Rotter World (10 page)

Book Two

Chapter Fifteen

The convoy wound its way along the tree-lined road without spotting any signs of life save for the wildlife that had rapidly repopulated the area. Each time the vehicles rounded a bend, a deer or small animal would scurry into the woods, dissolving into the darkness on either side of the road. A feral cat, presumably at one time someone’s pet, hunched down in the overgrown grass along the shoulder and carefully studied each vehicle as it raced by. Its eyes flared crimson from the headlights, giving the creature an ominous stare.

Robson lifted his foot off the accelerator a full five seconds before the brakes lights on the school bus flashed. He knew instinctively that the convoy was about to turn onto the main road just north of Kittery. He could drive this route with his eyes closed. Each of them knew every inch of it by heart, even at night. They had driven this way God knows how many times previous because it was the only road out of camp that took them around the rotter-infested Navy yard.

Up ahead, Daytona slowed the Mack to make the turn onto Route 1A South. The other vehicles followed, keeping a safe distance from one another. As usual, they encountered no rotter activity until they reached the half-mile stretch of road that held the city’s outlet malls. Hundreds of rotters milled around the surrounding parking lots and stores, having been drawn by the numerous raids they had staged to gather supplies. Scores of corpses with bullet holes gouged out of their foreheads lay in small clusters throughout the area, marking previous battle sites. Upon hearing the sounds of the approaching vehicles, hundreds of lifeless eyes turned in their direction. Robson could imagine the collective moan as the living dead lumbered toward the road in a vain effort to reach the food. The few rotters that stood in their path were quickly dispatched by Daytona, their smashed bodies being thrown aside by the plow. Robson glanced in his side mirror, watching as a few of the more determined zombies stumbled after them in pursuit.

A minute later, the convoy crossed the overpass that put them onto Route 1 South. The twin towers of the 1950s-era lift bridge loomed in the dark sky ahead of them, the red aviation warning lights on each structure still blinking. Just before the convoy reached the bridge, the vehicles veered right onto Route 103 and began their run alongside the Piscataqua River.

Robson looked across the river onto the New Hampshire side. Though he could not see it through the trees lining the banks, he knew that Newington sat only a few miles away. The images of his and Susan’s failed escape attempt seven months ago invaded his thoughts no matter how much he tried to forget. For a moment he wondered what happened to her. Was she fortunate enough to have been stripped clean by the rotters, leaving nothing left to reanimate? Or did she become one of them, now aimlessly wandering amongst the abandoned cars in search of food? The all-too-familiar pangs of guilt wracked his conscience, this time accompanied by nausea over picturing Susan as one of the living dead.

Thankfully, Daytona’s voice came through his radio, providing a welcome distraction.

“Hey, boss? Are you there?”

Robson lifted the handheld push-to-talk radio from off of the dashboard and keyed the microphone. “What’s up?”

“Do you realize this is the first time we’ve gone this far west?”

“So?”

“Just mentioning it,” Daytona replied sheepishly. “Welcome to the brave new world.”

“A rotter world,” sneered Dravko from the back.

Robson placed the radio back on the dashboard. He doubted this brave new world would be any better than the one they were leaving behind.

Chapter Sixteen

The convoy had been driving for less than an hour when the brake lights on the Mack lit up. Robson slowed, coming to a stop fifty feet behind the school bus. He watched as Daytona climbed out of the truck and walked down the road until he disappeared around a bend. Robson picked up the radio and pressed the microphone button.

“Daytona, what’s going on?”

No answer.

“Daytona, are you there?”

Still no answer. Robson shifted the armored car into Park and removed his shotgun from its vertical lodging mount. “Dravko, you’re with me. Colonel, stay here and keep an eye on the doctor.”

“Roger that.”

Robson and Dravko climbed out of the armored car and headed for the Mack. As they passed the school bus, Natalie and a few of her girls disembarked. Josephine, Leila, Stephanie, and Tiara each stood by one corner of the bus, scanning their respective quadrants for rotter activity and holding their Mausers ready for quick fire. Natalie waited by the open door. Ari stood on the stairs behind her, her rifle pointed at the ground.

“What’s up?” asked Natalie.

“Damned if I know. Daytona’s not answering his radio.”

The two women fell in behind. Robson heard Ari pull back the bolt on her Mauser, loading a round into the chamber.

Daytona knelt by the front bumper of the dump truck, unwinding lengths of chain off of the winch.

“Everything okay?” asked Robson. “You didn’t answer your radio.”

“Sorry. I left it in the truck.”

“Why’d you stop?”

Daytona pointed over his shoulder while he continued to work. “Because of that.”

