The Dead Road: The Complete Collection (12 page)

I saw the white pickup pass by on the road beneath us, a flash of bright movement through the trees, the engine roaring loudly. "Eli, they're coming, we gotta go. Load him in the Jeep."

"You heard what he said, man! They're--"

"He's just a kid, Eli. He's talking out his ass. His father will want him back, and want him alive. We can trade him for Amy. Load him into the Jeep and let’s drive. Go meet the guy head on."

"It's too late for that, man! We're over the line! They got all those fucking things heading right at them and they don't even know it!"

I nodded, "So let's give them the kid and send them home, and make sure he gets back there fast. Right?"

Eli let out a frustrated groan and tossed the shotgun to me before picking the kid up and dragging him to the Jeep. Roger said nothing. I could see that everything that wasn't packing up immediately and heading for the hills just wasn't a good idea in his mind. I climbed into the driver's seat, leaving Eli with the kid in the back. I handed Roger the shotgun as he got in the passenger seat, "You good?"

"Right as rain." he muttered.

I drove back down the hill, heading for the junction of Route 67. The white truck turned on to Howe, and, seeing us, stopped in the middle of the road. I stopped, facing him. I flashed my lights. He flashed back. I grabbed one of the handguns from between the seats and climbed out of the Jeep, tucking the gun into the waistband of my jeans. The passenger door of the truck opened.

The man that got out looked like he stepped right out of a movie screen. He was over six feet tall, with a Boston Red Sox cap worn back on his baldhead. His silver goatee was thick and bushy, and his sleeveless flannel shirt was tucked tightly into the top of his oil-stained jeans. He carried a shotgun in his right hand, and had a large, pearl handled automatic pistol in a holster at his side. I could tell that these were not guns he salvaged at the last minute. They were as much a part of his wardrobe as the sun-faded cap on his head. We walked towards one another, stopped about fifty feet apart. The sun was reflecting off of the windshield of the truck, making me squint against the glare and making it impossible to see how many others he had with him.

"I heard a shot," he said, his New England accent as thick as an extra from a Stephen King movie, "so either you shot my boy, or he shot one of you."

"He's alive. We have him in the back of the Jeep."

He peered over my shoulder, then spit a thick glob of chewing tobacco juice onto the road. "Well, it seems we have an old-fashioned hostage situation here. Suppose you have your list of demands?"

"The girl, Amy. You grabbed her on the street this morning."

He grinned. His bottom teeth were stained brown. "You want that jezebel back? My other son's taken a shine to her. I don't think he'll likely give her up."

I tensed my jaw. "So you're not willing to give her back to us to get your son back?"

He spit another jet of brown slime onto the pavement. "How about I make you a deal, son? You give me Eric back, and you get to leave town with your head still in one piece." At that two other men stood up in the back of the pickup and aimed rifles at me. The big man chuckled. "You see Eric's my youngest. He's not the brightest bulb in the box, but he's still my blood. I'm not an unreasonable man, but these are unreasonable times. Stockton's my town. No room in it for another band of freeloaders. So you give me Eric, and we let you go. Just drive out, and don't come back."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we gun you down where you stand, kill your friends in the Jeep, and hang you from trees as bait to keep the pests away from the house."

My mouth went dry. Eric wasn't exaggerating about hanging us. That's how they kept the corpses away - they had bodies hung out to draw them away. I gave a nod. "Seems... like I have no choice."

He chuckled again. "Good man. I'll even be neighborly and let you keep everything you got from my town. Call it yours, fair and square, looter's rights. You just turn right around to the end of Howe, then take a right. That'll bring you out to one-thirty-two. Where you go from there is your business."

"He's unconscious."

"We got smellin' salts back at the house. Good to know it took three of ya to take him. Means he'll be a fighter. World needs fighters now."

I nodded, then waved back to the Jeep. Eli climbed out and hauled Eric over one shoulder in a fireman's carry. I turned back to the large man. "Just treat Amy right, okay?"

