Hissers II: Death March (4 page)

“
They run so fast,” Connor said. “If they ran all day and all night they could be all over the country in weeks.”

“All the more reason for me to drive you. At least as far as I can. When we hit my mother’s we can reassess things. Maybe I don’t get you all the way to San Diego, but I’ll get you closer
. C’mon, let’s pack some bags and hope there’s safety for us somewhere out there.”

Connor followed her back inside the trailer, once again glanced at the metal pole. “Hey, Olive?”

“Yeah?” She rummaged around in her small bedroom and began packing a duffle bag with clothes.

“Why were you in the woods this morning?”

“I was driving back from town. I went in to get supplies, talk to people, but the town was abandoned. I saw a handful of those monsters racing around, chasing a couple stragglers, folks that didn’t get out quick enough, them things looking like wild animals. I figured I’d be safer at home, since they was all focused on inspecting the buildings, looking for people. Took the dirt road back through the woods and suddenly had to take a piss. Then I heard all that noise, them sons of bitches chasing after you and I heard your pleas.”

“What pleas?”

“You was making a lot of noise begging for help, even if it wasn’t actual words. I could tell.”

“Thank you again.”

She emerged from the room, her bag packed up. “We’ll grab what food I have left and hit the truck stop down the road, see if there’s gas. If not we’ll have to siphon it. Unfortunately I don’t have enough left to get very far.”

“What if those zombies are there?”

“That’s where this comes in…” She took a rifle out from behind a small bookshelf near the kitchen and handed it to Connor. It had a large scope on top. “You’re gonna be recon. And whatever comes running that isn’t human, you shoot it dead.”

TUESDAY, 9:34 AM

The ground outside the tent rumbled as mortar shells and grenades exploded, decimating spider monsters and hissers attempting to break though the camp’s perimeter. Soldiers squatted on plywood watchtowers firing waves of bullets at the creatures’ heads. The unlucky ones that had been working outside the fences when the attack came had been swarmed and killed and were now joining the enemy. Amanita watched through the tent as a once young and handsome Lance Corporal spit and growled at the ground, his mouth covered in blood from a fresh kill. A round of automatic gunfire cut a slash across his chest, severing his arm clean off. Not
him
, thought Amanita,
it
. It wasn’t human anymore, just a biological killing machine. The hisser was completely unfazed as it stared down at the detached arm. Another grenade hit nearby and the hisser dropped in a mist of blood. But a second later it stood back up, its arm now jutting from its back, and its feet from its chest. That’s what they do, Amanita thought, they just keep mutating and attacking.

“Am, get away from the door!” her mother shouted.

Her mother and father were huddled under the picnic table, two Marines on other side of it, fear in their eyes. Marshall and Wilcox, if she remembered correctly. They’d been in the tent all morning, talking about the difference between New York and Chicago pizza. Now they held their guns out, waiting for hissers to burst into the tent. The rest of the people who’d been in here had already raced outside, but for what, Amanita wondered. Where were they going to go?

The radios warbled on the Marines’ chests. “Trucks are loaded. Let’s get these people outta here now!
Move!”

“Okay,”
Wilcox said, “everybody outside and into the transport trucks. This is not a request.”

Amanita’s mother rushed up and took her by the elbow, led her outside. He fat
her was behind them, flanked by the young Marines. Outside, smoke clouds were wafting across the air, pluming from the machine guns being fired beyond the perimeter fence. Three trucks were already loading up passengers, and another was pulling in now to pick up the rest. Two Humvees sped by in front of Amanita and her mother and almost hit them.

“Mom?” Amanita cried, feeling her mother’s grip let go. But then it was there again, latching
on to her.

They were shoved to the side and just about
dragged toward the nearest transport truck. Its back gate was down, people sitting along the benches inside. The same scene she’d lived just days ago when they’d left Victorville.

“Let’s go! Up inside!”
Wilcox grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up. She grabbed a seat on the left bench as her parents climbed aboard, wedged herself in between a large grey-haired woman and a small girl she hadn’t seen before. The little girl was sobbing uncontrollably. “It’s okay,” Amanita told her, even though she knew it wasn’t, thinking of the lady she’d seen earlier in the morning saying the exact same thing to another child. It was all lies.

Once they were
all situated inside, Wilcox slapped the side of the truck and yelled, “Get ’em outta here!”

The truck lurched and Amanita felt her pulse rise. She watched out the back as hissers began climbing over the fence into the camp. Bullets ripped them to shreds and knocked them back, but they were up again in a flash, their bodies melting into one another to form
all sorts of undead chimaeras. As the truck raced through one of the open gates out toward the road, she saw one of the giant spider monsters come barreling through the perimeter and take out a small command trailer that the military had set up with a satellite dish on top.

The hissers were inside the camp now, tearing it apart, rushing at anyone human.
She saw a small elderly man go down under a storm of gnashing teeth and scraping fingernails. Watched as a frightened Marine tried to save him, firing at the heads of the undead, only to be taken down himself.

It was the young enlisted man
she’d given attitude to earlier. He said we weren’t prisoners, she remembered. Now he was a prisoner to some form of bloodlust no one had a handle on.

The truck took a fast turn onto a paved road, speeding past fields of corn. She watched as helicopters razed the ground with thousands of rounds of ammunition. Grenades were exploding every fifty feet. The hissers were racing through the corn fields like fish through water,
leaving wakes of bent stalks. Then the truck turned again and she nearly flew out of the seat. She swallowed hard, looked at her parents sitting across from her. Her mother was crying, her father was hugging her and trying to maintain a sense of bravery. But it wasn’t working. He was scared and Amanita could see it.

