Hurricane Dan (A Zombie Novel) (15 page)

Chapter 29

             
Dan stood on the steps and watched the last of the people being loaded up into the plow trucks. In the end there had been more civilians than there was room in the back of the trucks. The people who had scratched and clawed their way to the front of the line were the only ones getting a free ride out of hell.

Dan had stayed back, he didn't want to live knowing he had stolen someone else's seat. No, he would never be right with himself if he did that. He was disappointed to see Zoey and Barns following his lead. He tried to argue with them, unfortunately in the time it had taken them to turn away, their seats had already been taken.

Beyond the trucks where the fire engines sprayed water and everyone else was shooting outward, a few police officers ran around with the samurai swords. They killed any zombie that began to climb into the ever-dwindling safe zone. Outside, the zombies bashed into their defenses like the ocean when it tries to take back the shore.

"Pull out your violin," Dan said under his breath. "The Titanic is going down."

"What?" Zoey asked.

"Nothing," he said, and began looking around for Dicky. He spotted the man at the left edge of the barricade, shooting an old revolver into the mass of zombies.

"Dicky," Dan yelled down to him. When Dicky looked, he yelled that he was sorry. Dicky only nodded before turning back to his work.

"Are you ready?" Zoey asked. She was checking Barns’ gun; he had given it to her saying that she would be better with it.

"Fuck, no," said Dan. "But I guess it's as good a day to die as any."

Zoey nodded, "True."

"What about all dese people?" asked Barns, gesturing to the civilians still in the library. There were about forty of them. "They gone die too?"

Dan couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes, "I hope not, man, I hope not."

"Dat because we ain't gone let 'em," said Barns.

Dan looked up. "You sound like a man with a plan."

Barns shook his head. "Shit, no, I ain't no good fo' thinkin' no mo'. Dat's what I got you fo'."

Dan laughed. "What do you expect me to..." He trailed off. The answer had struck him in the form of two sparkling red fire engines. The things were thousands of pounds worth of four wheel drive with a whole lot of roof space.

"Dicky!" he yelled, running down the steps.

Dicky didn't look at him as he approached, instead he kept firing.

"What is your plan to protect everyone that didn't fit into the plow trucks?" Dan asked.

Dicky dropped the spent shell casings onto the floor and reached into his pocket for fresh ammunition; he loaded them into the revolver one bullet at a time. "The plan is to die fighting, haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Yeah, that," said Dan. "Or we could load everybody onto the fire trucks and bust ass out of here."

Dicky looked up and over at the fire trucks, pondering, "well, fuck me running." He fired one shot into the zombies, then walked off to see if he could turn Dan's idea into an actual plan. A minute later Operation Fire Fortress was underway.

There were fifteen people set atop each fire truck by the time they had it figured out. When the time came, the servicemen and women would be up there too. Dicky and a few guardsmen scraped up the last of the civilian ammunition to be used on the ride out.

Dan was on the roof of one of the fire trucks, shotgun in his lap, grasping the giant white ladder for support. Zoey had her arm laced through his and Barns sat in front of him. He felt like he was at a theme park, sitting in a rollercoaster cart, waiting for that moment when it would take off. The people around him were scared; all of them sported white knuckle grips, none talked.

Dan jumped as the plow trucks engines fired into life, adding more noise to the gunfire. They revved their engines, black smoke billowing from their exhausts. One of the cab doors flew open and its driver jumped out looking pale faced. There was no exhaust coming from his truck. It might not have been running, but with all the other noise Dan couldn’t tell.

"What is it?" Dicky yelled.

The driver shook his head. "Oh, fuck, the battery is dead!"

"Calm down," said Dicky. "There is still time, we can jump it."

The truck driver ran a shaky hand over the back of his neck. His only response was a bunch of small and shaky nods.

One of the other truck drivers pulled out a jumper cable from under his seat. Two of Dicky's men took the cable and hooked the two trucks up by their batteries.

The first truck driver hopped back into his cab and hastily tried the ignition. The engine failed to turn over.

To Dan's right he heard a man call out that he was out of ammunition, three more people almost immediately followed him with the same announcement. Whoever had been feeding out the ammunition had run out of bullets to feed. Soon it was apparent that everyone was running out.

"Get those trucks ready," Dicky yelled.

