Pandora: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (18 page)

Still pointing, he leaned over farther. “Look at the back of Sean’s car. See? A trail of fluid is coming from under his chassis. See it?”

“Oh, yeah,” replied Jack, squinting. “It must be coming from his gas tank.”

Malik got very excited. “Jack, if any of those burning embers lands on that trail, it’ll ignite and go right up to his tank and explode! We have to warn him.”

Jack laid on the horn, frantically beeping it so Sean could hear. Carol was sitting so far forward she was almost on the console. “Keep honking!” she yelled.

Up in the car ahead, Sean was concentrating on the back of Mike’s GMC. With the wisps of smoke coming between them, he wanted to make sure he stayed on the path. He was so focused on that it that he didn’t notice his gas-gauge needle continuing to fall.

As Jamal swung the Humvee around the corner, heading for the compound, he struck a fat, goateed zombie in a bathing suit. The creature went flying in the air and landed butt first through the windshield of a parked car. Jamal drove on by and onto the side road to the entrance of Diamond Sea Estates. The zombie, arms and legs sticking up through the shattered glass, miraculously sustained no head damage. He frantically waved his four limbs around, trying fruitlessly to free himself.

As the pallet and trailer were pulled back, the vehicle quickly drove in. Tommy was out of the Humvee before it even stopped. He immediately yelled commands to his men.

“Get the Jacobi and Mills families out now. Bring them to the boat. Grab all your gear, and meet me outside the gate. Now! Move it!”

The compound was a frenzy of activity. Everyone ran in different directions to complete his assigned tasks.

Sergeant Ortega ran up to the rapidly gesticulating master sergeant. “What’s up?”

“You know that horde we’ve been watching?” said Tommy. “Well, they’re on their way here.”

“What?”

“You heard right. Some local jokers fucked up and got them riled up and heading this way.”

“How many?” inquired Manuel.

Tommy looked at his second-in-command gravely. “Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands.”

Sean glanced in his rearview mirror as Linda turned to look behind them.

“What does Jack want?” she said.

“I don’t know, but I’d better stop.”

Sean beeped his horn at Mike in front of him and saw his brake lights go on. After making sure there were no zombies nearby, he stepped out of his car. Jack jumped out, pointed at the gas trail, and shouted at him, “Sean, you’re leaking gas. Get out of the car now.”

Sean looked down at the gas and paled. He leaned inside the door and shouted to Linda, “Get the guns and your go bag. Run to Mike’s car.”

Sean grabbed the M15 and his bag and ran down to Jack.

“Here, take these,” he said. “I’m going to move my car to the side so you can get by.”

As Sean turned and took a step, a piece of flaming material landed in front of Jack’s Cherokee, directly on the trail of fuel. It instantly ignited, trailed back to the Nissan in a blue-orange line, and disappeared
underneath. For a second nothing happened. Then, with a great whooshing sound, Sean’s car exploded.

Sean and Jack were knocked off their feet. After a few moments, they got up and looked at the burning hulk of Sean’s SUV. Sighting past it, Sean realized he couldn’t see Mike.

26

C
orporal Richard Foley was calming down the two resident couples, Morris and Emma Jacobi and Robert and Margaret Mills. They were very upset, and he didn’t want anyone to suffer a heart attack. The preparation was all complete, and now all they had to do was wait and see how far the huge mass of undead would come. Tommy had sent two privates, John Ott and Walter Cziewski, to drive down and monitor the horde’s movements. He told them to head back when the lead element of the horde was approximately one mile away. Tommy knew they had a few hours before the zombies arrived. Going down his punch list for evacuation, he stopped and looked toward the north.

Jack
, he thought
. Man, I hope to God you get here before they do
.

With everyone in the Cherokee now, Jack backed up twenty feet. He thought he saw a small opening off to his right. As he turned the wheel, maneuvering the SUV into the opening, a movement distracted him. A zombie, clothes and skin aflame, walked out into the space they had just vacated. Everyone in the car watched mesmerized as he hesitated then started walking toward them again, arms raised. As his steps became jerkier, he staggered then collapsed in a burning heap ten feet from the car.

From the backseat Sean nudged Jack. The macabre spell broken, Jack started through the jumble of cars. As they finally emerging from the vehicular maze, the smoke cleared enough for him to see Mike’s Yukon. Michael waved his arm out of his window as Jack pulled up, and the two vehicles again resumed their journey.

