Rotter Apocalypse (4 page)

Robson placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Roberta avoided his eyes. “I didn’t mean to panic like that.”

“It’s understandable.” He stepped back and examined her legs. “Were you bit?”

Roberta followed his gaze, her eyes widening as she noticed the blood for the first time. “I… I don’t know.”

“We’ll check later.” Robson headed back to the loading dock.

“What if I’ve been bit? I’ll turn.”

“No you won’t. You’ve been vaccinated. Remember? DeWitt, there’s a cart outside the doors loaded with food. Bring it in here.”

“Roger that.”

Robson stepped over to the loading dock. The Ryder sat in the center backed up against the edge. To the left of the truck, another horde of rotters had moved into the gap where he had gunned down the previous lot. A second group swarmed around the gap to the right. As Robson approached the back of the truck, the living dead leaned in for him. Their arms were not long enough to reach, yet he felt uncomfortable with dozens of pairs of dead hands clutching at him only inches away. Pulling the latch up and to the left, he unfastened the Ryder’s rear door and slid it open. He moved back into the storage room and grabbed the clothes rack. He tapped Roberta on the arm and pointed to the shopping cart. “Bring that with you.”

Getting behind the cart, Roberta pushed it toward the truck, stopping several feet from the edge of the loading dock. Robson loaded the clothes rack into the back of the Ryder and shoved it toward the front. He took the cart from Roberta and did the same thing. DeWitt entered the storage room pushing the cart with the crates of food.

“Bad news,” warned DeWitt. He rushed past Robson and headed for the Ryder. “We have five rotters heading this way.”

“Shit.” Robson removed the empty magazine from his A-12, replaced it with a full one, and took up a firing position in front of the swinging double doors.

*  *  *

Linda closed the lid on the second plastic crate and piled both onto the two-wheel hand truck. “I’m ready.”

“Is that everything?” asked Dravko.

“It’s all we can carry.” She pushed the hand truck toward the door. “Now let’s get Tibor’s boxes and get out of here.”

Dravko led the way. When they reached Tibor, he had his two crates filled and placed them on top of the others.

Linda saw the dead swarmers. “What happened?” she asked.

Tibor smirked. “These little shits are no match for us.”

“Gloat later,” Dravko reprimanded his friend. He said to Linda, “There are no more than eight rotters between us and the exit. You’ll have to use the flashlight to see where you’re going, which is going to attract them. Stay close to us, and we’ll get you out of here safely. Okay?”

“I trust you,” said Linda.

“Then let’s go. Tibor, you lead.”

Tibor set off for the storage room, and Linda tilted the hand truck and followed. Dravko brought up the rear. She kept the flashlight beam lowered to the floor to make certain she didn’t trip over anything, and that allowed her to see the rotters moving in the shadows around her. A female in a blue Walmart apron stained dark with blood stumbled out from behind a clothing display. Tibor morphed into his vampiric form and rushed forward. He swiped at it with his right hand, his talons catching it on the cheek and tearing off its lower jaw, then shoved it aside. The rotter moved toward Linda as she rushed past. Without a lower jaw it posed little threat. Linda heard a snarl approaching from behind, followed by a muffled grunt and the sound of a body dropping to the floor. She barely noticed, her attention drawn instead to the two rotters coming at them from the front. The closest wore a tattered sundress that hung in rags around its waist, its chest and shoulders stripped of all flesh and most muscles. The one behind it hobbled along on a right leg that showed a compound fracture of the femur. Tibor hunched over and raced forward, smashing his left shoulder into the abdomen of the sundress rotter and sending it careening backwards into the one with the fractured leg. Both of the living dead tumbled to the floor and slid into a DVD display. Tibor waved them on.

A minute later they burst into the storage room where Robson stood with his automatic shotgun aimed at them.

*  *  *

Robson tightened his finger on the trigger at the sound of approaching feet. He lowered the weapon the moment he saw Dravko and the others. “We were about to come looking for you.”

