Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (7 page)

While the vehicle rocks from the insistent
battering, Brandon quickly squeezes out through the narrow window
that leads into the truck’s bed. The zombies are after him the
moment he reveals himself. He has to move fast to get onto the
roof.

As promised, Vida closes the window,
stranding her boyfriend outside and muffling the eager moans of the
ghouls that reach for the brave man above her. She slides down in
the seat, looking up at the ceiling that is indented from Brandon’s
weight pressing down. The dead have forgotten about her in favor of
the meal that teases them in the cold air.

Brandon waits for his chance, a break in
their ranks he can dart through. The hobbling figures remind him of
his love of the genre and the fact that he always thought, if faced
with a real-life scenario, he’d fare just fine. He can’t believe he
got infected before he even knew what was going on. He can’t dwell
on feeling cheated, though. He has to move. From the way the truck
is now positioned, there is a gap at the tailgate between him and
the dead.

A thump sounds as Brandon hops off the roof
and bounds down into the bed. Vida catches only a glimpse of him in
the rearview, but it’s enough to break her heart. She must resist
the urge to peek out and watch his sacrifice as he leads the dead
around to the back of the house. Instead she stays down with the
hood of his sweatshirt concealing her as she cries.

The shuffling zombies have left the immediate
area, so it’s time to move. Vida slowly exits the truck, and even
with the thin hoodie the air outside is bracing. A slight breeze
has picked up that slices right through her, though she can’t be
sure the chill she feels is entirely environmental. She feels as if
she’s in a large body of water, stranded in the middle in a life
vest, her legs dangling in an icy void of the unknown. She quickens
her pace, tip toeing faster to the panel van they had arrived
in.

Encased by steel once more, Vida breathes a
little easier. She lays her head on the steering wheel, staring at
the decal Brandon stuck to its center when he bought it. Their
band’s emblem to christen it as their new tour bus. The words bring
up a wave of sorrow and thoughts of how she will never see the
other three again. They’ll never stay up all night making music,
never fulfill their dreams of fame, or even make it to their gig up
north.

Vida turns the ignition and pulls out of the
parking spot. She steers the van onto the main road heading for
Waterloo. The cars of would be contestants still line the street.
She thinks of her promise to Brandon, that she’ll get someplace
safe, and the safest place she can think of is home.
It’ll
all
be
all
right
if
I
can
just
get
there
, she thinks.
It
can’t
be
worse
than
this
.

Vida follows a pair of thick tire tracks left
by another driver who had vacated the parking lot in a hurry.
Though she uses more caution than the phantom car, whose parallel
marks indicate that it lost control after taking the first turn too
quickly. It had careened between both lanes, striking the parked
vehicles along the road, leaving dents and scratches and tearing
side mirrors off these cars in its reckless escape.

Switching her headlights to high, she sees
that the driver’s efforts were for not, for an obstruction blocks
her path. She is forced to cruise to a halt at a wall of steel. The
skid marks end where the renegade car met another and now lays on
its side across the double yellow road markers. At this dead end,
she stares at the undercarriage. All of the vehicles along the
sides negate her use of the shoulder. The irony of not being able
to pass in the passing zone is lost on her, and now her break
lights cast a red glow over figures emerging from the gaps between
the cars behind her. Vida almost throw it in reverse but
reconsiders.
Then
what
?

She’s never been this far over the bridge
before, and she has no idea where to go from here to get back to
the city. She panics over the thought of getting lost and driving
aimlessly until she runs out of gas on the unfamiliar roads. But
she abandons the notion entirely.

What should have been a straight shot to the
Washington Bridge is about to become a foot race for her life.

She knows it will do little to protect her,
but flipping the hood of her sweatshirt over her head makes her
feel more comfortable as she dashes out of the van and past the
wreckage, leaving it idling.