He shrugged. "Zachary's going to treat her as he sees fit. This isn't a polite world anymore."

My stomach was a knot of outrage, but I held my tongue. Now was not the time to debate human decency with a man that clearly had none. Eli came up to us and set Eric on the ground carefully. He had a welt under his eye where I punched him, but he was clearly alive.

We started backing away. The man gave me a nod and a wave. "Out to one-thirty-two and don't look back. I'm a man of my word. Come back to Stockton, and you're bait."

We turned and walked back to the Jeep. Eli muttered under his breath "We leaving, man?"

I shook my head. "Not yet."

We climbed into the Jeep and turned around, driving back up Howe, out of sight of the truck. Once I was sure they weren't following us I pulled into a driveway and turned onto the front lawn, using the row of trees and bushes to keep the Jeep out of sight of the road.

"Make sure we're locked and loaded all the way around. Grab as many of the pistols as each of you can carry. We go back to the road above their house. As soon as we hear gunfire we know they're under attack. That's our chance. We're not leaving Amy to be Zach's rape-wife."

For the first time I could see they both agreed with me. I think hearing the big man confirm our fears, that Amy was Zach's prisoner and sex slave and no one in that house was going to stop it, made them find their conviction. We got out of the Jeep and armed ourselves. They each carried a shotgun and two pistols. I had the hunting rifle and two pistols of my own, as well as a hunting knife strapped to my thigh. Part of me thought I must look ridiculous, while the other part thought it may not be enough. We honestly had no idea what we were getting ourselves in to.

*****

We walked back to the road and crossed, climbing into the woods on the far side and making our way down the steep incline.
We had travelled far enough that the roads were further apart from where we were throwing the bottle, so we didn't have to climb down any sheer rocks on the way. We climbed until we reached the edge of a back yard. The wisp of white smoke was off to our left. I pointed it out to the other guys, "There it is. So we wait till we hear a commotion then we move."

We sat on the grass. No one said a word. Our minds were focused on the task at hand, and what we were about to do. It all seemed like the end of some horrible nightmare. The sun was low in the sky. Soon it would be night again. Twenty-four hours since Jake got bitten. It felt like years had passed.

We didn't wait long. It had barely been half an hour when the first sounds of mayhem started. We could hear the chorus of groans amidst the shouts and gunshots. Car horns blared. I could hear orders being barked. We stood up and made our way quickly across the yard, keeping low as we moved, crossing into the next lawn, then the next. Finally we saw the house, a gray vinyl-sided ranch, surrounded by a stockade-style fence that was clearly a new addition, each section resting at angles to the next, making a zig-zag pattern through the trees. We could hear shouting. The gunfire was an almost constant staccato. We got to the fence and Eli kicked at one of the joints. Wood splintered and cracked. He kicked again. The sections separated, leaving a gap wide enough for us to fit. We pushed through into the yard, but were not prepared for what we saw.

Their defenses were completely down. Whatever perimeter they had had fallen, and dozens of the monsters were surging forward towards the house. What I thought were screams of excitement and action were actually agonized cries, as clusters of the things swarmed over the men, feasting on them before they could even hit the ground. "Holy shit..." was all I could think to say.

Roger pushed against my shoulder, "House! Go! Go!"

We ran to the back door, climbing onto the small deck. The door was new, made of heavy wood that hadn't even been painted yet. Eli pulled the screen door open and tried the handle. Not surprised to find it locked, he started kicking. He brought his booted foot down heavily beside the handle over and over, each stomp echoing loudly through the house. I could hear screaming from inside; a shrill, panicked scream that intensified with each resounding kick. The zombies surged forward, coming around both sides of the house, their groans rising in volume and intensity. There was no more shouting from the front of the house. No more gunfire. The defenders had been overrun.

The door withstood Eli's assault, but the frame did not. With a loud crack the frame splintered, the deadbolt pushing through the wood and sending shards flying into the room. Inside was a bare kitchen, the appliances removed to make way for storage of canned goods and other non-perishables. The screaming came from the hallway to the left. We ran inside, Eli and Roger watching the back door while I made my way in.

