The Reckoning: Book Five in the Zombie Uprising Series Page 2

  “What?” Wayne said. “Why?”

  “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask, but I think it has something to do with our new friends up front.”

  Wayne’s hand rested on his pistol grip. “Why would they want to do anything to us?”

  Zeke shrugged. “Who knows? They’ve been on the phone a lot. Someone’s pulling their strings. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Cartwright and Jen are offline.”

  How they hell are we going to get off? It’ll have to be on the approach to Pittsburgh when the train slows. Zeke pulled his phone out and flipped it open. He studied Howell’s number, whispering it to himself several times as he read it. Closing the phone, he slid it back into his pocket.

  “You want to show me?” Wayne asked.

  Zeke glanced at the agents. “I’ve got it. I got good at remembering stuff when I did theater in high school, remember? Never forgot a line.”

  “Wait a couple of minutes and follow me.” Wayne stood.

  Zeke’s heart leapt. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Wayne strode up the aisle. Dickson and Thurmond turned.

  “What’s the problem?” Dickson growled.

  Wayne pointed to the bathroom door at the front of the car. “Gotta go.”

  He pulled the door open and stepped in. The clunk of the lock was loud enough for Zeke to hear it.

  Zeke’s heart raced, but he stayed seated and drew his pistol from its holster. A minute passed and the lock clicked. Wayne stepped out of the bathroom with a disgusted look on his face.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Dickson asked.

  “Someone made a mess in there and the toilet doesn’t work.” Wayne loped toward the back of the car. “I’ll have to use the one in the next car.”

  Thurmond’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. He looked at Dickson, who shrugged.

  Wayne winked at Zeke just before he crossed to the next car. The door closed behind him with a thud.

  Thurmond and Dickson glared at Zeke. “He better be back before we get to Pittsburgh,” Dickson said.

  Zeke smiled. “How long till we get there?”

  “Not long,” Thurmond said.

  As if on cue, the train slowed with a rattle. Zeke took a deep breath, stood, and strapped his sheathed katana to his back. “I’ll get him.”

  Thurmond stood. “I’ll go get him.”

  Zeke put a hand out in a calming gesture. “You two need to guard Dr. Preston, don’t you? I’ll bring him back. Take just a minute.”

  He opened the door and stepped through, letting it slam closed. Don’t look back.

  Passengers in the second car looked up as he entered. The bathroom’s lock said it was unoccupied, but Zeke opened it anyway. Empty. Where the hell is he?

  He smiled at an older lady in the front seat. “Did you happen to see where my brother went, ma’am? He came through this door a minute ago.”

  A man with a salt-and-pepper beard and eyebrows that looked like they needed trimming with hedge clippers jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He went right through to the next car.”

  Zeke hurried through the back door and into the next car, glancing back as the door closed. His heart jumped into his throat as Thurmond stepped through from the first car with his pistol in his hand. He spotted Zeke and yelled, “Get back here.”

  The agent raised the pistol. “Stop.”

  Zeke took cover behind the door. Too many people for a shootout.

  Thurmond shot, and the glass in the door’s window shattered.

  Passengers in both cars screamed and ducked behind their seats. Zeke dropped to one knee and fired a shot at the ceiling over Thurmond. The agent dropped to the floor.

  Passengers had crowded the back doorway of Zeke’s car, trying to get out. Dammit.

  He peered through the broken glass. Thurmond was creeping down the aisle, his gun pointed ahead of him. His eyes locked on Zeke’s and he fired at him. Zeke ducked, and the last remaining glass in the window was destroyed.

  A scream from behind drew Zeke’s attention. A middle-aged woman trying to flee had been struck and had fallen to the floor. Blood pooled around her motionless body. The crowd surged to the rear door, plugging it up. No one’s getting through there now.

  The passengers in Thurmond’s car had escaped out the front, so Zeke shot at Thurmond. He missed. The door behind Thurmond opened, and Dickson joined his fellow agent, opening fire at Zeke. More passengers in Zeke’s car fell, the yelling and screaming reaching a crescendo before it stopped for a second, then went up another octave.

  The middle-aged woman crouched in the aisle, her yellow eyes locked on the frightened passengers. She leapt onto the pile and tore a young man’s neck open. His blood sprayed over the crowd and they went into a full-blown panic, shoving and pushing to get away.

  Two other dead passengers turned and joined in the bloody feast.

  Another volley of rounds penetrated the door and only missed Zeke by inches. The agents were nearly on him.

  Zeke pressed himself against the bathroom door.

  Trapped.

  3

  Jen flung the beer at the old man and leapt for the cover of an aisle. She slammed onto the cold tile floor as the shotgun blast blew past.

  Chunk-Chunk.

  Rolling onto her side, Jen drew her pistol. Another shot from the old man, and several boxes of cereal exploded above her. Dammit.

