Plague Nation (26 page)

“Shit!” Ted turned back to the parking lot. Their path to the car was now blocked by at least a half dozen of the slowly shambling figures, backlit by the glow of the headlights. Even so, they all looked totally fucked up, some of them looked like they had. pieces missing.

They were moving slowly. Ted thought he could maybe get back to the car, but one quick glance at his sister told him she would never make it. She was losing more blood by the minute, and barely able to stand on her own. The bastard had really done a number on her.

Ted used his free hand and pounded on the doors.

“Help!” He slammed his open palm against the wood. “Let us in! For God’s sake, we need help!”

Lightning flashed, the ensuing thunder right on its heels. The figures staggered closer. The storm was right on top of them.

Kim moaned, sagging against Ted’s supporting arm. He cursed and smashed his fist against the doors.

“We are going to fucking die out here if you don’t let us in!”

The figures were ten feet away and closing.

Ted shook his head, unable to believe how quickly their yearly road trip had turned into this fucked up house of horrors, his sister bleeding her life out as nightmare things slowly and inexorably closed in on them. They would die in Amarillo, Texas, which was just wrong on so many levels.

“Kimmy, we’re gonna have to try to make it back to the car,” he said. “Okay?”

“I can’t... it hurts... it hurts so much.”

Kim went limp against Ted’s arm, sliding to the ground as his muscles gave out against the sudden dead weight of her body. He staggered and fell back against the doors... and inside the foyer of the restaurant, as both doors suddenly opened behind him. Hands dragged him inside, out of the rain and away from Kim.

His last glimpse of his sister was her prone body as the shambling nightmares in the parking lot closed in on her. Then the doors slammed shut, and locks clicked back into place.

Ted stared up at a half dozen or so terrified people ringed around him, including a family with three stunned looking kids. An older woman with a sagging beehive upsweep, wearing a waitress uniform, stepped forward as Ted got to his feet. His first thought was for Kim, and he lunged for the door.

Two burly trucker types grabbed him before he could touch the handles and dragged him back into the restaurant. They smelled of sweat and fear.

“Dammit, let me go! My sister’s out there!”

The woman with the beehive spoke.

“Were you bit?” Her accent was pure Texas.

“Are you people
crazy?
Didn’t you hear me? My sister is still out there!” He fought against the men who restrained him, but they collectively outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds.

“Were you bit?” she repeated.

“No!” Ted shook his head. “No, but my sister
—”

“If she was bit, she’s dead. And she’ll be one of them soon enough.” Her grim tone left no room for doubt.

“One of what?” he demanded. “What the fuck is going on out there?” Ted’s voice broke, all the fight leaving him. He knew in his gut that his twin was dead.

“Fuckin’ freaks,” one of the truckers said.

The waitress nodded.

“They’re dead, but they get up. And they’re hungry.”

“But that’s
—”

“Crazy?” She nodded again. “Sure is. But it’s happening.”

“What about the police? Have you
—”

She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

“Bunch of them out there, hon,” she said, nodding toward the window. “And they’re as hungry as the rest.”

“And it’s not just here,” one of the men added. “Sounds like all of Amarillo is in deep shit.”

“Maybe the rest of Texas, too,” the other man added. “We’ve been holed up in here for two days now.”

“We’ve got plenty of food,” the waitress said. “We figure we can ride this out until someone gets this shit under control.”

Something thudded against the front doors. The men let Ted go and scrambled further back into the restaurant as a face pressed up against one of the little windows. The outside light flashed on and off, on and off, allowing Ted to see his sister’s face, the muscles now slack, mouth opening and closing in mindless hunger, eyes milky white.

“Kim?”

The waitress put a hand on his shoulder.

“That ain’t your sister no more, hon. There ain’t nothing left in there. Now come on and sit. I’ll get you some food.” She patted him again. “We’re safe.”

Ted looked at her.

“But for how long?”

