Rotter World Page 9

  Seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him, Hodges walked the drivers around their vehicles and showed them the latest innovations. His team had welded extra foot-long spikes along the bottom and sides of each window in the truck’s cab to prevent rotters from getting at the drivers. They also had reinforced the mountings for the truck’s plow and the school bus’ cowcatcher, giving them extra support if they had to push out of the path something more substantial than rotters, and checked the welding on the grates that covered the school bus windows. In addition, four floodlights had been set up on the front of each vehicle.

  The Ryder truck was only recognizable by its yellow cab. Working like banshees, Hodges’ team had completely transformed it, welding metal plates onto three of the cargo bay’s sides and the roof, turning it into a mobile safe haven for the vampires. Two rows of blackout curtains covered the rear of the bay to prevent sunlight from entering when they opened the rear door. Inside, four hammocks strung across the width of the bay provided a haven for the vampires during the day.

  By ten till midnight, most of those going on the mission waited at the motor pool, already having stored their gear and weapons in their respective vehicles. Compton arrived last, with Colonel Thompson and Jennifer in tow. As Paul and the doctor exchanged a few last words, Robson moved among the group, telling them it was time to go. One by one, they said their goodbyes and boarded their vehicles.

  Daytona climbed into the cab of the dump truck, closing the door behind him. O’Bannon joined him in the front seat. Caylee crawled up the side of the bed, took her position in the forward gun mount, and strapped herself in. She flipped off the safety on her AK-47 and made sure she had easy access to her ammo bag.

  Whitehouse pulled open the front door to the school bus to allow entry to Natalie and the Angels, Tibor, Sultanic, Tatyana, and Jennifer. The Angels each took a window seat at the rear of the bus, leaving the aisle seat available to place their Mausers in case they had to reach them quickly. Each Angel wore a melee weapon attached to their utility belt for use against any rotters that got in too close for them to use their rifles. Most of them preferred either the bayonet that came with their rifles or an eighteen-inch crowbar. Sarah and Emily bucked tradition, opting for a machete and a hunting knife, respectively.

  Whitehouse walked around the exterior of the bus, checking all the emergency exits to make certain they were secured from the inside, and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Robson drove the armored car that served as the convoy’s command vehicle, with Compton joining him up front to help lead the way, and Dravko and Thompson taking the smaller travel seats in back. Mad Dog manned the Ryder, with Rashid riding shotgun.

  One by one, the engines thundered to life before settling into an idling rumble. As the vehicles warmed up, Hodges led his motor pool crew over to the main gate. As two of the men stood on either side of the entrance, M-16 assault rifles raised and at the ready, a third man unlocked the gate and swung it out of the way. Hodges cautiously stepped outside the compound onto the main road, scanned the area, and visibly relaxed when he saw no rotters nearby. Raising his right arm into the air, he pumped it up and down several times.

  Hodges closed his eyes against the glare as sixteen floodlights and four sets of headlights switched on at once, bathing him in white light. He stepped aside until he bumped into the gate post and stopped.

  With a hiss of air brakes and the revving of its diesel engine, the Mack lurched forward. It passed slowly through the gate. Hodges gave a thumbs up to his friend Daytona, who returned the gesture by tipping his NASCAR hat. The truck climbed the slight incline and swung right onto the road, slowly moving off into the night.

  Whitehouse followed two hundred feet behind Daytona. Several of the Angels waved to Hodges as they passed by, a nervous gesture to cover their trepidation over traveling into the unknown. Natalie turned to check on Robson, who followed a hundred feet to the rear in the armored car. He returned Hodges’ salute as he passed through the gate.

  Mad Dog shifted into first gear and stalled the Ryder, not properly compensating for the additional weight of the metal plates. He turned over the engine and tried again, this time giving the truck more gas. The Ryder lurched forward and threatened to stall, but Mad Dog pushed harder on the gas pedal. Gaining momentum, the truck moved forward. He shifted into second gear as he passed through the gate, taking the time to nod at Hodges.

