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  “That’s along the lines of what I was thinking,” responded Dravko.

  The first two vehicles of the convoy were already half a mile ahead of him. Robson grabbed the radio from the dashboard and keyed the microphone. “Daytona, the sun’s coming up. We need to pull over now and get Dravko’s people into the Ryder.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen, boss.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll find out in about thirty seconds.”

  Robson began to argue when he saw movement to the right and left. As he drew closer, his floodlights fell onto a sign off to the right announcing they were entering Dover. Close to twenty rotters milled around on either side of the road, living dead sentinels for the town. Their numbers increased the closer the convoy got to the center.

  Robson keyed the microphone again. “Daytona, we need to find a safe place to stop, and fast. So haul ass.”

  “I’ll do my best, boss. But this town is pretty well infested.”

  Robson took another glance toward the east. The horizon glowed reddish-orange. Robson looked around for a secure location to stop, but rotters jammed the road and sidewalks.

  The road suddenly came to an end at an intersection where it connected with a cross street. Daytona decelerated to a near crawl and pulled the Mack sharply left. As each vehicle slowed to make the turn, rotters closed in, most of them descending on the bus. The living dead slammed decayed hands against the flanks of the bus, trying to claw their way inside. Flashes erupted from the windows as the Angels fired back, dropping several zombies. Robson could see the streaks of gore left on the sides of the bus. As he entered the turn, he had to maneuver around the rotters, both those lumbering towards the armored car and those littering the ground.

  By now, they were well into town. Rotter activity was thicker than anything they had ever encountered at Kittery. Between the moaning, revving engines, and gunfire, the racket they made attracted every rotter in the vicinity. There were not enough to pose a threat to the convoy as long as they kept moving. But it also meant they could not stop to get the vampires safely into the Ryder. They would have to—

  Daytona’s truck came to a sudden stop. Robson watched the brake lights on the rear of the school bus light up. He slammed his foot on the brake pedal. Because of the added weight of the armored plate, it did not stop right away. The tires squealed in protest and the rear end jackknifed slightly. The armored car came to rest a few feet short of the bus.

  Robson keyed his microphone. “Daytona, what the hell’s going on up there?”

  “Hang on, boss.” Daytona left the mike open. Robson could hear him arguing with O’Bannon. “Which way?”

  “I don’t know,” O’Bannon yelled back, his voice accompanied by the rustling of papers.

  “Well, figure it out before we’re swarmed and can’t move.”

  “I can’t. Windows’ maps are fuckin’ useless.”

  Something slapped against the window by Robson’s head. A hand with all its fingers missing swatted at the glass, trying to break through, but only smeared the surface with blood and chunks of decayed flesh. The hand belonged to a rotter dressed in a police uniform, its lower mandible ripped off. Another dozen rotters began to swarm around the front bumper and flanks, with more closing in. From inside the school bus, Robson saw the Angels shooting through the open windows. Caylee hung over the side of Mack’s dump bed, firing down on those crowding the truck.

  Dravko leaned forward, the tremor in his voice belying his outward calm. “We don’t have much time.”

  Robson looked in his side mirror. Half the eastern horizon was lit up, with the undersides of the clouds glowing red from the approaching sun. He keyed the microphone. “Uh, guys? Anytime now would be helpful.”

  “There, there, there!” O’Bannon’s excited voice came over the speaker. “Off to the left. A sign for Route 9.”

  The Mack lurched forward and turned left, shoving aside a swarm of living dead that frantically clutched at its sides. A rotter grabbed one of the support beams and attempted to pull itself up onto the bed until a well-placed shot from Caylee exploded its head. The decapitated body tumbled to the ground.

  Whitehouse accelerated, moving into the path cleared by Daytona. Robson followed, constantly switching his attention from the road ahead to the rapidly lightening sky to his left. Rotter activity remained too heavy to attempt a switch here, but at least Daytona was booking it to find a safe place. They were already doing over sixty, which was risky on a city street clogged with rotters and abandoned vehicles.

  Daytona swerved right, smashing through two cars blocking the road. One of the vehicles, a Saturn, spun off to the left where it smashed through a glass-enclosed bus stop. The second vehicle, a Subaru Outback, got caught on the plow blade. Daytona pushed it along for a hundred feet, chunks of metal breaking off and falling by the wayside. Finally, the Subaru broke free and slid off to the right, forcing Whitehouse to swerve around it.

  Natalie’s voice came across the radio. “I have three vampires on this bus who are freaking out.”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed,” responded Daytona, “but we have a rotter problem.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, the vampires are going to have even bigger problems unless you pull over in the next few seconds.”

  A quick glance to the east confirmed that. The sun had already crested the horizon, a few rays of light shining through the spaces between the buildings. They had a few minutes at most. A quick scan of the area showed about twenty rotters. Not ideal, but enough for them to handle.

  Robson lifted the radio to his mouth. “Okay, guys. We have to stop now.”

  “Too dangerous, man,” responded O’Bannon. “We have to wait till we clear town.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “I won’t risk anyone’s life needlessly.”

  “That’s not your decision to make,” Robson practically yelled into the radio.