The high beams she left on partially light
the way, eclipsed by the long shadow of the wreck. She
instinctively keeps to the ray of black, letting the waning glow
along the sides reveal any lurking dangers. She is already winded
by the time she comes to the end of the chasm of parked cars. Still
she pushes forward, knowing the dead haven’t given up their
pursuit. Vida wants to make short work of her journey. As short as
it can possibly be that is. They had driven quite a while on the
dark road to get to the attraction and her hurried pace is already
slowing to a jog.

The clock in the van said it was nearly half
past five in the morning. This actually makes it closer to half
past four, since Brandon never set it for daylight saving time.
Panting in rhythm with her strides, Vida tries to predict what time
she’ll make it home to keep her mind occupied. The road ahead is
misleading, for it seems to stretch on forever. A cold black
infinity.

After some time, the deceptive surroundings
give the illusion that she isn’t making any ground. She feels like
a mouse on a wheel, working hard to get somewhere without actually
getting anywhere. Whiffs of steam rise from her chest as she unzips
her hoodie. She is burning up though frost twinkles on the blades
of grass and overgrown weeds that line the road. The stillness
around her is odd after so much carnage. If she were not still
being pursued by death she could enjoy it. The only evidence that
she’s covered any distance comes from the van’s headlights in the
distance behind her and the black masses hobbling after her.

She is out of earshot of the dead, and the
only sound she can detect are her own footfalls that keep her
company. The lonesomeness of her situation brings a fresh chill to
her, so she zips the sweatshirt once more, but it doesn’t warm her
spirit. The solitude and uncertainty are unbearable. Life as she
knew it has been altered, and she’s heading for home without
knowing if there is a home to go to.

Vida reaches a landmark that indicates she
has made progress towards the bridge. She’s reached the halfway
point. This should elate her, but instead it fills her chest with
tension, for she’s arrived at the funeral home. Marching along the
center line, she now unconsciously veers away from the large white
manor that caters to the very things she’s running away from,
giving a wide berth to the domicile of the urban legend.

The police have left the scene, but all the
lights remain on in every window. In the last moments she shared
with Brandon, they watched the dead rise up from graves that extend
from the mortuary’s backyard all the way to the Zombie House.
Considering the thousands of bodies buried there, not far from
where she currently walks, she quickens her pace.

Her mind plays tricks on her, or so she
hopes. The fear that has her drawing each breath in serrated gasps
has her seeing shadows move around her. Forms pass by the
illuminated windows of Mortie’s home and through the distant graves
she sees over her shoulder. Her echoing footsteps become those of
the dead. Her ragged breaths become their pitiful moans. Not
knowing whether it is in fact paranoia or the zombies, all she can
do is keep moving forward.

###

Countless steps later, Vida’s blistering feet
have brought her to the Washington Bridge. She relaxes now that she
can see the city’s skyline just past the Charles River. The morning
sun is surprisingly warm as she embarks the span. Cars pass her at
a steady interval on the northbound side. She isn’t certain what
time it is exactly, but the sun came up a while ago and she can’t
help but think folks should be heading into the city, commuters
starting their Monday routines, but nobody is heading into Waterloo
except her.

The joy of reaching the bridge is premature,
though she is happy to see people again, and to see her city under
a beautiful cloudless sky, but it’s still a long walk over the
river. Even then she’ll need to walk all the way home once on the
other side. Her feet are already burning with every step. She
wonders naively if the buses are running yet.

Nearly to the center of the bridge, Vida
notices flaws in the spotless sky. Plumes of smoke float up to the
heavens. Still not a single traveler has passed her on her side,
but the other side is jammed with traffic that stretches the
remaining length of the bridge.

Three military jeeps are parked across the
rows. A soldier directs the motorists, allowing them through one at
a time in an orderly fashion. The young man is forced to abandon
his duties, leaving the impatient, honking line sitting idle, to
contend with a large tanker truck attempting to bully its way along
the sidewalk. Aiming his assault rifle at the driver, he gets the
trucker to stop alongside the blockade. Two other GIs man large
machine guns on the back of the jeeps.

