Pandora 2: Death is not an Option (24 page)

Dill called out, “Just a few survivors. We’re trying not to get eaten by the zombie horde that’s going to be coming through here.”

“What do you mean?” Tommy called back.

Dill looked back at Rube and shrugged. “Cover me,” he said. “If he looks the least bit trigger-happy, take him out.”

“I’m coming out!” Dill yelled.

Standing straight up, Dill let his rifle hang down from the shoulder strap within easy reach. He put his palms up and took a few steps away from cover. Tommy did the same. The two walked out and met in the middle.

Both sized each other up as they came close. Dill put his hand out to shake. This was not so much a friendly gesture as it was a way of controlling the situation. If Tommy tried anything, at least he had one hand trapped and could take him out easier.

“Hi,” said Tommy, warily taking his extended hand. “I’m Tommy.”

“Dill. You army?”

“I am,” Tommy replied. “You?”

“No,” Dill said vaguely.

“But you are military?” Tommy insisted.

“Ex.”

Tommy stood staring into his eyes. Dill knew that he’d have to give more than that. “SEALs. Rube, that’s the other guy behind the car, him and I were operators with the teams.”

Tommy smiled. “I knew it.”

“How about your guys…and gals?” asked Dill.

“Oh,” said Tommy, “a mix of civilians and what’s left of my squad.”

“I hear you,” answered Dill. “We picked up a couple of stragglers too.”

“What’s this about a zombie horde?” Tommy asked. “And where the hell’s that music coming from?”

“That’s the problem,” explained Dill. “The army has been using sound trucks to lure the undead to confined areas. When they’re all
massed in one place, they send in the Harrier aircraft to incinerate the entire bunch. We saw one being dropped off, and from the increased sound, I’d say it’s heading our way. My guess is they’ll lead all the zombies up Alligator Alley, away from the city proper, and then destroy them all there.”

“Which means,” Tommy interjected, “that everything is now headed right for
us
.”

Smiling grimly, Dill said, “The man wins a kewpie doll.”

“We have a car,” Tommy said, pointing behind him, “but to accommodate your people also, we’ll need to get another.”

“Let’s see what we can find,” Dill said. He looked behind him, gave the all-clear sign, and beckoned his group over.

“I’ve got to tell you,” Tommy mentioned to Dill, “we’re waiting for another group to meet us here. We all got separated in the city, and they’re the last group in.”

“I don’t know,” said Dill, “pretty soon this whole highway is going to be crawling with some extremely riled up zombies. You may not have a choice.”

Tommy looked at Dill intently. “My brother’s with that last group, so yeah, I don’t have a choice. I’m waiting.”

O’Rourke and his men were shaken by the sheer number of zombies that hit their vehicle as they passed under the overpass. Once they cleared that and came around a bend in the road, they were truly rocked to their core. The turnpike was a mass of zombies already.

“This ain’t good,” the sergeant gasped. “Gary, get up on the fifty cal. and see if you can thin this herd out some. We’re gonna have to plow our way through this mass if we want to get out of here. The fewer climbing up on us the better.”

“Roger that, Sarge,” Gary said. Making sure the electronics were set, he reached up and unlatched the hatch that led up to the roof and the machine-gun turret.

“It’s zombie-killing time!” he shouted with a little too much glee.

The taxi swerved around a beer truck that had jumped the curb and struck a lamppost. There were cases of beer bottles lying shattered all over the street. They were two blocks from the entrance ramp to the turnpike. As Jack veered around the truck, he heard a loud bang as a front tire blew.

He started to slow down, and Mike yelled from the passenger-side seat, “Don’t stop! Keep going.” He pointed toward a very large contingent of undead also heading for the ramp. “We have to make it up there ahead of them or we’ll never get up the ramp.”

Jack floored the gas on the taxicab. Its rear started to fishtail a bit.

Throwing open the hatch, Pvt. Gary Niedermayer stuck his head and shoulders out and grabbed ahold of the frame to pull up the rest of him. As his upper body rose, he was grabbed by a zombie. The ghoul, a twenty-year-old man with a buzz cut and a goatee, had crushed most of his ribs when he landed on the truck, and
the broken ends were sticking through his abraded cotton shirt. Grabbing the private from behind in a bear hug, he sunk his jagged teeth into the back of Gary’s neck. As he struggled out to shake the creature off him, Gary was grabbed by a second zombie. This one was a heavyset Hispanic woman in blood-soaked spandex and no nose or lips. They were two of the six zombies that had fallen from the overpass and stayed on the Stryker. As she hit Gary from the front, the three of them tumbled over the side. One of Gary’s legs was caught up in the hatch opening and snapped at the shin. Hanging off the side, he was flailing and screaming, trying to pull himself up. The tumble had dislodged the woman, who had fallen headfirst to the pavement only to be pulled under the large tires and crushed. The other zombie, though, was hanging on to him, still gnawing at the back of his neck.

Cpl. Kyle DeVries crawled to the open hatch to help. As he got there and started to reach up, a third zombie stuck his head down into the Stryker’s interior, hissing and snarling. Kyle gave a little scream and pulled back. Then he stuck his .45 automatic into the zombie’s gaping maw and fired. This blew the back of the zombie’s head off, knocking it back and off the vehicle. Climbing carefully up, he stuck his head out of the hatch. He could see Gary, screaming, kicking his good leg, and thrashing his arms about helplessly.

Kyle reached out and shot another zombie that was crawling up the roof toward him. He grabbed the cargo pocket of Gary’s fatigue pants and started to pull him up. This change in pressure only succeeded in freeing the twisted leg. With a loud rip, the pocket separated from the body of the uniform leg, and, still entwined, Gary and the male zombie went tumbling off the roof and bouncing down the street after the accelerating vehicle. At least Gary had stopped screaming.

Jack sped toward the entrance ramp. Pieces of the right front tire kept flying out. The taxi entered the feeder lane and swung onto the ramp just seconds before the undead. In fact, they clipped the leading zombie as they skidded onto the entrance. The gray-haired ghoul was sent flying in the air, where he slammed against the Turnpike Entrance North sign. Fighting hard against the increasingly unresponsive steering wheel, Jack managed to enter the highway and speed toward Route 75. Fortunately, the cutoff was right ahead of them. Unfortunately, the area was already starting to swarm with the agitated undead.

“Buckle up and brace yourselves,” Jack shouted to his passengers. “We’re going to have to go right through them.”

Jack floored the gas pedal and turned the reluctant wheel onto Route 75. The tire had lost all of its rubber, and the back right tire had been slowly going flat too.

Jesus
, he thought,
didn’t this just happen when we first got to Boca? Now again?

The front of the taxi tore through the crowd of zombies that had now turned to grab the oncoming cab. With a sickening crunch, he smashed through them, scattering the creatures like so many bowling pins. The bodies bounced off the hood of the car, smashing the windshield. Trying to see through the sagging, spider-webbed safety glass, Jack steered straight through them.

Kyle DeVries had manned the .50 cal. machine gun and took out the last of the zombies on the roof. Spinning the turret around, he started firing at the grasping mass of undead in front of them. Sgt. O’Rourke had picked up speed now, and the constant jarring of running over
dozens of bodies was throwing Kyle’s aim off. A dissident movement caught his attention, and he looked over their heads. He caught sight of a taxi ramming through the crowd and onto 75.

“Hey, Sarge,” Kyle yelled. “Did you see that?”

“I saw something,” he yelled up to Kyle.

“I think we have some live survivors,” the corporal replied. They just turned onto 75.”

O’Rourke just nodded his head, grimly trying to move forward and not get bogged down by the constantly multiplying undead masses.