Zombies Ever After: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 6 (20 page)

“Shut your mouth,” a female voice called from a
different direction on the barricade.

“There are two men, dressed in black, shooting at you,”
she said as loud as she could without screaming. “And they
released zombies inside the Whitaker building,” she added with
relief. If she died, she’d at least warned them.

She prayed in the flickering light of multiple fires.

Though the situation was dire, she asked herself the type of
question Liam often presented to her.

“Can I pray for those two men to die?”

It didn’t feel right, but as much as she wanted to fight the
truth of things, she had to admit there was going to be a lot more
killing—and death—the longer the Zombie Apocalypse
continued. And, if tonight were any indication of the state of the
world, it would go on for a long time. Accepting that, prayers for
the killing of evil people would become the norm, not the exception.

She tried it on for size.

“God, please help us kill those men,” she whispered in
prayer.

That feels completely wrong.

It was true, she wished them dead, but asking God to go around
killing people...well, it just didn’t seem appropriate.

She tried to build in nuance. “God, please help us eliminate
the threats to your good people.”

“Arg. That can’t be right.”

Secretly, she knew she was distracting herself from the situation
she was in. From time to time, a bullet spanked her car. Like they
were taunting her. But they also shot at others.

A new noise peaked her interest. A low hum and whirring sound.
From above.

She looked for the source, and saw a dark shape up in the sky,
barely visible above the blockade. The little black helicopter hung
in the air, appearing frozen.

I shouldn’t pray for those men to die. I should pray for
their threat to be eliminated.

She could pretend, for a moment, that the goal was to capture them
and get them to convert to goodness, but it seemed unlikely. They
weren’t soldiers fighting for a lost cause. They were zealots.
There could be no negotiation with zealots.

“God, though our side may not be righteous, please give us
the strength to dispatch true evil. Please help the good guys.”

It wasn’t perfect, but it felt right.

Would God even deign to get involved in an obscure gun battle on
some dark street corner in the middle of the Zombie plague? Probably
not. But it made her feel better and gave her strength.

And why is that helicopter coming down?

2

The turbulence of the tar-black drone swept over the nearby fires,
tilting them heavily too and fro. Something about it made it seem
ominous. As it descended into the firelight, she saw an apparatus on
the undercarriage.

When it was about ten feet above her, the long tube swung her way.

“Okie dokie. A gun,” she whispered, not wanting to
believe it.

Though she’d just calmed her nerves through prayer, the
jittery feeling of nervousness came back at the sight of the drone’s
weaponry. It wasn’t being operated by the people on the
roadblock.

“Duh, girl.”

She rolled over, then tried to get underneath the car. Her eyes
were on that gun the whole time.

The problem was the car. It was a sports car, and sat low to the
ground. If she had unlimited time, she might be able to shimmy
herself into the tight space, but on this night, under these
conditions…

Her legs went under, but the rest of her hung out the back end.
She looked like a mechanic trying to get underneath. Or a mechanic
that had a car drop on top of her.

She scooted sideways, hoping to go toward the side. It occurred to
her that would put her in view of the two shooters.

Die by drone, or by ass—jerks.

She sighed. “I just can’t win.”

“God, forgive me my trespasses...”

She closed her eyes.

Gunshots started nearby. The drone fired its gun, too—very
loud because it was so close. She panicked, pulled out her legs, and
stood to run. If she were going to die, she wouldn’t do it
lying down.

The men over at the gas station fired their rifles at the drone.
It fired back.

Shots dinged off the vehicle, and she crouched back down where
she’d been. There was so much going on, she didn’t know
what she should do.

Run.

Stay.

Hide.

Surrender.

“Ha!”

She wondered who would accept her surrender?

A lull in the gunfire gave her inspiration. It wasn’t
suicide, exactly, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

She jumped up on the back of the sports car, then leapt for the
drone. She’d judged it perfectly. She caught hold of the
running gear, and the extra weight caused the drone to tilt
dangerously. Her momentum carried it so it fell behind her. She
stayed with it as long as she could, but let go before it impacted in
the turn lane.

The rotor blades jangled loudly for a fraction of a second as they
struck, then the whole drone skipped to its other side—her
side—where it also banged angrily on the street. It was too
much for the fragile thing. The blades sheered off, and the motor
sputtered sadly to a stop.

She kicked it, so the gun faced away from the blockade.

More shots echoed in the night from behind her. This time, the
reports were loud and burly, not the relatively silent snaps of the
assassins. Maybe they’d given up with their weak guns and were
now using heavier ones.

She crouched behind the drone, which was now between her and the
shooters out in the darkness. It caused her to wonder if the drone
was solid enough to protect her from bullets.

It has to be.

“God, thank you for letting me help out.”

She had time to wonder if it was God that gave her the idea to
take out the drone? Or was it her, all along? Did it matter? She
couldn't decide.

The shooting sounds came from multiple directions now. Either
there were more assassins or the blockade people were engaging Tall
and Short guys.

“This isn’t over!” Short Guy shouted.

His voice was drowned out by a swarm of gunshots.

Silence followed.

She got close to the drone and was no longer able to move. Her
fear was that Short Guy was approaching her—ready to make good
on his promise. If she lay perfectly still, maybe he would miss her.
Much like she kept still to keep the zombies from being attracted to
her.

They’re both extreme evil. Maybe what works for one, works
for the other…

Her thoughts turned inward while she waited. Though there had to
be living people nearby, no one made a peep. Her imagination ran
wild, and pictured a horde of infected coming over the blockade, now
that no one was manning it. That would be the ultimate insult to her
intentions. She wanted to find these people so they could prevent
zombies from getting out of the research building, and here she was
making sure zombies broke into the rest of the camp.

It was a full ten minutes before a gravelly man’s voice
called out.

