Rotter Nation (23 page)

Emily pressed the starter button. The engines sputtered and protested.

* * *

The groan of the patrol boat’s engines cut across the sandbar. The fingers on the dead hand closed in on the palm. Josephine spun her head toward the patrol boat and screamed, “Don’t start those engines!”

* * *

Natalie heard Josephine’s cry and turned toward her just as Emily pressed the starter button again. This time the engines roared to life. Emily throttled them forward to make certain they didn’t stall. In the quiet along the Mississippi, the noise was deafening.

All along the sandbar, decayed hands shot out from under the sand as the living dead woke from their rest. And the Angels were in the middle of them.

* * *

The hand grabbed Josephine around the wrist and held her tight. Startled, she fell backwards and dropped the M-16A2. When she tried to crawl away, the backpack dug into the sand, hindering her movement. She succeeded only in pulling the rotter free. Clumps of wet sand broke off and crumbled. It wore a National Guard uniform. Its chest had been torn open and emptied of organs, leaving a dozen crabs crawling around the empty cavity. The rotter snarled, exposing grit-encrusted teeth. With its free arm, it grabbed her by the left ankle and pulled itself out further. Josephine reached for her semi-automatic rifle, but the rotter lay between them. Twisting to one side, she kicked at its head, driving the heel of her boot into its face. With each strike, shattered teeth flew from its mouth. The third kick tore loose a large chunk of its upper lip, revealing the decayed jaw underneath. On the fifth, its lower jaw broke loose, dangling from the right side of its face by a few tendons and strips of skin.

Still, the rotter would not release its grip and continued to crawl onto Josephine.

* * *

One rotter that had been face down pushed itself to its hands in knees in front of Sandy. She took a step back, aimed her M-16A2 at its head, and pulled the trigger. The rotter shuddered and collapsed, the sand beneath it absorbing the gore. She switched her aim to another of the living dead rising five feet to her left.

Sarah went to help Josephine when three of the living dead rose out of the sand in front of her. She took down the ones on the right and left with double taps to the head; shooting the one in the center would put Josephine in the line of sight. Stepping forward, Sarah kicked the rotter in its face, knocking it on its back. She shoved the barrel of her M-16A2 into its mouth and fired.

Stephanie felt the ground bulge beneath her. Looking down, she saw one of the living dead trying to push itself free under her feet. She stomped on its head three times until the skull caved in.

Amy stood on the far right end of the perimeter, away from the rotters. Ten of them emerged from the sandbar between her and the police boat, and she could not shoot them without the risk of hitting the other Angels. Holding the stock in her right hand and the barrel in her left, she surged forward, ready to club her way to safety.

Four of the living dead broke through the sand around Katie, encircling her. One by one, she stepped up to each rotter, placed the barrel against its head, and took it down with a single shot. When she glanced around, an increasing number of the living dead were rising all along the sandbar. Some had already stood and staggered toward the perimeter.

Tiara raised her M-16A2 and took careful aim at the rotter attacking Josephine. Inhaling deeply and holding it, she applied pressure to the trigger, waiting for the clear shot. She tuned out everything around her.

Including the hand that pushed its way through the sand by her right foot.

* * *

Natalie watched in horror as rotters pushed their way to the surface all along the sandbar, surrounding the Angels. At least twenty stood between her girls and the police boat, with another thirty beyond them.

Emily shifted the throttles into reverse and gunned the engine. The boat shuddered, yet remained lodged on the sandbar.

“What are you doing?” Natalie asked.

“Trying to get us off this thing. We’re stuck. I need you three to push us loose.”

“We have to help the others.”

“Honey, if we don’t free this boat before the rotters reach us, none of us are getting out of here alive.”

“Fuck.” Natalie reached over the gunwale. “Ari, give me that briefcase. Then you and Doreen get to the bow and get ready to push.”

Ari handed it over as Doreen jumped off the boat, and the two women moved to the bow. Natalie laid the briefcase between two seats and joined them. When all three were in place, she yelled out to Emily.

“Ready!”

The engines roared. The three women pushed against the hull, digging furrows in the sand with their feet. The boat would not move. Natalie glanced over her shoulder. The commotion had attracted the attention of seven rotters that shambled toward them.