Den felt the fire engine roar to life underneath him. He grasped the ladder as tight as he could, feeling Zoey stiffen at his side.

The first of the zombies to try and climb the barricade were finding themselves tangled in the barbed wire. The two samurai sword-wielding policemen and three firemen brandishing axes ran around like crazy, trying to kill anything that successfully crossed into the safe zone. Their tactic might have worked for a little while were they not guarding such a large area. Other than that, the only people to not fall back were the guardsmen. They fearlessly held their position, fighting with no more than their pocket knives.

The water from the fire hoses was trained on the front of the barricade, keeping any zombie from crossing the cop cars.

The last attempt at holding the barricade was a desperate one, and it showed as a guardsman was taken down by two zombies that had made it inside. A moment later, one of the sword-wielding policemen ended up getting his wrist snagged. He was quickly pulled into a zombie’s deadly embrace.

The two new holes in their defense allowed more zombies to make it inside, causing two more casualties. They were crumbling like a house of cards in the wind.

"It's now or never!" Dicky yelled.

The distraught truck driver turned the key. The truck’s starter cranked once, twice, it slowed on the third. It was on the fourth turn that the engine finally roared to life.

A look of relief crossed Dicky's face. "Now get your ass moving!"

The truck’s engine roared as it took off, straight through the middle of the barricade, passing in between both fire trucks. The two police cars flew apart in mangled heaps as the truck burst through, taking out a good number of zombies as they went.

The other trucks took off, chasing the first, bumper to bumper. They looked like one long boat, parting the zombies in their wake.

Once the plow trucks were clear, the fire trucks began to roll. Most of the servicemen and women that were left standing ran up to them and clung onto their sides. The few that stayed behind did not last for very long.

"Ohhh, shit!" Dan yelled as the fire truck began gaining speed at the mouth of the barricade. It was unbelievably bumpy, the ground in the plow trucks’ wake was entirely made up of bodies. He looked back to see the other fire engine following close behind theirs, rocking up and down as it went. Even so, their engines roared as their drivers stepped on the gas.

The first plow truck began to lose its momentum before it reached the first intersection, Forty-first and Madison. All the zombies in front and under it were proving to be too much. The truck slowed to a stop just in time to get rear-ended by the next. The chain reaction sent everybody to a screeching halt. The two fire trucks were outside the mouth of the barricade, on Fifth Avenue, still gaining speed.

Dan clung on as the fire truck swerved left, to avoid rear-ending a plow truck. It mowed straight into the crowd of zombies that were massed all around. A man next to Dan had not been ready for the truck to swerve; he had rolled off, into oblivion.

"Dis no good!" Barns was screaming.

The zombies were packed so tight that the fire truck slowed to a stop almost immediately.

Dan was thrown temporarily off balance as they were clipped by the fire engine behind them. Their tires squealed, it was the last movement to be made before every vehicle went still. Smoke billowed from almost all of the plow trucks’ engines.

"Dan?" Zoey said, alarmed. "We stopped!"

The closest building was thirty feet in front of them. Dan watched a police officer try and make a run for it. The thick pack of zombies in his way welcomed him. He didn't even make it halfway.

There was a moment of still confusion as the zombies rocked back from the force of the truck and the people processed what had just happened. When the zombies began stumbling forward again, a lot of people began to scream. From where Dan was sitting, it seemed like everyone.

A few people climbed down from the fire trucks and attempted to make a run for the buildings. It was impossible; they were torn to shreds almost instantaneously.

Zoey checked the clip in her gun one more time. Dan felt the weight of the shotgun in his lap. He had two shots. If he wanted, he could put half the people on the fire truck out of their misery, before turning the gun on himself.

He thought better of that idea. If the zombies were about to turn him into a snack, he wasn't going to lie down for them. He was going to fight, and he was going to die fighting.

Chapter 30

             
The plow trucks were only five feet away on their right, the people in the back were just beginning to stand up and look out for an escape. The other fire truck was behind them, one headlight touching their bumper, the other touching the bumper of the rear plow truck. The peculiar alignment of these vehicles created a small pocket on the right side of the fire truck Dan was on. The only ways the zombies could breach this pocket would be from the front of the fire truck, or by crawling underneath the vehicles. The zombies attempted both.

