Pandora 2: Death is not an Option (23 page)

Jack hefted the plaster figure and threw it through the open front door. They heard it hit something breakable with a loud crash. For
several moments, there was complete silence. Then with a clamor of running feet, two snarling zombies appeared at the front door. One was a fiftyish-looking man who looked to be the cabdriver. He was wearing a brightly colored, gaudy shirt that just about buttoned over his huge, protruding belly. It was made even more colorful by the copious amount of blood drenching the front of it. His neck was ripped wide open. Coming out right behind him was an older woman with badly dyed red hair—the kind of shade that would never occur in nature. She had a neatly bandaged forearm. The cabdriver’s blood ran down the corners of her mouth and onto her sequined running suit. On seeing the four humans in front of the house, they both stopped and hissed angrily at them. They got no more than three steps out the door before Jamal and Carol both put a bullet into their heads. Mike walked over to the taxi and looked in.

“Keys are in the ignition,” he said. Looking closer, he saw, much to his relief, that it was in the off position.

They got in with Jack driving. He was the only one from the area, and they left the navigation to him. Jack turned the ignition and was pleased to hear the engine roar to life. “Yay,” he said, “we have wheels.” Reaching over and flipping on the meter, he added, “Don’t forget the tip, you tightwads.”

The car turned around and, exiting the driveway, sped off toward the highway.

“Well, we made it,” exclaimed Steve. The six travelers were standing at the start of Route 75.

“Should be a straight run from here,” Dill said. “We need to commandeer another vehicle. It’s a long walk otherwise.” The delivery van had broken down about a half a mile back.

“Plus,” added Rube, “if there are zombies there, we’ll have nowhere to run. There’s nothing but the Everglades on both sides. We’d either be zombie food or gator food.”

“Not a good choice,” said Steve. “It’s a—wait, what’s that noise?”

“It’s a chopper,” said Rube. “A big one.”

They were all looking up, trying to find it in the sky. The sound was getting louder. “There,” said Dill, pointing up to the northwest. “I see it.”

He shaded his eyes. “It looks like a Chinook. It’s carrying something underneath. I can’t see what, though.”

They stood and watched as the large bird came out of the horizon. A large, olive-drab vehicle was swaying underneath the undercarriage. It seemed to be heading a little north of their current position. Coming to within a few miles of them, it finally hovered over the throughway.

“What’s going on?” asked Luke.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, “but it’s definitely army.”

“I think the cavalry has arrived,” said Max with a grin.

When the Stryker touched down onto the roadway, DeVries and Niedermayer quickly dismounted and unhooked the vehicle from the massive helicopter above them. Sgt. O’Rourke was on the radio to the crew up above them.

“Mama Bird. Meet you at the pickup point. Over.”

“Copy, Stryker one. Don’t be late. Strike Force will be there regardless. Over.”

“Copy that, Mama Bird. Over.”

“Copy. Good hunting. Over.”

Hanging up the mike, O’Rourke called out to his crew, “Okay men, mount up. Gary, get on the electronics. Start cranking up that infernal shit you call music, and let’s get this puppy moving.”

“Roger that, Sarge,” Gary said, sliding in and flipping switches. “Time for me to rock their world.”

“Just get that heavy-metal crap going.”

“It’s not heavy metal, Sarge,” said Gary informatively. “It’s called death metal.”

O’Rourke snorted. “That’s appropriate.”

As the Chinook turned and headed away, the Stryker started up. The few zombies in the immediate area, aroused by all the commotion, were coming in for a look. All of a sudden, a couple of loud clicks came out of the large speakers on the combat vehicle. Then the screeching sound of electric guitars, the pounding of rapid drumbeats, and a gravelly, rasping voice roared across the turnpike, flooding the area for miles. Every zombie within earshot stopped dead. All milky eyes turned to find the source of the electronic din. It was as if a switch had been thrown. Undead everywhere turned and started moving to the Florida Turnpike, walking up the entrance and exit
ramps near them. They sensed a human presence, and that meant food.

“What the hell is that?” remarked Ana.