The little girl next to her suddenly gripped her around the waist for stability. Amanita held
onto her, cooing to her. She tasted her own tears in her mouth now, realized she was shaking and crying.

There was a massive explosion and the truck leapt up, slammed back down with enough force to throw everyone from their seats. She landed under a pile of arms and legs. A boot caught h
er in the side of the head and stunned her.

“Am! Am!” It was her father’s voice, but she couldn’t see him. Too many people were on top of her.

They all struggled to get back up to the benches but the truck spun sideways, pinning her to the wheel well. An elbow caught her in the throat and threatened to make her vomit. She saw stars behind her eyes. Wiggling as hard as she could, she got her head free and looked up at the pig pile on top of her. Saw the little girl by the back gate. Watched as a handful of hissers reached in, snatched her, and yanked her out.

“No!”
she cried, but she could not move to do anything about it. Now she saw her father upside down behind her. She reached out a hand to him but there was another explosion that jumped the truck forward like it had gone off a stunt ramp. As it flew she watched out the back as one of the helicopters fired another missile at them.

They’re shooting at us, she realized. Why?

And then it became evident as a new pair of hissers appeared at the back gate and yanked another woman out. Blood erupted from her body and splattered on top of every one inside.

They’re on the truck! she realized. They’re climbi
ng on us!

“Am!” Her father’s voice again.

He was looking at her now, right side up, reaching out for her. She managed to get hold of his hand and yelped as he pulled her forcefully from the bottom of the pile. With a quick hug, he set her aside and tried to help other people up, yanking Mom up first, then another man she didn’t recognize.

A bloody hand swooped down from the top of the truck
, reaching into the back at her, swinging at her hair. She screamed and swatted the hand away, looked for a weapon, but there was nothing. The hand came at her again. She ducked, climbed over the pile of fallen people, realized she was climbing on her mother, who was trickling blood from her nose. “Mom!”

“Am, help me.”
With the hand swinging just above her, she rolled over and began pulling people’s legs off her mother, freeing up her chest. It was clear she’d been kicked in the nose. A black shoe print tattooed the front of her face.

“Mom!”

The truck turned again and now bullets ripped through the sides, catching one man in the mouth and killing him instantly. “Stop shooting at us!” she yelled. But she knew the bullets were meant for the hissers climbing on the sides. She knew her voice was just more noise lost among the gunshots. If they didn’t get out of the truck they’d be killed. They had become expendable in the face of the bigger threat.

“Mom, I love you,” she said, crying, not quite sure why she was saying it.

“Move,” said her dad from above her. He reached into the pile and began helping more people, all of whom were desperately trying to stand up as the truck bounced and slid and slammed them from side to side.

Out the back she saw a collection of hissers drop from the top of the truck and roll along the road
, only to slowly rise up again with their limbs migrated to new areas of their bodies. In the sky, the helicopters were turning, going after spider monsters in the surrounding fields. Going after bigger game.

There’re
too many of them, Am thought. The helicopters can’t kill them all. We’re outnumbered. We’re going to die.

Again, the truck slewed sideways, pitching everyone
against the sides in a heap of bloodied lips and noses. Outside, the fields gave way to chicken wire fences and the edge of a small town, a truck stop with a diner and a used book store, a main street with closed-up shops beyond. It was abandoned and unfamiliar to Amanita. There were so many of these small towns all over the region. Just like Castor.

As they sped down the main drag, the people in the bus began to right themselves, only to find it was for naught.

There was an impact. The truck flipped up, somersaulted forward, and landed on its roof, sliding. All amanita saw were bodies flying past her. Then sky. Then pavement. She hit the road and felt all her breath race out of her, felt her insides explode in pain. Her momentum caused her to slide to a curb, where she did her best to crawl forward under a parked, abandoned station wagon, gasping for air. With her vision wobbling, and her ribs throbbing, she saw the transport truck a dozen yards ahead of her, on fire, swarmed by hissers. They came running from the surrounding buildings like insects. Sprinting toward fresh meat. Even as they ran into the flames and burned they pulled the bodies from the truck and began to feast. Blood began to run along the ground, bubbling as the fire ate it up.

“Mom,” she whispered, just as the helicopter came back and sprayed bullets in the melee. “Dad. Please, Dad.”

She didn’t see either of their faces before the helicopter’s missile came whistling in, hit the flaming truck, and blew everything into memories.

TUESDAY, 12:14 PM

The truck stop was abandoned, as they’d suspected. The gas pumps weren’t working, but they’d prepared themselves mentally for that too. “Shit,” Olive said, kicking the pump. “Well, I’ve got about a quarter tank, maybe a little more. Ought to get us to the next town. Maybe the military hasn’t swooped in on them yet and shut everything down.”

Connor stood next to the truck, looking into the convenience store attached to the gas station. It was closed, the lights off inside.  “What about in there?”

Olive gave it a thought. “Ain’t gonna be no gas in there.”

“What about supplies?”

“What about ’em? We got plenty. Could use an Atlas though, I suppose, now that my phone’s dead and Google Maps ain’t working. Okay, let’s go quiet, just in case.”

Connor took the rifle from the seat of the truck and held it up like Olive had shown him. You always want the b
arrel pointed up, she’d explained, not down like in movies because you can accidentally blow your toes off and this way if it goes off you shoot a bird maybe. She tried the front door and found it locked. “Figures. C’mon, let’s find a window.”

“Why don’t we just break it? There’s no power for an alarm.”

“Because it ain’t your store to break. And besides, if we make too much noise we might attract them things. There’s gotta be a bathroom window or something.