Rotter World (21 page)

“Not much we can do. If we get too close, we’ll be in the line of fire.”

“We could at least offer a distraction.”

“Trust me, honey,” Mad Dog winked at the vampire. “They’ll be glad I hung back this far.”

As the three watched, Tibor and the others climbed back into the bus. However, the school bus still sat there.

“Why don’t they get out of there?” asked Jennifer.

“There’re too many dead rotters around the wheels. They can’t go anywhere.”

“So what do we do now?”

Mad Dog grinned. “We give them a push.”

He stopped the Ryder, shifted into second gear, and headed toward the melee. As he approached the crash site, he veered the truck right, and then sharply left, coming in directly behind the bus. When about two hundred feet away, he picked up his radio and keyed the microphone.

“Daytona, hold on and get ready for the ride of your life.”

A few seconds later, Mad Dog rear-ended the bus at about ten miles per hour. The windows in the rear door shattered, and those not holding on were tossed about like dolls. Seven rotters trying to claw their way into the back of the bus were crushed between the bumpers, spurting blood and decayed body parts up onto the truck’s hood. Thankfully, the blow did little substantial damage to either vehicle, although it did provide enough momentum to force the bus’ tires over the pile of rotter bodies. Once free, the tires got the traction they needed. The bus lurched forward and pulled away from the Ryder. Mad Dog gave it enough time to put some distance between them before shifting into fourth gear and heading off down Market Street.

* * *

Inside the school bus, the force of the blow seemed amplified, throwing everyone and everything forward. O’Bannon placed himself against the two fifty-five-gallon drums at the rear of the vehicle and pressed into them; the bump jostled the drums around and knocked O’Bannon to the floor, but neither container moved more than a few inches. Natalie and Compton leaned against Thompson, holding him firmly in his seat. The Angels were not so lucky. Most were too engaged in battle to hear Daytona’s warnings, and so were thrown about the cabin. A couple of shots went wild, one of them going through the roof just behind Daytona’s head. Bethany grabbed on to one of the seats as she toppled over backwards, snapping her wrist in the fall. Most of the other girls suffered strained muscles or scrapes from bouncing off the seats.

Daytona was oblivious to all that. Just before the Ryder bumped into him, he shifted into first gear and slammed his foot on the accelerator, feeling the rear wheels spinning futilely in the blood and gore as if it were mud. Then the truck collided with him, shoving the bus over the pile of corpses. Daytona felt the rear tires spin for another few seconds before finally gaining ground. The bus lurched forward. He let off of the gas just long enough to shift into second gear and floored it again, thankful to feel it picking up speed. Surging forward, the bus pushed aside the horde of rotters and broke into the open road, rapidly gaining speed.

Daytona took a quick glance in the side mirror. Gore covered the front of the Ryder, with a rotter arm dangling from the grill. The right headlight and most of the floodlights were busted, but it followed close behind. From the driver’s seat, Mad Dog gave him a thumbs-up.

Rotters filled the road ahead of them, but there were nowhere near as many as on the main road. Daytona easily maneuvered around the larger groups. The stray ones that got in his way were easily disposed of by the plow blades, their bodies rupturing with a sickening thud.

“How much farther?” he asked without taking his eyes off of the road.

Robson stepped up beside him, massaging a bruised shoulder. “It’s about a mile to the river. After that, we should be home free.”

The number of living dead became fewer the farther they traveled along Market Street until Daytona could drive right through them without swerving around or hitting them. After nearly a minute, the headlights shone off the bridge abutments.

“There it is,” called out Robson.

Daytona increased speed. A burned out SUV blocked the right lane, with a naked rotter trudging along in the left. It turned around at the sound of the bus, revealing an empty abdomen. It had taken a step toward them when the bus slammed into it with enough force to throw it to one side. The rotter somersaulted in the air and disappeared over the side of the bridge.

Less than a mile later, Route 15 appeared on their right. Daytona slowed and made the turn, leaving the rotter nightmare behind them.

Chapter Thirty-three

Robson waited until the convoy entered the farmland along Route 15. Once he was certain they were safe, at least for the moment, he strolled back through the bus to check on the others. He made his way first to Thompson, who still slumped back against the seat, unconscious. Natalie stood behind the seat, her hands on the colonel’s shoulders and holding him in place, occasionally brushing the flies off his face. Compton knelt before his friend, running his hands across the colonel’s legs.

Robson knelt in the seat in front of Thompson. “How is he?”

Compton stood up and patted down his ruffled hair. “I think he has a concussion. I won’t know for sure until I get him back to Site R and can examine him.”

“If it is a concussion, will he be all right?”

“With proper medical care and some rest, yes.” Compton swiped his hand in front of his face, shooing away flies. “We’ll all be better off once we clear away these damn insects.”