* * *

The National Guard rotter had Josephine pinned. She couldn’t roll to the left because of her backpack, and if she rolled to the right the rotter would fall on her. It climbed onto her chest, its weight pushing her down. She placed her hands on its shoulders and shoved it away. That wouldn’t save her for long.

Then its head exploded, spraying the sand to her left with gore and skull fragments. Rolling to the right and pushing, she knocked the body to one side, and crawled on hands and knees to retrieve her M-16A2. She turned to Tiara to thank her, and her heart sank.

* * *

Tiara gave herself a mental high-five when the headshot brought down the rotter attacking Josephine. Her friend threw off the corpse and scurried to get her weapon.

A hand grabbed Tiara around the right ankle. Before she could react, a second hand reached out and clutched her pants leg. Layers of sand poured off, revealing a female rotter in a police uniform. It climbed up Tiara, grasping her belt, then her arm, and then her shoulder. Its weight knocked Tiara down, pinning her free arm. The rotter dragged itself across Tiara’s body. Placing one decayed hand on her shoulder and the other on her face, it exposed her neck and lunged.

Tiara screamed when she felt its teeth slice through the skin and bite deep into muscle.

* * *

Natalie and the others continued to push, and the boat refused to budge. The rotters were only fifteen feet away now. Unslinging her M-16A2, she stepped up to the closest one, placed the barrel against its forehead, and fired. Before it even hit the ground, she moved toward the next closest. Doreen raced up beside her and started shooting the living dead. It took only a few seconds to bring all seven down. Things had changed dramatically in those seconds.

When Natalie glanced out at the perimeter, she saw the rest of the living dead threatening to swarm her Angels.

“Everybody fall back to the boat! Now!”

* * *

Josephine could tell by the spray of blood that the rotter had severed Tiara’s carotid artery. Even though Tiara wouldn’t come back as one of the living dead, she would not survive the attack. Raising the M-16A2, she emptied her magazine into both her friend and the rotter. Bullets churned up the sand and thudded into living and dead flesh. When Josephine finished, neither one moved.

She silently said goodbye to her friend and climbed back to her feet.

* * *

Upon hearing Natalie’s order to fall back, most of the Angels obeyed. Only a few rotters now stood between them and the boat, all of which were shot through the head on the Angels’ retreat. One grabbed Katie’s backpack and nearly dragged her down. She dropped her M-16A2 and shoved back. The rotter tumbled over, still clutching the backpack, and Katie arched her shoulders, sliding the backpack free. She grabbed the automatic rifle and dashed for the boat.

The rotters from outside the perimeter drew closer, their moans incessant as they neared their food.

When each of the Angels reached the boat, Natalie had them throw their backpack on deck and join in dislodging it. Soon most of the Angels were gathered around the bow, trying to shove it into the river.

Except for Josephine and Amy.

Josephine noticed that the rotters between her and the boat concentrated on the Angels gathered around the bow. She calculated the path of least rotter presence, took a deep breath, and made a dash. Josephine dodged between the living dead, constantly changing direction to stay as far away from danger as possible. Several rotters turned and lunged, and she swatted their hands away as she raced past. Within seconds, she had made it through the horde and reached her friends.

Amy had waded into the approaching rotters, slamming the butt of her M-16A2 several times into the face of the closest rotter before it collapsed. She paused to catch her breath, and saw the other nine bearing down on her. At this rate, she would never make it through. Even if she did, too many rotters converged around the police boat. Amy searched for another escape route and found it in the row off abandoned boats that sat along the bank of the sandbar. She counted ten between her and the police boat. Racing for the nearest one, a small six-seat pleasure craft, she climbed over the gunwale onto the main deck. When she turned around, the nine rotters had changed direction and approached the pleasure craft. Jumping to the adjacent barge, she made her way along the sandbar one boat at a time.

* * *

Emily cut back power to the engines and swore to herself. Thirty rotters drew closer. Her fingers wrapped around the throttle.

Come on, honey. Don’t let me down
.

Emily yanked the controls into reverse.

At the bow, the Angels pushed with all their strength. Sweat poured down their faces and backs, and their feet dug up the sand until they began to lose their footing. The police boat would not move. Then, just as they were about to give up hope, it lurched back a foot. The Angels pushed even harder.

