Zombie Anthology (13 page)

    
"Sir, I think you should know most of the crew and the people onboard still just want us to take some little island, put down some roots, and finally get off the waves.” O'Neil informed him.

    
Steven grinned. “No,” he ordered flatly, “Our mobility is what's keeping us alive, Mr. O'Neil. Perhaps you should remind these people that if we lose it, we've lost the war."

    
O'Neil changed the subject, avoiding an argument. “How many men will be needed for the lifeboats in this plan of yours?"

    
"I was thinking about sixteen, total. That should give them the firepower and the free hands they'll need."

    
"But who's going to lead them?” O'Neil asked.

11

    
Scott hadn't stopped moving for nearly twelve hours. His underfed and exhausted body was being pushed far beyond its limits. He nearly fell into a tree, grabbing hold of its bark to keep his balance. His head swam and he felt sick. He dropped to his knees vomiting onto the wet grass. So far, he'd seen no signs that his pursuers were catching up with him. When he'd first started running, it'd been like something out of a nightmare. Jeeps full of the dead had came roaring out of the breeding center complex. The first two hours of the chase had been the roughest, ducking in and out of the trees, zigzagging his path, and praying as he eluded both those chasing him and the normal patrols the dead kept posted in the area. He hadn't seen or heard a jeep or dead man in the past seven hours though and he couldn't force himself to go anymore at this point anyway. He needed rest desperately.

    
Scott wiped the vomit from his lips with the back of his hand and rolled over onto the ground, stretching out. The noise of a bullet being chambered inside a rifle snapped Scott out of his thoughts. A woman stood over him with the barrel of a .30-.06 aimed at his chest. She was covered in blood not her own. She appeared healthy and well fed but every inch just as tried as he felt. Long red hair was matted to her face and shoulders by sweat, blood, and dirt.

    
"Hello?” Scott greeted her weakly.

    
"Are you a doctor?” She asked in a voice filled with both brewing anger and a deep sadness.

    
Scott's mind raced. What the hell was he supposed to say? “I know a little,” he answered quickly lying very still so that the woman didn't feel threatened.

    
She took a step away from him and ordered, “On your feet. My husband and son are hurt. They need help."

    
"Okay,” Scott pushed himself despite how much his whole body ached. The woman led him about two tenths of a mile to the east. Scott knew instantly something wasn't right even before they entered her makeshift campsite. He could see a small form tied to a tree straining against the ropes knotted around its body and the body of a man lay stretched out nearby. Scott wondered if the woman had kidnapped the child that was tied up until he saw the massive gunshot wound on the child's chest and began to realize just how much trouble he was in. Thank the lord the woman appeared to have had the sense to gag the child thing. Scott forced himself not to stare at it as it twisted itself under the ropes tearing its flesh as it tried to get free and turned his attention to the man. He knelt down beside him. The man was alive, just barely.

    
"Can you help them?” The woman pleaded, the barrel of her rifle still aimed at Scott.

    
He doubted very much he could fool the woman into letting her guard down. She was too on edge. “Why did you gag the boy?” He asked hoping to lead her mind back to the truth of the things in front of her.

    
Fresh tears rolled down the woman's redden cheeks. It was clear there was no way she could rationalize doing it and continue to believe her son was alive. “He ... He was just gibbering. Saying horrible things. I couldn't take it anymore."

    
"Was he really your son?"

    
"Yes,” she answered not bothering to correct the word “was".

    
"And this is?” Scott asked placing a hand on the man's arm.

    
"Riley. He's my husband, Riley."

    
"He's going to die just like your son did,” Scott said bravely, staring down the madness in her eyes. “He's lost too much blood. There's nothing we can do for him out here."

    
"Liar!” the woman howled, her finger tightening on the trigger as she shoved the barrel of her .30-.06 closer to Scott's face.

    
"Whoa! Careful there!” Scott begged, his hands held high in the air. “I'm sorry lady. I just call them as I see them."

    
The woman hesitated lowering the rifle's barrel slightly. Scott made his move grabbing for the weapon. Too bad for him, Hannah was faster.

12

    
Hannah spun the rifle in her hands and smashed its butt into the man's face as he snatched at it. He fell backwards, cursing and bleeding from his nose. The things he'd said had cut her like a razor. Something inside of her woke up and realized her son was dead and her husband was dying. She'd be damned if this filthy punk was going to take her dad's rifle too. Snapped the rifle's butt back up against her shoulder and braced it. The weapon barked as the shot smashed open the skull of the thing that had once been her son.

    
The man was eying her as if she were more dangerous than ever. He raised a hand cover in blood from his nose at her. “Please,” was the word he said.

    
"What's your name?” Hannah asked.

    
"Scott,” he answered then added, “Ma'am, I don't mean any disrespect but your husband just quit breathing. I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to shoot him too?"

    
"Riley!” Hannah wailed and flung herself down beside Scott, throwing herself over Riley's corpse. Watching her grief, Scott couldn't bring himself to take her weapon though she'd cast it aside. Instead, he moved to save her live pulling her off her husband's body before it could reanimate. Scott shoved Hannah aside as Riley's eyes opened. Scott pulled a .45 from the corpse's own holster and put an end to it. The shot seemed to echo in the air.