At last they drove beyond the edges of the burning city. Carol touched Sean’s arm and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yeahhh,” he said, drawing out the word in a frustrated breath. “Damn it. I liked that car.”

“Don’t worry, Sean,” she said with a grin. “You can have any damned car you want now. Hell, you can have a Lamborghini.”

“Come to think of it,” he intoned, starting to smile, “I’d look smoking good in a Lamborghini. Or a Bugatti for that matter.”

Shaking her head, Carol said facetiously, “Oh, God, and a monster is born.”

The highway up ahead seemed fairly clear, so they sped up, wanting to make up for lost time. Another couple of hours, and they should arrive at Diamond Sea Estates.

John Ott was standing outside the vehicle, smoking a cigarette. They had taken one of the cars from the empty homes instead of a military vehicle. They figured it would attract less attention parked in the street. Walter walked over to him, finishing his water and zipping his fly.

“No wonder you have to pee so much,” commented John.

Walter Cziewski smirked. “What? I’m staying hydrated. My body’s a temple, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?” John said with a laugh. “I’ve seen you on a weekend pass. Your body is a dive bar.”

Throwing the empty water bottle over his shoulder, Walter suggested to John, “Let’s get a little closer.”

Getting in and driving ten blocks closer, they got out, leaving the car idling in the middle of the road.

“I can see them,” Walter said, looking down the street.

“Christ,” gasped John, “I can’t believe how many Zs are coming our way.”

Standing there by the car, watching the horde slowly making its way up the street, they heard something crash inside the liquor store across the street. Turning to see what had caused the racket, they saw three men run out of the store, carrying bottles of liquor. The first one, a heavyset man with a shaved head and chin beard and wearing a white wife-beater, stopped short and yelled, “Oh, shit,
ese
!”

The man behind him, who was short, with a red bandana tied around his head, raised a MAC-10 and let loose a long burst.

The two soldiers jumped to each side of the Lexus they had procured and quickly scrambled behind it. Bullets tore into the automobile, rendering it a useless pile of junk.

A small Toyota screeched in from around the corner and braked in front of the store. The driver pulled out an automatic and fired wildly through the window at the rapidly deteriorating Lexus. John popped out from the one side just as Walter did from the other.

When the three
vatos locos
ran to get in the Toyota, John and Walt opened fire. The Toyota’s tires were flattened, and glass exploded as they raked the car back and forth. The driver flew back, blood spraying the interior of the car. The short banger and the third one were cut down as well. The heavyset man, who was crouching behind the fender, stood up, fired four shots at Walter, and ran back into the liquor store. As he did, John watched as Walt fell onto his back. He crawled over and saw Walter’s eyes wide open and blank. He had a hole in his left cheek.

Lips pressed together in an angry and determined grimace, John stood and tossed a grenade through the shattered store window. The ensuing explosion blew out the rest of the glass.

Looking down the street, John saw that the zombies were much closer. Having heard the firefight, they had picked up their pace. He walked across the street to check the bodies; they all were dead. As he stepped onto the curb, a shot rang out from inside the store. The round tore through John’s kneecap, and he fell on his side, screaming. A large figure
in a filthy, bloody wife-beater stumbled out; blood ran from his head. Staggering a bit, he looked at John.

Pointing his gun, he yelled, “
Jodienda puta
!”

John, lying there, raised the barrel of his M15 and pulled the trigger. Bloody holes stitched up the man’s body and knocked him back through the doorway.

After flipping himself over, John grabbed the Toyota’s bumper and pulled himself up with a scream. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the zombies only half a block away. Working his way to the end of the car, he tried to hop away. His leg immediately collapsed under him, and he fell onto his stomach. Panting with pain and desperation, he tried to crawl down the street.

Leaving a trail of blood from his mangled leg, John crawled about ten feet before looking behind him. The lead zombies were almost on top of him. He turned on his elbow and drew his firearm. Holding it out behind him, he kept firing at the approaching figures. The first few had fallen by the time his gun had clicked empty. Grimacing, John reached back and threw the gun at the nearest zombie. As they came up to him and dropped down, he pulled the pin on his last grenade.