Zombies on the Rock (Book 2): The Viking Trail Page 2

  Jason had an excellent point; the recently deceased were easily distracted by noise and fire. Anyone who had been around them for this long should have deduced that knowledge by now.

  "You think so?" Eric was ready to concede that Jason was making a valid observation, but he wouldn't admit he agreed with him.

  "It's what I would have done," Jason replied with an egotistical, self-righteous tone.

  "Ass, you would have ended up a roaming meat sack if it wasn't for me the very first night!" Eric teased his friend.

  "Not by a zombie though!" Jason laughed heartily. "I was in a whole other heap of shit that night!"

  "There is something seriously wrong with the both of you," Nick chirped in, trying to sound apathetic.

  Eric couldn't disagree with Nick; there must have been something wrong with them. Making terrible jokes about zombies in the middle of the apocalypse, what kind of freaks were they? Nick turned the ambulance onto Mt. Bernard Avenue and sped past the military base. The gates were closed and they seemed to be reinforced from behind with giant metal sheets.

  "You think anyone is alive in there?" Nick had to slow down again and drive on the sidewalk in order to pass a three-vehicle collision that blocked the road. A headless corpse lay sprawled over the hood of an old, white Civic; the zombies had torn the flesh off the bones which left the sex of the victim impossible to distinguish. The force of the accident must have propelled the body through the window as dark red gore stained the shattered windshield. A shard of glass ripped open the poor soul's stomach, with a sliver of entrails still dangling from the jagged edge.

  "We should check on the way back; maybe they can help us?" Eric could only picture what he had seen on the news: thousands of people had turned to the Armed Forces for help. They never stood a chance; no matter what checkpoints they set up, the sick always found a way inside the safe zones, turning the quarantined areas into the next ground zero. Hope was only a fleeting dream, dashed by the first diabolical moan in the crowd.

  "Worth a shot. Maybe we could find something useful there?" Nick sounded hopeful. Eric knew he hated killing the zombies; Nick had hoped that there would be a cure to the outbreak since day one.

  Nick steered the ambulance back onto the road, which had been cleared the rest of the way down through the park, with the scattered vehicles pushed to the sides of the road. It formed either a barricade from the dense forest on both sides, or a funnel for any traffic trying to pass the military base.

  "We're almost there!" Nick had to push down on the accelerator as the ambulance valiantly struggled up the hill towards the police station. Everyone felt the roar of the engine as the vibrations rattled the cab.

  "I hope the station is still intact, or this was a waste of time." Jason had climbed into the front cab with them, scanning the landscape.

  Eric saw it first though. "Christ!" he cursed as he pounded his fist against the dashboard.

  "What is it?" The ambulance jolted as the tires bounced over the curb of the parking lot to the police station.

  "Look at the front of the building." Eric pointed at the shattered front window of the building. Shards of jagged glass, stained with dark bodily fluids all around, dashed his hope of finding any useful supplies inside.

  "Didn't you say the guns were locked away in a cage?" Jason tried to sound enthusiastic, but he couldn't hide his frustration.

  "They used to be." Eric pointed towards an old, red Ford pickup parked near the station’s entrance.

  "What do you mean?" Eric could sense the anger Nick was holding back in his voice.

  "Frank! That's the old shitty truck he kept as his cabin." Eric pounded his fist against the dashboard again. "He's probably inside right now emptying the weapons cage."

  "So we just take them from him!" Jason put his hand on Eric's shoulder.

  "He has all the guns, we have this old shitty hunting rifle." Eric shook his head in disgust. "I don't like this one fucking bit."

  "So now what?" Nick pulled up right behind the rusted bumper of Frank's truck, blocking off any easy route of escape.

  "Listen, me and Jason will go inside. You wait here with the ambulance, just in case something goes wrong. We might need a quick exit strategy." Eric had no idea what to expect from Frank. The last time they saw each other, Frank was full of regret for allowing Pharmakon to advance their research into developing the zombie virus. Frank had said he would redeem himself; now Eric would discover if Frank would keep his word. Eric couldn't afford to get into a gunfight -- Frank was far more proficient with a weapon than he could ever dream of being.