  Daytona cut into the argument. “Boss, there’s an overpass about a hundred yards ahead of us. There’s only a few rotters on it, and our flanks will be protected. We could easily do the switch there.”

  “Go for it,” said Robson. “Natalie, did you hear that?”

  “I copy. Already have our friends ready to make a run for the Ryder.”

  “Good. Mad Dog, do you read me?”

  No response. Robson looked in his side mirror, and to his horror did not see the Ryder. He keyed the radio again.

  “Mad Dog, where the fuck are you?”

  “Look in your right mirror, asshole,” Mad Dog responded.

  Robson glanced to his right and saw the Ryder passing him. “When we hit the overpass, stop alongside the front door of the school bus.”

  “Way ahead of you.”

  Daytona reached the overpass and raced across, sweeping away the few rotters on the span, before screeching to a halt on the far end. Whitehouse pulled into the left lane directly behind the Mack. Tibor, Sultanic, and Tatyana rushed off the bus even before it came to a complete stop. Natalie joined them, and the group raced to meet Mad Dog. Robson pulled up behind the Ryder and climbed out just as the first rays of sunlight broached the top of the buildings. A line of sunlight moved across the asphalt toward the convoy.

  Natalie reached the Ryder first. Jumping onto the loading dock, she swung the latch into its unlocked position and flung open the sliding door. Tibor leapt up and rolled inside. Sultanic paused to help Tatyana onto the landing, and then climbed up himself. Natalie helped them through the blackout curtains, and then turned to Dravko and Robson.

  “Move it!”

  The two were a few feet from the Ryder when the sunlight washed over them. Dravko cried out, but kept running. As Natalie reached out a hand, grasping Dravko by the arm and helping him onto the loading dock, Robson tried shielding the vampire with his own body. Dravko rolled into the back of the truck and out of the sunlight. When he stood up, Robson saw that he only had been lightly burned on his right che
ek and hand. Probably painful as hell, but nothing that would not regenerate.

  “Thanks,” said Dravko, rubbing the burnt spot on his hand.

  “Don’t mention it.” Robson reached up and grabbed the handle to the sliding door. “You should be safe until sundown.”

  Robson began to slide shut the door when Dravko shot out a hand, holding it in place. When he looked into Dravko’s eyes, he saw an emotion he had never seen in the vampire before. Fear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Dravko took a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t leave us stranded in rotter territory.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You know there’s a lot of people at camp who would see this as the perfect chance to get rid of us.”

  “I’m not one of them,” said Robson.

  “Neither am I,” added Natalie.

  Dravko nodded and offered the two a slight smile. As he moved through the blackout curtains into the rear of the Ryder, Robson lowered the door and secured the latch into the closed position.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A pleasant mid-morning sun heated the cool air and shimmered off the placid surface of the Suncock River. A flock of ducks floated by, occasionally quacking at the intrusion of humans into their solitude. The peaceful silence was broken when the fifty-five gallon drum of gasoline Daytona and Whitehouse were lowering from the rear of the Mack landed on the grass with a muffled bang, sending the ducks scattering toward the opposite bank. The frenzied flapping of wings drowned out the metallic echo, and then silence descended across the area again. The serenity of the autumn day presented a sharp contrast to their encounter from the night before.

  Robson sat on the trunk of an uprooted tree a few yards from the river, a granola bar and a tin cup of lukewarm coffee resting on the grass in front of him. The others sat nearby in their own groups having breakfast while Daytona, Whitehouse, and Mad Dog refueled the vehicles. The Angels gathered a few yards off to his right in a circle near the school bus. Compton and Thompson sat on the rear bumper of the armored car, which was parked in front of the school bus, being served coffee by Jennifer. To his left, Rashid rested up against the front bumper of the Mack with Caylee, munching away on his granola and talking up a storm while she stared absentmindedly into her cup. O’Bannon remained off by himself, standing on the road and staring in the direction they would soon be heading, a cup of coffee in his hand. The Ryder sat in the grass on the opposite side of Parade Road directly across from them. In their own way, everyone enjoyed a few moments of relaxation. Hell, after last night, they had earned it.

  After getting the vampires aboard the Ryder, the convoy had headed out of the Dover area without incident, traveling northwest for just under an hour before coming to the town of Barnston. Thankfully they had encountered no rotters there. Just north of town, the convoy picked up this country road, which paralleled Route 28 and the Suncock River. Since the road seemed isolated, Robson had decided to pull over for a rest stop.

  As the others went about their meal, Robson opened the duffel bag he had removed from the Camry on the Eliol Bridge and searched through the contents, hoping to find something useful. He found the type of stuff anyone would expect. Mostly clothes, a few paperbacks, and ironically horror novels from Stephen King and Brian Keene. Two plastic bottles of spring water, which he put aside for later. And a travel photo album.

  Robson opened the album. Attached to the inside front cover was a pink Post-It note written in an elegant, feminine hand. It read:

  Jude,

  Now you can look at me every night before you go to bed. See you in a few weeks.

