Books of the Dead (Book 1): Sanctuary From The Dead Page 15

  Nothing came back but static. We were still too far out. I rolled down the window and heard a booming noise that sounded like rolling thunder only there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  I looked at Mike, “Thunder?”

  “No,” he said. “There’s no storm anywhere near here.”

  “What is it?” Kara asked leaning forward from the back seat.

  Another boom rumbled our way.

  Mike looked at me but didn’t speak and then redirected his attention back to the road. He pressed down on the accelerator and started weaving in and out of the abandoned cars. Our day had been really shitty up to now, but something in his face told me it was about to get worse.

  “Mike, what are you not saying?” I asked.

  He started to talk, but stopped. Kara put a hand on his shoulder and he finally said, “That sounds a lot like artillery.”

  “Artillery? From what? Or who?” The questions came out of my mouth in a stream.

  The walkie-talkie sounded before he could answer.

  “Sanctuary, this is the Clearing Party One, please come in.” It was Greg. “This is the Clearing Party One. Sanctuary, please come in.”

  I keyed the send button, “Greg, this is the foraging party. Please come in.” We’re not supposed to use names, but I was a bit flustered.

  Greg answered immediately. “Foraging Party One, what is your twenty?”

  “We’re in New Boston just east of Walmart. What’s going on?”

  “No idea yet. Our twenty is just south of Rosemount.” Rosemount is a bump on the map, a small pass-through burg just north of town. They had a straight shot back to the church just like us.

  “Why aren’t they answering at the church?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” Greg responded back. “We’re heading there right now. Stay in contact.”

  “Will do.”

  Mike was hauling ass, dodging vehicles, hopping curbs and driving on sidewalks - whatever it took to get us back in one piece. At one point, he drove over a curb so fast my head hit the ceiling of the SUV. Kara lashed herself in with the seat belt after that. I did the same.

  By the time we passed the McDonald’s on route 52 we could hear gunfire punctuated with the booming of something much bigger than handheld weapons. The source of the smoke seemed to be coming from the downtown, but it could have been closer. I looked over to Mike and his face was set into a grim stare, his hands locked on the steering wheel. His thinking must have mirrored mine -- that smoke could be coming from the church.

  “What’s your twenty now, foraging party,” Greg’s voice squawked from the walkie-talkie.

  “We’ve just passed Mabert,” I said as we sped past Little Caesars Pizzas.

  “I’ve been listening to another channel,” Greg said. “Whoever is in town has got to be military or ex-military from how they’re communicating.”

  This had been one of our worst fears. If some military group came to town armed to the teeth, there was not much we could do. Because we had two parties out in the field, those that could defend the church were spread thin.

  “We had better tread lightly and consider our approach and resources. Do you copy foraging party one?”

  This was pre-arranged code that told us to be careful with what we said. Anyone could be monitoring the walkie-talkie channels. “We copy. We were coming up on the fork where Gallia split off onto a side street. Gallia was the most direct route back to the church, but an over turned semi-trailer blocked the way.

  The gunfire was more distinct now. There had been no more big booms. I hoped it didn’t mean we were too late to do anything.

  “We need to make sure the dead stay dead,” Greg said. This was another code for us to meet him at a rendezvous point. Greg had set plans in place just in case. Caches of arms, ammunition, and other essential supplies had been placed at strategic locations all over the city.

  “Roger that,” I said and looked over to Mike who nodded his head.

  “”Make the dead stay dead”” was our code to head to the cemetery. As much as it pained us to not go directly to the church, we peeled off onto Robinson and headed up to Greenlawn Cemetery. Back in the 1970’s, one of the national TV network’s evening broadcast signed off with a story about how Portsmouth’s cemetery population had eclipsed its living population. When the Outbreak hit that number increased exponentially as the living became a dramatic minority.

  CHAPTER 24

  Rendezvous

  The rendezvous point was the cemetery’s largest mausoleum in the northwest corner. The cemetery actually had two mausoleums - both are single-story buildings which went up in the early 1900’s. The largest one was our destination. Both of the mausoleums sat about two hundred feet off a wrought iron fence that surrounded the cemetery.

  They were made from granite and employed a classic architectural style with squared-off faux columns spaced along the building’s exterior. The roofs were flat and I could remember as a kid climbing up on them one time when playing hide and seek. I can also remember being hauled down by a couple cops and being grounded for a month with no TV and no computer time. That was sheer torture for me. Now, no TV or computer time was just a way of life.

  Mike nearly spun out of control on one of the cemetery’s gravel roads, but got the SUV under control before we smashed into a couple tombstones. We spotted Greg’s Jeep parked behind the northern mausoleum, partially concealed by a large evergreen.

  Mike was out of the SUV almost before it came to a stop. Kara and I jumped out and followed close behind. The gunfire was very clear now, carried on the moist twilight air. Each burst increased the sense of urgency we had stirring inside.

  The large steel door creaked loudly when we entered the darkness of the mausoleum. We had to take a couple seconds to let our eyes adjust to the dark. The air inside was cool and damp. I felt a wave of goose bumps descend down my arms as if I were a ten year old kid. I wondered why I still felt that way around graveyards when the real living dead were out there walking around.