Once we left the madness of Marina Boulevard, things got quiet. Maybe
too
quiet. The screams faded into the distance, the thick canopy of trees and increasing fog swallowing up sounds. Except for the occasional buildings, it was a lot like being in the forest around Redwood Grove.

The air had the crispness of autumn interlaced with a slightly deeper chill that heralded winter. Wisps of mist blew between the trees, and if there was any sunshine hiding in the overcast skies, it wasn’t showing itself. Our feet crunched softly on damp pine needles and eucalyptus leaves. I inhaled deeply, my nose wrinkling in distaste as I caught a whiff of decay underneath the fragrance of evergreen and rich, loamy soil.

The deepening shadows and our dark clothing made it easier to move without being observed by the few people we encountered. We slipped through the trees along the back of a parking lot, and then went deeper into the cover of the Presidio woods.

There was a lot of activity at the Exploratorium itself, most likely folks from Marina Boulevard seeking a refuge from the “crazy people.” Not a bad place to hole up if you didn’t want to be bored—lots of cool science-based games and toys.

I wished them well.

We kept moving, staying as far away from buildings as possible. People moved around in the distance—some running in panic, others as quiet as we were. Others moved slowly and stiffly, not the lurching gait of the undead, but the “kicked-in-the-gut” walk of someone in shock.

I heard muffled sobs as one man supported another, younger man, passing nearby. Had they seen their loved ones die from Walker’s, and then resurrect? Or maybe their loved ones had been torn apart and devoured, making them the lucky ones.

It was hard to tell.

We were still dealing with relatively few zombies, but the lethal combo of Walker’s and Dr. Albert’s flu vaccine were doing their thing. And once those zombies started biting, that population explosion Paxton had mentioned would begin.

“Thank you, Uncle George.”

I turned to see Tony standing in front of a sign. I took a quick look—directional arrows pointed the way toward a group of buildings where a statue of Yoda stood out front.

The sign read, “Lucasfilm and Industrial Light & Magic.”

Of course.

Lights were on there, as well, the silhouettes of people moving around inside clearly visible. If anyone would be prepared for something like this, it seemed like it would be Lucas. Then again, their zombies would probably be CGI and cutesy.

“We’re not here to eat you; we just want to be lo-o-ved!”

Suddenly Gabriel stumbled on something on the ground. He was passing between two close-set trees, the path sloping sharply downward. He swore under his breath, recovering his balance and shaking something off his foot before raising the butt end of his rifle and smashing it down. The crunching sound was all too familiar, so when it was my turn to pass by, I wasn’t surprised to see the remains of a very fresh female zombie lying face up across the path, one hand still outstretched.

Even with the damage to her forehead, I could tell she’d been young and pretty, thick red hair splayed out around what was left of her head.

Leave it to Gabriel to get attacked by a hot young zombie.

We kept moving. I decided to retire my squirrel rifle in favor of my katana, figuring I wasn’t going to be doing much shooting, for fear of mistaking living humans for zombies. The .22 joined the M4, both snug in their respective slings.

Maybe if I’d accessorized with firearms back in the day, my jerk ex-husband would have treated me with more respect.
Or maybe I’d be in jail for homicide.

Justifiable, of course.

Our speed picked up, fewer buildings and fewer people making it easier to glide through the trees in appropriate ninja-like fashion. Red and Carl both seemed at home with the whole stealth thing, and I assumed the Gunsy Twins were still ghosting their way ahead of us. Even Tony—for all his height—managed to navigate the terrain with relative ease.

The only exception was no real surprise. Dr. Albert seemed incapable of taking a step without finding a crackling branch, or of moving more than a few feet without going into a muttering monologue. Didn’t matter how many times Lil or Tony told him to put a lid on it, he couldn’t seem to stop. Luckily there was enough ambient noise coming from all directions to mask his lack of ninja skills.

Gabriel paused up ahead, waiting until we all caught up. I took advantage of the pause to take a close look at him, both to see how he was doing and, well, to enjoy the view while I had the chance.

So sue me for being shallow.

