Zombies vs Polar Bears: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 5 (33 page)

“Liam and I found a Boy Scout camp. They used wooden poles
to make spears. They called them something, but I can't remember.
Every Scout in the camp carried one, and those boys knew how to use
them. Or so I was told...”

“Spears, huh? I think we can do that.”

“Here you go, Mrs. Peters,” he said in his most formal
voice. “Your protectors, as promised.”

It pleased him to see the kids fly from the Gator to help her
board the passenger seat. They broke down her chair and tossed it in
the back, then they jumped in with it. A young woman gave him a
commendable effort at a salute, then she drove them all away.

He was left to his thoughts. From his vantage point he could see
the entire battlefield to the north of town. That's what it was.

Far in the distance, the interstate. It ran east and west, from
left to right, several miles away. It represented the boundary of the
area he'd designated as a killzone for his troops. It was much too
large for the civilians to control, however. He had to think smaller
now.

Between the highway and the ditch, there was nothing but ruined
farmland. They'd already stripped away all the foliage to make it
easier to pick targets, so it took on the appearance of a World War I
no-man's land, complete with big craters and ruined bodies. They were
fortunate the bodies of the infected didn't seem to decompose. The
smell was still bad, but not what he'd expected.

They're unnatural in every way.

The farmland had one road splitting it in half. It linked the
interstate with the town itself, and provided the only bridge over
the trench his team had created in front of the town. It was the
first major obstacle they'd created—on the assumption the
infected would eventually get that far. With tanks and other fighting
vehicles he figured it would be weeks before the dead could get
through. Now…

The ditch ran across the near end of the farmland, from the Ohio
on his right to the Mississippi on his left. The berm of dirt blocked
his view of the water, but he'd already seen that up close.

Several of his team sat up on the berm, watching the fields
beyond. A few zombies approached, but not many. It was like the tide
had come in last night, and now it was out again.

The very last defensive measure was the thirty foot levee on which
he currently stood. If he had proper soldiers he could hold it for a
long time—he never used the word indefinitely—but with
his current helpers he believed if the infected made it to this point
it would already be over.

Looking behind him, into town, he saw nothing which would provide
a suitable fortress. There were no large structures that could fit
everyone. He'd already taken a tour of the town with the mayor and
there was only one structure of any size, but it had lots of
weaknesses. It was an abandoned factory on the Ohio River side of
town.

He looked beyond, to the barges lining the Ohio River beyond the
factory. Those were going to be their final destinations. If the town
fell, they'd all float downriver and hope they'd find another town to
take them in.

He lamented he was building luck into his military strategy.

On the berm someone let loose a round across the fields.

The tide is returning.

3

“What's your name, ma'am?”

“Chloe, sir.”

John had requested the leader of the “Zombie-Killers”
to visit him at the town center, as he wanted to discuss deputizing
the group to be his cadre of leadership for everyone else. He
couldn't manage the whole defense by himself.

“
You've
been defending the town, without support?”

“Sir, if you mean me, as a woman, then the answer is no. I
have a ten-man team backing me up.”

He scrutinized her. Cropped hair. Serious eyes. Loose-fitting, but
smart urban clothing. She'd been splashed with blood…

“You a soldier?”

“Ex, sir. Two tours in Iraq with military police. The 414
^th
,
sir.”

“And you organized these guys?”

“Not exactly. They were part of a website team devoted to
zombie killing, sir.”

“Zombie killing? How did they organize that with a website
after the power died?”

She laughed. “You wouldn't believe this, sir, but they were
'zombie killers' before there were real zombies. They
pretended
zombies were real, then trained as if they were coming. That included
things like gun handling, small unit maneuvers, reconnaissance, and
basic first aid.”

“Sounds like basic training.”

“Yes, some of them are also ex-military, though most are
just people who liked shooting guns. Luckily, that was the one skill
they needed in those earliest days. That, and the ability to
recognize the danger as it emerged. We were based in St. Louis, but
we all hopped a barge with our families the minute things went to
shit, uh, sir, and ended up here.”

“And then you patrolled the shores, in direct conflict with
the mayor of Cairo?”

“With all due respect, that man is an asshole. We do what
needs to be done to protect our families.”

“Agreed. We're going to do what needs to be done to
survive.”

“He's already done the damage, sir. Sent that barge—”

John held up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence. He'd heard the
rumor, but he had no way to know if it was true. Supposedly a barge
of military gear had gotten loose and floated down the river, then
was caught by the teams pulling the barges near Cairo. Once the mayor
found out about it, he ordered it be released and allowed to continue
downstream. It did no good to dwell on what could have been.

“Focus on what we can control, soldier.” She wasn't
really a soldier, nor was he. Neither of them seemed concerned with
his terminology. “We need to find weapons for everyone who can
carry one. For starters, whatever guns people can bring to the table,
we'll encourage them to come forth. But for the rest, we need to use
whatever we can find in town. Spears, especially, would be useful.
Everyone with a little strength can point a spear at the bad guys'
heads.”

“Where?”

“The port. Use rebar. Cut metal from the barges. We have
plenty of them. There has to be a machine shop with all the old
factories and barge towboats around here.”

“Makes sense. Are you putting me in charge of that
operation, sir?”

“Do you want it?”

“I want to save this town. It's not my home, but my family
is here. If you want me to make spears, I'll make you spears to kill
those things.”

“I have no orders. Nothing. You'll have to do it all
yourself.”

“You can count on me, sir.”

“Then you're dismissed.” He saluted her because it
felt right. “Good luck to you,” he offered as she walked
out. It wasn't protocol, exactly, but he was learning to ease into
civilian life, after all.

