Ghost Run (11 page)

I drew my Glock.

The bright tritium glow from the night sights streaked across my NOD before the auto-gate stabilized the images. I took three ear-ringing shots at nearly point-blank range, dropping three of the undead to the white tile for keeps. Juking by two more, I was at my shelf.

As I began to climb, the aisle filled up from all directions. Within thirty seconds they were shoulder to shoulder, reaching up, shaking the shelf. I jumped from case to case until I reached the tow strap. Rain poured down from the opening above, trickling down the strap. I secured one end of the new rope to the tow strap and tied the other end to the supplies I'd just risked my life to acquire. I also secured a case of water to the rope's extra slack.

Taking advantage of the adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, I ascended the knotted yellow lifeline, leaving the gear and water on the shelf below. I tried my best not to look down as I climbed into the light. Every inch I ascended, I thought about my toprope anchor. Would it hold?

I was sucking wind as I pulled myself over the lip of the skylight fitting and onto the roof. Drenched with sweat and rain, I began to heave the haul up from the darkness. It wasn't long before the two gas cans, a length of black hose, and the case of water were on the roof with me. I downed three bottles before deciding on my next move.

Day 6

The rain was coming down in sheets as I tossed my haul from the roof onto the top of the semitrailer. It impacted with a thump, attracting the attention of a char-grilled corpse, blackened from some previous fire. Climbing down the pipe to the top of the trailer, I saw the blackened corpse begin to pound its fire-hardened limbs against the side of the truck. The miserable creature's fingers were fused together, forming curved flippers. Its eyelids, lips, and ears were long gone; the thing stared up at me through the rain, unblinking and gnashing its jagged teeth together with a snap that I swear could be heard over the rain. My rifle was empty, so I pulled the storage compartment from the carbine grip that held three rounds, yanked the mag, and dropped one into the chamber before releasing the bolt and jamming the empty mag bag in. Leaning over the side of the trailer, I tried to aim at the corpse, but the rain was too heavy. I couldn't see through the red dot optic. I lowered the gun as far as I could, firing the round with one hand about a foot from the charred skull. The round impacted its dome, splitting it open to the elements and sending it down into a puddle formed by weathered concrete. My bolt locked back on my rifle, prompting me to involuntarily release the empty mag and reach for another that wasn't there.

With the rain falling like it was, I took my haul with me off the top of the truck and escaped by climbing into the cab of the truck I intended to bring back to life. The smell of the air freshener was welcome. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was sitting in my car a few years ago. I smelled the pine and listened to the rain be interrupted by bouts of thunder. The moment of Zen didn't last long. The flash of lightning illuminated the adjacent
field for a few seconds. Out there among nature's rage was a horde of creatures sweeping across the landscape of hills and trees. In moments I would be overwhelmed, trapped. Hurriedly, I reached for a full mag from my pack and slapped it into my carbine, racking a round into the chamber. I checked my suppressor for tight fit and sprinted out into the relentless storm.

At the GARMR, I pulled my knife and sliced the zip ties that connected the GARMR's solar saddlebags to the truck battery.

“Checkers, follow!” I yelled over the rain at the Simon watch.

I ran to the truck and the GARMR stood and began to trot in pursuit, dragging its red and black charging leads like entrails. The rain masked their smell. I had no time to fuck around; part of the main horde had now broken off in my direction. They didn't yet see me, but that would change rapidly if I remained outside any longer.

I placed the battery under the cab and crawled under the trailer, leading the GARMR behind me before instructing it to stay. It went dormant as I was climbing up the running boards into the driver's side of the truck.

They were at the fence. I dared not slam the door, closing it only enough to hear a click. I sat in the comfortable seat and watched the horde as the windows began to fog from my hyperventilated breathing.

Wiping the condensation from the glass with my sleeve, I watched the corpses march over the field, buckling the nearby chain-link fence when too many of them grouped together. The fence held and worked as sort of a guide, herding the mass east. I took the magnifier from my carbine to get a better look at them. All sorts marched together in hellish union. A sparse number of recently dead shambled along with corpses that likely had only a few nerve endings remaining from their decaying brains to their slogging legs. The massive, tireless group moved east.