“And the stench,” added Natalie.

“Hopefully keeping the windows open will take care of that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for him.”

Compton nodded.

Robson continued down the aisle, stopping in front of the seat where Dravko sat. “How are you doing?”

Dravko massaged the shoulder above his broken arm. “Hurts like hell, but it’ll heal quickly. By tomorrow I won’t feel a thing.”

“Good.” Robson leaned closer so only Dravko could hear. “I have a feeling I’m going to need you and the others at a hundred percent in the next few days.”

“I’ll be ready.” Dravko nodded in Thompson’s direction. “What about him?”

“He’s banged up pretty badly, but he ought to be okay in a few days.”

“Let’s hope we don’t regret saving him.”

* * *

The next few hours passed by uneventfully, especially in comparison to the hell they had just left. The next city was Lewisburg, approximately twenty miles to the west. Rotters roamed the streets, but nowhere near the numbers as in Kenmar-Faxon. Daytona and Mad Dog maneuvered around them, avoiding the main concentrations and making it through the city in a matter of minutes.

They next encountered Selingrove along the Susquehanna River. By skirting the city to the east, the convoy avoided most of the living dead. Just south of the city, an abandoned military roadblock barricaded their path. A line of abandoned cars and SUVs sat on the grass to the left. The scattered weapons and pools of dried blood on the road and grass attested to what happened to those who had manned it and were detained here. Thankfully, the roadblock had been designed to stop lone vehicles that violated martial law, so Daytona and Mad Dog drove around the barricade.

After that, it was mostly open road through farmland for the next hundred miles. The convoy followed country roads that ran far to the west of Harrisburg, taking them through small towns almost completely devoid of the living dead. Liverpool. Duncannon. Marysville. Landsburg. A few rotters blocked the overpass that marked the interchange with Interstate 76, but Daytona easily pushed them out of the way as the convoy raced by. Near Chambersburg, farmland gave way to woods. The convoy continued on until it picked up Route 30 east.

They had traveled only a few miles down this road when Daytona leaned his head back. “Hey, boss. You’ll want to see this.”

Robson stood up from his seat and stepped to the front of the bus, resting his left arm on the driver’s seat. “What’s up?”

“That.” Daytona pointed to the side of the road ahead of them.

A sign stood off to the side of the road. It read: ENTERING GETTYSBURG.

Chapter Thirty-four

Compton stood in the middle of the small access road that led up the hill, half a mile from the intersection with Harbaugh Valley Road. Around him were Robson, O’Bannon, and Dravko. All of them except for Dravko wore night vision goggles. Natalie stood directly behind Robson, her gaze alternating between the access road and the five Angels she had posted in a semi-circle around the group.

“Site R is just up there,” Compton said, pointing toward the top of the incline.

Robson strained to see the last half mile to the chain link security fence that blocked the road, noticing the mass that shambled around on the opposite side of the access gate. He spoke softly so as not to attract their attention. “It looks like we have a welcoming committee.”

“The fucking place is swarming with rotters,” O’Bannon noted.

“There has to be a couple of hundred of them,” added Dravko.

“Almost four hundred, to be exact.” Compton seemed unfazed by his comment.

The others stared at the doctor in stunned silence.

“How do you know that?” asked O’Bannon.

“Two chain link fences form a security perimeter around the facility. About fifty yards on either side of this road, interlocking fences connect the two outer fences, forming a security cage around the entrance.” Compton lowered the goggles and looked at O’Bannon. “Just before we left, we opened the outer gate, lured all the rotters into the cage, and then closed it behind them. Once they were trapped inside, Thompson counted them from one of the security cameras on the roof of the guard house.”

“Why would you want to trap them?” asked Robson.

“To clear our escape route, of course.”

Natalie moved closer to the group so she could speak quietly and still be heard. “They’re so… docile.”

“That’s because they’ve been left there for several weeks without food.” Compton turned to face the others. “They’re mindless creatures that accept their environment. They’ll stroll around that cage like guppies in a fishbowl until their bodies rot away. Or until something excites them.”

Dravko sneered. “In other words, us?”

Compton nodded. Robson felt himself shudder.

“Don’t worry,” said Compton. “Those fences are heavily reinforced to keep out any crowds that tried to force their way into the compound. Those things aren’t getting in unless someone lets them.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” said O’Bannon.

“One question, doc.” Robson removed his night vision goggles, not wanting to look at the seething mass of living dead any longer. “If they’re blocking the main entrance, how do we get inside?”

“The same way we got out. Through the back entrance.”