“All clear, people. The shooter is dead.”

Only one?

Around her, other defenders popped up from their hiding places.
She let herself be the last to stand up. There was no confusion about
her role. A man walked right up to her.

“You better have a damned good reason for getting my friends
killed.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

3

In minutes, she explained what she could. There were deadly
assassins roaming the darkness, they’d released zombies inside
Whitaker, and it was imperative someone get over there and terminate
an entire building of them.

They were understandably hesitant. Their numbers were halved on
the blockade by just two of the NIS guys—it turned out Short
Guy was still out there—and going into the darkness to find
more wasn't a high priority for them.

The gravelly-voiced leader introduced himself as “Sparks.”
He was a fierce-looking black man clad in military garb. He was a
lean six feet tall and moved with the same grace she'd seen in other
long-serving military men. A complicated-looking set of goggles
balanced on the top of his head.

“So if we don't go in there and clean them up, these
super-soldiers—”

“They're with a group called the National Internal
Security—NIS.” She wasn't going to keep that a secret
anymore. Not after they'd just lost so many men and women.

“These NIS soldiers are here to release the zombies? They
want to kill everyone in the camp? Little lady that makes no damned
sense.”

“I know. I wouldn't believe it, either. But if you go to the
building, it will be obvious what's happening. You
have
to
stop them.”

He looked her up and down. “You have a weapon?”

“I had a screwdriver”

“Against zombies and assassins? You are either very brave or
very stupid.”

“Stupid,” she said with an even tone. “I
couldn't protect myself, or the camp. I had to run to get you.”
She looked around at the survivors of the ambush. “I'm sorry I
brought these guys to you. I didn't think they'd be that aggressive.”

Sparks gave her a look she couldn't read.

“I need three of you to come with me. I don't care who, but
I need volunteers. I also need two of you to stay here until the
morning shift arrives. Tell them to keep their eyes open on both
sides of the blockade. Spread the word down the line.”

It didn't take long, and Sparks had his team. Victoria tried to
explain where the building was located, but her directions weren't
very good. She could walk him back there, but the campus was so big
and convoluted…

“It's past the quadrangle. On the left.”

“That's enough. We'll find Whitaker from there. But we're
taking a different way.” He pointed into the darkness of the
campus. “There are too many places to get jumped if we head
straight in. We're going to go south along the blockade—where
it's hopefully safer—and then make our way up the south edge of
campus and come at the building from the far side. It will take a lot
longer, but we can take them by surprise.”

Victoria didn't like the word “longer”, but it did
seem reasonable.

Sparks pulled a gun off one of the dead women at the blockade. He
spent time at her body—praying perhaps—and returned with
her gun. “You know how to shoot?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We may need your help. Everyone has to fight,
tonight.”

She thought of Hayes huddled in the security room, waiting for
rescue. Here, Sparks was outfitting her to be on the team that pulls
him to safety.

Hayes read me perfectly. I'm going to save him.

“Is there anything else we need to know?” Sparks asked
as he looked squarely at Victoria.

“There's a scientist trapped on the third floor. He sent me
out to get help.”

“He sent you?”

“He's…complicated.”

At best.

“Anything else?”

She could think of reams of information they probably didn't know,
but for this mission, there was only one really important thing they
needed to know.

“He was working on a cure to the plague. As best I could
tell from my time with him, he was close. But he also found that some
of the people in his test group carried the plague, but didn't turn
into zombies. They are Typhoid Mary's,” she said expectantly.

Blank looks in the darkness. She glanced up. Dawn was on the air.
A faint glow in the eastern sky.

“You can't let anyone out of that building who might be
infected.”

“So how do we rescue your boyfriend?”

“He's not my—oh, it doesn't matter, dang it. You have
to save the scientist, but you can't free the zombies. There are at
least thirty inside, that I know about. If they get out, they'll rip
through Forest Park.”

Sparks pulled out a green pack of Newports. He removed one with
deliberate care, then placed it in his mouth, but didn't light it.

“If you're lying to me, I'll make sure your life is
miserable and short.” His eyes penetrated hers, but she didn't
flinch. He was searching for deception, of which she had none.

“Sir, if there are no zombies in that building I'll happily
take what's coming to me. But there are. And they're evil. And
dangerous. I can't stop them on my own.”

The stare down continued for many moments. She looked at his
eyebrows, rather than his eyes, so she could maintain his molten
glare. Eventually, he struck an old-school Zippo lighter against his
leg, then lit up his cigarette. After he sucked in a deep breath, he
held it, then blew it out to his side.

“I think you're telling the truth. The guy we killed was a
marksman, I'll give him that. The one that got away is gonna be none
too happy we killed his compadre,” he said with humor.

“Terry and Jill, you guys are front. Me and the co-ed are in
the middle. T-bone, you got tail gunner.”

“My name is Victoria,” she said a bit too defensively.

“Me and Vee are in the middle. Everyone good?”

She nodded. Others responded in the affirmative.

They walked into the night.

4

By the time they had eyes on the Whitaker Building, dawn was in
full bloom. Victoria huddled with Sparks at the edge of a large
parking lot, while his team set up. No one had spotted any additional
shooters.

“This place is going to be crawling with students, soon. We
need to make it happen.”

She didn't doubt him, but she wondered what “it” was
going to be. The man had barely said two words to her since they
began, so she knew better than to ask him to reveal what he was
planning. She wondered if he knew. Now that she saw the building in
the light of day, she remembered how big it was. It would be a
complicated operation to storm it and kill every zombie inside.

Minutes hurtled by. A student appeared out of nowhere and made it
all the way to the front door of the building before anyone noticed
her. The girl seemed to try the handle of the door, peer inside, then
pause like she didn't know what to do.