Natalie glanced over her shoulder and saw the nearest rotter ten feet away. It wore a sweatshirt whose design had been blotted out by dried blood and sand. Breaking away from the others, she unslung her M-16A2 and aimed. The first bullet struck the rotter’s forehead at a range of less than three feet. The others were too close to aim properly, so she settled for three-round bursts until the bolt stuck open. Two more rotters dropped. The rest kept closing in.

She turned around to see that the police boat had moved another few feet down the sandbar. “Stephanie, Sandy. Spot me.”

The two Angels broke away and took up firing position. Natalie joined the others in pushing against the hull. Finally, it slid into the river. Emily maneuvered the boat parallel to the sandbar. The Angels hopped aboard one at a time while Stephanie and Sandy provided covering fire. When they had run out of ammunition, they fell back and climbed on board. Natalie joined them last.

“Let’s get out of here,” she ordered.

“With pleasure, honey.”

“Wait!” yelled Doreen. “Where’s Amy?”

“Where was she last?” Emily asked.

“Down the other end,” answered Stephanie.

“There she is!” shouted Sandy, pointing to the row of abandoned boats.

Amy swung over the side of a tugboat and climbed down the port ladder, dropping onto the deck of a low keeled fishing skip. Emily flipped on the siren to get her attention. Amy stopped and waved. The rotters along the sandbar moaned and waded into the Mississippi. Turning the police boat toward shore, Emily pulled up alongside the rear of the fishing skip. Amy climbed on board, helped by Doreen and Stephanie. Emily steered the boat back into the river and gunned the engine, accelerating away from the sandbar. A few minutes later, she reached the fork where the Missouri River poured into the Mississippi. Turning to port, she entered the mouth of the Missouri.

“Like I said before, a little over four hundred miles to Omaha,” Emily said. “With luck, we should be there by morning.”

Natalie slumped into one of the seats in front of the console.

“Are you okay?” Emily asked.

“No.”

Emily reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll be in Omaha soon, and all this will be behind us.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I usually am.” Emily smiled. “I’ll take it from here. You get some rest. You can spot me later.”

“Sounds good.” Natalie moved to the bow, taking her backpack with her and wedging it between two of the fuel drums to use as a bed. She really wanted to cry, an impossibility in front of the other Angels. So instead she fell into a deep sleep.

Tibor seemed pleased when he showed the others the renovations he had made to the school bus. For the first time since leaving Site R, he appeared to want to be part of the group, which pleased Dravko and Robson. Jennifer, Caslow, Simmons, and Wayans stood with them at the end of the bus, while the others lingered in the background.

“As you requested, I removed the rear door and replaced it with a ramp.” Tibor stood on the ramp and jumped on it to show it would hold weight. He grabbed one of the chains connected to the end of the ramp that stretched to the top of the bus and through a series of loops welded onto the roof before finally disappearing into the driver’s compartment. “You can use these to raise and lower it. The other end is by the driver’s seat.”

Tibor walked up the ramp into the bus and waved for the others to follow. All the seats had been removed. Making his way to the front, he stood by the exit stairs and pointed to a metal cage that had been erected across the interior behind the driver’s seat. It consisted of dozens of rebar spikes running horizontally and vertically, each welded to one another. The space between each bar was only a few inches. A steel door and frame had been welded into the center. Tibor closed the steel door and secured it on the driver’s side by dropping a four-foot long two-by-four into the twin brackets on either side of the door mount.

Tibor stepped back and smiled, immensely proud of his work. “Once you’re up here, nothing can get to you.”

“You’re sure it’ll hold?” asked Dravko.

“Try it.”

Dravko stepped up, wrapped his fingers around the bars, and pulled. The cage did not move. Morphing into his vampire form, he tried again. The cage still did not give. Dravko returned to his human state. “That’s built strong.”

“It needs to be,” Tibor replied with a broad smile. He removed the two-by-four and opened the door, then motioned to the chain dangling from the roof and ending in the cage area. “This is how you control the ramp.”

He grabbed the chain and pulled, raising the ramp until it covered the open doorway in back. A crowbar had been welded to the driver’s side of the cage, with the hooked portion pointing down. Tibor wrapped the chain several times around the hooked end of the crowbar and secured one of the links through the tip. “When not in use, you secure the chain here.”