It took three hours before the tail of the corpse army came into view. The mass became noticeably less dense and was populated by severely decomposed corpses missing most of their skin and tissue. Some walked on near stumps, getting stuck as their sharp bones sank deep into the rain-soaked soil. I felt no pity for them, not after losing so many, most likely my parents, my fellow officers, and Will.

The sun was low in the sky when the clouds finally broke. Birds flew by overhead as if nothing was amiss down here among the tsunami of walking corpses. The new ecosystem gave the birds an unfair Darwinian advantage. They could fly above the dead and sleep in trees. The natural enemy to their young crawled on the ground and slithered with the worms. The undead would eat snakes just as fast as they would any human. Who knows—perhaps one day they'll take over as the new dominant species on the planet.

I pressed the window button, simultaneously realizing that there was no battery to power the truck's systems. With night approaching soon, I again organized my kit and switched out the batteries on my NOD with a fresh set. I reloaded my empty magazine and drank my fill of bottled water.

With the rain subsided along with the passing horde, I could hear faint sounds coming from inside the store. The angry dead still thrashed and searched wall to wall for me. The image of the corpse of the old lady looking down on me from the opposite side of the countertop was burned into my brain.

As the sun dipped below the hill, I exited the vehicle and moved the GARMR to a safer area next to a fire hydrant surrounded by four concrete pylons. I lugged the battery over to the GARMR and reattached it to the saddlebag solar panels. Protected by the darkness of a moonless night, I started the onerous task of siphoning diesel fuel five gallons at a time from the disabled semi to the one that I thought I could get running. After two hours, my mouth burned of diesel but the tank was full on my rig. The tank I'd been pulling from belonged to the semi with a flat front tire. I didn't have an air compressor nor did I have the equipment required to change the tire of one of these behemoths, so I was forced, via NOD, to compare the visual condition of the trucks before I began sucking diesel. The tanks were cross-connected but I still alternated between filling the right and left tanks in case there might be a cross-link blockage. Afterward, I was completely exhausted and nauseous from the fumes and diesel blisters in my mouth. I knew that diesel was far less refined than ethanol-laced gas, so there was a shot that it was still good fuel.

With nothing more to do tonight, I decided to head for the truck's sleeper and turn in. With any luck, I'd have this beast running
by the afternoon. I was comforted by the fact that the truck cab sat high off the ground and that the windows were well out of reach of all but the most irradiated attacker. With the doors locked, I collapsed in the bed with my carbine across my chest, just like a scared child clutched his blanket while a monster lurked somewhere below.

Day 7

I woke at daybreak in a panic. I'd slept so soundly that I'd forgotten where I was the night before, even without an empty bottle of scotch at my feet. It took a few seconds, but the previous day's events began to play back at a blinding speed in my mind, catching my consciousness up to the bed I sat in, sweating. It was already warm and the humidity was soaring. My chest was covered in no-see-um bites and I was dehydrated. I downed two bottles of water and filled one up with fluorescent yellow piss and tossed it out the side window with a
thunk
. The only undead that remained were those nearly rotting corpses that were stuck in the mud in the adjacent field. Reaching under the seat, I pulled out a lead-filled wooden tire checker with a lanyard of olive-drab paracord routed through the handle.

I recovered the Ruger pistol from its green plastic container under the bed. I pulled the action a few times, the slide painfully pinching my thumb and index finger. I could smell a thin coat of minty lubrication on the gun. The barrel wasn't threaded, but it really didn't matter. I only had a 7.62 can that wouldn't fit the threads even if the pistol barrel was silencer ready. I loaded the ten-round magazines and inserted one into the gun before racking the slide and engaging the safety.

The front seat was peppered with empty water bottles, giving me an idea. I took the magazines from the back and began to tear out pages, stuffing small shreds into one of the empty bottles. Once it was full, I poured some water inside and split the mouth of the bottle. Taking a zip tie from my pack, I carefully secured the bottle over the pistol barrel.

