MZS: Philadelphia (Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Book 3) (4 page)

“That was a gunshot,” Cupcake calls out into the rig.

“Any guess on the direction?” Patrick asks urgently.

“Behind us.” Tucker has stooped down from the turret. I’m not sure how he heard us.

“You know what to do if someone starts shooting?” Todd hollers up to the turret. His eyes are wild and chilling.

“Grip it and rip it baby!” Tucker calls down, equally excited.

Whoever it is could be shooting zombies. To lockdown the entire city, survivors would have to be well-prepared. Guns are probably included in those preparations.

“Can zombies use guns?” I ask.

Todd directs a vacant stare at me. He wants to hear the sound of the machine gun clattering.

Patrick steps in. “Seriously guys, easy on the machine gun. We heard one shot and should assume it was for a zombie,” he says.

“Maybe it was a signal for everyone to meet at the Liberty Bell?” I suggest. “Terri, is there any more chatter from the survivors’ rally?” It still doesn’t feel right, but I want to maintain an optimistic attitude.

“She’s out,” Cupcake calls back from the front.

Our navigator and communications expert is passed out. Just great. I was worried that she was going to try and take over leadership of the group. Doesn’t seem like it’ll be a problem now.

The Humvee turns left and slows. Out Todd’s window I see a few cars parked normally and an RV has been pulled up on the sidewalk. Switching over to Patrick’s side, I see no signs of life.

“I wonder why the cars are here but all the bodies are on the other street?” Cupcake asks over his shoulder.

This limited visibility is killing me. If the white whale in the front seat wanted to pass out, she could have crammed herself back here. It’s hard for me to take on a tone of leadership when I’m sitting cross-legged and whining, “lemme see.”

One of my first clients gave me some advice about confidence. He said that no one gives you confidence—it’s something you have to collect on your own. The best time to harvest it is when others are searching for it as well.

“Go around the block again,” I order Cupcake.

No one in the truck argues.

A few minutes later, the truck turns left and we roll in silence.

Another left turn and Cupcake stops completely.

“There’s a body in the street.”

I can’t see it and I have to assume that since it’s being announced, it wasn’t there last time we drove up this street.

“Pull up to it and stop,” I command.

I have no idea what to do after we stop. The message said to rally at the Liberty Bell and we are here. We’re also alone, except for a mysterious gunman and several corpses.

“Jaden, listen to me. When we get out of the truck, I want you to stay back here. Tucker is going to stay too, and Terri is napping in the front seat. Just sit quietly and everything will be okay. Do you understand?”

The little boy nods at me. There is no fear on his face. I can’t believe that he doesn’t sense the fear that fills the cab. Our reality must not register with his little mind.

When the Humvee stops, I still don’t have a plan or a sudden bout of confidence. Winging it is still the order of the day.

“Was it a zombie?” My question breaks the silence.

“I don’t know how to tell. Whoever took it out used a headshot, so my guess would be yes,” Cupcake answers.

“No bite marks. All the blood looks like his own. I mean, nothing around the mouth or face like all the undead I’ve seen,” Todd says. Of course he’d add a conflicting perspective.

Cupcake can hunt and fish and hotwire cars. I bet he wouldn’t consider growing food to be a big challenge. His forensic skills leave a little to be desired, though.

Indecision takes over. If it was a zombie, then we should get out and run to the Liberty Bell because the survivors are watching over us. If it was a living person who was shot, we either need to solve the mystery or get the hell out of here.

“Maybe he was just starting to turn and they had to deal with it,” Patrick says, offering a rational explanation.

“I don’t like the idea of walking through a field of potential zombies,” Cupcake says. “There are a bunch of bodies out there and any one of them could get up and try to eat us.”

He has a good point. We can’t be too careful around the seemingly dead.

“I say we get the fuck out of here. This shit ain’t right,” Todd says, offering up his vote before anyone asks for it.

He’s right, but he’s also wrong. Nothing has felt right since I woke up on Saturday afternoon. This feels as un-right as anything, which must mean it’s the new normal.

If the guy in the street was alive, it was probably an accident. With guns and people as on edge as we are, that’s going to happen. We have to be cautious, but not stop searching for other survivors. Strength in numbers is why we even decided to come here.

“Crazy is the new normal,” I say. “We came here to connect with survivors, and we need to check it out. We should be smart and safe, but let’s not run away.”

“McLean is right. We need to check this out,” Patrick says. It’s nice that he supports me.

“I say we get out of the car and backtrack down the street and go around to the other side of the Liberty Bell building. That way we avoid most of the bodies and we still can get to the rendezvous point,” I say. My plan is totally improvised.