Dan watched in amazement as the firefighters began grouping inside the pocket. They called for help from anyone willing to put up a fight. Remember the Alamo, Dan thought, as he began moving towards the pocket side of the fire truck.

The zombies began crawling up the vehicles like ants on candy. They were sloppy and fell down a lot, but they were also determined.

Dan found himself growing angry at all the people climbing into the pocket; sure, they were sticking their necks out to try and keep everybody else alive, but they had chosen a vulnerable position. The smart move would be to keep as many people on one vehicle trying to keep the zombies down, there were way too many ways for them to attack from the pocket.

Four stabilizing arms reached out from the four corners of the fire truck and used hydraulics to plant themselves on the ground. A few zombies got caught as the arms came down on them, flattening anything in between the stabilizers and the pavement.

"Heads up," one of the firemen yelled.

Dan was knocked off balance as the giant white ladder he was sitting on began to rise at the front end. He scooped up the shotgun before it could tumble away and leaned to the side to let the ladder go by.

Dan’s eyes brightened with understanding. Fighting inside the pocket wasn't such a piss poor defensive tactic; it was spectacular offense. The firemen were working the controls on the side of the truck, raising the ladder into one of the nearest buildings.

“We have to help them!” Dan yelled.

There was a scream as a hand reached out from under the plow truck and yanked one of the firemen to the ground. Another fireman swung his axe, severing the hand and freeing his friend.

The ladder began to extend, revealing the first few feet of its great length.

Dan heard an audible crack and looked up to see a man, near the top of the ladder, yank his wrist away from where it had been caught between two steps. His arm bent at a ninety degree angle at the elbow, and then again halfway to his hand. A white bone stuck out from the top of the wound. The man began to scream at about the same time as he began to fall. He was still screaming when he hit the ground, presumably because the zombies had broken his fall.

There was a scuffle at the nose of the fire truck, where one of the guardsmen dove headlong into the zombies. It was an attempt to keep them from entering the mouth of the pocket. He knocked them back a foot or so, but for the most part they simply absorbed him.

"We have the only guns," Dan said to Zoey. "Let's not waste them."

Zoey nodded and began following Dan as he climbed off the fire truck. As he made his way down the side, he looked up. The ladder was getting surprisingly high; they were beginning to angle it towards the buildings.

Hundreds of hands began reaching out from under the vehicles, grabbing for anyone that was close. A few zombies began climbing out into the open; they were stomped out of existence before they could make it.

As soon as their feet hit the pavement, Dan and Zoey ran to the mouth of the pocket and brandished their weapons. The guardsman that had driven himself into the crowd was now gone from sight. They could hear him still fighting, or dying; either way it sounded as though he was losing pretty badly.

Zoey used what was left of her pistol ammunition and began picking off all the zombies that were an immediate threat. Her one clip was almost pitiful when compared to the job they needed done.

"It's your turn any time now," she said, stepping around him, her clip gone.

Dan focused down the length of the double barrel. The concussion made from all the trucks crashing had all but worn off and the zombies were quick to fill in the holes. They packed themselves together, all fighting towards one goal; to feed.

The tip of the barrel was touching the nearest zombie’s forehead when he pulled the trigger. That zombie’s head turned into mist.

Almost every zombie that was within fifteen feet of the blast radius dropped. There were a few periodic zombies in the crowd that went down here and there as well.

"Start climbing," Dan said over his shoulder to Zoey. He was happy to see her comply without argument.

When he turned back, he had to use the butt of the gun three times to kill a zombie. Once to knock it to the ground, and twice to finish it.

He waited for as long as he could before he fired the other bullet. The maximum amount of time he was able to wait turned out to be around eight seconds.

The second round made a similar crater in the zombies’ ranks; the pellets from the buckshot were very unforgiving.

As soon as he had fired, somebody grabbed him by the ankle. He tried to kick away but the decaying hand had a firm grip. As the owner of the hand pulled himself out from under the fire truck, Dan proceeded to bash it in the skull repeatedly until it let go.

The sounds of moaning and people fighting for their lives hung over him as he whirled to face the front of the fire truck. The zombies had recovered from the shotgun and were already close to reaching them.

Dan turned the shotgun sideways and rammed the nearest three zombies in the chest. They stumbled backward a few steps, taking the gun with them.

Fuck me, Dan thought as he lost the weapon.

