Respect for the Dead (Surviving the Dead Book 1) (10 page)

Devin stared down to the phone in his hand without really seeing it.  He had been trying to get a hold of his wife for the last half hour; his thumb hovered over the call button.  He pressed it without thinking about it.  He hadn’t been able to reach her the last two dozen times why should this be different? 

His attention was drawn back to the traffic cameras.  The crowd in central park had grown over the last few minutes.  Cars were speeding down the road.  The drivers were erratic and wild with no regard for the pedestrians.   There had been several near misses already and several not misses.  Those who got either hit skidding along the pavement or went flailing through the air.  The result of each incident was always the same the person would lie motionless for a moment, then get up, or crawl or stumble.  Limbs would be at weird angles, legs and arms not working or completely missing.  This is what caught Devin’s attention.  A car had just flown through the intersection throwing a small person cart wheeling over it.     

“Hello?  Devin?” He jumped at the sound, quickly putting the phone to his ear. 

“Cheryl?” Relief flooded over him.

  “Devin what is going on?”  Her voice was strained and held more than a hint of panic. 

He pulled the phone from his ear and closed his eyes.  His heart ached.  Biting his lip he returned the phone to his ear, the fear threatened to overtake him.  “Honey listen, and don’t ask questions just do what I say please!  Get the girls and get out of town.  Go to your mother’s in Altoona.”

  “Why what is going on?” She frantically asked.

“Please, just go.  Things are going crazy; I want you and the girls out of…”  Devin’s attention was drawn to the central park camera.  The phone slowly dropped from his ear.  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  A car careened around a corner straight into the crowd. 

Several people were thrown through the air.  The ones in the part fell like dominos, others sliding across the grass.  Just as before they all just got back up like nothing had happened, except this time they all began to converge on the car. Devin watched as the crowd began attacking the car.

The driver was trying to back up but he didn’t seem to be gaining any traction.  Then the wheels found traction, the driver gave it too much gas.  The car swerved and smashed into a tree. Next they attempted to move forward through the crowd. 

He was driving into a wall of people.  They barely moved piling up on the hood or falling under the wheels.  Devin half rose from his chair, the phone forgotten in his hand.  He cried out when the driver’s window was smashed and the driver pulled out.  The passenger had wrenched the door open trying to run but was overwhelmed by the mass of people who instantly surrounded her.

“Devin!  Devin what is going on?”  Cheryl cried.

   “Oh sweet Mother of Pearl!”  Devin exclaimed as he watched the crowd rip the driver and passenger to pieces.

“Devin! What it is?  What is going on?  Devin answer me!”   Cheryl was truly in a state of panic now.

Returning the phone to his ear, “get the girls and get out of town NOW!”  Devin yelled as he watched the parts of the passenger being dragged in different directions from the car.  Sinking back into a chair he thanked god there was no sound with the picture. Putting his hand to his face he felt drained and defeated.

“Cheryl, I love you.  Tell the girls I love them and I’ll see them at grandmas.”  Devin muttered into the phone. 

  “Devin, what is going on?  Come home we’ll leave together.” His wife half wept.

“Please honey; go now, while you still can.  I love you.”  Devin spoke into the phone his heart breaking as he did.  He knew he couldn’t make it home.  All his routes were blocked; everywhere he looked there were people in the streets running.   

“I will see you at your mother’s, I promise.”  He lied. 

“I love you.”   His wife’s voice hitched as she called for the girls.

He heard his youngest, “Mommy there is a man at the door, he looks hurt.”  Like ice water pouring down his spine Devin pictured a bloody man at the screen door.  He heard his daughter’s scream and the phone clattered to the floor.

  “Cheryl!  Cheryl!”  Devin screamed into the phone jumping to his feet.  “CHERYL!”  There was no one on the other end. All he could hear was banging and shouting then the diminishing sound of someone running away. 

“Cheryl…”  He moaned into the phone.  Hanging up quickly he tried to call his house again.  All he heard was a recorded voice telling him all circuits were busy.    He tried his wife’s phone, nothing; he tried his oldest daughter’s phone and got the same recorded voice telling him all circuits were busy. 

Sinking back into the chair all he could do was pray his family made it out of the house and was alright.  A feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him as he looked from the useless phone to the monitors.  The bridge out of town to the highway was clogged with cars, none of them seemed to be moving.  Devin did something he hadn’t done since the birth of his first child.

“Damn it!” he screams as his phone flew across the room, smashing against the cinder block wall.   

The garage door rose too slowly.  Gerry revved the bike’s engine and readied himself.   The hastily attached tree trimmer shook across the handlebars, the twine, taught and straining.  Slapping down the visor he checked the machete duck taped to his arm extending past his hand.  Heavy kitchen knives were strapped to his knees and boots. 

