Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (14 page)

Suddenly, a voice broke the eerie silence.
“This is Zombie… X… left out there…”

Melanie started. “Tomas? Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t make it out.”

“Just a second.” She reached inside and twisted the volume knob on the radio.

“
Sanctuary? Survivors’ Sanctuary sets sail on February fourteenth… Ragers… Southampton Cruise Terminal… United States—”

The signal faded again and was gone in a sharp sizzle of noise.

“What do you think?” Melanie asked, cautious excitement bubbling in her stomach.

“I wish we could’ve heard more.” Tomas flashed her one of his mischievous grins. “It’s worth a shot, though.”

Melanie smiled, but then her happiness dissolved immediately. “How the hell are we going to get to the continent? Shit!” She slumped back against the side of the SUV.

“Things will work out. Maybe we were meant to hear that message. “Now stand back.” Reaching across the driver’s seat, he shifted the vehicle into neutral, then pushed the car aside enough for the Rover to creep past. Next, he pulled a length of rubber garden hose from the back of the Rover and siphoned gasoline from the SUV’s tank.

Melanie looked on anxiously. A thunderous sound echoed down the empty streets, and Melanie gripped the gun even more tightly, wincing at the new stab of pain in her hand.

“What the hell’s happening?” she cried. It sounded as if a hundred running feet were bearing down on them.

Tomas yanked the hose from the Rover’s tank and replaced the cap. “I don’t know, but get in.”

They jumped back inside the warm Land Rover. She sank down in the seat beside Christopher, afraid to look at what was coming, but unable not to look. She had to know. No matter how horrible, she had to see if death was coming.

A herd of fat reindeer dashed by, snorting steam into the night like rising gray smoke.

Christopher clapped his hands and laughed joyously. “
Tomten!
The Christmas Elf!”

“That’s right, Christopher. Tomten,” Tomas agreed softly.

Melanie nearly melted with relief. She never would have imagined how much she hated being outside, feeling so exposed.

Leila snorted some bit of disdain Melanie couldn’t make out. Melanie wondered if the woman was traveling down the path to madness. Melanie’s patience was wearing thin, but Tomas remained like Superman.

He touched Leila’s hand and whispered, “Let him be happy, Leila. Just for a moment.”

“So, what are we doing?” Leila asked. “Obviously, there’s nothing left.”

“No. Not here, at least. We’re going to try to get to the continent.”

Leila shook her head. “Have you lost your mind? What do you think? There’s a ferry just sitting there waiting to take four pathetic people over to Denmark?”

Tomas put the Rover into gear and made a turn toward the Göta Älv River that snaked through the city.

Leila crossed her arms. “This is completely pointless, Tom. Why don’t we try to find supplies and return to our home?” Her ill attempt at sounding rational made Melanie want to vomit. “I would rather we die at home.”

“We’re
not
going to die, Leila,” Tomas snapped.

Leila fell silent, and Melanie was grateful. She wasn’t sure Christopher was even paying attention, but he didn’t need to hear his mother constantly speaking of death. She didn’t need it, either.

Along the streets, in the wavering firelight, spindly figures shambled or sprinted. Some howled, and Tomas lied to Christopher, telling him it was only coyotes like the one on the
Road Runner Show
, to which Christopher asked if they had rocket-powered roller skates.

Snow swirled along with fat, soft flakes of gray ash that left long, nasty smudges on the windshield. Tomas turned on the radio, but no other broadcasts came through. The static hissed like live electrical wire, and the tension inside the vehicle wasn’t very different.

Melanie distracted herself by stroking Christopher’s baby-soft hair, coaxing the little boy’s eyes closed until he slept. In the rearview mirror, she glimpsed Tomas’s bruised face and wished Leila would give him a break. Just for once.

The slushy snow crunched under the tires, but inside the city, the driving wasn’t as dodgy as long as they took it slowly. In places, stalled automobiles sat abandoned beneath growing drifts. Leila stared straight ahead, thankfully silent.