“We’re okay,” said Dravko. “We have half a dozen rotters on our tail.”

“Tell me about it.” Robson motioned behind him to the horde around the Ryder. He pointed to Linda. “Get those in back.”

Linda maneuvered the hand truck onto the Ryder.

“Everyone get on board,” Robson ordered. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Only one problem,” said Dravko. “How are we going to get into the front?”

Robson swore under his breath, partly because of his own stupidity. He hadn’t realized that there was no access to the front cab from the truck bed. The Ryder’s roof sat flush with the top of the loading dock door, leaving only a few inches to crawl through. The only way to get to the driver’s seat was to jump off the dock and make his way to the front. With close to twenty rotters on that side of the Ryder, he would never make it. They were screwed. Robson stepped back and examined the storage room. Ten feet to the left sat the exterior door leading into the parking lot. He had an idea. A really bad idea, yet at this point they were out of options.

“It’s only twenty feet between that door and the truck. If you guys keep them distracted, I should be able to make it.”

DeWitt shook his head. “You won’t get ten feet.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

DeWitt averted his gaze.

“I do,” said Dravko. “I can crawl up the side of the truck onto the roof and make my way to the cab. Clear a path for me with your shotgun.”

Before Robson could respond, the swinging double doors leading to the main floor burst open and a rotter dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans hobbled into the storage room. Robson raised his AA-12 and fired two rounds that tore off its head. Before the body hit the floor he began shouting, “Everybody on the truck! Now!”

The others ran into the back. Robson and Dravko stepped to the left side of the loading dock. The living dead crowded around the rear of the Ryder, moaning and clutching at them.

Robson took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

“No, but let’s do it.”

Two more rotters pushed through the double doors into the storage area. Robson lowered his AA-12 at the loading dock and pulled the trigger, swinging the shotgun from left to right and blowing apart the nearest rotters. The shattered bodies dropped to the ground, and before the other living dead could move into their place, Dravko morphed into his vampiric form and jumped onto the side of the Ryder. With his taloned fingers, he scaled the side of the truck onto the roof before the next tier of rotters could get to him, and ran down toward the cab.

In one fluid motion, Robson spun around, dropped the empty magazine from his AA-12, and loaded a full one. Five rotters from inside the store came across the storage room, the closest only a few feet away. Robson raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger, sending two rounds into the closest rotter’s head, churning it into a cloud of red dust. Taking careful aim, he dispatched the other four with head shots. Three more pushed their way into the storage room and headed for him.

Once on the cab’s roof, Dravko leaned over. The door was closed and the window rolled up. Seven rotters gathered around, reaching up for him. Dravko jumped down onto the Ryder’s hood and kicked at the windshield until it cracked and the frame bent inward. Grabbing it by the exposed corners, he ripped it out, tossed it aide, and crawled in behind the steering wheel. When he turned on the ignition, the rotters outside the cab became frantic, clawing and scraping at the door. Dravko rolled down the window half way and yelled to Robson.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Swing by the Hummer so I can pick it up.”

Dravko shifted into gear, and Robson stepped into the bed of the Ryder, firing several rounds at three more rotters that entered the storage room. He held on to the strap so he didn’t fall out when the truck pulled away from the loading dock. The horde of rotters gave chase. He leaned back and yelled, “Roberta, Dewitt! Get up here and cover me!”

Dravko swung the Ryder around and pulled the back end by the driver’s door of their Humvee. The rotters were twenty feet away. Robson jumped down from the truck, raced over to the Humvee, and climbed inside. He had the vehicle started before any of the living dead could reach him. Flashing the headlights to let Dravko know he was ready, he fell in behind the Ryder. The two vehicles accelerated across the parking lot and away from Super Walmart. He glanced into his rearview mirror to see the rotters still chasing them.

Reaching the far end of the lot, the convoy turned right at the exit and followed the side roads that would take them back to Gilmanton.