“Love it. Let’s roll!” Tucker is excited to move.

“No. You’re staying here with Jaden and Terri. If anyone shoots at us, you shoot back. Otherwise, leave the gun alone,” I say, squashing his hopes for getting out of the car and running around.

“Come on. Can’t Todd stay?” he whines.

“No.” I’m not sure why I take this stance. The truth is, I can’t let Tucker think that fussing will get him what he wants.

Four of us pile out of the Humvee. My heart is pounding in my chest and everything feels like a big mistake. We’re all about to die on the streets of Philadelphia, I’m suddenly sure of it.

Running isn’t part of the plan, but it’s hard not to. Our weird assortment of armor and weapons makes us look a little funny. We’re a ragtag bunch with only determination and ingenuity to keep us going.

This place makes me think back to the days of the colonies and the American Revolution. One of my favorite colonial paintings shows six or seven men standing around a campfire in winter. They are all wearing different-colored coats and pants and their muskets are crudely leaned up against a nearby tree. They were not formal, but they were unified.

I hope our small band can stay unified, or at least alive.

We come up on the outside of the Liberty Bell building and I feel better about our actions. There have been no zombies and no more gunshots. Outside of the RV that is pulled to the sidewalk, Todd pauses. Could this be the base of operations for the rally organizers?

When Todd puts his hand on the door, Cupcake shakes his head no. If these people are on edge, the last thing we want to do is barge in on their sanctuary.

Patrick uses rough sign language to direct us silently around the building, similar to the formation we used to enter the apartment building. Todd takes point, followed by Cupcake, then me, and Patrick brings up the rear.

At the end of the wall, Todd stops and peeks around the corner. It’s not a quick glance; it’s a careful study. Hopefully this will go better than our experience in the apartment back in New York.

Todd nods at us before moving out.

When it’s my turn to round the corner, my nose is assaulted by a horrible smell. The stench of death and decay fills the air. My eyes refuse to look away from the carnage. I’m not interested in counting bodies, but there are easily tens of people around the grassy square.

Something, aside from the obvious, seems odd. I look more closely at the corpses and detect a trend. Men. All the bodies are male. Checking each body more closely to verify my suspicion, leads my eye to the Humvee. The rear door is open.

Someone is stealing our ride! What happened to Tucker?

Looking to the turret, I can see Tucker searching frantically. He looks up the street and then down the street. His eyes aim directly at me and then up the street again. It’s a search.

“Todd!” Jaden yells out from the middle of the square.

No wonder Tucker is panicking. Jaden snuck out and he can’t find him.

Todd hurries out to meet his little buddy. On the way, he has to leap over dead bodies and tip-toe through pools of blood.

“The car smells funny and I was scared,” Jaden yells again before Todd can get to him.

When they meet, Todd scoops the little man up in his arms and pulls him in tight. They are in between the bell and the Humvee, but Todd does not hesitate. He turns and runs back toward me, on a trajectory to meet right in front of the bell.

The walkway around the Liberty Bell is littered with shattered glass and a smattering of trash. It looks as if a battle was waged on this very ground. There is a real possibility that a horde of zombies arrived to interrupt the rally and bring death down on the survivors. I guess the place wasn’t as secure as they thought.

I scold Jaden as Todd approaches with the boy in his arms. “I told you to stay in the Humvee with Tucker and Terri. They are going to be worried sick!”

Support from Patrick would be great but he and Cupcake are inside the building, searching for survivors.

“It’s okay,” Todd says cheerfully. “We’re going to do this part of the adventure together. Jaden, tell Laney you’re sorry and you’ll do better listening next time.”

Todd spins so Jaden is facing me.

A fine red mist sprays across my face, the Liberty Bell rings out, and then the sound of a gunshot arrives.

I have precious little boy brains all over my face and I can feel bits of bone and skin in my mouth.

Before the bell stops reverberating, Todd is pushing me back into the structure surrounding it. From the direction of the Humvee, I hear the eruption of gunfire. Tucker did not hesitate to respond.

I collide with Patrick’s chest but I have no concept of direction. My head is spinning and I am falling. All I see is red and I cannot distinguish the sky from the ground.

“No! The other way! Back to the Humvee!” Patrick screams and pushes me forward.

I don’t understand guns. It sounds like there are a hundred erupting from all over the square. Where did they all come from, or is it just one gun echoing of the walls of the buildings?

As we sprint across the green of the square, I stumble more than once. Patrick catches me each time and helps me to my feet. Todd is out in front, still carrying Jaden’s lifeless body. He leaps over rotting flesh, determined to get his charge to safety, not knowing or not believing the boy is already dead.