By the time they reached the ferry terminal, the dashboard clock read 12:38, but Melanie couldn’t decide if they was a.m. or p.m. Without light, she supposed it no longer mattered. The headlights sprayed the lot in front of them, and Tomas pulled the Rover to a halt. Just as he was reaching for the door handle, Melanie spotted a gray wolf slouching from behind the ticket booth. Tomas froze, but the shabby creature shambled by, either choosing to ignore them or else not caring.

Leila huffed. “All right. What now, Tom? The ticket booth’s closed. Looks like we’re out of luck.”

“I’m going to take a look around. If not a ferry, I think I can manage a smaller boat across. We could find another car on the other side.”

Leila laughed. “You’re mad. Do you actually think it will be so easy?”

Tomas climbed out of the Rover. “It would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t have you to contend with. Start banging on that horn if you see any lunatics coming.”

Melanie fought the urge to laugh and instead watched Tomas cross the parking lot toward the terminal booth. She was relieved to see him pull the gun from his coat.

Tomas vanished into the shadows, and she and Leila waited with only the sound of the windshield wipers beating dully back and forth.

***

A pale glow oozed from beneath the door of the ticket booth. Tomas removed a glove and rapped on the door, the sound sharp in the quite night.

Someone shuffled about inside. The yellow light around the door disappeared.

“I saw your light. I know someone’s in there,” Tomas called.

More rattling was followed by the click of a lock, followed by a second click. The door opened a fraction and one mysterious eye peered through the crack.

“Let me see your eyes, mister.” The voice was rough with either age or illness.

Tomas complied, bending slightly at the waist and moving his face closer to the disembodied eye. “I’m not one of them.”

The door opened wider, and a small, curly-haired man of about sixty grabbed Tomas’s hand and began pumping it heartily. “Yes! I haven’t seen a sane soul in over a week! I was beginning to believe I was the last man on Earth. Weller! Milo Weller’s my name.”

Tomas offered up his own name as the man attempted to pull him inside the booth. Warmth and the smell of cooking bread and fish drifted through the open door. He imagined taking his son, going inside, and just sleeping for as long as they could.

“Listen. I have my family out there in my car. I can’t leave them for long.”

“A family? You want to get them killed?”

“No. I want to get them to the continent.”

The little man laughed. “Good Lord, you are wanting to get them killed.”

Tomas glanced back toward the Rover. Everything still seemed okay, but he was becoming nervous with being away from Christopher for so long. “Are you the captain of that ferry out there?”

The man nodded. “I am. Or was, as it is.”

“As it is,” Tomas agreed. “Nevertheless, we need to get across.”

“Well, we need a lot of things. Sunlight for one.” The old man’s smile was gone. He started to push the door closed, but Tomas stopped him with a nudge of his shoulder.

“We need to get across. We heard a radio broadcast. There might be help over there. In Britain.”

The man shook his head. “Can’t be done.”

“I believe it can, Mr. Weller. I’ll not stop until I find help and safety for my son.”

The old man didn’t respond.

“Do you have a child, Mr. Weller?”

“I did. Died of a heroin overdose years ago. Looking at things now, I’d say he’s the luckier of us.”

“Maybe. But I have to try. Because of that broadcast, I must give it a shot. Otherwise, I’d never live with myself.”

“None of us is going to live very much longer, anyway.”

“Then why not try?”

The man smiled, his lined face creasing rather pleasantly. “I suppose you got me there, Tomas.” He clapped Tomas on the shoulder. “This booth’s getting old, anyway. And so is being alone.” He paused. “It’s a fifteen hour trip to Kiel, you know.”

Chapter 19

London, England

Stu, Tana, and Josh sprinted toward the back the supermarket. They hurried up the stairs of the docking platform. Tana slipped on the ice-covered steps, and Stu grabbed her just before she fell to the pavement.

At the top, Stu pounded on the steel door, the sound deadened by his gloves. He looked over his shoulder. The first of the new band of drooling, grunting creatures rounded the corner of a Chinese restaurant across the parking area.

“Hurry! It’s just us! Open up!” He pounded again.

“Get ready to fire on them, Josh,” Tana said.

Stu pounded again, hard enough to make his hand sting. “Open up, dammit! George!”