  Barely had the Ryder turned onto the main road when Hodges closed the gate behind the convoy and secured the locks. Those left behind filtered back into the fort, a feeling of anticipation for their comrades hanging heavy in the air.

  Only Paul stayed behind. He walked over to the gate and watched as the Ryder’s tail lights disappeared around a bend in the road, silently praying that this would not be the last image he had of his raiding party.

  Book Two

  Chapter Fifteen

  The convoy wound its way along the tree-lined road without spotting any signs of life save for the wildlife that had rapidly repopulated the area. Each time the vehicles rounded a bend, a deer or small animal would scurry into the woods, dissolving into the darkness on either side of the road. A feral cat, presumably at one time someone’s pet, hunched down in the overgrown grass along the shoulder and carefully studied each vehicle as it raced by. Its eyes flared crimson from the headlights, giving the creature an ominous stare.

  Robson lifted his foot off the accelerator a full five seconds before the brakes lights on the school bus flashed. He knew instinctively that the convoy was about to turn onto the main road just north of Kittery. He could drive this route with his eyes closed. Each of them knew every inch of it by heart, even at night. They had driven this way God knows how many times previous because it was the only road out of camp that took them around the rotter-infested Navy yard.

  Up ahead, Daytona slowed the Mack to make the turn onto Route 1A South. The other vehicles followed, keeping a safe distance from one another. As usual, they encountered no rotter activity until they reached the half-mile stretch of road that held the city’s outlet malls. Hundreds of rotters milled around the surrounding parking lots and stores, having been drawn by the numerous raids they had staged to gather supplies. Scores of corpses with bullet holes gouged out of their foreheads lay in small clusters throughout the area, marking previous battle sites. Upon hearing the sounds of the approaching vehicles, hundreds of lifeless eyes turned in their direction. Robson could imagine the collective moan as the living dead lumbered toward the road in a vain effort to reach the food. The few rotters that stood in their path were quickly dispatched by Daytona, their smashed bodies being thrown aside by the plow. Robson glanced in his side mirror, watching as a few of the more determined zombies stumbled after them in pursuit.

  A minute later, the convoy crossed the overpass that put them onto Route 1 South. The twin towers of the 1950s-era lift bridge loomed in the dark sky ahead of them, the red aviation warning lights on each structure still blinking. Just before the convoy reached the bridge, the vehicles veered right onto Route 103 and began their run alongside the Piscataqua River.

  Robson looked across the river onto the New Hampshire side. Though he could not see it through the trees lining the banks, he knew that Newington sat only a few miles away. The images of his and Susan’s failed escape attempt seven months ago invaded his thoughts no matter how much he tried to forget. For a moment he wondered what happened to her. Was she fortunate enough to have been stripped clean by the rotters, leaving nothing left to reanimate? Or did she become one of them, now aimlessly wandering amongst the abandoned cars in search of food? The all-too-familiar pangs of guilt wracked his conscience, this time accompanied by nausea over picturing Susan as one of the living dead.

  Thankfully, Daytona’s voice came through his radio, providing a welcome distraction.

  “Hey, boss? Are you there?”

  Robson lifted the handheld push-to-talk radio from off of the dashboard and keyed the microph
one. “What’s up?”

  “Do you realize this is the first time we’ve gone this far west?”

  “So?”

  “Just mentioning it,” Daytona replied sheepishly. “Welcome to the brave new world.”

  “A rotter world,” sneered Dravko from the back.

  Robson placed the radio back on the dashboard. He doubted this brave new world would be any better than the one they were leaving behind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The convoy had been driving for less than an hour when the brake lights on the Mack lit up. Robson slowed, coming to a stop fifty feet behind the school bus. He watched as Daytona climbed out of the truck and walked down the road until he disappeared around a bend. Robson picked up the radio and pressed the microphone button.

  “Daytona, what’s going on?”

  No answer.