Caslow stepped forward and pulled on the chain. “It looks difficult to operate. Are you sure it’ll work?”

“It’ll be okay for an hour or so.”

“It’ll do just fine.” Robson patted Tibor on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

“I even reinforced the plow up front. Once you’re up here, you’ll be safe from everything except gunfire.”

“Hopefully no one will be shooting at me.” Robson turned to the others. “We’re all set to go. We do this tomorrow night.”

Everyone nodded halfheartedly, not because they didn’t feel the need to rescue Windows, they all knew the odds. By this time tomorrow night, most of them would probably be dead. One by one, everyone wandered off.

Once alone, Robson made another tour of the exterior of the bus and entered the driver’s compartment. Using the chain, he lowered and raised the ramp to get an idea of how it would handle. He also tested the cage, grabbing it in several places and pulling with all his strength. The welds were solid. He might have a chance after all.

How things had changed. Two weeks ago, he had a cohesive unit that had fought its way to Site R and back, retrieving the Zombie Vaccine and battling hundreds of rotters along the way. Now his team had been whittled down to a ragtag group of survivors. Only Dravko and Tibor remained from the original raiding party, and the latter’s loyalties remained in doubt. He counted Jennifer as one of the original team because she had accompanied them; however, as a scientist she had never been trained for combat. Not that it mattered. He knew she would throw a fit if he tried to leave her behind, even though putting her in harm’s way was irresponsible. Christ, everything about tomorrow night’s raid was irresponsible. DeWitt’s people had been trained to defend Fort McClary, not go into combat against well-armed killers. Simmons and Wayans possessed the skill set, and were placing their lives on the line for someone they had never even met. And Caslow would be next to useless; the best Robson could hope for was that when Caslow got himself killed he didn’t take anyone else with him. They would have stood a much better chance with Natalie and the Angels, even with their shattered morale. Necessity had dictated he send them west with the vaccine, otherwise everything they had endured would have been for nothing. The deaths of Mad Dog, Daytona, Whitehouse, Caylee, and Leila. Of Sultanic and Tatyana. Of those assholes Compton and Thompson. And especially the destruction of their compound and the murder of everyone in it. All of it would have been a fucking waste.

Robson dropped into the driver’s seat and leaned back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Maybe this raid on the gang’s compound was a horrible idea. Ever since coming up with this plan to save Windows, he had asked himself if rescuing her was his true intention, or just an excuse to justify revenge. Or worse, maybe he sought suicide by vendetta, and was selfishly bringing along the others to die with him. That thought had crossed his mind a few times. He didn’t know for certain, which bothered him. He now had an inkling of what Paul had gone through those many months running the compound, and had a newfound respect for him.

Someone stepping onto the bus broke him from his reverie, and he saw Jennifer standing on the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I disturb you?”

“No. I was just thinking. I haven’t done a lot of that lately.”

“I don’t know. To me it seems like that’s all you’ve been doing since we found your camp destroyed.”

“Am I doing the right thing, or am I going after Windows for the wrong reason?”

“Let me ask you this.” Jennifer moved up to the main floor. “If they had only destroyed the camp and murdered everyone, and hadn’t kidnapped her, would you be staging this raid?”

Shit, he hadn’t thought of it that way. Robson contemplated the question for a minute. He probably wouldn’t be launching this raid if not for Windows. Getting some payback on the assholes who butchered his friends happened to be a plus. If Windows had been murdered along with the others, Robson would have placed the safety of the survivors over anything else, and would have headed north to put as much distance between them and the rape gang as possible. The realization took a weight off of his shoulders.

Robson made eye contact with Jennifer. “I guess I wouldn’t.”

“And you’re not forcing any of us to accompany you. We’re going because it’s the right thing to do. We’re going because we trust you.” Jennifer moved closer. “I know that if it was me stuck in that camp, you’d come after me.”

“Of course I would.”

Jennifer smiled. She slid one hand behind Robson’s neck and gently pulled him toward her. She kissed him with a tenderness that he had never experienced before, her tongue caressing his lips. An image of Natalie flashed through his mind. Sliding his hands along Jennifer’s arms, he gently pushed her away.

“I can’t do this.”

“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me. I just want you to make love to me.” Robson didn’t protest when Jennifer unzipped him, dropped to her knees in front of him, and pulled out his erection.