Chapter Thirty-five

The convoy emerged from the tree-lined street into the small residential cul-de-sac along the compound’s perimeter fence. Nine three-bedroom homes stood on either side of the street, each as dark and quiet as the surrounding neighborhood. There were signs that rotters once roamed this area. An abandoned Suburban sat in the driveway of the third house on the right, its doors and hatch wide open. Rust-colored spots began by the driver’s door and ran across the driveway to the front door of the house, which sat ajar. A Honda Civic sat at an angle in front of the middle house on the left, its front wheels up on the sidewalk, its side windows shattered with streaks of dried blood running down the doors.

Everyone kept an eye out for rotters roaming along the edge of the woods, but no one saw any activity.

Daytona came to a halt in front of a ten-foot-tall chain link fence at the far end of the cul-de-sac. Mad Dog stopped a few yards to his rear. Thankfully, the gate was still closed. The few remaining floodlights lit up the digital keypad mounted on the reinforced fence support just to the right of the gate. A length of chain wound several times between the support and the outer rim of the electronic gate, with a combination padlock holding the two ends together.

“Real hi-tech for a secret government installation,” chuckled Daytona when he saw the chain.

Compton, who stood behind him, did not register the sarcasm. “We put that on when we left the compound in case the emergency generators failed and tripped the electronic lock. We didn’t want rotters getting inside and wandering around.”

“I hope you have the combination?” asked Robson.

“Of course.” The doctor turned to Robson. “Shall we?”

“Yeah. But let’s make it quick.”

Daytona opened the door, allowing Robson and Compton to get out. Four Angels followed behind the men, deploying to the corners of the convoy to keep watch.

As they approached the gate, Robson noticed the digital display on the lock flashed the word ERROR.

“Damn,” swore Compton.

“What’s wrong?”

“When we left the compound, we converted to emergency solar power. There must have been a temporary outage.”

“That means we’re trapped out here?” Robson did not relish the idea of having to gain access through the main gate.

“No. I have the override code. It just means this will take a little longer.”

“It’s all yours.”

Compton raised his head to see the lock through his bifocals and punched in a five-digit code. The ERROR light stopped blinking. A series of red dots ran along the bottom of the display for several seconds before another word lit up: ENGAGED. Lifting the padlock in his left hand, Compton spun the combination lock to the right, to the left, back to the right, and set it on zero. It popped open in his hand. He dropped the lock into his jacket pocket and removed the chain, draping it over his shoulder. He then punched another five-digit code into the keypad. The word on the display switched to OPEN. With a whir, the gate slid aside. Compton stepped through and performed the procedure on the second gate.

As the second gate opened, Compton rejoined Robson. “You bring the vehicles through. I’ll wait here and close the gates behind you.”

“Gotcha.” Robson ran back to the school bus and yelled up to Daytona. “Let’s roll.”

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“We lost Mad Dog.”

* * *

When he saw Robson and Compton head for the gate, Mad Dog slipped out of the Ryder.

“Where are you going?” asked Jennifer.

“I’ll be fine.” He reached in and patted her hand. “Take care of yourself.”

Without waiting for a reply, he walked away from the truck and headed for the next to the last house on the left. Making his way around to the rear, he opened the gate leading into the backyard and crossed to the kitchen door. It hung ajar, the wood around the jamb busted as if something had broken in. Mad Dog breathed deeply and stepped inside.

Pitch dark filled the interior of the house. Removing a flashlight from his jacket, he switched it on and headed inside with a familiarity borne of experience. The small wooden breakfast table sat askew, with its accompanying chairs either knocked over or shoved to one side. Across from the kitchen, a swinging door led to a combination living room/dining room. Mad Dog pushed open the door and stepped through.

And felt his heart sink.

The dining room was a shambles. The table sat on its side, its chairs spread helter skelter across the room. One lay in pieces beside the door underneath a huge gouge that had been taken out of the wall. The glass in the china hutch had been shattered, with shards of broken dishes mixing with the glass on the rug.

He found the living room in a similar state of disarray. Only this time, amidst the broken furniture, were the remains of a female body. The skin that still clung to the skeleton had long since mummified, as had the bits of flesh and organs scattered around the body, the remnants of a rotter feeding frenzy. It sat in the center of a pool of dried blood that stained the carpet black. The corpse was barely recognizable, but Mad Dog knew exactly who it belonged to. He knelt down beside the remains and gently stroked its leathery cheek. Tears welled up in his eyes. At least she hadn’t become one of them.

Bending over, Mad Dog kissed the corpse on its forehead, oblivious to the death that pressed against his lips. He sniffed, clearing his nose of snot.

“Goodbye, Marcia.”

Standing up, he stripped out of his jacket and laid it across her face and shoulders. It was the least he could do.

