Zombies! (Episode 10): State of Emergency (6 page)

Back to the zombies.

There were three of them and he'd be damned if they didn't look just like a trio of drunks hobbling down the empty streets late at night. He wouldn't have known them for zombies right away if they'd been wearing coats. That was the giveaway. No coats or hats or scarves. They weren't even wearing gloves. Slowly moving down the street, stumbling as the wind pushed at their backs, they were headed right toward Martin. He'd either have to ride right through them or head into the street. It was no choice, really. He needed to turn left on Tillary anyway. Tillary would take him down to the bridge. He didn't give it a second thought as he veered off of the sidewalk.

They didn't even notice him.

The riding was getting harder and harder. He'd been out for several minutes and his face burned with the cold, while the rest of his body was overheated with exertion. He crossed on the diagonal, not caring for the sparse traffic now. Even in the few minutes since leaving the store, he'd noticed the number of moving cars diminish. The sky was grey and dark, allowing only just a dim, washed out light from the sun to filter through. Martin guessed it to be just after three o'clock. He had less than two hours of daylight left. He hoped it was enough.

As he continued on, he began to wonder where those three zombies had come from. From the snippets of news that he'd caught, it seemed that only large groups of zombies had been encountered. Dozens or hundreds, just as Abby had said. To see three just wandering down the street worried him. They were either an aberration, just three zombies that had found their way out of some abandoned cellar, or they'd broken off from a much larger group. If he encountered that group, he was in trouble. The going with the bike was slow and awkward. He could still travel faster than the zombies, but not without sacrificing safety. As it was, he was slipping and sliding across the road. But he was loath to give up the bike. When he reached the bridge, he might make up some time. The overhead cage might disperse some of the snow making the going easier. Of course, if he caught sight of a large group of zombies in his path, he might have to turn and run. Literally, run.

Two more blocks down Tillary and visibility became nonexistent. He no longer had to worry what he would do if he caught sight of the zombies. With all of the snow, he would smell them long before he would see them. He'd crash right into them before he'd see them. The wind had picked up and was twisting in all directions. Snow swirled around him and the streets were coated with the fine dry powder. The tires were slipping out from underneath him. It took him four revolutions of the chain to get the bike to move forward. Finally, he decided it was no good and he had to stop and get off. With his hands on the handlebars, he began to walk it, turning right onto Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard.

The boulevard was a long stretch. It was the beginning of the bridge but didn't start to raise right away. You could also pass onto the pedestrian promenade but Martin declined to do so. The promenade was a narrow path than ran through the center of the bridge for its entire length. A person could cross on foot or on a bicycle. But it was narrow and, under the circumstances, Martin preferred the elbow room afforded by the car lanes.

After a few minutes of very slow going, he heard gunshots. It was impossible to determine the direction and distance. They seemed close and up ahead but their sound was scattered across the wind. He guessed rifles. He hoped rifles. Rifles would indicate police whereas handguns could mean looters. The last thing he wanted was to run into looters. Thinking of the gun in his waistband, he felt sure he could take the life, such as it was, of a zombie. But he wasn't sure he would be able to shoot a man. Maybe not even in self defense.

Martin was beginning to tire. He'd come a long way and his cell phone told him that it had taken almost an hour to do so. He wondered about Jazz and the store full of workers and customers. If the zombies in Fulton Market had reached the store, they would cause a panic if nothing else. It would take thousands of them to get through the glass on the windows and doors so the people inside were relatively safe, but the terror would pass through with no problem. Despite the snow and the uncertainty of what lay ahead, Martin was glad he had left. He didn't think he'd have been able to tolerate being trapped in that store, even if Abby and Sam had been at home and all right.

The sound of engines on the wind suddenly caught his attention. He wasn't sure how long it had been there, but he was aware of it now. They weren't car engines; they were bigger than that. They could be trucks or semis, but Martin wasn't knowledgeable about such things. What he could determine was that they were idling. Since he was on the ramp, not too far from where it crossed over the Brooklyn Queens Expressway, he guessed that the police must have set up a road block. At this point, they could be on the bridge or on the highway below. He might not know it until he tripped over them. If they were on the bridge they would stop him. Hell, they might shoot him.

Leaning the bike up against the median, Martin trudged over to the side of the bridge and leaned over. It was tough to see anything much more than he could already. Visibility below was better than visibility above. The roadway underneath the bridge was getting less of a covering and it seemed as if the wind was pulling the snow upward and over the top. He couldn't see any lights or cars on the road. Looking back into the distance ahead, he tried to make out any sign of anything but his efforts were in vain. With nothing left but to continue onward, he trudged forward, forgetting about the bicycle.

Shortly, the sound of idling engines was joined by another crack of gunfire. Cold and miserable, Martin had lapsed into a sort of a trance. The shots broke him out of it, startling him badly. Those shots had been very close. He almost called out into the wind but decided against it. It was only minutes before he finally came upon the roadblock. There was a combination of police and military vehicles including two Humvees, six patrol cars, a police van, and a tank. The tank took point, its gun pointing across the bridge. It was flanked by the Hummers while the police cars were parked in a blockade formation in the background. There were soldiers and police all over the place. So far, their attention was focused on the bridge ahead and no one noticed Martin as he approached. He thought about trying to sneak by but that was going to be impossible. He might be able to get around them but they'd spot him as he walked away from them. At that point they'd either detain him or mistake him for a zombie and shoot him.

Marching up behind one of the policemen, he put a hand on his shoulder and announced himself. He was afraid of startling the cop, but either the cop didn't startle easily or he just wasn't worried about someone coming up from behind.