Natalie Bazargan stood in front of the window to her holding cell. She had been staring out of it for over an hour, her attention focused on Alcatraz Island in the middle of San Francisco Bay. The abandoned prison complex, which used to symbolize despair for the inmates incarcerated there, now represented the best chance for humanity’s survival. Alcatraz was where the government-in-exile had established itself and had been marshaling forces. If mankind hoped to take the world back from the living dead, it would begin here. If they succeeded, it would be in no minor part due to Natalie and her Angels having transported the vaccine for the Zombie Virus across the country. For the first time in almost a year, the world saw a glimmer of hope that it could finally stop this rotter apocalypse and take back the planet. Even if it was the dullest of glimmers, it was more than the world had a few days ago.

Natalie, more than anyone, needed that thread of hope to hang on to.

Now that she had time to reflect on the past few weeks, she realized how much her life had changed. A month ago, she and the others in her group of survivors had been living a comfortable life along the coast of Maine, or as comfortable as one could in a post-apocalyptic world. They had established a nice community for themselves at Fort McClary, an early-eighteenth century fort outside of Kittery that once had been a tourist attraction. They had food, comfortable living conditions, and, most of all, security. Natalie had gathered fourteen other women from the camp and formed a zombie hunting team, respectfully referred to as the Angels of Death. She had even fallen in love with Mike Robson, the leader of the camp’s raiding party. Their lives had settled into a semblance of normalcy until Dr. Compton, the creator of the Zombie Virus that had caused the outbreak, arrived at camp. He claimed to have a vaccine that could give the survivors the ability to fight back, and told them it was kept in storage at Site R, an underground military facility more than five hundred miles away. The camp elders had decided the benefits of acquiring the vaccine outweighed the risks, and had ordered Robson’s raiding party and Natalie’s Angels to accompany Compton to retrieve it.

That mission had ended in disaster.

Having lived in the shelter of their own camp for so long, no one had been prepared for the journey down to Site R. The group had grown used to dealing with minor numbers of rotters, and now had to confront entire cities infested by them. They’d lost several good people on the way, although nowhere near as many as when they arrived at the underground facility. The vaccine for the Zombie Virus was effective only on humans because it had been cultured with human DNA. If given to the vampires, it would change them into the living dead. Compton wanted to use the vaccine to infect the vampires and murder them. When Robson refused, Compton released a horde of close to four hundred rotters into the compound and tried to escape. They had been able to stop Compton and fight back the living dead, at the cost of almost every member of Robson’s raiding party and one of the Angels.

Their situation had deteriorated even further after arriving back at camp. A rape gang they had encountered on the trip south had followed their tracks back to Fort McClary. The gang had destroyed everything in camp and murdered everyone except for one four-man group out on patrol and Windows, who they had taken back to their compound. Robson had made the decision to split the group. He and the rest of the camp survivors would attempt to rescue Windows. Meanwhile, Natalie and her Angels had acquired a yacht and headed down the East Coast and then west via the Mississippi River to the government-in-exile in Omaha. Natalie felt a cold shudder race down her spine at the thought of that voyage. The Angels’ morale had been shattered by the battle with hundreds of rotters at Site R, and psychologically they were in no condition to make such a dangerous trip. They had eventually made their way to Omaha, only to find the government-in-exile overrun by rotters, and traveled by plane with the last military unit leaving Omaha to the new government in San Francisco. Everyone on that flight would have died fighting thousands of the living dead on the Golden Gate Bridge if the government hadn’t sent out a rescue party to save them and bring them back to the Beachhead, the old San Francisco Port of Embarkation located inside Fort Mason that served as the gateway to the new government-in-exile on Alcatraz Island. Natalie had succeeded in bringing the vaccine for the Zombie Virus to the government, although at a cost of five of her Angels dead and two missing. Those who survived were lucky to be alive.