The door was halfway up now.  He could see several pairs of legs approaching, drawn by the sound of the opening portal. 

“Vreee Vreee, pllt plllt plltt.”  The bike purred.  Zipping up the camouflage jacket a smile broke across his face.   Finally!  Finally after years of playing the games, after years of being told he was wasting his time he was going to prove them wrong.  He would survive, and why?  Because he
had
been playing the games, training for just this day. 

The door was all the way up and they were moving toward him.  Graying skin stretched over tight muscles, teeth bared.  His smile grew bigger, “just like in the games.”  With the open door came a cool fall breeze and, unlike the games, came the stench.  His eyes began to water behind the visor and his lunch jumped into his throat.  The putrid stink of excrement and rot threatened to overpower him.  Fighting through the urge to vomit the bike slipped into gear.  The engine whined and rear tire squealed.  Kicking out at the undead as he passed. 

The air in the helmet cleared, the stink was still there but in the open he could at least breathe.  Blinking away the tears and regaining control of his stomach, his euphoria returned.  Seeing another undead ahead he leaned toward it making contact with its right leg.  The serrated bread knife ripped free of his shoe and stuck into the thigh of the zombie he passed.  It took no notice but tried to follow him.  He turned the throttle leaving the ghoul with only the knife and his laughter.

He sped down the road.  “Ten points!  Ah we can do better…”  He searched the street for another target.  “Oh yeah, gonna be a head shot!” he cried pumping his fist in the air.  Gerry smiled up at the blade of the machete strapped to his arm.  Twisting the throttle and he leveled the blade.  Eyeing the female coming across the grass ahead, he adjusted the height.  “This is gonna take your head clean off.”  He grinned.

              Pain like he had never known shot through his arm and shoulder as it snapped back and hit him in the kidney.  Stars exploded before his vision and his lunch returned to his throat again.  Wobbling dangerously he fought to control the bike.  Pulling his arm forward he tried to put it on the handle bars.  Fire shot through his forearm and fingers. 

              Eyes streaming, he only caught a glimpse of the limping man before the tree trimmer hit him in the midsection.  The trimmer bar ripped free of the handle bars hitting the kill switch as it dislodged.  The rear tire seized and skidded.  Panicked he flipped the switch back to run and tried to move his broken arm to pull in the clutch.  Bike and man crashed to the ground. 

              Lights again exploded before his eyes as his helmet smashed onto the ground.  Screaming in agony he tried to push himself up with his broken arm.  Bloody battered knees protested the attempt to stand.  The man was limping toward him, the tree trimmer halfway buried in his torso.  The woman he had tried to kill approached, her head wobbled on her slashed neck, with every step it tore further threatening to fall off completely. 

              Terror drove him; he clawed at the ground trying desperately to escape.  More pain shot through his leg.  Rolling over he kicked off the small boy who had appeared out of nowhere.  Blood and a piece of leg fell out of the child’s mouth as the boot and knife smashed the little skull.  A bite on the shoulder, one on an arm, more in the legs, screams amplified in the closed helmet.  Blood spurted over the visor as his head left his body.  

              The wobbly neck barely held on as the woman looked down at the helmet and head she had in her hand.  Moaning, she dropped it, the limping man stood up dropping the liver he held.  He looked at the woman, she stared back, together they moan as they began to wander down the road.  

The call had come from headquarters.  To the officers stationed at the bridge it was a godsend, “Open all the incoming lanes to outbound traffic.” It was bedlam.  The few officers that were assigned to the traffic control hoped this would alleviate the cursing, screaming and reckless behavior they had been dealing with for the last hour.  Three city workers had just arrived on the scene.  It took them a long time to push through the traffic, even with the motorcycle police escort.  Now their truck was blocking the already crowded lane forcing drivers further into a bottleneck.  Quickly as they could they unloaded the small forklift from the trailer.  This was hampered by drivers getting too far in the lane and not leaving enough room for the lift to back up.  The honking and swearing blurred into angry noise.  Finally the crew started to work.

The plan was to move several of the cement barricades and make an off ramp to the other lanes.  Several police cars screamed past going outbound in the incoming lanes.  Angry cries and calls of expedited movement came from the creeping traffic next to the workers. 

“I hope they are stopping traffic and not just running for their lives.”  Larry Smith shouted to his coworker, nodding to the back of the speeding police cars.  A few civilian cars now blew past. 

“Let’s just get this done.  My wife is packing up the kids right now.  We’re just heading up the mountain.”  Barry Kline spoke as quietly as he could, trying not to be overheard by the third member of the team.  “We’re heading to the cabin.  Get whatever you need and meet us there.” 