  Nick pulled the keys out of the ignition. The silence was overwhelming; they hadn't noticed how loudly the engine roared until that moment.

  "Frank wouldn't hurt you, Eric,” Jason said quietly before turning to Nick. “Just keep your eyes open, Nick. If something goes wrong out here, come in and get us." Jason pushed open the double doors and his boots echoed emphatically against the pavement as he exited through the back of the ambulance.

  "Be careful, Nick, something about all of this seems wrong to me." Eric looked at Nick. "Just be alert, okay."

  "Yeah, no problem man." Nick's words were rattled by anxiety; a worried look betrayed his attempt at sounding brave.

  Eric opened the passenger door slowly, the hinges creaking loudly interrupting the silence. Eric quickly joined Jason as they walked towards the entrance to the police station. The sound of crunching glass beneath their boots drowned out the low-pitched moans of the approaching dead.

  Nick felt detached from society in the eerie silence, isolated from sanity by the vast emptiness of the parking lot. The bizarre calmness was nerve wrecking. A sullen, foreboding grey sky loomed above, threatening to blanket the entire dead city in snow. Nick rolled down the window, the fetid stench of rancid, rotting flesh made his stomach heave. This wasn't the first time he had encountered such a horrid, sour smell, but the acidic odour was extremely more potent within the city limits. The overwhelming presences of decaying flesh, decomposing corpses, and foul shit was more concentrated from the higher population. The dead smelled bad enough in small groups, but Nick figured there were over ten thousand of those freaks shambling throughout the streets, defecating wherever they pleased while their disintegrating flesh created a whirlwind of putrid aroma.

  The glass squeaked as Nick tried to roll up the window, the overpowering reek was too much for him to handle. He could feel his stomach muscles tighten, getting ready to expel the contents of his virtually empty stomach out of his mouth. Nick threw the door open and bent over, placing his hands on his knees, waiting to throw up. A sudden breeze carried the pungent whiff of rotting flesh deep into his nostrils, the heavy odour seemingly attaching to the hairs and sticking in his nose for good. Bile entered his throat, but he managed to keep it down, swallowing the nasty acidic juices creating a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Nick pulled his jacket up over his nose, trying to block out the smell. It provided Nick with only a minor relief from the bouquet of death, his urge to vomit staying with him as he struggled to keep the deteriorated fabric over his face.

  A symphony of ghastly moans echoed from the nearby forest, the growing sound sending shivers down his spine. Looking down the hill at the forest, Nick only saw the tall birch trees and darkened paths the led into the dense woods, blocking out any potential lurking creatures in immense darkness. Nick decided to alert the others of the possibility of a looming herd of zombies making their way through the woods towards the police station. With barely a kilometre between them and the military base they had just drove past, they were left with virtually no warning if a throng of shuffling corpses came bursting through the edge of the forest. The faint noises of hungry, flesh-eating monsters were growing louder by the second. Nick expected company at any moment, and his fear forced him out of the ambulance. Maybe he could reach his friends in time-

  A distinct scraping sound of metal across the pavement could be heard from behind the ambulance, a
lerting Nick that he had company.

  Nick quickly spun around to see a tall man standing in the middle of the parking lot. He was dressed in the digital camouflage uniform of a soldier, holding a fully automatic weapon across his chest, aimed towards his darkened boots. Blood and dirt had recently smeared his clothes, with the stains still wet and the coppery smell of blood fresh in the air. The man's face was painted black, green, and brown; only the whites of his eyes stood out against the camouflage mask.

  "Hey?" Nick found it hard to believe that there was someone standing in front of him.

  THUD!

  Something hard smashed into the back of Nick's head, hurtling him face first into the pavement. The cold cement sent a throbbing pain that clouded Nick's head upon impact. His head ached, his vision was blurred, and he could feel darkness swiftly closing in all around him.

  "You see where he put the keys?" Nick couldn't focus enough to tell where the voice originated.