  “Daytona, are you there?”

  Still no answer. Robson shifted the armored car into Park and removed his shotgun from its vertical lodging mount. “Dravko, you’re with me. Colonel, stay here and keep an eye on the doctor.”

  “Roger that.”

  Robson and Dravko climbed out of the armored car and headed for the Mack. As they passed the school bus, Natalie and a few of her girls disembarked. Josephine, Leila, Stephanie, and Tiara each stood by one corner of the bus, scanning their respective quadrants for rotter activity and holding their Mausers ready for quick fire. Natalie waited by the open door. Ari stood on the stairs behind her, her rifle pointed at the ground.

  “What’s up?” asked Natalie.

  “Damned if I know. Daytona’s not answering his radio.”

  The two women fell in behind. Robson heard Ari pull back the bolt on her Mauser, loading a round into the chamber.

  Daytona knelt by the front bumper of the dump truck, unwinding lengths of chain off of the winch.

  “Everything okay?” asked Robson. “You didn’t answer your radio.”

  “Sorry. I left it in the truck.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  Daytona pointed over his shoulder while he continued to work. “Because of that.”

  The others turned to look up the road. A few yards ahead sat Eliol Bridge. Two vehicles blocked the entry ramp. The first, a red Toyota Camry, sat in the eastbound lane. A Dodge Ram heading west had swerved and crashed into the Camry’s left front fender, and now sat at a seventy-five degree angle across its lane. Flies swarmed around the point of impact.

  “Can’t you push your way through?” asked Dravko.

  Daytona stood up, holding the coiled chain in his hand. “Not at the angle that pick-up is in. I’m gonna have to pull it out of the way.”

  “Let me check it out first,” said Robson.

  “Better you than me.” Daytona leaned back against the Mack’s bumper and pushed the NASCAR cap back on his head.

  “Watch yourself,” said Natalie.

  Dravko approached the Ram from the left side as Robson circled around the accident to the right, both carefully watching the vehicles for any sign of movement. Dravko looked into the bed of the Ram, and then stepped forward and peered into the cab. Not seeing anything suspicious, he opened the driver’s door and scanned the interior.

  “Nothing here. Looks like whoever drove it walked away and took everything of value with him.”

  As he neared the Camry, Robson switched on the flashlight mounted under the barrel of his shotgun and shined the light onto the driver’s side. The window had been shattered, with shards of glass littering the ground. A figure sat in the driver’s seat, motionless. Robson raised the shotgun, keeping it trained on the figure as he approached. Only when he got to within a few feet did he realize that the driver had been lucky, having been devoured so badly the body could not reanimate. The back of its head had been pried open and the brain eaten. Flies swarmed around the corpse, feeding off what remains had not already decayed. The chest under its shirt pulsated, probably from maggots. He placed the shotgun’s barrel against the corpse’s temple and pushed. The head broke away from its neck with a loud snap and dropped onto the passenger’s seat.

  Robson stepped back and turned to the others. “All clear.”

  As Daytona came forward to wrap the chain around the Ram’s trailer hitch, Robson opened the back door of the Camry and peered inside. The flashlight fell on a duffel bag lying on the floor. Robson pulled it out and slung the strap over his left shoulder. He would rummage through it later to see if he could find anything of value.

  Two minutes later, Daytona went back by the dump truck and turned on the winch. The electronic whir of the engine mixed with the clinking of the links as the chain grew taught, soon accompanied by the creaking of metal as Daytona dragged the Ram away from the wreck. Robson heard the moan of a rotter.

  Jumping back from the Camry, he swept the accident scene with his flashlight. A rotter lay stretched on the ground where the Ram had sat, having been wedged under the pick-up during the accident. It tried to stand up, but its legs had been crushed, and instead thrashed its arms futilely. Robson stepped forward, the shotgun trained at its head. The rotter turned to stare at him, its mouth snapping violently. He approached to within five feet and squeezed the trigger. The sharp retort of the shotgun cut off the moaning as the shell blasted the zombie’s head from its body, spraying brains and skull fragments across the asphalt.

