Zombies! (Episode 10): State of Emergency (7 page)

"That's the most we've seen at once," Henry said. "The hoard can't be far behind."

"Do you have the firepower to handle them?"

Henry nodded. “Between the tank and the two Hummers…" As he said it, one of the Humvees pulled away from the formation and started back down the bridge toward Brooklyn. Henry and Martin watched it go past. It was being sent as support for the plows. There was also a lot of other activity. The patrol cars were being moved while they could still move. Guardsmen and police alike were taking up strategic positions along the expanse. Now there were eyes and guns in front and behind. Martin wasn't sure he hadn't made a mistake by telling Olden about the stragglers. If there was a group of zombies in Brooklyn, it was probably heading deeper into the borough. Because of him, there was possibly vital firepower pointing in what could very well be the wrong direction.

The next fifteen minutes went by very slowly. Marin sat alone in a patrol car. He desperately wanted to just bask in the warmth, but was too curious about which orders were being given outside. He opened the window. Snow blew in but he ignored it. He once checked the phone to see if Abby's position had changed. It hadn't. He almost wished it had. Then he could at least convince himself that she was alive. If the phone wasn't moving, that could mean… He didn't want to think about what that could mean. He listened to those nearest him. Some of the men were getting skittish. At one point, he heard Olden screaming at the top of his lungs.
If those fucking plows don't get here soon, we'll never get across that fucking bridge.

Finally, they did arrive with the rumble of their large engines and the clanking crunch of their chained up tires. They were standard New York City Sanitation trucks outfitted for snow removal. They moved slowly, pushing the snow aside as they went. There was one in front and one behind, the one behind dumping salt onto the roadway as it went. Each plow was driven by a sanitation worker in a green uniform. Sitting next to him in the cab was a fully geared, fully armed policeman. The Hummer followed the two trucks.

"About fucking time!" Olden cried. "Get those two trucks behind the tank! Come on!"

Lieutenant Olden was an aneurysm waiting to happen.

The tank took point with the plows staggered behind it. There was one on the left and one on the right. Though the bridge was three lanes, the trucks did not ride side by side. The lead truck pushed the snow to the left and the other, behind it and shifted, pushed the snow to the right. Together, they made a wide path. Twenty feet back so as to avoid the salt spray, came the Hummers, the van, and the patrol cars. When they ran into the hoard, the trucks would stop and the cars would pull up and spill men out onto the bridge. The tank should be able to hold the zombies off long enough for the men to get into formation.

Martin was tense. Despite the fact that he knew he could never have crossed the bridge even that quickly without the threat of zombies, he was still chewing his cheek over the time spent waiting. He kept telling himself that he was safer with the cops and that it had all worked out better than he could have expected. He could only hope that Abby and Sam were alive and safe. If they weren't… If something had happened to them… If he saw them walking toward him as the living dead…

What would he do?

What
could
he do?

He was beginning to understand why Jazz had given him the gun. All he would need was three bullets.

A few minutes into the trip, the tail lights ahead glowed a bright red and they came to a stop. There was a brief command over the radio and the officer driving the car threw it into park. He looked to his partner, said "Here we go," and got out. Martin sat tight for a couple of minutes, not knowing what to do. There was silence both inside the car and out. Then all of a sudden, a huge concussion sent the world spinning. The tank had fired. Martin had never heard anything like it. Even in the back, he could see the bright light that had erupted. The tank fire was followed by gunshots. Unlike before, it wasn't just a couple of shots and then nothing. It was continuous.

Unable to stand it any longer, Martin got out of the car. It had started to snow harder. He doubted he'd have been able to see the Hummers and the sanitation trucks at all if it weren't for the lights. He went forward slowly, getting lost in the cacophony of shots. When he passed the first plow, he looked up and saw that no one was in it. That seemed odd until he reached the second one and saw that both sanitation men were there. Their police escorts had gone to fight. The two men's eyes were glued to the scene ahead, a scene that Martin couldn't view from where he stood. Rounding the passenger side, he climbed up. The man inside was startled at first, then slid over to make room. He didn't know Martin, had never seen him before. But he was a living breathing human being and that seemed to be all that counted.

They didn't have a good view over the tank, but they were slightly left of the tank so they could see enough. Fires burned on the pavement where the bodies of dozens of zombies lay in pieces. Soldiers and policemen were lined up to either side of the tank. They were shooting in waves and reloading the same way. This allowed them to keep up a constant fire on the approaching hoard.

There had to be several hundred of them. They approached wave after wave heedless of the flames and the bullets. The tank fired again and the center of their rank was obliterated, bodies flying in all directions. The falling snow melted in the air and the wind parted the dust and smoke. Behind it all, crowding the bridge as far as the eye could see were zombies.

Martin had never seen so many.

No one had ever seen so many.

Across the other side there were more. Some were trying to bite their way through the separating fence but most just kept right on walking. The sound of gunshots was deafening. Zombie bodies fell to the pavement and others scrambled over them. It became quickly clear that they were too far outnumbered. It would only be so long before some zombies got into arms' distance. After that, things would get very ugly.

The driver of the truck levered himself to jump out. Martin caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and reached across the cab. Though he was a strong man, he could never have held the driver if the driver hadn't wanted to be held.

"Where do you think you're going?" Martin asked.

The driver didn't say anything. The tank fired again. More bodies were tossed backward and to the sides. It slowed them momentarily.

"You've got room on the left." Martin pointed around the tank, then pointed to the second driver. "You get back in your truck, seal the doors, and follow us."