The others turned to look up the road. A few yards ahead sat Eliol Bridge. Two vehicles blocked the entry ramp. The first, a red Toyota Camry, sat in the eastbound lane. A Dodge Ram heading west had swerved and crashed into the Camry’s left front fender, and now sat at a seventy-five degree angle across its lane. Flies swarmed around the point of impact.

“Can’t you push your way through?” asked Dravko.

Daytona stood up, holding the coiled chain in his hand. “Not at the angle that pick-up is in. I’m gonna have to pull it out of the way.”

“Let me check it out first,” said Robson.

“Better you than me.” Daytona leaned back against the Mack’s bumper and pushed the NASCAR cap back on his head.

“Watch yourself,” said Natalie.

Dravko approached the Ram from the left side as Robson circled around the accident to the right, both carefully watching the vehicles for any sign of movement. Dravko looked into the bed of the Ram, and then stepped forward and peered into the cab. Not seeing anything suspicious, he opened the driver’s door and scanned the interior.

“Nothing here. Looks like whoever drove it walked away and took everything of value with him.”

As he neared the Camry, Robson switched on the flashlight mounted under the barrel of his shotgun and shined the light onto the driver’s side. The window had been shattered, with shards of glass littering the ground. A figure sat in the driver’s seat, motionless. Robson raised the shotgun, keeping it trained on the figure as he approached. Only when he got to within a few feet did he realize that the driver had been lucky, having been devoured so badly the body could not reanimate. The back of its head had been pried open and the brain eaten. Flies swarmed around the corpse, feeding off what remains had not already decayed. The chest under its shirt pulsated, probably from maggots. He placed the shotgun’s barrel against the corpse’s temple and pushed. The head broke away from its neck with a loud snap and dropped onto the passenger’s seat.

Robson stepped back and turned to the others. “All clear.”

As Daytona came forward to wrap the chain around the Ram’s trailer hitch, Robson opened the back door of the Camry and peered inside. The flashlight fell on a duffel bag lying on the floor. Robson pulled it out and slung the strap over his left shoulder. He would rummage through it later to see if he could find anything of value.

Two minutes later, Daytona went back by the dump truck and turned on the winch. The electronic whir of the engine mixed with the clinking of the links as the chain grew taught, soon accompanied by the creaking of metal as Daytona dragged the Ram away from the wreck. Robson heard the moan of a rotter.

Jumping back from the Camry, he swept the accident scene with his flashlight. A rotter lay stretched on the ground where the Ram had sat, having been wedged under the pick-up during the accident. It tried to stand up, but its legs had been crushed, and instead thrashed its arms futilely. Robson stepped forward, the shotgun trained at its head. The rotter turned to stare at him, its mouth snapping violently. He approached to within five feet and squeezed the trigger. The sharp retort of the shotgun cut off the moaning as the shell blasted the zombie’s head from its body, spraying brains and skull fragments across the asphalt.

Natalie raced forward. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing to worry about. A rotter was trapped under the pick-up.”

More moaning from farther down the bridge caught their attention. Robson swung the flashlight in that direction. The light illuminated only a hundred feet, but in the darkness beyond, several shadows shambled toward them. Robson and Natalie backed up and joined the others. Ari moved up alongside them and trained her Mauser down the bridge.

“Where they hell did they come from?” asked Natalie, a nervous edge to her voice.

“They must have been attracted by the noise.”

“How many?” asked Dravko.

“Don’t know. According the map, Dover is a few miles across the river.”

Natalie moved close to Robson until they practically touched. “Which probably means hordes of rotters.”

Ari leaned her cheek against the stock of the Mauser and kept the weapon sighted. “Should I call the others?”

“Hold on.” Robson turned to the dump truck. “Daytona, can we get across now?”

“Sure. Just give me a minute.” Daytona had detached the tow chain from the Ram’s hitch and began frantically rewinding it onto the winch. After seconds that dragged on like hours, he respindled the chain and secured it. He stood up, wiping his palms against his trousers. “All set.”

Robson spun around to face the others. “Let’s roll.”

Moving around to the driver’s side of the Mack, Daytona opened the door and climbed into the cab. Natalie headed back to the school bus. Ari retreated a few steps, her Mauser still aimed down the bridge, then lowered her rifle and followed. Natalie had already ushered the other girls on board and stood by the door waiting. Ari ran up the stairs and to her seat. Natalie jumped on last, closing the door behind her.

The first rotter slowly emerged from the shadows. From this distance, it looked like it might once have been a young woman, long scraggly hair falling across what remained of its leathery face. Its clothes had long since been stripped away, revealing naked, desiccated skin. It reached out for Robson, flailing away desperately with the stump of its right arm. A few yards to the rear, two more rotters came into view. One wore light blue hospital fatigues stained dark brown with dried blood. The other, a man in the tattered remains of a business suit, limped toward them, dragging a nearly severed left leg behind him.