In a desperate attempt to not get eaten, he turned and leapt up the side of the fire truck. He grasped the top of a hose compartment, pulling himself up and clambering onto the roof. Zoey grabbed the handle of his backpack to help yank him faster.

Once he was up, Dan spotted Barns with a group of men, moving across the roof of the fire truck, kicking any zombie that tried to climb up. Unfortunately there were far more zombies trying to climb than there were people kicking.

Looking out, Dan could see that the back two plow trucks had been completely overrun. Zombies were beginning to gain ground on the rear fire truck and most of the people in the pocket were facing at least one zombie per person.

A few people scurried up the white ladder as it rose into the air. Dan watched how far the tip of the ladder was from the buildings and wondered if they would get it the rest of the way before the pocket collapsed.

"Listen up," Dicky yelled over all the panicking people. Dan had not noticed he was standing so close. "I need everybody to start climbing this ladder one at a time. That will help us get everyone inside quickly once it reaches the building."

A few people began pushing and shoving, jockeying for position. Dicky was quick to step in and start guiding people, one at a time.

Dan was one of the last civilians to start climbing, followed by Barns. He watched all the other people as he climbed and idly wondered how much weight the ladder could take before tipping over. He imagined with thirty people they were getting awfully close to the limit.

He could feel the ladder bounce and sway as he slowly made his way higher. He tried his best to block out two things; the fact that there were thousands of zombies twenty feet below him, and all the screams coming from the people trapped in the plow trucks.

"Zoey?" Dan asked as he came up behind her.

She looked down at him. "I can't go any higher."

Dan leaned out a little to get a better look past her. There were people stretched out, foot to hand, all the way up to the end of the ladder. The ladder itself was still a good twenty feet away from the nearest window, where it had stopped moving. The pocket had collapsed, there was no longer the sounds of people fighting.  Dan looked down, past Barns. Dicky was ten feet up the ladder kicking at all the zombies that tried to climb up. As Dan watched, a zombie caught Dicky's boot and tried to take a bite. Dicky yanked his foot free but the boot itself stayed.

How long can he last doing that barefoot, Dan wondered.

"Shit," he said. "When it rains it pours."

He waited for Barns’ response. Barns didn't give one, he was staring intently down the ladder.

"Dey got him," he said. "Dere be no one to work da ladder.

"Ain't that a bitch," said Dan.

When Barns looked up, he had tears in his eyes. "No mo' drinkin’"

"Don't say that, Barns. I bet they will have a few nice cold ones waiting on tap for us at the pearly gates."

"No," Barns said. Dan was surprised to see the conviction in his eyes. "You no mo' drinkin', Dan."

"What?" Dan asked.

Barns squeezed his ankle. Dan felt the pressure and wondered if Barns had the strength to break it. Part of him really believed he could.

"Promise you stop."

"Damn it, Barns, what the hell are you doing?"

Dan's pulse doubled as his leg was pulled away from the ladder.

"Promise, no mo' drinkin'."

Dan gripped the ladder tight as his leg was pulled farther and farther away. The zombies reached up, beckoning him to let go.

"Alright, no more drinking. I get it!" Dan yelled.

"Promise," Barns said.

"I promise, now let me down!"

Barns must have been satisfied with his answer because he let go. "No mo' drinkin', be good," he mumbled as he began climbing down the ladder.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Dan asked as he watched his friend descending.

"Hoo, doggy, I don't know, Danny-o, I don't know."

When he reached Dicky, they all watched in horror as he jumped over the cop and landed feet first on the roof of the fire truck. The force of him sent seven zombies over the edge.

"Barns!" The sound of Dan's scream echoed up and down Fifth Avenue.

Barns looked back and gave him a partially toothless grin before hopping off of the fire truck and disappearing into the pocket.

Zoey screamed and clenched her eyes closed. Dan felt a tear roll down his face and realized he was shaking.

"Barns, you stupid fuck! Why did you do it? Why did you do it?" He gritted his teeth and squeezed the ladder, hoping the metal would crush beneath his fingers.

He felt Zoey bend down and place her hand on his shoulder; he shrugged it off. There was only one thought that kept ringing through his head:
my best friend is dead,
my best friend is dead
.

It took the feeling of weightlessness to knock him back into reality.

Zoey gave a startled squeak. He had to tighten his grip on the steps.

The ladder was moving.