He wasn't quite sure what Martin had in mind, but he obeyed anyway. The driver of the first plow put it into gear and began creeping forward. He blasted his horn at the soldiers in his path and they scattered. Martin told him to angle his plow to the left. As they moved past the tank, he caught sight of Olden shaking his fist and screaming. He would have given chase, but the second plow came forward and blocked his path.

"What kind of tonnage can one of these trucks push aside?" Martin asked.

The driver grinned.

It took a moment for the second truck to pull up next to them. In that time, the zombies gained a lot of ground. There was no one shooting at them. Together, though, the two trucks took up most of the roadway. Not even half of the left and right lanes were clear. They shared the center. Pushing hard, they moved forward, their plows down. Martin looked to his right and saw the other driver through the window. He waved him on with a wicked grin and told his own driver to keep going at all costs.

"Heroes is what we'll be," he cried. "Let's go and be heroes!"

Then they reached the front line of zombies.

Plowing people wasn't like plowing snow. The giant blades took the zombies right off of their feet and pushed them to either side of the bridge. A few of the more agile ones tried to get out of the way, but after a few yards of pavement, there was no more room. Those that weren't caught directly by the blades were knocked aside by the wave of bodies. They were pushed to the side, some safely buried under their brethren, others crushed up against the sides of the bridge. Some were caught between the two trucks and chewed up by the chained tires. There weren't that many of those, however. Otherwise, they'd have been at risk of getting stuck. It was terrific to watch and Martin was the only living person who could really take in the full effect of the scene. The drivers were so intensely focused on driving that the snow and the zombies and the road fused into a mathematical construct. But Martin… He was able to appreciate the terrible beauty of it all.

The ride seemed to go on forever. Glancing into the sideview mirror, Martin could see that the soldiers were regrouping. He had barely a second to view it before the snow behind blocked his line of sight, but the trucks had done good work. The time they were buying Olden and Henry was going to be crucial.

They really were heroes.

When they finally broke free of the throng and there was nothing ahead of them but snow and pavement, the drivers began to slow down.

Martin's elation began to die down. "What are you doing?"

"We have to wait," said the driver.

Martin opened his door and leaned out. Looking back, he couldn't see much more than snow, but there was a dark shape at the border of his vision. It was a pile of writhing, struggling bodies. With all the damage they had done, he wondered if they'd killed even ten percent of them. It didn't matter. Let the men with guns deal with that.

"We can't wait," he said. "We need to clear the rest of the bridge."

"Clear it of what? We just left the last of those things behind us."

"Maybe," Martin said. "But we should be sure. And then… How about the snow? We should clear the snow."

The driver turned his full face in Martin's direction. "Why are you so hot to get over to the city?"

Martin paused. He looked out the front windshield where the snow had accumulated to six inches or more. "My wife and son are just over this bridge. I was trying to reach them when I ran into the police. If you won't go on ahead, I'll go on foot, but I don't know if I'll make it. I'm begging you."

The driver looked over Martin's shoulder to where the other truck sat. The cold billowed in through Martin's door. He didn't answer.

"Look," Martin continued. "I'll pay you. I'll give you ever last cent in my accounts. Just get me to the end of the bridge and then I'll be out of your hair. I swear it."

The driver grinned again. "What's your name, man?"

Tentatively, Martin told him.

"Deion Montessa," the driver said, extending a hand. "Over there is Luke Hough. We both got kids safe at home. Luke's even got a wife." Then he put the truck in gear, waved over to Luke, and started forward.

Martin smiled. He smiled as wide as he had ever smiled.

Deion glanced over at him once and said, "When this is all over, you're gonna buy us both dinner."

Martin laughed. "I will buy you the best dinner you've ever had. I'll even feed it to you if you want. You are bloody brilliant!"

***

Nigel intercepted Shawn on his way to English class. Shawn had only been back in school a short time. It was the beginning of the term and they'd just had a week off for testing. During that week, Shawn had been working hard to make up for all that he had missed. His side still ached from the gunshot wound. His ego was still bruised from his affair with Marcus. The story he'd told his friends had included zombies and zombie hunting. He'd spun it so that he looked extremely innocent and understated as a character in the drama, but of course it hadn't worked. Rumors and fantasies floated about the school. They were calling him
Shawn of the Dead
. It had been funny at first, a nice homage to a movie he'd absolutely loved. But then he started getting nasty messages on the social networks when people found out he wasn't associated with the film. That seemed kind of stupid. He didn't even spell his name the same way.

Glancing into a classroom and through the window, he could see the snow falling. It wasn't so bad yet, but it was going to get a lot worse. He'd be breaking his back shoveling it out tomorrow. Nigel grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside. "Let's go, man."

Shawn looked past and saw a small group of people lingering. He knew them all by name at least. Leon was Nigel's best friend. They'd been friends since childhood. In fact, Shawn was pretty sure that Leon either lived with Nigel or had lived with him prior. Then there was Orlando. Big, beefy, crazy Orlando. He was bouncing up and down on his heels as if he had some great afternoon plan in store for them. Behind Orlando were the girls. There were three of them as well. Dawn, Janise, and Juliet. Shawn knew that Juliet and Orlando had had a thing once. Dawn and Janise were unknowns.

"I got to get to English," Shawn said.

"Are you kidding?" Nigel said. "It's Friday and it's snowing. Look around you."

The hallway was practically empty. On a day like that, school was really just a place where everyone could meet up before cutting out. Shawn was actually surprised that Nigel had stuck around so long. Of course, that didn't mean he'd gone to class.