“We’re nearly up to the edge of the Presidio,” he said quietly. He pointed to a road winding through the park to our right. “Follow that road until it intersects Pacific Avenue. Follow Pacific to Arguello. We’ll be overshooting by a few blocks, but Arguello is a straight shot to Golden Gate Park without any of the weird jinks that a lot of the streets take between here and the Haight.

“If anyone gets separated, just go straight to Golden Gate, stick to the east edge, and you’ll hit Kezar. Got it?”

We all nodded.

Soon we could see Pacific Avenue, with well-kept houses that were visible through the trees, and streetlights glowing softly on the other side of the road. People streamed past on foot, some heading west, others darting into the Presidio. I could see yet more cars in the street beyond. These were moving, but very slowly, and even so the occasional crunch of metal on metal could be heard. No gunshots, though, which was either a positive sign, or an indication that San Francisco needed a few more hard-core survivalists.

Not that most hard-core survivalists would feel at home in San Francisco. My dad, for instance, was an interesting mix of liberal environmentalist and selfprofessed gun nut. He preferred Lake County, where he could grow his own organic, sustainable food
and
have live ammo delivered by mail.

God, I hope my parents are safe.

By the time we reached Arguello Boulevard, the sun had set, the lengthening shadows giving way to darkness.

The sound of screams and sirens increased as night fell.

Gridlock was, as I expected, outrageously bad. Where cars had been moving on Pacific, Arguello and the adjacent streets were parking lots, so congested not even a Smart Car could negotiate its way through the city. Hell, a moped would’ve had trouble getting from one block to the next. And yet people were honking horns as they tried to pull out into the non-moving traffic.

The gated entrance to Presidio Terrace, a swanky private community on the west side of Arguello, was blocked by a very expensive three-car pileup; a Mercedes, a Porsche and... was that a DeLorean?

Threats of insurance and lawsuits mingled with the sound of barking dogs, blaring sirens, and screams.

Most of the cars were empty, though, with the exception of those sandwiched between other vehicles. The unlucky occupants were trapped unless they were agile enough to wriggle out of their windows.

The sidewalks and streets were clogged with foot traffic, people weaving in and out between cars, calling for missing friends and family, or just trying to make their way to some other, safer spot, without having any real idea of where that might be or what they were fleeing from.

Would there even be a safe refuge, if they succeeded in getting out of the city? Or would the country collapse into roving bands of paramilitary types and cults headed by nut jobs with messiah complexes? If they were
really
unlucky, they’d make it to an island inexplicably inhabited by clans of feuding Irishmen with bizarre ideas of training the zombies to adjust their eating habits.

Stop it!
I gave myself a mental slap.

Oblivious of my mental digression, Gabriel consulted his jacked up iPhone.

“Looks like no matter which way we hit it, there are going to be crowds,” he said. “Just keep moving, whatever you do—don’t stop until you’ve reached the destination.”

“What if we run into zombies?” Tony asked.

“Try not to get distracted, but... use your judgment. Just keep moving.”

We spread out in a line, Gabriel a block and a half ahead of us. The crowds seemed to part before him, and we all just followed in his wake, trying to take advantage of the opening he’d created before the crowds closed in on us like the waters pouring back on Pharaoh’s army.

Some people pulled rolling luggage behind them, others had pet carriers. Dozens of little cheap “bag lady” shopping carts were in evidence, stuffed to the brim with whatever the owners considered essential.

I had no idea what I’d take with me if I were in the same situation—I hadn’t had the chance to decide. And I hadn’t really missed any of my belongings. So I couldn’t imagine how these people must have felt.

“Montana! Come back!” A woman’s voice called out frantically as a dog ran by—some sort of cattle dog mix—leash dragging behind it. Before I could do anything, Lil’s foot stomped down on the tail end of the leash, stopping the dog in its tracks, jerking it backward.

She immediately grabbed the leash as the owner hurried over, her expression flashing between panic and gratitude as she dropped to her knees and gathered her dog against her in a fierce hug.