Near the Humvee, a door in the hotel building opens wide and reveals a man standing inside. He’s waving us to come in and Todd passes the Humvee while the man bends over and wedges something between the door and frame.

I can’t think, but I know we shouldn’t stay here.

At the Humvee, Tucker pauses his firing and screams down at us. “Get to the hotel! We need to change ammo soon!”

The vehicle is definitely military, but then again these people are not. None of them are wearing a uniform and their weapons are less organized than the earlier men. In fact, I think one of them is carrying a hockey stick.

I can’t figure out their movements or strategy. Driving around the block once seemed smart. Parking and walking backwards down the street was a less intelligent effort.

Their complete disregard for the body lying in the street was unexpected. Based on the earlier shootings, one dead man would not have warranted a trip from the killers. There were no women to kidnap and they must have determined he was alone before shooting.

A lone body lying in the street should have surprised a new group of people not familiar with the murder-kidnap cycle. It could be that they understand this zombie situation more than I do and they were justified in leaving the corpse.

When the boy appeared in the square, I knew things were going to get bad fast. I have to assume he was in the Humvee, because I saw no one on the street when Damon ran out.

This sensation is something I’ve never experienced before. Everything in view was moving in slow motion. I knew what was going to happen before it occurred. Still, I was paralyzed. Could I have called out and helped them before the shot rang out?

From my vantage point the red mist, bell ring and gunshot were simultaneous. Is it fair that I hoped it was the man and not the child? There may not be honor among thieves, but even during the zombie apocalypse, are there people who could intentionally kill a kid?

Being near the hotel does not assure my safety. The shooters appear to have lines of sight over a wide area of the square. Stepping out from behind the door could make me the next target.

Susan speaks to me again. “Help them.”

Maybe my fight isn’t for justice. Maybe my fight is for survival.

There needs to be a distraction. If the shooters have more to deal with, the runners will have a better chance. The gunfire from the Humvee has paused; maybe he has a problem or ran out of bullets.

Next to nothing is at my disposal. Damon had a knife. I could have used that to reflect the light into the shooter’s eyes, but I don’t even have a watch to try that tactic out with.

If I leave the window by the door, I won’t see what happens to the runners. That may be a good thing, but it feels like I’m giving up on them. Standing here watching in fear is not helping, though.

In the stairwell under the last flight of stairs is a sign with two cinder blocks. The sign reads “Hotel Monaco Main Entrance” with an arrow underneath. My guess is they place it down on the corner to direct traffic from the side street when business is slow.

With the horde of zombies milling about in the lobby, I suspect most people would prefer to avoid the main entrance. If only there was a way to get the shooters to take care of the zombies.

There is.

I grab one of the cinder blocks and the sign. My plan is insane, but it’s probably the only chance I have at succeeding.

The door is open wide and I wave wildly. Screaming at the top of my lungs only adds to the cacophony; there is no way they can hear me over the gunfire. I achieve eye contact with the man in front, the one who is carrying the lifeless body of the child.

When I am confident that they are coming toward me, I place the sign between the door and the jamb and heft the cinder block out to the sidewalk. Satisfied that the door will be open when I return, I take off down the sidewalk toward the hotel entrance.

I choose a large window and stop. Banging on the glass gains the attention of the zombies inside. After a few seconds of nothing, the horde becomes organized and heads toward the window. I step back to the street and swing the heavy block in my right hand.

As soon as I let go, I start to run. The sudden movement saves my life. A bullet whistles past my back and digs into the pavement behind me.

The cinder block bounces off the plate glass and falls uselessly to the ground.

Shit.

Even though there are people shooting at me, I’m committed. I have to see this through.

I go back to the cinder block and lift it again. Careful not to step back all the way to the street, I swing the block once more. This time I don’t let go. My hand carries the block to the surface of the window and through the glass.

The window shatters and falls down around my arm like rain. Now it’s time to run.

Glancing back over my shoulder reveals that the zombies are faster than I expected. There are at least ten of them out on the street now and more pushing through the open window.

Up in front of me, a young woman is just getting to my door. The man directly behind her is close enough to touch her, but there is another man just passing the Humvee.

The man in the gun turret lets fly with an extended burst of gunfire. Expended shell casings clatter off the roof and fall to the ground with a pitch high enough to break through the explosive sound of their other half. I cannot see his face but have an impression that the man in the turret is perfectly calm.

I arrive at the door in conjunction with the fourth runner and we both push inside.