    
Hannah turned her face away from the gore, sobbing though she had no tears left to cry. Scott made no move comfort her as he popped the clip out of the handgun and took stock of the number of rounds left in the clip. When he was done he snapped the clip back inside the gun. He picked up a backpack that appeared to have belonged to the child and began to sort through it. Whoever this woman was, her family had obviously been well supplied. He opened a granola bar from the pack and tore into it unable to control himself. Scott couldn't remember the last time he'd had any kind of real food and it tasted like heaven, stale or not. “Where are you from?” he mumbled through the nuts in his full mouth.

    
Hannah ignored him. Scott finished the bar in a second bite. “How have you managed to stay alive this long?” He asked trying to reach Hannah again.

    
"What does it matter?"

    
"Well for one thing, you have food. You're well armed. Hell, I even saw some antibiotics in this pack. If you're from some kind of settlement or shelter that survived I'd sure as hell like to know about it."

    
"Where are you from?” Hannah shot back.

    
"Trust me lady, you don't want to know,” Scott snickered ripping into another ration bar. “I've been locked up by the dead in a camp straight out of hell."

    
"A camp?” Hannah was stunned. “Why didn't they kill you?"

    
"Where have you been, sister? How do you think the dead get their food these days? There aren't enough of us left out there for them to just round up and slaughter for dinner anymore. They're trying to breed us like cattle, livestock, so that they'll always have food."

    
Hannah stared at Scott in horror.

    
"Yeah,” Scott nodded, “It's all that and worse. I still want to know where you came from. You sure as hell weren't in a camp."

    
"My husband and child are dead."

    
"I'm sorry,” Scott twisted the top off of a canteen helping himself to the water it contained. “Seen a lot of people die. One of my friends died just so that I could make it out of there. It looks like your husband died trying to take you somewhere better too. Better get used to it, people dying. That's how things are with the dead ruling the world. Speaking of which...” Scott closed the canteen. “We need to get moving. Staying in a single spot for a while can be suicide. Who knows who or what heard those shots."

13

    
Luke was anything but your typical engineer. Long black hair with spots of gray hung over the purple flannel shirt he wore. He sat crouched on the knees of his worn blue jeans fiddling with a homemade torpedo casing. He heard O'Neil enter his workshop but made no move to stop fine-tuning his current project. Instead, he said, “I'll have two more live ones by tomorrow morning."

    
O'Neil sat on Luke's unused workbench. “Why do you always work in the floor?"

    
Luke smiled. “The freedom,” he answered simply, “It helps me think."

    
O'Neil grunted. “Whatever works I suppose, as long as you don't blow a hole in the bottom of the ship."

    
"You didn't come here to talk about my work habits, Mr. O'Neil. What's up?"

    
"The Captain's planning to raid a port in South Carolina tomorrow night. I've got the usual crew ready and I'll be in command of the operation. I thought I'd stop by and see if you'd come up with anything new."

    
Luke curved his head around to glance at O'Neil behind him. “If you're talking about understanding the dynamics of what makes the dead get back on their feet with hungry stomachs,” Luke used his pointed finger to press his glasses up from where they'd slid down on his nose, “No, I haven't. That's Doc Gallenger's area, not mine."

    
"I thought you were helping him."

    
"Sure when I have the time. You might have noticed I have been rather busy lately what with keeping this old girl running and designing these new toys for the Captain."

    
"It's not that I don't trust Gallenger's doing his best Luke, I just thought..."

    
"What? That having nine degrees in everything from pathology to physics makes me superhuman? That I am supposed to be able to wave a magic wand and save your ass? I wish,” Luke shrugged. “I ain't God, ya know."

    
"I didn't say that you were. God has a social life.” O'Neil teased the rail thin scientist.

    
"You want me to go with you tomorrow?"

    
"Hell no!” O'Neil protested. “Steven would have me shot if I let you off
The Queen
. You're the only real brain we've got."

    
"So you say,” Luke challenged. “There are plenty of people on the boat who could do what I do around here."

    
"Maybe. But not one of them could do it all,” O'Neil got up from the bench. “Just promise me you'll get to helping Gallenger okay? We need a way to stop the dead more than we need the weapons to keep running."

    
As O'Neil turned to leave, Luke muttered, “Be careful out there you idiot."

    
"I always am,” O'Neil responded with a flash of his teeth, then he was gone.

14

    
Scott figured Hannah was whacko after what she'd endured, with every right to be, so he left her to her brooding as they walked. The woman insisted on traveling east to the coast, so they were. Scott had managed to obtain a few hours of blessed sleep under her watch, counting himself lucky she hadn't killed him while he slept. But when he'd woken up she'd just been sitting there adrift in her own mind like she'd been when he first zonked out. It'd been impossible to get her to move earlier short of carrying her when he'd said they needed to get on the move again but after his nap, she'd been up on her feet and ready to go faster than he was. Her only requests were that they bury the bodies of her family and that they set out in this direction.

    
"What the heck is that?” Scott asked suddenly as he noticed a building up ahead of them. Hannah paused beside him. “It's a cabin,” she said and then continued on towards it.

    
"Whoa. What are you doing?” Scott grabbed her by the arm. “We don't know if anyone's in there."

    
"There's not, not alive anyway."

    
"How can you be so sure?"