It had been a long time since Natalie felt safe and secure in her surroundings. She had only been away from camp for a few weeks, yet those had been some of the most difficult and dangerous weeks she had experienced since surviving the initial outbreak. Since the group’s departure from Site R, every waking moment had been spent on the edge, anticipating the next danger. Christ knew they had encountered more than their fair share of mishaps until she trusted no situation. Even while being escorted into the Beachhead she had expected the worst, especially after their group had been separated and detained for forty-eight hours in separate holding cells, three people per cell. Thankfully, their captors were gracious hosts, offering a hot meal and a good night’s sleep, both of which Natalie took full advantage of. She slept for seventeen hours, a deep REM sleep that allowed her to wake refreshed.

The group had spent most of their first full day in detention being debriefed. The government personnel were especially interested in Ari, who had been bitten on the hand during the battle on the Golden Gate Bridge and showed no signs of infection. Natalie had been questioned by Brian Thomas, the chief of staff for Secretary Fogel, on the vaccine and what she knew about it, as well as her knowledge of the rotters. Although Natalie had no medical expertise to answer questions about the former, she had been more than happy to describe her experiences with the living dead. Other than the debriefings, the past two days had passed without excitement.

Now, on the morning of the third day, their detention was almost over. Natalie studied herself in the window’s reflection, taking in the change. Physically the changes were insignificant. Her brunette hair still flowed down her shoulders, although the ends were frayed and she desperately needed a trim. The brown eyes that stared back at her were fatigued. Of course, she could have said that about every part of her body. Her face and five foot six frame were gaunt from the strenuous nature of the past few weeks and the lack of food. No, the change was in her attitude and how she bore herself. The desperateness, the hopelessness, and the fear had all been replaced by confidence. Not confidence in herself, because that had never wavered; a confidence that mankind had a future.

She only wished she knew whether or not Robson was still alive.

Natalie heard a commotion by the door leading from the main building to the detention area. The rest of the Angels who shared the space with her stood up from their cots and joined her. Each of her Angels seemed more optimistic than a few days ago. Stephanie, the oldest member of her group, pushed her shoulders back and pulled down on the hem of her jacket. Josephine, a petite young woman of Asian descent, smiled at Natalie. She had a slight bounce in her step, a sign she was anxious to begin her new life. Amy, who usually wrapped her long blonde hair in a ponytail, let it flow naturally down her back, something she had not done since arriving at camp. Ari pushed her librarian-style glasses up her nose and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length dark hair to straighten it. She then reached out, clasped her hand against Natalie’s, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

A few seconds later, Captain Rogers, the Army officer who had led the rescue operation on the Golden Gate Bridge, centered himself in front of their cell.

Captain Duane “Butcher” Everett, the pilot who had flown them out of Omaha, and Private Carver Duncan, the only soldier with them on the bridge to survive the battle, stood off to the side. Everett favored his right leg, his left thigh wrapped in bandages from where he suffered an injury during his crash landing on the emergency airstrip north of the bridge. A corporal came up with a set of keys and unlocked the door.

“Good news, ladies.” Rogers clapped his hands together and rubbed the palms. “Your forty-right hours are up. You’re free to go.”

“Go where?” Ari asked as she exited the cell.

“Alcatraz. We’ve arranged accommodations for you. Once you get there, we’ll give you your passes to the mess hall.”

“Three hots and a cot,” said Stephanie.

“More like two hots and a cot,” Rogers chuckled. “But you get the drift. You’ll also get hot showers and a change of clothes.”

Ari performed a vertical fist pump and hugged Stephanie. Natalie stepped out in the hall and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re part of the team now, and we take care of each other.” Rogers headed for the exit and motioned for the women to follow. “Once you get settled in you can either choose a job posting or we can assign one to you. We’ve got plenty of openings in the armed forces. There’s no need to make any decisions yet. First, let’s get you cleaned up and settled in.” The captain glanced over at Natalie. “I’ll have to show you your quarters later.”

“Why’s that?”

“Right after you take your shower, Secretary Fogel wants to see you.”