Mad Dog made his way around the blood-stained sofa to the corner of the living room near the front of the house. The tears welled up in his eyes again. The dog crate sat in the corner, unaffected by the carnage. Inside sat the two tiny skeletons of his beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, George and Gracie. Deep down he had hoped that somehow they had escaped and made their way to safety where they could have fended for themselves in the woods, giving them a fighting chance. Instead, they were trapped in their cage, left to die slowly of starvation while their owner’s body decomposed nearby. He didn’t know who suffered the worst fate.

God knows he had tried to save them. He had left the compound only for a few minutes to rescue his family and bring them back to the safety of the facility, only to find the neighborhood overrun with rotters, dozens of them, feeding on friends who had not gotten out in time. Trying to make it to his house at the opposite end of the cul-de-sac would have been suicide. Marcia had been a tough woman, and he prayed she had taken off with the dogs when the situation deteriorated. When he couldn’t make it to his house, he had returned to the compound to discover that he had been locked out. With nowhere else to go, he had set out on his own, looking for a safe place to ride out the outbreak, and hopefully be reunited with his family.

Only she hadn’t run. She had waited for him to come and save them, and died.

Mad Dog dropped to his knees in front of the crate. The sobs came long and heavy, months of pent up fear, guilt, and anguish purging all at once. His hand caressed the top of the crate. He could barely make out the bones of George and Gracie through his tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

Pulling himself back together, Mad Dog stood up and crossed over to the lounge chair that used to be his favorite spot to watch television. Ironically, it was the one piece of furniture not broken. He slumped into it, sighing along with the cushions. The flashbacks flooded into his mind, providing a temporary solace from his pain. God, how many times had he and Marcia sat side by side, each with one of the dogs in their laps, petting their ears as they watched TV and argued about politics, what they were going to watch, and the value of reality shows? Those days were gone now.

Forever.

Reaching for his holster, Mad Dog withdrew the .357 Magnum and placed the barrel into his mouth. The taste of the metal felt so soothing on his tortured soul. Maneuvering the end of the barrel so it sat against the roof of his mouth, Mad Dog’s finger gently squeezed the trigger.

* * *

“Where the hell is he?” Robson hadn’t meant to snap at Tatyana and Jennifer. He was just pissed at Mad Dog for going off without telling anyone, especially in unknown territory.

Jennifer slid across the front seat and leaned out the window, looking over the spikes surrounding the windshield. She pointed to the row of homes off to the left. “Right after we stopped he got out and headed for the second house on the end.”

“Did he say why?”

“No. He just told me to take care of myself.”

Dravko shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“We’ve got to find him. You’re with me.”

“Okay.”

“Jennifer, get on the school bus. Tatyana, you take the wheel, and be ready to move if anything happens.”

“Gotcha.” Tatyana waited for Jennifer to climb out of the cab before she slid over into the driver’s seat.

Robson led the way to the house, unholstering the Colt .45 he had borrowed from Thompson and switching on his flashlight. The two men had closed to within a few yards of the house when a single gunshot rang out from inside. They broke into a sprint, racing across the lawn and up the front stairs. Dravko rammed his shoulder into the door, knocking it off its hinges, and stepped inside. Robson rushed past him and stopped in the hall, one hand holding the Colt and the other the flashlight, panning the area. Dravko tapped him and pointed into the living room.

The beam from the flashlight fell on Mad Dog’s corpse slumped back in a lounge chair, chunks of his brain and skull dripping from the ceiling.

Dravko placed a hand on Robson’s shoulder. “At least he’s at peace now.”

Robson went to cover up Mad Dog’s remains when the blaring of the Ryder’s horn caught his attention. A moment later, the two men heard the all too familiar groan of rotters. They rushed out onto the front porch. Tatyana leaned out of the truck window, waving at them to hurry up. Ari and Bethany crouched down in a firing position by the truck’s front fender, ready to defend the convoy.

Around them, a dozen rotters filtered into the neighborhood, drawn by Mad Dog’s gunshot. Most came from the surrounding houses, while a few wandered from the woods. Neither their numbers nor their proximity posed a threat.

As Robson and Dravko rushed back to the others, Daytona and Tatyana drove their vehicles through the twin security gates onto the compound. Ari and Bethany waited until the two men passed before they followed. Compton stood by the outer gate, waiting for everyone to pass through before punching his five-digit code into the keypad. The outer gate started to slide shut. Compton stepped inside, walked up to the second keypad, and punched in his code again. He stepped inside the compound, standing beside Robson and Dravko as the gate glided into the closed position.

“That’ll keep them out.” Compton left the others standing there and strolled back to the school bus.

Robson watched the rotters slowly converge on the gate, clawing at the chain links to get at them.
More like trap us inside
, he thought.