Bile rose in my throat as I went down the hall, the air was thick with the scent of human waste and rotting food. While the kitchen seemed organized and maintained, the bedrooms must be filthy. old clothes were piled in the hallway besides overflowing garbage bags. Flies buzzed lazily in the summer heat. Everything smelled of sweat and decay. From the furthest door I could hear whimpering. There was a heavy padlock on the outside. I pressed my shoulder to the door and called, "Amy?"

"Alex??" she replied. Her voice was shaky and hoarse, cut with whimpering sobs.

"Yes. Back away from the door, I gotta break in."

"Oh, god, Alex, you need to go. I.. I'm stuck in here.. I... can hear them outside. They're looking in the windows!"

"Back away!" I shouted. I heard her whimper in response, the shuffling of her feet against the floor, and the rattle of metal on metal. I pulled back and slammed my shoulder against the door. The latch broke free of the door, leaving it hanging from the frame, still locked in place. Amy was huddled in the corner. Her clothes were in tatters, leaving her mostly naked. A chain leash hung from a thick leather collar around her neck, the other end fastened to the bottom of the radiator. She looked at me with sunken eyes. I couldn't imagine what kind of hell the last few hours had been for her. "Come on, we gotta get you out of here."

I moved to her and tried to unbuckle her collar, but the bastard had soldered it in place. I grabbed the hunting knife off of my hip and cut through the loop handle of the leash. "Come on," I said, "We'll get that off when we have more time."

She nodded, standing gingerly, trying to cover herself as best she could. I grabbed the sheet off the bed and draped it over her shoulders. I did my best to keep the bloodstains out of her view.

Roger shouted from the kitchen, "LET'S GO!"

A shotgun blast. Then another. They were coming up onto the porch.

I hurried Amy into the kitchen. Roger and Eli moved to the door, letting out another pair of blasts. The monsters were surrounding the house. They leaned against every window, pushed in against the doors. Four lay dead on the back porch. I nodded to them both, "Go, go, go!"

They lead the charge, running out into the back yard. I followed as best I could, Amy draped over my shoulders, whimpering with every step. Eli fired again, and again, felling two more that came at us. We heard a window break. The house shook as dozens of those things beat against the walls. We ran for the gap in the fence. Roger fired into the small cluster that was trying to pursue us, the blast hitting one in the center of the chest. It wasn't a fatal shot, but it knocked it down, and back against the others that were close by. It bought us fifteen more seconds, but that would be enough. We slipped through the gap and pulled the sections of fence back together as best we could. As we moved into the next yard I found myself thankful for the stench inside the house. Their disgusting habits would keep the zombies rooting around for fresh meat for a little while at least. It was enough time to get us to the Jeep. The fence would keep them penned in as well as it kept them out.

We ran back through the yards of the empty houses. We ran up the hill clumsily, stumbling and tripping our way back up to Howe Street. We ran to the Jeep and got inside. We drove as fast as we could to Route 132.

We never once looked back.

We would find our way out of Stockton, out to some ski lodge left empty for the summer. We would spend the next few months scavenging for clothes, ammunition, and food, stockpiling as much as we could before the chill of the Vermont autumn settled in. We would stay in the mountains until spring, until the snow melted and the cold gave way. Then we would go looking for help. Our plan was to head north, into Canada, then turn west and make for Toronto. Maybe the outbreak would be contained by then. Maybe there would be some hope for us, for humanity, in a different country.

I'm glad we rescued Amy. I'm glad that, through it all, we never let ourselves become the monsters. I don’t know how much longer we’ll survive, nobody does. All we can do is take these little victories and try to keep moving. Nothing is guaranteed anymore. There are no safe bets. The other humans can be every bit as dangerous as the walking undead. The only safety is in being able to survive one day at a time. Each day alive now is a victory. We just need to make it one more day…

The End