An explosion in the distance draws Vida’s
attention away from her path and to the suburbs over the river to
her right. Amid the sea of homes, smoke is rising. A dark spire
wafts lazily up to keep a thinner plume company.

“…5, 6, 7, 8…” One of the soldiers counts the
streets through a pair of binoculars. “Looks like West 8th
again.”

“Jeez!” his partner says. “My mom lives on
12th. I hope she’s ok.”

Since the path before her is clear, Vida
shuffles onward despite the truth that sets in.
It
wasn’t
just
the
Zombie
House
. If
this is going on in Waterloo, she isn’t certain she even has a home
to go to.

“Hey, sweetheart!” one of the soldiers
shouts, leaving the obstinate truck driver leaning against his
semi. “You gotta turn around. No one’s allowed to enter the
city.”

“I want to go home,” she tells the man who
isn’t but a few years older than herself and keeps walking.

“Orders are orders,” he apologizes. “We’re to
keep everyone out and organize those trying to leave.”

“Holy shit!” one of the gunners says. “Did
you seriously just come from the Zombie House?”

“Yes,” she whispers as she slowly turns away
from home. Vida is in a daze, too numb to fully feel the sorrow of
her situation.

“Fuck, that’s ironic,” the other camouflaged
figure says, leaning on his heavy machine gun.

The men laugh, but Vida doesn’t see the humor
in it. She aimlessly wanders back the way she had come without a
clue where she will go after she is off the bridge again.

“All right, assholes, look alive!” the leader
addresses his peers. “It looks like some have broken through.”

Between the rows of traffic that spread into
the oncoming lanes and bottleneck at the jeeps, figures are slowly
walking. The clumsy forms shuffle in search of food, reaching for
what they cannot attain behind panes of glass before continuing
their quest farther down the line.

Seeing the ghouls coming up behind them in
their mirrors, and fearing that they have no immediate escape,
folks are abandoning their cars. Those behind them are left with no
alternative but to do the same since they won’t be able to
negotiate around the driverless vehicles. A stampede of civilians
charge toward the three soldiers that stand their ground against
the dead. The panic stricken mob knocks into the trucker who is too
slow to react, trampling him on the sun-warmed asphalt in their
frenzy to get away.

Taking slow deliberate steps like a lost
child, Vida is oblivious to the swarm of frightened people that
race past her. The panicked throng makes its way over the bridge.
Those capable of moving faster dart around or just push aside the
slower runners. Some fall to the hard surface only to suffer the
same fate as the trucker, and no one stops to help the fallen for
fear of receiving the same disregard. Families struggle to stay
together against the current of desperate souls.

Behind the chaos, the machine guns rattle
deep staccatos that Vida doesn’t register. Her mind is blank as she
takes step after pointless step. Before last night she had never
been over the bridge, but now she has no choice.

Up ahead where the bridge meets solid ground,
the marathon comes to an abrupt halt as it collides with a cluster
of the very things they are running from. The zombies that had
followed Vida from the haunt have found food at last. Some of the
runners are able to skirt around the lumbering threats, but others
are not so fortunate as they blindly head right into the clutches
of the corpses.

Screams of pain and terror finally snap Vida
from her trance. The city is off-limits, but the road before her
means almost certain death. She can risk trying to make it through
the massacre or jump over the side of the bridge. See where the
Charles takes her if she survives the plunge.

Three beeps in rapid succession startle her,
but a new hope springs up in Vida when she turns to see one of the
soldiers from the blockade beckoning her to hop into his jeep. She
joins her knight in green fatigues without a second thought and
together they speed around the bloody remains of the citizens.

The zombies pause mid-feast to rise to their
feet at the sight of fresher fare. Vida can’t bring herself to look
at their bloodstained faces or their victims. The thought of
possibly seeing Brandon among the offensive lot makes her
cringe.