Dead World (Book 2): Headed North (2 page)

“You know what we need to find?” Valentine says.

“What’s that?” Asks Daniel.

“We need some music.”

“I think you’re right,” Sasha says as they leave Wellington behind them and head north on I-25 again. Daniel has to weave around traffic and drive on the shoulder for a while but it’s not long before they are past the worst of it and travelling on open road again.

3

Billings, Montana

Julie pushes herself into the corner as small as she can manage. The crumbling drywall leaves white dust all over her. Her heart is racing a staccato rhythm on the inside of her chest.

Fear has become her constant companion these past weeks. She is hiding out in Lockwood School just outside of Billings, her hometown for the past 12 years. Then when the world went to hell she tried to get out, too late though. It was the first time she had ever wanted to leave so desperately.

Adventure never came easy to her. Much safer to just stay home, find a good book and stay inside, it had all the adventure in there that she could have wanted.

The sound of boney fingers scrapping the doors continues and then comes the slam of a body against the glass. The door shudders under the weight. This was a safe place at first. She thought she could hide out here. Eat the food in the cafeteria, live off of whatever she could find and wait out help.

But that never came and now the place is surrounded.

They showed up the night before, just a few wandering around through the overgrown lawn and in the parking lot at first. Bumping into cars and just moving in haphazard circles. It seemed like they were lost. But then overnight they surrounded the school.

She didn’t even have a weapon to defend herself. She was always so afraid of guns. Her dad tried to convince her to go hunting when she was younger. All those years ago seem like an eternity. She never went. She regrets that now but even with a gun she doubts it would matter. More likely she would end up hurting herself, she thinks bitterly.

Another slam against the door again and she hears it crack slightly. She knows they will be here any minute. She wants to run but her legs are frozen as she tries to force herself smaller into the corner.

Somehow those things had spotted her and her brother and then they swarmed the school. It all happened so fast.

They broke into the school proper last night, pouring in through the front double doors in an unstoppable tide. Her brother was with her then. He died as the dead swarmed him pulling him down and then tearing into him in a maddened rush.

He called for her help and the sounds still echoed in her head hours later.

She had been powerless to help him then and feels just as powerless now. Tears begin streaming down her face as the body bashes into the door again.

After he died she made a crazy dash into the closest open door she could find. It was a class room for 3
rd
graders and their art was still hung around the walls. School was out when the world went to hell so the place was abandoned already.

Julie shoved desks in front of the door hoping it would slow them down. But she knew it wouldn’t buy much time.

Tears blur her vision as the door shakes from another impact.

The class room is a mess now. Sitting behind the teacher’s desk as far from the door as she can manage, she wonders how much longer she has. Her hair is a matted with sweat and dirt and her shirt is torn. She reeks from the weeks she has been trying to hide. But the only thing going through her mind is that soon those things will be in the room and tearing into her like they did with Nick.

The door slams again and this time it gives way. It swings inward pushing the mass of desks a few inches. She can just see hands reaching through the crack. They are gray and disgustingly dirty. Some of them are missing fingers as they pry at the door.

Slowly inch by inch the monsters force the desks back until the first one stumbles through. Her brother looks at her with dead eyes. His gaunt face is terrifying. His throat was destroyed during the attack and the blackish blood is spilled all down the front of the jacket he had been wearing.

He stumbles into the room further as the mob behind him forces their way in.

The helpless crying turns into uncontrolled wailing as Julie knows this is her end. She can’t even move as the crowd forces its way in. they are across the room in moments and the first bite causes a searing pain. She lashes out with a foot and begins swinging frantically wanting to be anywhere but here. Her blows fall uselessly against the mob and in moments she is bleeding from a dozen bites and scratches.

Her head falls to the ground but the pain is already so overwhelming she can’t feel it anymore and she sees her brother’s dead eyes looking back at her. The life floods out of her like a broken dam. The dead simply turn around leaving her destroyed corpse behind.

Hours later she stirs again. Julie rises to her feet and wanders out of the school. A stream of undead pass by as she moves with the current heading east.

4

Hardin, Montana

It has been days since his speech and Peter is still struggling to keep things in order. More and more he finds that his survivors are fighting each other. The stress of everything is becoming too much. He isn’t sure how much longer before they reach a critical point and the whole place implodes.             

The rationing has everyone on edge and fights are a constant threat. Just yesterday Peter was forced to put someone in isolation for trying to attack his neighbor. Anger wells inside him. Now he has to commit people to watching the guy. There just aren’t enough bodies.