The door opened with a creak as I hopped down the steps
onto the weathered concrete unloading area. Before I forgot, I positioned the solar panels southeast to maximize power to the battery. At the fence, I could see the damage done by the passing horde. Three stuck corpses leaned their heads in my direction and began to gurgle noisily through their shredded windpipes. I hopped the fence and approached one of the flailing sacks of rotting meat. I placed the water bottle on its head and selected
Fire
on the Ruger.

I pulled the trigger.

Pop.

It was loud, but not as much as my suppressed carbine. I repeated the process, eliminating the immobilized undead until my magazine ran dry. The shots got progressively louder as I blew out the guts of my makeshift silencer with each round I sent into the skulls of the creatures. I yanked the bottle off the end of the gun and tossed it into the mud, disgusted. A bulky silencer effective for only five or ten rounds wouldn't do me any favors. I stuffed the warm pistol under my belt and splashed through the dark mud back to the semi.

I had lunch on the roof of the trailer, glassing the area all around me with my binos, seeing nothing but the occasional corpse stumbling through the fields in the distance. Once back in the truck, I placed the brick of .22 ammo and the Ruger pistol in the GARMR's saddlebags and again adjusted the panels into the rising Florida sun. As I crouched below the trailer, I could hear a faint thumping on the aluminum walls.

One of them might be inside, or it could just be from the creatures in the store.

Feeling like a million dollars for a multimeter would be a fair trade, I ignored the noises and focused on organizing the cab of the truck as well as my gear. I hadn't scavenged the nearby truck with the flat tire, so I methodically worked that from the back to the front, taking tools, ropes, and everything else that might come in handy from its exterior. The cab was locked, but there didn't seem to be anything useful inside, and this one didn't have a sleeper compartment. Breaking the window wasn't worth the trouble or the noise.

Thump, thump, thump
came the sound from the other trailer.

I hoped it would go away. I looked up at the bright sun that beamed down onto the copper-tinted solar panels.

“Shine, you bastard,” I said aloud, willing the photons onto the panels and the electrons into the precious battery.

At about ten thirty, I decided to give it a shot. I disconnected the battery and lumbered up onto the engine compartment. I replaced the leads and nearly fell from the truck as loud static began blasting from the speakers inside the cab. I jumped off the engine and raced up into the cab, shutting off the source of the dinner bell static. The key wasn't even in the ignition. The trucker had his CB wired to work without the key.

Thump, thump—
the sound from the trailer continued.

I worked quickly, preparing for a mob of undead to round any corner without notice.

As I worked, a question formed in my mind:
How am I going to get the GARMR in the cab?

Pushing the problem out of my head for the moment, I plugged the panels back into the GARMR's lithium polymer battery frame, tucking the cords out of its way.

“Checkers, follow.”

The machine walked gracefully over to me in the shaded grass. I told it to stay and ran back over to the truck. Up in the cab with the door open, I went through the steps I remembered. The machine started on the second attempt, blowing dark smoke from its stack and over my hood. I let the long-dormant engine spin and lubricate for a minute before putting it into gear and edging forward.

Something fell behind the truck. Looking back into my rearview mirror, the creature began to get back on its feet. I gave the truck some gas and parked near the GARMR, leaving it running. I jumped down off the truck and nearly twisted my ankle, sending off an unwanted shot into the brick facade of the store. As the round zinged off the wall, I put another one into the corpse's face, disconnecting enough nerves to put it down, but not enough to stop it from moving. The thing jerked and twisted uncontrollably as I focused on the open loading bay doors and into the deep black.

Nothing came for me.

The truck was still running when an idea hit me. I ran to the back of the trailer, hoping to see pallets of ammunition and
dry food but instead found rotted lettuce. I pulled one of the aluminum-undermounted ramps down from the back of the truck and pressed the follow button on the beacon watch. As I came up the ramp, I heard the sounds of several creatures rounding the outside corner of the store. The other truck was between the advancing creatures and me. They didn't notice me yet. The GARMR clicked and clacked up the ramp into the trailer; I told it to stay and stowed the ramp before getting back into the cab.