  We heard Greg and his group before we saw them. A rhythmic pounding noise reverberated off the walls originating from the northern.

  Greg and a guy named Chuck were watching a third guy, who I think was called Jerry, taking whacks at one of the crypts with the butt end of his rifle. Each impact reverberated off the walls like Thor’s hammer. Greg looked up as we turned the corner, holding his gun at the ready position, but relaxed when he saw us. With one last good hit the door fell off and slammed against the floor, breaking into several pieces. Greg shined a flashlight inside and we saw the stocks of several rifles, several ammo cans and a wooden box, sealed tightly.

  “What do you know about who’s shooting up the downtown?” Mike asked.

  “In a minute. Let’s get this stuff unloaded,” Greg responded.

  Jerry was in his late thirties and had linebacker’s shoulders and tree trunks for arms. Chuck was a slight man with a runner’s build, all lanky with long sinewy muscles that seemed to want to copy Greg’s economy of movement. Some of the group called him “Little Greg” behind his back.

  Greg reached in and started handing out guns. When they were all removed, he grabbed the ammo cans and hauled them out onto the floor. Chuck started opening them immediately, assessing how many rounds we had. Greg gave the long wooden box a yank and while it came out a few inches, I could tell that Greg was having trouble taking it out. Before he could attempt a second tug at the box, Jerry shouldered his way and pulled box out in one clean jerk.

  Greg started to open the box, but stopped and looked up at us. “Wait. Where’s Logan?”

  Mike froze. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out. His face broke and he had to turn away.

  “Logan didn’t make it,” Kara said and laid a hand on Mike’s back.

  “What!” Greg said, more of an exclamation than a question. “What happened?”

  “It was a real mess,” I said. “On the overpass into Sciotoville we got tangled up in a
bunch of cars. Then we got sandwiched between two small hordes of the dead.” Something caught in my voice and my vision blurred for a moment, but I pushed it all back down. “He died saving us. It was...”

  Another one of those loud booms sounded in the distance.

  “There’s no time for this now,” Greg said. “You’ll have to give us the details later,” he said. I was wondering if there would be a later.

  “How do we look for ammo?” Greg asked Chuck.

  “There’s enough in here for all of us,” Chuck said. “At least for now.”

  Greg opened the wooden box and laid out six grenades gently on the floor. He pulled out a shoulder mounted missile launcher next. I had no idea we had this kind of firepower.

  “That might come in handy tonight,” Jerry said, his voice higher pitched than you would expect from a man his size.

  “We need to get going,” Mike said.

  Greg stood still holding the missile launcher. “We will, but we can’t just rush in before we know what we’re getting ourselves into. We need to get some vantage point to the downtown. Any ideas?”

  “My uncle used to live in the Offnere Street apartments at the top of the hill,” I said. “If we get to the roof, we should be able to see down to the high school and maybe the church.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Greg said. “Let’s pack this stuff and go”.

  The apartment building offered a good view of the whole downtown, not that any of us liked it. A house just down the street from the church was fully engulfed in flames. That was what was spewing all the smoke we had seen earlier.

  Greg used binoculars to get a better view. The muscles in his jaw pulsed almost as soon as he brought the binoculars up to his eyes.

  “What do you see?” Mike asked.

  “Nothing good,” Greg said. “I was right. These are military or ex-military -- probably gone rogue from their outfit, moving from town-to-town, taking what they need by force -- if they have to.” He dropped the binoculars from his eyes. “They brought armor to the party. I saw at least two Humvees with fifty calibers on top. I think the artillery is a MAV.”

  “A what?” Kara asked.

  “A medium armored vehicle. MAV for short. It’s basically a little tank on wheels. From the sound of the gun they’re firing, I’d say it’s a Stryker. We’ve done a good job of fortifying but that thing will huff and puff and knock our walls down. They must have come in from Kentucky or Cincinnati. One of our groups would have seen them if they come from the east or the north, but I guess where they came from doesn’t matter because they are here.”

  “What do we do?” Kara asked.

  “We can only assume they knocked the radio out at the church so we have no idea what is going on there. I see some return fire from the third floor and the roof. I won’t lie. It doesn’t look good. I’m guessing there are at least forty of them and they’re heavily armed. Frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t taken the church by now, but God must be looking out for our people.”

  “Him and us,” Mike said.

  “Yes,” Greg said. “And that’s what we have going for us. They don’t know we’re out. If we do this right we might be able to turn these suckers back. Or, at least, make them think twice about continuing to attack the church.”

  While Greg was talking, I turned northward and I didn’t like what I was seeing. When it rains, it pours. Small groups of the undead moved through the houses and into the streets. They were coming in a steady flow heading toward the downtown, drawn by all the sound.

  “Things might be worse than we thought,” I said pointing northward. Everyone looked. Several zombies shambled among the tombstones, moving southward.

  “Holy shit,” Jerry said under his breath.