“Since when did the zombie apocalypse come with a soundtrack?” Steve said, laughing.

Dill and Rube looked at each other with growing apprehension.

“We gotta get off this road,” said Dill warily.

“What?” Max questioned. “Why?”

“’Cause we’re standing in the middle of Ground Zero,” Dill answered.

“What?” said Ana.

Luke said, “We heard that the army is doing what the Aussies are doing down under. The music draws the zombies together, and then the planes come in and bomb the shit out of them.”

“Soon,” continued Dill, “this road is going to be wall-to-wall zombies.”

The six of them turned onto Route 75 and started running.

The Stryker was making its way slowly down the turnpike. The pounding music was already drawing the undead from the city streets. The
creatures were tramping up the ramps to enter the turnpike roadway. They were even gathering on the overpasses that spanned over the turnpike. Everything was working out just as the brass had planned. The only flaw was that they had miscalculated just how many undead were wandering around south Florida’s east coast. The eastern part of the states always had a much larger population base. No one realized how many people had been turned by the attacks from the undead.

Sgt. O’Rourke was looking through the front window as he drove. “This road is starting to get real full, real fast,” he said through his headset.

“I’m never seen it this bad,” Kyle DeVries said. They had driven two miles, and already the turnpike was massing with the undead. They were approaching an overpass that was teeming with undead figures scrambling toward the edge. As the Stryker neared, they started climbing the ledge and hurling themselves over the side. Dozens of bodies began dropping down and hitting the pavement. As the military RV passed slowly underneath, the armored skin of the vehicle began to clang loudly as the multitude of ghouls hit the top of the Stryker. O’Rourke hit the accelerator and increased the speed. This was starting to get out of control.

“We’ve got company,” stated Tommy, looking over the hood of the SUV.

“Mike?” asked Sean.

“No,” answered Tommy, “I don’t recognize them.”

They were at the start of Alligator Alley. Already having killed the several zombies that were wandering there, they were waiting at the rendezvous point for Mike, Jack, and the rest.

Sean laid his rifle over the roof. The rest got into position in case there was a problem. Linda turned to Sean and said, “Think it’s trouble?”

They all heard the headbanger music blaring out from the turnpike. They had no idea what was responsible for that but knew it couldn’t be good. They watched as the six figures ran toward them.

Dill and Rube were in the lead. Dill put his hand up in a fist and tucked down behind the car. Rube was right next to him. Steve, Luke, Ana, and Max, though momentarily confused, quickly jumped behind another vehicle. Dill peered around the bumper. Cocking his head back, he pointed to his eyes and held up seven fingers. Rube crab walked over to him.

“All armed,” Dill spoke in a clipped tone. “Two women. I count three military.”

“Don’t mean nothing nowadays,” Rube commented.

“Yeah,” Dill said under his breath. He knew what Rube was alluding to. About a month ago, they came across a contingent of National Guard out in Wellington. They were apparently on their own and had taken over a pub in the small strip mall. It was a little out of the way, so there were no zombies around.

The pub had an open area with seating on the outside. It was a little chilly for Florida that night, so they had set up two tall propane space heaters. There were ten guardsmen sitting around, and all were obviously stinking drunk. There were also two naked and very dead women tied up and draped across two tables. The guard captain, who had been in charge, had apparently stood in front of the pub door to stop his men from going in. His men must have won the argument because they left him gut-shot by the door. There was blood there
and then a long, streaked trail. He must have dragged himself along the sidewalk and halfway across the street where his body now lay in a pool of blood. The drunken men were laughing and cursing. One got up clumsily and staggered over to one of the dead women. He poured a bottle of liquor on her, getting cheers from the rest of the murderers. As he started to undo his pants, Rube and Dill, under cover across the street, put two bullets into the propane tanks and blew the ten renegade guardsmen into pieces. So much for God and country.

Meanwhile, fifty feet away, Tommy turned to Manny and said, “Six people, one woman, one old guy. The two on point looked highly trained.”

“I noticed,” replied Manny. “What you think?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Tommy stood and shouted over to the group in front of him, “Hey, who are you and what do you want?”