              Larry nodded then motioned for Theresa Barnes to push the barrier with the forklift.  A police bike rolled up and stopped just past the workers.  Another police car pulled up on the other side and turned around.  The barrier scrapped across the inbound lanes.  The workers positioning it so it formed an angle to the guardrail of the incoming lane. 

              The police car pulled into the opening blocking access to the empty lanes.  It moved slightly to allow the lift back through.  Several more officers were now on the scene trying to direct traffic and keep things moving and orderly. Even with the additional police the cars barely crept by.  The pace of the traffic allowed the suggestions of what the officers and the road workers could do to themselves and each other to be heard clearly.  More than once a bottle or other debris bounced off the police car or the cage of the forklift. 

              The second barrier slowly moved into place.  A rock smashed the windshield of the waiting police car.  The crew didn’t need any additional encouragement but immediately began to move to the third concrete divider.  The plan was to block this expansion with another cruiser.  They wanted to orderly wave vehicles over, but the police were not quick enough.

              Barry hurried to the front of the lift as the engine whined.  A tieback had gotten caught in the lift’s gears.  He tugged at the fraying nylon trying to free the forks.  Barry smashed into the cage of the forklift when a car attempted to squeeze between the barrier, the lift, and the advancing police car.  Blood poured down Barry’s face as he clung to the cage.  His screams a howl of agony, the car continued to force its way past, the driver’s only sight was the open road ahead.  Barry twisted against the rear bumper as the car broke free.  He clung to the lift’s cage, both legs broken by the impact.  The extreme pain and shock made Barry’s head spin.  He lost his grip.  Larry ran toward his fallen friend but could only watch as a truck ran over the man as he tried to pull himself out of the way. 

              Theresa jumped from the forklift as another car hit it pushing it further out of the way.  She ran to the truck they had arrived in.  Larry was running toward her.  She gave him the finger, “You didn’t think I heard you and Barry?  What no room for me and my family?  Screw you!”  She screamed slamming the door shut.  The large truck rumbled to life.  Metal scraped and screeched as she smashed her way through the line of waiting cars.  Finally with a crunch she pushed through the barriers and police cruiser to get through the opening.  Breathing heavily she took the open road in front of her at an ever increasing speed a trickle of other cars followed. 

              One of the officers ran to help Barry but Larry grabbed the officer pulling him back.  He had seen that his friend was gone.  He had watched as the thing on the road became one of them.  He consoled himself that it was only for a moment.  He watched as his friend’s body became unrecognizable as car after car streamed over the ground meat that had once been a human.

“Come on!”  A voice called over the traffic.  It was the officer he had pulled away.  He was sprinting to his car.    Seconds later the cruiser was on the other side of the barrier.  The car was dented and scraped.  An officer was hanging out of the back window yelling for Larry.  Shaking out of his horror he waved them off and jumped the barrier.  The police hit their siren and sped off as Larry ran back to town.

Theresa’s breathing slowed, the trucks engine whined with the strain of the heavy trailer.  Even without the weight of the forklift it was a substantial burden.  Several cars had already screamed past her, this irritated her.  They were going to get there first, where they were going to get to was a mystery, but she was having none of it.   Easing to the side of the road she slipped the truck into park.  Jumping from the cab she hurried to the back and began unhooking the trailer.  Her impatience grewas four more cars flew by.  She was frantically trying to get the trailer unhooked, trying not to let the increasing stream of cars distract her.              

“One of you bastards could stop and help.”  She yelled pumping the handle to lift the heavy trailer.  The hitch left the ball, “Yeah that’s right!”  She exclaimed pointing at the hitch.  Her wide smiled ran from her face.  Tires squealing, metal crunching, engine growling a black Volvo banged through cars swerving across lanes.  Theresa’s eyes locked onto the driver’s.  Every detail seemed magnified as time slowed to a crawl.  The grey pallor, the dark wet stain across the neck and clothes, the hand held to the wound.  She watched as the life left the eyes and the head drooped. 

Theresa’s reaction was too slow, the car barreled down the road straight at her.  The trailer caught her in the thighs, even over the scraping crunching metal she heard the bone’s in her hips shatter.  The pain was intolerable, she pushed at the heavy wood and metal deck trying to free herself.  The driver of the Volvo lay only a few feet away, a gaping hole in the car’s windshield told how the body arrived.  Tears streaming down her face, shock threatened to take over.  Theresa struggled against the weight. 

The body twitched.  Theresa panicked.  She pushed, pulled, and screamed, the trailer didn’t move.  The driver of the Volvo was another story.  It crawled closer and closer.  The fingernails scraped Theresa’s face, the hands gripped her shoulders tight, and teeth tore through her nose.  Theresa’s dying screams gurgled through the streaming blood.