  "I think they're in the ignition." Nick could hear the muffled conversation, but he was quickly slipping into oblivion.

  Nick's head was pounding now. With a clumsy hand, and an extreme amount of focus, he reached up to feel the back of his head. His fingers came away wet with blood. Fighting against the darkness filling his head, he tried to push himself off the pavement as he heard the doors to the ambulance slam shut, but his arms gave out on him.

  The engine began to rumble. "Get in!" a voice shouted. "Those zombies are going to pass right by here any minute!"

  The last thing Nick heard before he blacked out was the roar of the engine as the ambulance sped out of the parking lot, followed by the ravenous moans of the undead monsters spilling out through the trees into the grassy field behind the police station.

  CHAPTER TWO:

  OVERRUN

  A tiny ray of sunlight trickled in from the glass window on the door leading to Frank's office. Particles of dust floated in the air while a stale stench weighed heavily in the corridor. Grime and filth covered the cement bricks on the wall and the linoleum floor was littered with debris and scattered papers.

  Eric raised his hand up and motioned for Jason to stop as they neared the door to the gun cage at the end of the hallway. "Do you hear that?" Eric whispered to him.

  Jason leaned forward and pressed his ear against the door. He could hear voices on the other side accompanied by heavy clanking and hurried footsteps. "Should we knock?" Jason formed a fist and raised his arm inches away from the door.

  Eric's lips curled into a frown as he looked back at Jason. "Keep it down; we don't know what's going on in there."

  Jason looked at the sign on the door: Weapons Locker. "You worked with Frank for years, Eric. He's not going to shoot you."

  "I don't know what that man is capable of. He would do anything to save himself." Eric despised Frank for allowing Pharmakon to carry out their deadly experiments. Maybe they wouldn't have been able to stop the outbreak, but at least they could have warned everyone, given everyone a fighting chance to live.

  "Well, do you have any better plans?" Jason pointed to the old hunting rifle slung over Eric's shoulder. "They probably have more firepower than us, and I don't plan on getting into a gunfight without a gun."

  Eric offered the rifle to Jason. "Take it."

  Holding the long barrel of the gun, Jason reached out and grabbed the wooden stock. "Hello!" Jason shouted out.

  The room fell silent on the other side of the door.

  "What the hell, Jason," Eric demanded, fuming.

  "Hello! We just want to talk!" Jason yelled out again, ignoring Eric's plea.

  "Stay where you are. We’ll open the door," a deep voice Eric recognized as Lieutenant Frank Byrnes boomed back from behind the door.

  The door slowly swung open and Frank stood in the doorway wearing his old police jacket and holding his old service revolver at eye level and ready to fire. Three younger men stood behind Frank, each man armed with police issue shotguns and bulletproof vests. They were brand new equipment that had no use in the once quiet town before the outbreak.

  "Eric?" An exulted look crossed over Frank's face. White stubble covered his face and his moustache had grown scruffy and unkempt. He’d also let his white hair grow long and shaggy. It was matted to the top of his head with sweat and dirt; the complete look made him seem like a crazed lunatic.

  "Frank, lower the gun." Eric remained composed even though they were outnumbered and vastly overpowered. He took a step forward straight for his old boss.

  One of the strangers pushed in front of Frank to get between the two, pointing a shotgun in Eric's face. "Tell your friend to drop his weapon!" The man was clearly frightened; his voice was raspy and shaking. A blue denim shirt poked out from underneath the black vest, and his jeans looked pristinely cleaned. Eric laughed to himself on the inside; staring down the barrel of a fully loaded shotgun should have crippled him with fear, but he was fixated on the oddest detail. Always a detective, he understood that the cleaned jeans meant they had shelter somewhere, maybe even electricity.

  "Easy now, Chris, let’s not do anything we'll regret." Frank calmly placed his hand on the barrel of the shotgun. "This is Deputy Jones," he introduced Eric with a nod. Frank eased the weapon towards the floor slowly. Even in this new reality, Frank had managed to find himself in command once again.