He splashes frigid water on his face and scrubs roughly, before looking at his reflection. His eyes are wild and his beard is getting unruly. The clock reads 2:30 A.M. he hasn’t been sleeping more than an hour or two a night and the deep circles under his eyes attest to his bone deep weariness.

When will this all end he wonders. In his darker moments he thinks it would be better to have died with his wife and son that day. Anything rather than being here now, alone in the world that offered no hope.

The true nature of people on the edge was coming out. That’s what this seemed like to him. He was never one given to a religious background and he couldn’t fathom someone being able to manufacture all this as a disease. So it had to be a moral issue that went past the level of rational.

There comes a loud rap at his door and he turns around walking across his tiny apartment. Even as leader of the town he’s not attracted to wealth. He just wants to get the job done.

He swings the door open and a frantic man is standing at the door. Peter struggles to think of his name, maybe Jackson.

“Sir,” the man begins drawing a quick breath. “We need you to come immediately.”

“What happened?” Peter asks more harshly than he means. The stress is affecting him.

“There’s a whole group of the undead gathering at the south wall,” maybe Jackson says stepping nervously from foot to foot. His rifle is slung under his right arm.

How did I ever imagine this would work, Peter thinks grimly. “Ok,” is all he says as he reaches back into the door and pulls his own rifle out from a stand next to the entrance. “Let’s get going.”

They sprint down the hall and then take the steps two at a time. The night air is bitter with cold. Snow hasn’t started yet but he regrets not grabbing a sweater first. Just a stained t-shirt and pants he hastily threw on are not enough to dull the cold.

They rush to an idling car. It is a beat up piece of shit but it still runs. The younger man hops into the driver side and Peter swings himself into the passenger. He took an apartment all the way up on Tenth and Crowe. The impromptu guard flips the car into gear and guns the ignition heading towards the southern barrier.

“So what exactly happened?” Peter asks, trying to better assess the situation. He rubs his hands briskly in the warm air pouring from the vents.

“Cromley was doing wall duty and he heard a low moaning. At first he thought it was just one of the walkers but when he went to check it out he saw that there were twenty or thirty of them walking toward the wall,” says maybe Jackson. He flies down Crowe as fast as he can. “They are moving different sir.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asks. He’s seen them moving in groups before. He knows that they seem to act more
alive
when there are enough of them.

“Well they’re faster sir. They don’t stumble nearly as much and when Cromley went to get help the number doubled. It’s like they are moaning to each other and calling others in,” he is breathing rapidly, anxiety clearly overwhelming him.

“You need to calm down, Jackson. We will take care of this.” Peter tries to stay in control of the situation but he knows that things could be getting bad really fast.

Jackson swings a right on 4
th
and they tear over to the city state park. A couple dozen men in heavy jackets are rushing around with flashlights and rifles. The driver slams on the brakes and the car squeals to a stop.

Peter is out and moving before it even fully stops. He sprints across the lawn with his rifle in his hands.

“What is going on?” he calls out. He is glad to see that for the most part his people are taking up positions in the houses that face the wall. They are trying to get high ground but no one has fired a shot yet.

A middle aged man steps out of the shuffle of people and snaps a quick salute. Terry Davis, They had served together in the marines and the guy was a dour man at the best of times. He seemed to have come into his element with the end of the world though, like he was born to live through all this.

“Sir they are grouping up at the south walls. We have men taking up firing positions. It looks to be over a hundred of them things and they’re all moaning like some ungodly rock concert,” Terry says.

“Let’s get up there and have a look,” Peter says as they finish walking across the open green square. There is an office building, squat and functional that borders the southern wall. The bottom floor was overrun by the dead but they set up a ladder so that they could use the spot as a sort of watch tower.

Terry climbs up ahead of peter and in moments they are both on top of the two story building.

On the ground level just outside the wall Peter can see the hundreds of bodies surrounding the wall. “Well shit,” he says under his breath.

“Just what I was thinking sir,” Terry says. His voice is grating from a life of cigarettes. “What do you think we ought to do?”

“Why are they all here?” Peter wonders out loud, “What drew them to us?”

“I am not sure sir. It seems like they just up and realized there was fresh bodies back here,” Terry says. “Maybe they have some way of sensing us we ain’t sure about yet.”