  “Maybe they’re not so bad this time,” Greg said. “The more distraction these guys have the better chance we have. Gather around and listen, we only have enough time for me to go through this once.” He laid out the plan. It seemed sensible, but he was the one with the military background and I was just some dumb mook who was along for the ride. The only short-sidedness of the plan was that Greg badly underestimated the flow of the undead to the area. The booming of this rogue army’s guns sounded for miles and there were a lot of hungry ears listening. Each boom was an announcement that dinner was about to be served.

  Just as we were about to break from our little huddle a voice came from Greg’s walkie-talkie. “Sanctuary to Clearing Party One. Sanctuary to Clearing Party One. Over.”

  Greg held the walkie-talkie close to his mouth, but didn’t key his talk button. “It sounds like Roger.” Roger was Greg’s second in command, an older guy who had served in Vietnam. He was a crusty guy with bad knees that kept him out of a lot of field operations. What I liked most about him was that he kept a decent sense of humor throughout our ordeal unlike some of the other tight asses in our group.

  The voice called out again, “Sanctuary to Clearing Party One. Over.”

  “Why aren’t you answering?” Kara asked. There was some annoyance in her voice.

  “Because others could be listening,” Greg said. “Roger knows this. The only advantage our side has is that the others don’t know about us.”

  Greg held up a finger to his lips telling us to be quiet. He depressed the key three times then let up on the talk button. “That’s our code to let them know that we are listening.” These warriors were a crafty lot if you asked me.

  “Clearing Party, if you’re listening, the marauders are asking for us to surrender. We are still in control of our location, but we have several breaches.”

  Greg pressed the talk key three times.

  “Isn’t there anyway we can talk to the people at the church?” Kara asked.

  “Not without the risk of others hearing,” Greg said. “Roger knows what to do. He’ll stall for time and say he needs to get the elderly and children gathered and then move to a safe location.”

  “We’re just wasting time,” Mike said. “Let’s get moving.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Reunion

  Kara and I grouped up with Mike. Greg took Chuck and Jerry . Their goal was to work their way to the library and find a way to take out the MAV. Our objective was to make it to the high school and use it to flank the bastards who were attacking the church. We were hoping the element of surprise might be able to turn the attackers away.

  Deep down I think we all knew that our mission was folly. There were six of us against a small army of them. Then again, David was pretty small and Goliath was, well, a goliath. We’d take our chances with our slingshots because it was the only chance we had.

  Twilight slowly descended on the city. We drove the SUV, with the lights out, taking it to the railroad tracks that bisected the town. We decided to abandon our vehicles thinking we’d draw less attention moving the rest of the way on foot. Travel turned out to be a little more troublesome because of all the undead moving on the scene.

  After crossing the tracks, we moved into a the backyard of a house, slipping between the side of the house and the old Goodwill building, popping out onto 9th Street just as a loose group of five zombies walked by us. One of them must have seen Mike and turned in our direction. It was an older woman whose arm was badly broken at the elbow. Mike brought his gun up to take it out, but I pressed his gun down, pressing my index finger to my lips.

  I pulled out my baseball bat and moved towards the woman as she shambled toward us, her only good arm clutching outward in our direction. While the blackened zombies had been charred and were mostly devoid of the stink of decay, this one reeked. As soon as she got within striking distance I brought the bat down on her head with a solid blow, knocking her to the street. She didn’t move again.

  One of the others turned my way, and I stopped in my tracks as my bat nearly slipped from my hands. The other three zombies moved on down the street.

  When the Outbreak hit, the world slipped into a surreal, skewed version of reality that was hard to get used
to. It was like some sort of unreal George Romero zombie lens had been put on the world and you were waiting for the movie to end. But it didn’t. You had to get used to this ugly and dangerous world or you wouldn’t last. It had been a long time since something had knocked me off-stride but in that moment, my psyche slipped off the table and onto the floor with a splat.

  The undead creature standing in front of me was my mom.

  She was wearing an Ohio State University sweatshirt. It was torn and tattered in several places with several unmistakable dark red and black stains on it. My mind started to run in a direction that I didn’t want it to go, so I forcibly stopped it in its tracks.

  We were separated when she and dad went to check on her mother in the nursing home. The last words she said to me on her cell was that she loved me and that we would all meet at the church. I did as she told me. Only she and dad never showed up.

  I waited for two days and to find them, but Greg and several other warriors convinced me that it was suicide to go out. I convinced myself that my parents had probably just decided to hole up with my grandma. The days stretched out to weeks and I begin to push any thoughts of them away, not wanting to think they could be dead or worse. It was easier to think that they were out there somewhere, making a stand. Deep down, I knew had they been alive, they would have done anything to get to me. I kept that cold reality at a distance, only considering it when I could afford to think of them -- late at night when everyone else was asleep.

  Now I knew and my mind refused to accept it, caught in a mental earthquake that made me incapable of any action. Kara later told me that I said the word “Mom,” but I can’t remember saying it at all.

  The undead thing that was once my mom started toward me with her arms extended, wanting to embrace me, wanting to hold me and tell me that everything was all right. At least that’s what my mind was telling me. She was no more my mom than any of these creatures were anyone’s mom, dad, sister, or brother. She was only a thing that wanted to tear into me, to devour me.