  Natalie raced forward. “Are you all right?”

  “Nothing to worry about. A rotter was trapped under the pick-up.”

  More moaning from farther down the bridge caught their attention. Robson swung the flashlight in that direction. The light illuminated only a hundred feet, but in the darkness beyond, several shadows shambled toward them. Robson and Natalie backed up and joined the others. Ari moved up alongside them and trained her Mauser down the bridge.

  “Where they hell did they come from?” asked Natalie, a nervous edge to her voice.

  “They must have been attracted by the noise.”

  “How many?” asked Dravko.

  “Don’t know. According the map, Dover is a few miles across the river.”

  Natalie moved close to Robson until they practically touched. “Which probably means hordes of rotters.”

  Ari leaned her cheek against the stock of the Mauser and kept the weapon sighted. “Should I call the others?”

  “Hold on.” Robson turned to the dump truck. “Daytona, can we get across now?”

  “Sure. Just give me a minute.” Daytona had detached the tow chain from the Ram’s hitch and began frantically rewinding it onto the winch. After seconds that dragged on like hours, he respindled the chain and secured it. He stood up, wiping his palms against his trousers. “All set.”

  Robson spun around to face the others. “Let’s roll.”

  Moving around to the driver’s side of the Mack, Daytona opened the door and climbed into the cab. Natalie headed back to the school bus. Ari retreated a few steps, her Mauser still aimed down the bridge, then lowered her rifle and followed. Natalie had already ushered the other girls on board and stood by the door waiting. Ari ran up the stairs and to her seat. Natalie jumped on last, closing the door behind her.

  The first rotter slowly emerged from the shadows. From this distance, it looked like it might once have been a young woman, long scraggly hair falling across what remained of its leathery face. Its clothes had long since been stripped away, revealing naked, desiccated skin. It reached out for Robson, flailing away desperately with the stump of its right arm. A few yards to the rear, two more rotters came into view. One wore light blue hospital fatigues stained dark brown with dried blood. The other, a man in the tattered remains of a business suit, limped toward them, dragging a nearly severed left leg behind him.

  Dravko stepped up beside Robson. “We have to get going.”

  Robson snapped back to reality. The two men jogged back to the armored car. Thompson stood by the open rear door. “Is everything all right?”

  Robson circled around to the driver’s side. “
Rotters are crossing the bridge. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  They crawled in and secured the doors, and Robson shifted into Drive. Daytona was already heading across the bridge, maneuvering between the wrecked vehicles, with the school bus close behind. Robson surged forward and kept a safe distance to the rear.

  A dozen rotters moved across the bridge, the ones in Daytona’s way easily being pushed aside by the plow. The man in the business suit became lodged on the right corner of the blade and was dragged along, its shattered leg tearing free and sliding across the asphalt. Daytona snapped the steering wheel to the right, throwing the rotter free. It fell into a heap by the side of one of the bridge abutments, and immediately began crawling toward the convoy.

  Once across and on the road leading to Dover, Robson saw another dozen of the living dead spread out across the area, a couple on the road itself, and more struggling up the embankments. The convoy easily brushed aside the few that got in its way and slowly increased speed. Robson glanced in the side mirror as the armored car raced past, watching as the rotters along the embankment turned en masse and stumbled after them.

  From in the back of the armored car, Dravko looked out the rear window with a growing sense of concern. Not about the rotters, which were rapidly falling behind, but about the sliver of light blue sky spreading across the eastern horizon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dravko made his way to the front of the armored car. He leaned in between Robson and Compton and motioned with his head in the direction they just come from. “Have you looked east lately?”

  Robson glanced in his side mirror, not realizing what Dravko meant. His eyes widened when he noticed the first tints of the rising sun. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes before dawn. He had lost track of the time back at the bridge. All he could think to say was, “Shit.”