“Well we need to do something quick. If they are talking it’s through those moans. They must be drawing each other here like moths to a flame,” Peter replies.

“I will get the men shooting then,” Terry says and grabs the radio at his belt.

“No, no, wait,” Peter stops him. “I don’t want to waste all those bullets. And besides that much noise will probably just draw out more of them.” He rubs his face again trying to clear his head. A nervous tic he has developed. “How many of them do you figure there are?”

“I’m not sure sir. Could be upwards of a hundred by now.”

Peter nods his mind racing. “Yeah I think you’re right. What’s say we get someone in a car and try to lead them away. Get them away from the wall.”

“Don’t you think that’s suicide?” Terry asks.

“Well we need to do something. And if those things are just following life then it will buy us time,” Peter replies, “Here’s what we are going to do…”

***

Peter grips the steering wheel nervously. His knuckles white from the strain. He knows this is dumb. It might be the dumbest thing he has ever thought of, but he is praying that it will work. If it buys them time without starting all-out conflict with those things then it is better than nothing. He gives a thumbs up to Terry in the car right next to him.

“Just stick to the plan,” he says out the open window. Several men standing by the east wall open the impromptu gate with a screech of metal against metal. He guns the car’s engine and flies out onto North Center Avenue. It is a quick drive down onto Third Street where he hooks a right. He has to weave to avoid stalled traffic and empty wrecks. The head lights reflect back the first snow of the season.

When he turns onto Third Street he sees the first of the undead, an older man wandering around in a hospital gown. His wispy gray hair is blowing in the wind.

Peter swerves past him heading right for the edge of the crowd. The group of undead see him and begin moving in his direction. He thanks god that they are playing along. At least this step worked.

The other car stays right behind him as he passes the mob. The dead begin shambling after him as one, like a swarm. He guns the engine and runs over one that gets right in his path. The thud of the thing going under the axle gives a satisfying feel.

He races for the opening at North Cody Avenue. Dead move out from behind buildings but he makes it just in time swerving around a three car pile-up he is able to force his way by the cars, scrapping the side doors in the process.. The cars are little more than burned shells now.

He lets up on the gas as the mob grows behind him. His partner and him coast through traffic driving mostly on the sidewalk. Staying slow enough that the horde will follow. He watches the rearview mirror, praying under his breath that the creatures will stick with them.

Peter takes them all the way down to Railroad Street where he turns back west. The sun is just coming up casting long shadows through the town. There are hundreds of them now. As he drives he flips on the stereo and blares Led Zeppelin as loud as the car will let it play. He hopes the sound will drive them from miles around.

After a nervous 15 minutes he is outside of Sunset Village mobile home. He pulls into the parking lot and jumps out of the car. He races around to the back side of the car and pulls out cans of gasoline. Hurriedly he splashes it everywhere. The sound of moaning drifts on the air and he looks up to see that what was hundreds is now a couple thousand strong.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” he says, moving quicker. His fingers are freezing and he struggles with the lid. Terry is out of his car helping to empty other canisters of gasoline. Out of time Terry just throws down a dozen rust red containers.

“Come on man we gotta go. No more time,” Terry says as he looks up at the growing crowd.

They are pouring into the gates from all sides now. Peter tosses the canister to the ground and pulls out the homemade Molotov cocktail.

“Let’s hope this works,” he says. He fumbles a lighter out of his pocket and lights the end of the flannel shirt sticking out of the open end of the bottle. The flames lick greedily up the fabric and he stuffs it into the tail pipe of the car he drove in.

They sprint the short distance to the other car and hop in as fast as they can. Terry guns the engine and sends them lurching forward. The dead are all around them closing in fast. Terry swings the car towards the rapidly closing gap and presses the gas down until it hits the floor. The engine squeals with the effort but they make it just in time, sending a few dead careening away from the car. Just as they whip past onto Third Street there is a massive explosion. The homemade bomb goes off and a fireball fills up the rearview mirror as the gallons of gasoline are consumed in the blaze.

The dead too close to the explosion are thrown from their feet. Many of the others are caught on fire. Because of their proximity the fire spreads to those around them, consuming hundreds in the inferno. Peter and Terry don’t have time to admire their handy work. They tear the car out of the crowd and up Mitchell leaving behind the dead.

“At least it will buy us some time,” Peter says as they fly up the street. “We need to figure out something more permanent though. I’m betting it won’t be long before they are back.”

Terry just nods as they take the long way back to their own little walled in city.