Dravko stepped up beside Robson. “We have to get going.”

Robson snapped back to reality. The two men jogged back to the armored car. Thompson stood by the open rear door. “Is everything all right?”

Robson circled around to the driver’s side. “Rotters are crossing the bridge. Nothing to be concerned about.”

They crawled in and secured the doors, and Robson shifted into Drive. Daytona was already heading across the bridge, maneuvering between the wrecked vehicles, with the school bus close behind. Robson surged forward and kept a safe distance to the rear.

A dozen rotters moved across the bridge, the ones in Daytona’s way easily being pushed aside by the plow. The man in the business suit became lodged on the right corner of the blade and was dragged along, its shattered leg tearing free and sliding across the asphalt. Daytona snapped the steering wheel to the right, throwing the rotter free. It fell into a heap by the side of one of the bridge abutments, and immediately began crawling toward the convoy.

Once across and on the road leading to Dover, Robson saw another dozen of the living dead spread out across the area, a couple on the road itself, and more struggling up the embankments. The convoy easily brushed aside the few that got in its way and slowly increased speed. Robson glanced in the side mirror as the armored car raced past, watching as the rotters along the embankment turned en masse and stumbled after them.

From in the back of the armored car, Dravko looked out the rear window with a growing sense of concern. Not about the rotters, which were rapidly falling behind, but about the sliver of light blue sky spreading across the eastern horizon.

Chapter Seventeen

Dravko made his way to the front of the armored car. He leaned in between Robson and Compton and motioned with his head in the direction they just come from. “Have you looked east lately?”

Robson glanced in his side mirror, not realizing what Dravko meant. His eyes widened when he noticed the first tints of the rising sun. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes before dawn. He had lost track of the time back at the bridge. All he could think to say was, “Shit.”

“That’s along the lines of what I was thinking,” responded Dravko.

The first two vehicles of the convoy were already half a mile ahead of him. Robson grabbed the radio from the dashboard and keyed the microphone. “Daytona, the sun’s coming up. We need to pull over now and get Dravko’s people into the Ryder.”

“That ain’t gonna happen, boss.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out in about thirty seconds.”

Robson began to argue when he saw movement to the right and left. As he drew closer, his floodlights fell onto a sign off to the right announcing they were entering Dover. Close to twenty rotters milled around on either side of the road, living dead sentinels for the town. Their numbers increased the closer the convoy got to the center.

Robson keyed the microphone again. “Daytona, we need to find a safe place to stop, and fast. So haul ass.”

“I’ll do my best, boss. But this town is pretty well infested.”

Robson took another glance toward the east. The horizon glowed reddish-orange. Robson looked around for a secure location to stop, but rotters jammed the road and sidewalks.

The road suddenly came to an end at an intersection where it connected with a cross street. Daytona decelerated to a near crawl and pulled the Mack sharply left. As each vehicle slowed to make the turn, rotters closed in, most of them descending on the bus. The living dead slammed decayed hands against the flanks of the bus, trying to claw their way inside. Flashes erupted from the windows as the Angels fired back, dropping several zombies. Robson could see the streaks of gore left on the sides of the bus. As he entered the turn, he had to maneuver around the rotters, both those lumbering towards the armored car and those littering the ground.

By now, they were well into town. Rotter activity was thicker than anything they had ever encountered at Kittery. Between the moaning, revving engines, and gunfire, the racket they made attracted every rotter in the vicinity. There were not enough to pose a threat to the convoy as long as they kept moving. But it also meant they could not stop to get the vampires safely into the Ryder. They would have to—

Daytona’s truck came to a sudden stop. Robson watched the brake lights on the rear of the school bus light up. He slammed his foot on the brake pedal. Because of the added weight of the armored plate, it did not stop right away. The tires squealed in protest and the rear end jackknifed slightly. The armored car came to rest a few feet short of the bus.

Robson keyed his microphone. “Daytona, what the hell’s going on up there?”

“Hang on, boss.” Daytona left the mike open. Robson could hear him arguing with O’Bannon. “Which way?”

“I don’t know,” O’Bannon yelled back, his voice accompanied by the rustling of papers.

“Well, figure it out before we’re swarmed and can’t move.”

“I can’t. Windows’ maps are fuckin’ useless.”

Something slapped against the window by Robson’s head. A hand with all its fingers missing swatted at the glass, trying to break through, but only smeared the surface with blood and chunks of decayed flesh. The hand belonged to a rotter dressed in a police uniform, its lower mandible ripped off. Another dozen rotters began to swarm around the front bumper and flanks, with more closing in. From inside the school bus, Robson saw the Angels shooting through the open windows. Caylee hung over the side of Mack’s dump bed, firing down on those crowding the truck.

Dravko leaned forward, the tremor in his voice belying his outward calm. “We don’t have much time.”