  "Shit, sorry, dude!" Beads of sweat rolled down Chris's forehead. Eric figured he couldn't be much older than eighteen. "You just don't know these days!"

  Eric glared at Chris, the gaze a promise of violence towards the younger man, threatening him to make another terrible decision.

  "Thank God you made it, Eric. I thought you died that first night trying to save your friend." Frank was obviously trying to break the tension.

  Chris was clearly uneasy, his whole body shaking with a nervous, jittering twitch. Eric continued to stare down Chris, who quickly turned away, trying to hide his shame with an awkward gawking gaze towards the floor as he backed up behind Frank abashedly.

  "Are you Jason?" Frank turned his eyes towards Jason.

  "Yeah, Eric saved me from that hellish prison." Jason lowered the rifle. "Well, what do we do now?"

  "You should come back to Howley with us. I can keep you safe." Frank sounded cocky, an egotistical smirk jutted from the corner of his mouth, creating a bundle of wrinkles under his right eye. His moustache peeked up on the left side of his face like a caterpillar making its move.

  "Howley? What's in Howley?" Jason was confused. It didn't seem like an ideal spot to hide during the apocalypse.

  "A group of survivors. We’re keeping each other safe." Frank turned his head back towards the other men in his group.

  "We call it the Howley Estates, Frank here is the founder. He found each of us and took us in. He saved us," Chris explained from behind Frank.

  "Is that why you need all the guns?" Eric finally broke the anxious silence.

  "Yes, why else would I need them?" Frank sounded offended by the question.

  "To save yourself. Isn't that what you do?" Eric shook his head in disgust. "How long did you work for Gordon Purchase?"

  "Eric, please, I'm doing the right thing now." Frank lurched towards Eric, an ashamed look on his face by the sudden revelation. His followers behind him had a communal perplexed expression. Frank couldn't have told them about what he had done.

  "We need those guns too." Eric knew Frank didn't want his dirty secret getting out. "And we’re taking half of those guns!" Eric pointed at the large duffle bags that were resting on the benches, teeming with police issued armaments.

  "Yeah, no problem." Frank's shoulders sunk, defeated by the threat of revelations about his past transgressions. He waved Eric into the room, not wanting any further exposure of his deceit to be known. It served as an unspoken agreement between the two men.

  Eric pushed his way into the room, feeling like he was swimming through the tension as he did so. All the men still had weapons in their hands, with nervous, trembling
fingers resting next to the triggers. Eric was cautious not to make any sudden movement; the slightest flutter could end in needless tragedy.

  "Have a look through the bags, take whatever you need!" Frank motioned for the other men to step back. "Guys, put the weapons down, we don't need them in here. Jason, come in and close the door. We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves. Those bastards can smell you a mile away!"

  Jason stepped into the weapons locker and eased the door closed so he wouldn't make too much noise. All of the cages had already been emptied, leaving bare metal peg hooks sticking out of the wall. The room was dully illuminated by a portable battery-powered light Frank must have brought. Eric rummaged through one of the duffle bags to find a service Glock and a magazine to fit. He examined it for a moment before handing it to Jason. "Here, this should be easy to use even for a beginner!"

  "Do you hear that?" One of the men standing next to the door had his ear pressed against it. The straps on his vest were dangling down to the back of his knees. They were pulled as tight as possible, but the Kevlar was still much too large for his frail frame. His black work pants hung low on his hip, an old cord tied tightly through the loops holding them up.

  Eric continued rifling through the bag, dividing the ammo and weapons equally among the survivors.

  "What is it, Matthew?" Frank shuffled over to Matthew.

  "There must be a lurker in the hallway." Even Matthew's voice matched the rest of him, his voice brittle and his wispy words almost inaudible.

  Eric walked over to the old metal door and nudged Frank out of the way. As he pressed his ear against the door, he could hear glass breaking and footsteps making their way down the hall. Something must be wrong; Nick must be headed their way to warn them about a swarm of the flesh-hungry mongrels.

  "Help!" A strange holler beckoned them into the corridor. It didn't sound like Nick, but who else could it be? They must be in danger.