"You know," Martin said, "you really should be watching your back."

"Who the hell are you?" the cop asked, his gun arm tensing.

"Maritn Benjamin. I was hoping to get across the bridge."

The officer laughed. "You're not even supposed to be out. There's a state of emergency."

Maritn nodded. "I'm aware of that, actually. My wife and son are trapped on the other side of the bridge."

The man hesitated. Martin couldn't see his face behind the cold weather mask and goggles, but he imagined the color had drained from it. What was he thinking? Was he going to tell Martin that the City Hall area had been overrun? He already knew that. In the end, he didn't say anything. He leaned into his radio and called for his sergeant. Before long, a large man appeared out of the snow. He was NYPD rather than military but he carried the air of authority. When he came close, he asked for an update.

The first policeman had forgotten Martin's name so he had to repeat it. Other than that, he was able to give an accurate account of Martin's concerns.

The sergeant tore off his headgear to reveal a gentle face with skin so dark it contrasted almost perfectly with the falling snow. After introducing himself as Sergeant Al Henry, he said, "Mr. Benjamin, you know we can't let you cross that bridge on your own, don't you?"

Martin bit back an angry retort. "My wife and son are over there."

"I sympathize with you, really. And I admire your courage in coming out. But there's an army of zombies coming across the Brooklyn Bridge."

Martin perked up. "You're going to take care of that, though, right? That's why you're here, isn't it."

Henry shook his head, but not in answer to the question. "We
are
going to take out the mob, hopefully pretty easily. But it broke off from an even larger mob that swarmed the area near City Hall. Whatever's coming across the bridge is only a portion of the whole pack."

"I'll worry about the stragglers when I get there."

"You're not going, Mr. Benjamin. If it wasn't for the snow, I'd have an officer drive you home. As it stands, though, you're just going to have to wait it out in a squad car."

Frustrated, Martin thought about making a break for it. Of course, that kind of rash action would land him in more trouble than he dared think about. Even if he got away from the police, what good would it do when he ran headlong into the mob? There was likely no way through them.

"Wait a minute," he said. "What about Heron? Where's he?"

Henry, just about to turn away, looked at Martin again. This time he was trying to determine whether or not he recognized him. "The lieutenant's no longer with the unit."

"Oh, well, that's rubbish. He runs it, doesn't he?"

"Not anymore." Henry's tone of voice was clipped. Martin couldn't tell whether Heron's dismissal made him happy or angry. "Do you know him?"

"Well," Martin said, wondering whether or not he should backtrack. "A bit, you know? It's my wife that's his friend. She was there at
Sisters of Charity.
"

"Abby," Henry said. "Your wife's Abby." He had only met her briefly as they'd been freeing the survivors but her name had stuck with him. Of the survivors, she had been the only one not on staff. He also remembered the cool way she had carried herself. It wasn't as if she hadn't been as frightened as all of the others. And she hadn't been a hero. But she'd taken the events as they came. It was almost more than he'd been able to do himself. After that encounter, he'd gone home and shook for an hour. His wife hadn't known what to do for him. Henry had been one of the first people asked to join the zombie squad. He'd initially refused, unwilling to face it again. Later, he'd changed his mind. Now he was a sergeant, a leader.

"Stick with us, Mr. Benjamin," he said. "We'll be pushing across the bridge once we clear it."

Martin nodded. For now, it would have to do.

The lieutenant in charge was a National Guardsman by the name of Olden. He was a short guy but built out with layers of muscle. Martin could hear him shouting even before he could see him through the snow.
I don't know what's on the other side of the bridge. Satellite? Are you stupid? All the fucking satellite shows us is snow!

When he came into view, Martin could see that his shouts were directed into a phone. Whoever was on the other end of that line was a subordinate whether he was of lower rank or not. Lieutenant Olden didn't let anyone tell him how to do his business and he didn't like it when his dependencies didn't hold up their ends.

He was just hanging up the phone when he saw Henry and Martin approaching. "What the hell is this?"

"Martin Benjamin, sir," Henry offered.

"He's a civilian."

"Yes, sir. He's come several blocks to warn us, sir."

Martin's eyes went wide. Warn them? Warn them about what?

Olden's eyes fell on Martin. He was wearing a helmet, but nothing to protect his face. He had these wide pupils that seem deceptively innocent. But with the crease in his brow, the very hard line of his personality came through. "Let's have it."

Martin searched for something to say, then remembered the three stragglers. "Well, Lieutenant, I imagine you're satellite imaging is confused by the storm. I've seen several stragglers coming down Tillary and have to assume that they were part of a larger group. As I approached, I noticed that your guard was light from that end."

Olden's face burned red for a moment and Martin thought he was going to explode all over him. But he turned his attention to the storm. "
Corporal!
"

A harried looking young man ran up. "Sir?"

"How far out are those plows?"

"About fifteen minutes, sir."

He suddenly began barking out orders so fast that Martin could hardly follow. The corporal stood at attention and listened. Others fell into line and also took in the orders. Martin wasn't sure if the lieutenant had summoned them or they had just known to be there. Then he turned back to Henry. "Put Mr. Benjamin in a patrol car where he'll be
safe
."

Safe
meant out of the way but Martin didn't care as long as he got to go over that bridge. As they turned away, there were more rifle shots. These came from just past the tank and he turned to see. A line of shooters was standing in front of the vehicles and had just taken down what looked to be six or seven zombies. The bodies lay in the snow along with a few others that had been shot before.