Robson looked in his side mirror. Half the eastern horizon was lit up, with the undersides of the clouds glowing red from the approaching sun. He keyed the microphone. “Uh, guys? Anytime now would be helpful.”

“There, there, there!” O’Bannon’s excited voice came over the speaker. “Off to the left. A sign for Route 9.”

The Mack lurched forward and turned left, shoving aside a swarm of living dead that frantically clutched at its sides. A rotter grabbed one of the support beams and attempted to pull itself up onto the bed until a well-placed shot from Caylee exploded its head. The decapitated body tumbled to the ground.

Whitehouse accelerated, moving into the path cleared by Daytona. Robson followed, constantly switching his attention from the road ahead to the rapidly lightening sky to his left. Rotter activity remained too heavy to attempt a switch here, but at least Daytona was booking it to find a safe place. They were already doing over sixty, which was risky on a city street clogged with rotters and abandoned vehicles.

Daytona swerved right, smashing through two cars blocking the road. One of the vehicles, a Saturn, spun off to the left where it smashed through a glass-enclosed bus stop. The second vehicle, a Subaru Outback, got caught on the plow blade. Daytona pushed it along for a hundred feet, chunks of metal breaking off and falling by the wayside. Finally, the Subaru broke free and slid off to the right, forcing Whitehouse to swerve around it.

Natalie’s voice came across the radio. “I have three vampires on this bus who are freaking out.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” responded Daytona, “but we have a rotter problem.”

“In case
you
haven’t noticed, the vampires are going to have even bigger problems unless you pull over in the next few seconds.”

A quick glance to the east confirmed that. The sun had already crested the horizon, a few rays of light shining through the spaces between the buildings. They had a few minutes at most. A quick scan of the area showed about twenty rotters. Not ideal, but enough for them to handle.

Robson lifted the radio to his mouth. “Okay, guys. We have to stop now.”

“Too dangerous, man,” responded O’Bannon. “We have to wait till we clear town.”

“We don’t have time.”

“I won’t risk anyone’s life needlessly.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Robson practically yelled into the radio.

Daytona cut into the argument. “Boss, there’s an overpass about a hundred yards ahead of us. There’s only a few rotters on it, and our flanks will be protected. We could easily do the switch there.”

“Go for it,” said Robson. “Natalie, did you hear that?”

“I copy. Already have our friends ready to make a run for the Ryder.”

“Good. Mad Dog, do you read me?”

No response. Robson looked in his side mirror, and to his horror did not see the Ryder. He keyed the radio again.

“Mad Dog, where the fuck are you?”

“Look in your right mirror, asshole,” Mad Dog responded.

Robson glanced to his right and saw the Ryder passing him. “When we hit the overpass, stop alongside the front door of the school bus.”

“Way ahead of you.”

Daytona reached the overpass and raced across, sweeping away the few rotters on the span, before screeching to a halt on the far end. Whitehouse pulled into the left lane directly behind the Mack. Tibor, Sultanic, and Tatyana rushed off the bus even before it came to a complete stop. Natalie joined them, and the group raced to meet Mad Dog. Robson pulled up behind the Ryder and climbed out just as the first rays of sunlight broached the top of the buildings. A line of sunlight moved across the asphalt toward the convoy.

Natalie reached the Ryder first. Jumping onto the loading dock, she swung the latch into its unlocked position and flung open the sliding door. Tibor leapt up and rolled inside. Sultanic paused to help Tatyana onto the landing, and then climbed up himself. Natalie helped them through the blackout curtains, and then turned to Dravko and Robson.

“Move it!”

The two were a few feet from the Ryder when the sunlight washed over them. Dravko cried out, but kept running. As Natalie reached out a hand, grasping Dravko by the arm and helping him onto the loading dock, Robson tried shielding the vampire with his own body. Dravko rolled into the back of the truck and out of the sunlight. When he stood up, Robson saw that he only had been lightly burned on his right cheek and hand. Probably painful as hell, but nothing that would not regenerate.

“Thanks,” said Dravko, rubbing the burnt spot on his hand.

“Don’t mention it.” Robson reached up and grabbed the handle to the sliding door. “You should be safe until sundown.”

Robson began to slide shut the door when Dravko shot out a hand, holding it in place. When he looked into Dravko’s eyes, he saw an emotion he had never seen in the vampire before. Fear.

“What’s wrong?”

Dravko took a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t leave us stranded in rotter territory.”

“Are you serious?”

“You know there’s a lot of people at camp who would see this as the perfect chance to get rid of us.”

“I’m not one of them,” said Robson.

“Neither am I,” added Natalie.

Dravko nodded and offered the two a slight smile. As he moved through the blackout curtains into the rear of the Ryder, Robson lowered the door and secured the latch into the closed position.