We’re going to have to back out of here.”

“Is there anywhere else we can get on the other side of the wall?”

“I’m telling you, we don’t want to be on the other side.”

He sat up, propping himself up on his elbow, “Are we going to catch up to Judy and Sara or aren’t we?”

“I’m having trouble believing they came this way.”

He pushed himself up so he could throw his legs over the side of the bed, forcing me to stand.

“Where the hell did they go then?” he said, sounding perturbed.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, dammit, man, we know they’re headed toward Springfield, so let’s back the hell out of here and cross someplace else. Where are these uninfected people you’re talking about? Let me talk to them.”

“No,” I said, “Get back in bed. They can’t be talked to. We’ll try something else.”

He eased himself back into the bed and rubbed both eyes, “You said you’d keep up with my medicine. My shoulder hurts like hell.”

“I’ll get you something for the pain, but I’m not sure about the dosage for the antibiotics. I think he might have been giving that to you intravenously.”

“Go,” he said. “Back us on out of here. I’m fine for now.”

I sighed and went back to the front. I put the RV in reverse and started out. This was going to be a pain in the ass. I was going to have to drive all the way back into Singletree backwards, using my mirrors.

Cinncinatti Reds watched us go. Soon he was just a red spec in the distance. Before we got into the Singletree city limits, we were met with the group of infected that had started following us before we entered the car corridor. I backed th
r
ough them (and over some of them) until I finally found an opening in the cars. It wasn’t wide enough for the RV, but I managed to push my way through. This put me on a residential street heading west.

I drove for another mile or so then stopped the RV to take a look at the map.

“Where are we?” Somerville called from the back. I went to
the
rear and showed him the map.

“The levee runs all through here,” I said, pointing at the map. “We could go over on foot anywhere, but I don’t know if you are up to it, and I don’t know if we’d find a boat.”

“There’s a port here,” he said, pointing at a spot on the map. “It’s a distribution hub or something for the barges.” Then he moved his finger a short distance. “This is where the ferry is….if it wasn’t sunk. Either of those places would be a good place to try. You should have been able to see the port from the floodwall.”

“I didn’t see anything like that,” I said. “But my view was blocked, and I was distracted by all the infected.”

“Chances are, if the group Judy and Sara are with went the way we did, they would have tried at the ferry crossing,” he said. “That’s what I would do.”

“I don’t think they would have tried the ferry,” I said. “They knew—or Sara knew, anyway—that the ferries had been bombed. Where else might they have gone? Are there any other ports other than this distribution hub?”

“Not nearby,” he said.

“Then we’ll try the port,” I said.