Another man entered the room as she turned the corner. No salutes
were involved. It was a man allied with the mayor, possibly his chief
of staff or other functionary. They'd never spoken.

“Sir, could I have a minute?”

“Sure.” He stood up to shake the man's hand, but he
demurred.

“Don't take it the wrong way. I'm scared to death of turning
into an undead soul. My name is Joshua.”

Lots of people had stopped shaking hands, but it still felt
uncivilized.

“Hello Joshua, I'm John. Please, sit down.”

The man was dark-skinned, like the mayor, but that was the only
commonality with the sweaty leader of the town. He was much younger,
and wore shorts and a light button-down, short-sleeved shirt. He
seemed cool and relaxed, despite the heat and humidity of southern
Illinois.

“I'm here because the mayor says he doesn't recognize your
authority.”

“So you're here to threaten me?”

There's not much I can do to stop you.

“Oh no, just the opposite. We tossed him out. Whatever's
heading our way, the sick aren't going to be talked to death. We need
someone in charge who can defend this town.”

“So you want me to
lead
the whole town?”

“There is no precedent for this. Whatever
this
is,
the bottom line is you need to lead the defense of this town. What
happens after all the infected are dead at our doorstep is something
we can address later.”

It called to his ego. First Chloe had deferred to him to tell her
how to defend the town, and now Joshua was asking the same. He was
being “volunteered” to the head of the fight. No one
seemed to mind that he'd been tossed into a pit by the Army he
supposedly led. It touched upon his earlier feelings of superiority.
People saw it in him, no matter what uniform he wore.

He had so many things he wanted to get done, even beyond the
immediacy of defending these people. The cargo barge the mayor had
floated downstream might still be out there, undisturbed. He wanted
to find Douglas Hayes, if for no other reason than to learn more
about his primary enemy—human enemy—Elsa Cantwell. She
was going to regret her decision to toss him out of his career, no
matter how powerful she might be. Yep, he had much to do. Step one
was keeping his base intact.

“Joshua, I'll defend this town...to the death.”

He hadn't meant to say that last bit, but once said, he felt he'd
planted his flag on it.

So be it.

4

The next morning, as part of his inspection of the northern
defenses, he looked out on the field of undead in front of him.
Overnight the number of them had increased, and the defenders had
been picking them off as they neared the water-filled ditch. As
instructed, they waited until the infected were close, but didn't
allow them to get into the ditch. The infect—

Oh the hell with it. I'm calling you guys zombies.

He laughed to himself, acknowledging he lost his mind.

Then he heard the sound of thunder in the distance. There were
clouds above him, but they all appeared friendly.

Another boom. This time he got his bearings. It came from up by
the highway. He stood next to a civilian pickup truck which was
loaned to him. He held up the pair of binoculars that had also been
loaned. And his rifle. And his handgun. And his clothes…

He swept the field, but saw nothing. He dropped the glasses, and
waited. The next round of thunder came from a point he identified as
being very near where the road met the interstate. And there…

I don't believe it.

A pair of Abrams tanks came off the interstate and slid down the
embankment into the field. Behind them, other vehicles crept down the
hill. He counted a few, but was distracted again as the tanks kicked
up a pair of dusty smoke plumes as they sped through the ruined
field. They didn't fire their main guns, though they did sweep the
field from side to side as they drove. When they approached the town,
they veered toward the road and cruised onto the little bridge. He
was whooping and hooting along with the other townspeople who saw it.

The big levee to the north of the town had a large hole at the
base where a huge flood door could be drawn across the north-south
road to keep out flood waters. The tanks rolled through that gate and
stopped just inside the town at a small high school football field.

He almost lost control of the pickup truck as he drove it down the
access road, he was in such a hurry to greet the tankers. When he
skidded to a stop on the dusty pavement, he jumped out and approached
the military trucks assembling on the field. Besides the two tanks,
he saw several Humvees, a couple Bradley's, several service
vehicles—he hoped with ammo for the tanks, a fuel tanker, and a
surprising number of civilian off road vehicles.

It was a miracle, yes, but not their salvation. They'd hardly make
a dent in what was coming.

A man popped up out of the commander's hatch of the lead tank. He
removed his helmet and saluted John. It took him a minute to put it
all together.

“Lieutenant Colonel Thompson,” he shouted.

The soldier hopped down to the main deck of his tank, then came
off the side with a little more care. He turned and walked up to John
as more of the vehicles parked. Even while appreciating their
appearance, he was saddened to see so many civilian vehicles as
opposed to military. He continually ran the numbers…

When he neared, he spoke. “General. We're here as
volunteers.”

John looked at all the new men and women watching him. The concept
of mutiny was alien to a man of his rank, but he'd already been
dismissed with malice, so what concern was it of his why these
soldiers had come back. His next words could affect his ability to
keep control over all the forces swirling around Cairo.

“
Colonel
Thompson. We can use any help you can give
us. We're defending these citizens,” he pointed to the people
who had come out to watch the arrival of the tanks, “until we
remove the threats to them.”

Softly, the colonel responded. “You better be ready. We
almost didn't make it. We had a third M1 protecting the back of the
column, but it got bogged down a couple miles to the north. We tried
to extract it, but there were so many zombies following us we didn't
have the time. They'll be here soon, I'm afraid.”

“How many? We were told millions had migrated in this
direction.”

“Hard to say. There is a lot of land out there. But they've
been out there a long time, walking in this direction. They seem to
group up and add to their number, like rain storms. By the time they
hit the rivers here, there
could
be millions of them. I'm
afraid we brought some of them to you, too. They like to follow...”

“That's what I thought. We've been seeing an increase each
day, though some days are worse than others.” He thought of the
battle the night before his units abandoned him.

Still speaking quietly to each other, John asked the important
question. “Why did you come back?”