  Love always,

  Tess

  He smiled as the memory of those days when he had been in love filtered back into his conscious, even though at this moment those days seemed like centuries ago. Turning to the first page, he thumbed through the album.

  Each 3 x 5 photo stared back at him. Most were of a young woman in her mid- to late twenties, slightly pudgy but still quite attractive, and with a very well proportioned body. She smiled in all of the photos. A few contained a young man of about the same age, though in most of the pictures he looked way too serious, as if too macho to express his feelings for the camera. He assumed by the range of photos that each marked a special occasion – Tess in a long black evening gown and Jude in a tux, Tess in jeans and a sweater kneeling by open gifts under a Christmas tree, Tess in a red bikini on a beach, Tess in the bikini and Jude in a tacky Hawaiian shirt sitting in a bamboo bar drinking cocktails. Robson could not help but wonder what had happened to her. Was she still alive? Had Jude been trying to get to her when the accident occurred? Or had he already found her, either dead or among the living dead, and had been running away from his nightmare? Robson felt his eyes water as his mental rambling brought him to images of Susan’s last moments.

  The last few pages were of Tess in a full-length see-through negligee that left nothing to the imagination. Robson quickly closed the album. The photos made him uncomfortable. Not because he was a prude. These were pictures intended for two people in love, and not for some voyeur. Stumbling across them made him feel like he was invading their personal lives. He placed the album beside the bottled water, deciding he would burn it later to ensure their privacy stayed that way.

  Rummaging through the duffel bag some more, he found some underwear and socks which were too small for him. His eyes widened in excitement when he reached the bottom of the bag and found buried treasure, to him anyway. Sitting there underneath all the clothes was an unopened carton of Camel cigarettes. It would be a sin to let those go to waste.

  As Robson repacked the duffel bag, placing the items he intended to keep on top, Natalie came over and sat beside him.

  “Find anything useful?” she asked.

  “Just a carton of smokes.”

  “You know they’re bad for your health,” Natalie teased. Her smile faded and she looked down into her coffee cup. “I’m sorry I snapped at you back there in town.”

  “When did you snap at me?”

  “Back in Dover when I yelled at you to pull over so we could get Dravko and the others into the truck.”

  “That? Forget about it.”

  Natalie looked up and met his eyes. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you. To protect them, I mean.”

  “That thought never even crossed my mind.”

  “There’s a lot of people who would have been just as happy if you didn’t stop, and let Dravko and the others burn.”

  “I’m not one of them.”

  “I know that.” Natalie grinned. “I don’t want you to think I’m an ass.”

  “I happen to like your ass.” Robson regretted the words the moment he spoke them. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Don’t be.” Natalie reached out and gently placed her hand on his. “I’m glad you’re looking.”

  * * *

  Thompson glared at the others as he wolfed down his granola, trying to wash away the stale taste with a tin cup of weak, lukewarm coffee. He could barely swallow the shit. Once the colonel got it down, he took another sip to clean out his mouth, and tossed the rest of the bar onto the grass. The meal left an acidic aftertaste in his throat.

  It matched his mood.

  Beside him on the fender, Compton popped the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. As the doctor chewed, he crumpled the empty wrapper into a ball and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know you too well, Colonel.” Compton swigged down the last of his coffee. “You’re pissed off about something, and I can only assume it’s because of this morning.”

  “Do you blame me?” Thompson glared over at Robson seated on the log rifling through the corpse’s duffel bag. The colonel did not bother hiding his look of disgust. “We could’ve gotten rid of the last of the bloodsuckers last night if Golden Boy over there hadn’t decided those things were worth saving. Even worse
, he endangered all of us in the process.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him.”

  Thompson turned to the doctor. “You agree with his saving the bloodsuckers?”

  “Paul and I both agreed that this mission’s best chance of success was to include them because they gave us added strength. Mr. Robson only did what we asked, like a good soldier. Which you should appreciate.” Compton flipped the remaining drops from his tin cup onto the grass, and then used a paper napkin to wipe the inside dry. “As much as I hate to admit it, we need the bloodsuckers. At least until we get to Site R. Once we’ve secured the vaccine, we won’t have any use for them.”

  “But do you think Robson will see it that way? If you ask me, he’s drinking the same Kool Aid that Paul does.”

  Compton thought for a few moments. “You do have a point. He’s seemed to have developed a level of trust with them, especially that one called Dravko. It makes it difficult to predict how he’ll respond.”

  “There’s at least one person who hates the bloodsuckers as much as we do.” Thompson focused on O’Bannon, who stood in the center of the road looking west. The colonel handed his tin cup to Compton. “I think it’s time him and I had a talk.”

  Thompson strolled over to O’Bannon and stood alongside of him. “Morning.”

  O’Bannon cocked his head slightly toward Thompson and nodded.

  Thompson ignored the sullenness. “You and I haven’t had a chance to talk since I arrived at camp.”

  “I didn’t think we needed to.”

  “We probably should.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have something in common.”

  “What’s that?” The distrust was evident in O’Bannon’s tone.

  “It seems like you, me, and Doctor Compton are the only ones who find it appalling how much trust the others have placed in the bloodsuckers.”