An infected girl, who before the Solstice might have fancied herself a real-life Lisbeth Salander, flew toward them. At first glance, she appeared to be grinning wildly, but when Stu looked again, he realized she wasn’t grinning at all. Instead, her top lip was torn away. Her blue-black hair stood in twisted spikes down the center of her head, and the sides were shaved, revealing intricate tattoos through the stubble. Howling, she dashed up the stairs, stiff-arming Josh into the near wall before he could react. She snatched at Tana’s coat, then her hair, yanking back her head.

Tana lost hold of her gun, and it clattered to the floor between her boots, but she gripped her flashlight in the other hand. She battered the light against the punker’s tattooed head.

Stu moved fast and placed his pistol against the punk girl’s forehead. Wincing, he pulled the trigger. The back of the girl’s head flew into the parking lot in a rain of bone and clotty gore.

The Rager held fast to Tana’s hair a long moment before her hands finally loosened. The girl sank to her knees, her white eyes still wild, but clouding as her true death took hold.

Tana planted her foot against the girl’s scrawny chest, shoving the body backward down the short set of stairs. The tumbling corpse momentarily blocked the way for the rest of the infected. The metal-on-metal grind of the lock turning was like music to Stu’s ears.

George opened the door and pulled them inside. Stu remembered to grab Tana’s gun as he dove through the door just out of reach of a dozen grimy, clawed hands.

George and Stu forced the door closed, severing four pale fingers in the process. As the short, bleeding stumps fell to the warehouse floor, a guttural scream rose just outside.

The old man grinned and looked at Stu. “Jesus, look at you. I thought you weren’t going to make it back.”

“Not all of us did.” Josh tossed the duffel bag with the guns and ammo to the floor and stalked away.

Tana disappeared into the front of the store to find Davis, leaving George and Stu in the warehouse area.

George kneeled, his old knees popping audibly, and opened the duffel. “God almighty. You hit the mother lode, didn’t you?”

“Looks that way.” With a tired groan, Stu sank to the floor next to the old man. He felt as if he had been in a wreck, every muscle of his body as sore as a bruise. He relished the idea of crashing in his little tent and sleeping for hours. Even the hard, concrete floor seemed appealing at that point.

“Sorry about the kid, Stu. There’s not any more to say about it. But I think I might have hit the jackpot here, as well, while you were gone. Come take a look at this.” He straightened with a little sigh and turned toward the back of the warehouse.

Stu followed the beam of George’s flashlight. They wove through a canyon of crates and pallets stacked with tinned foods, useless electronic equipment, and dog kibble. George constantly warned him to watch his step, don’t lean on the crates, and to be mindful of rats. That last warning did little to help Stu’s frame of mind, but he was too tired to worry about it.

George stopped just before a large machine cabinet between the end of one line of boxes and the warehouse wall. “This is the emergency generator. But can you believe this?” He trained his light onto the wall behind the machine. “It’s another tank. I checked the gauges. Both are full. Both are bleeding
full,
Stu. We’ve been miserable for weeks, and this extra tank was just sitting here all along, covered up with this damned tarp.”

Those Dockers up there… in the dark, they’re a bit handicapped. I’m not keen to hand over an advantage, but I’m tired of the dark and the cold. Aren’t you?”

“More than you can imagine.”

“Once those clowns noticed you and your big boys were gone, they found an opening to harass Ashley and Portia. They’re chicken-shit, even with an old man like me,” the older man grumbled. “But those are the exact ones you need to watch your back around. Sneaky bastards.”

“Are the girls all right?”

“No harm done. This time. But confinement makes men do crazy things. It’s worse with men who are functionally retarded.”

Stu laughed softly, but George’s observations made him uneasy. With what was happening outside, the last thing they needed was confrontation on the inside.

“Of course, we still need to be conservative. More warmth and some hot water would do wonders for all of us. I’d suggest still powering only a portion of the store. God knows we need light and heat.” He reached over and tugged Stu’s blood-caked coat. “And a good, long shower.”

“A shower might improve the smell around here, anyway.” Stu laughed. “And maybe everyone’s disposition.”

“Maybe. But even if we are conservative, this will run out before very long. There’s a bulk tank behind that Asian restaurant next door. I may be able to connect to it, but it’ll be tricky with all those lunatics out there.”

“You can do that without blowing us to hell?” Stu asked.