My ears are assaulted with a new sound: screams and cries. I forgot how long I had been alone in my room without stimulation.

“What the fuck!” screams the man close to the woman.

Outside, the gunfire stops.

“Tucker!” the three of them scream in panic.

The man holding the child has leaned his face into the wall. The bloody pulp of flesh that used to be a head has flopped off to one side. I can see the man’s back trembling and hear his sobs above all else. That must be his son.

The largest of the three men opens the outside door, the one that came through in front of me. On cue, the gunfire resumes, but still they scream to their friend.

“TUCKER! TUCKER! TUCKER!”

He doesn’t even glance our way.

The first zombie appears at the back of the Humvee and I know there are many more on the way. We need to help Tucker, but leaving our door open so zombies can get in is not the way.

With all my might, I push them aside. My effort is justified when an arm thrusts through the opening and grabs at the large guy’s chest. The hockey stick I saw earlier connects with the zombie’s chest and pushes the thing back several steps. I grab the bar of the door and pull it closed, listening intently for the click.

“Here,” I scream, too loud for the newly reduced level of noise.

They slide over to the sidelight window and jockey for position. The young woman stands motionless. The distant look in her eyes conveys nothing and everything.

I have to take a step back from the guys by the window. They are oblivious to my presence here in the stairwell. Moving about to get a better view of the outside, they dance around each other but see only their friend outside.

“He’s okay. They can’t climb onto the rig,” the big one says.

“He needs to get under cover before he runs out of ammo. I’ll try texting him,” the one with the hockey stick says.

From my vantage point I can see out to the Humvee. The guy in the turret is firing and pausing.

After a sustained burst of fire, I can see a fist pump and briefly catch a smile purse his lips. For a moment I forgot that, in addition to the zombies, this guy is getting shot at from the snipers.

Another short burst of gunfire erupts and Tucker—I gather that’s his name—slides down out of view. There was no telltale red puff to indicate that he was shot. He may be reloading or just resting.

The big one pulls out his phone and reads the screen.

“Tucker thinks he got the last shooter.”

“Now what?” Mr. Hockey stick asks.

Out the window, there are hundreds of zombies on the street. There are more than I remember seeing in the lobby. How many bullets would he need to stop them all? More than I believe are in the truck.

“We can distract them,” I say without thinking.

“What?”

“If we go to the lobby, we can make loud noise to get the zombies turned around and maybe give him enough of an opening to get to the door.”

“Let’s go!” the big one yells.

“McLean. You stay here with Todd,” the guy with the hockey stick says to the girl.

“When the zombies get away from the Hummer, open the door and call Tucker over.”

“Uh huh,” she nods vaguely.

“Laney, do you understand?” he asks again.

“Yeah. Open the door and yell for Tucker.” She’s distant.

We turn to head into the hotel.

The three of us pause to look at the man still holding the lifeless child. He continues to sob and has begun lightly banging his forehead against the wall. We’ll have to find a way to help him when their other friend is safe.

The big guy moves first. He gives his mourning friend a wide berth and heads to the hotel door. The hockey stick guy directs me to go second and I follow without protest. I have not been inside the hotel from this entrance, so I know as little as my new companions.

We get through the door and into a short hallway. It leads deeper into the hotel and I hope it connects to the main passage to the lobby.

“Which way is the lobby?” Big guy asks.

“To the right, it’s not that far.”

He takes off at a slow jog. For the first time, I notice that his forearms and calves are covered in something. The surface has a light shine and some decorations but I cannot make out what they are. It seems odd that a grown man would wear something like this at all, let alone on the outside of his clothes. Maybe he’s one of those cosplay guys and thinks it makes him look like a character from some movie.

The distraction does me no good. My nose smashes into his back while his friend collides with mine.

“Shit,” is all I hear in response.

It’s followed quickly by moaning and that buzzing that has been noticeable as well. When we stand far enough apart, I can see that the hallway in front of us is full of undead.

“Behind us!” the hockey player calls out.

The deathblow is almost reflexive. Before I can process the presence of the zombie, the pointy end of the hockey stick has lashed out and penetrated the eye socket.

In the hallway outside my room, the killing was reluctant. Damon was trying to escape and leave his pursuers alone in the hallway. Only our collision forced him to turn and use deadly force.

But this response left no room for consideration or alternative. Target identified, target eliminated, with brutal efficiency. These men may not be part of the military, but they behave like trained killers.

As the one with the hockey stick steps forward to engage with another monster, I feel a push in my back. The big guy is driving me back to the stairwell. It is probably an appropriate course of action, but I feel like I should resist.

Will I be safe trapped in a stairwell with these people?