  She popped up and fired, missing the old bastard, but taking a chunk of wood off the doorway and forcing him to duck.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she yelled. “Just put the gun down and I’ll leave.”

  “Not a chance. I’ve got you trapped and the cops are coming. That reward money is as good as mine.”

  Jen jumped from the aisle and shot at the old man. He gasped and fired off-balance, the pellets shattering the front window.

  Jen aimed at his chest and squeezed the trigger. The pistol recoiled in her hand and a hole appeared in the man’s chest just below his right shoulder.

  He howled, dropped the shotgun, and stumbled backward into the room.

  Jen darted outside. D-Day had taken cover behind an old pickup that was peppered with bullets. He held his gun at the ready, but wasn’t firing. What the hell?

  Aiming her pistol at the attendant, she saw why. That asshole’s hiding behind a pump.

  She took off her sunglasses and holstered her handgun. Let’s see what he thinks of my pretty yellow eyes.

  The attendant shot at D-Day again and Jen bull-rushed him. He turned and his face slackened as his eyes locked onto hers.

  “Zombie eyes!” she screamed.

  Jen slammed into the attendant and drove him into a pump. They both bounced off, and the attendant collapsed onto his back. Jen kicked out and cracked his jaw with her heel. He lay still.

  D-Day ran over and checked the attendant. “He’ll be out for a while. What happened inside?”

  Jen put her sunglasses back on and climbed onto the motorcycle. “Had to shoot the old man. Gave me no choice.”

  D-Day frowned, then looked around. “What about my beer?”

  “Are you serious?” She slapped the seat. “Get your ass on this bike and get us out of here. The old man called the cops.”

  D-Day hopped on and started the bike, then kicked up gravel as he steered onto Route 62. Jen’s stomach ached. The zombie’s still somewhere nearby.

  She tapped D-Day on the shoulder. “Go left.”

  D-Day hit the gas and followed her instruction. She closed her eyes. The tingling picked up and centered on her right side.

  Sirens howled from behind. A cop car swung into the convenience store parking lot. D-Day accelerated.

  Her right side had damn near gone numb. She yelled in D-Day’s ear. “Take that next right.”

  He shook his head. “Cops.”

  “I don’t give a shit. There’s a leader over there somewhere.”

  Shaking his head, D-Day took the right, and the gas station,
now almost a mile away, disappeared behind several buildings.

  The numbness was so intense, Jen could barely lift her right arm.

  A one-story building came up, a sign in front. In a flowery font, it said Sikeston Nursing Home.

  “There,” Jen said.

  D-Day sped up and passed it.

  “What the hell?”

  “We can find a leader somewhere else,” D-Day said. “No need to get caught here.”

  Jen gritted her teeth, but had no choice. Every minute I’m not in contact with Butler, more people die.

  D-Day cut over to Route 55 North. The highway had little traffic and he goosed the accelerator. Jen stewed as she watched green fields zip by.

  Forty minutes later, they rolled off the highway at Exit 95.

  Cape Girardeau. Never heard of it.

  Another gas station with a convenience store came up on their left, and D-Day pulled in and stopped. Jen squeezed out from behind him and rubbed her sore butt. “Still wish we’d kept the sidecar.”

  D-Day scowled and turned off the bike. “You can be a pain in the ass when someone’s trying to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Speaking of a pain in the ass,” Jen said, “you should’ve stopped at the nursing home. Nothing’s more important right now than contacting Butler.”

  D-Day crossed his arms. “What’s your deal? Do you think just because you have your special super zombie powers that you don’t have to listen to anyone else?”

  Jen’s face grew hot. “Why not? I’m the only person in the world who can stop this shit.”

  “No,” D-Day spat. “You’re not. Everything we’ve done has been as a team. It wasn’t just you when we fought off the horde on the train. Seems to me it wasn’t just you in Rhode Island. And from what I’ve heard from Zeke, it hasn’t been only you since this whole shit started.”

  Jen balled her fists and got in his face. “I didn’t ask for this, but I got it, and nobody but me bears the burden of it.”

  D-Day took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Look. You don’t take advice well and you run head-on into shit. It’s part of your charm, and it’s worked out so far. I get that. But the day’s gonna come when it costs you.” He looked down at his feet. “And I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

  D-Day being sentimental? Who would’ve guessed?

  Jen stepped back. “I’m sorry. I know what you’re saying, but it’s the way I roll.”

  “Maybe it’ll roll you right into a grave,” D-Day said.

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  D-Day nodded.

  Jen spread her arms. “Still friends?”

  D-Day grinned and pulled her into a bear hug. “Always.”

  A middle-aged man in faded jeans and a cowboy hat left the convenience store and jumped in a beat-up pickup. A cloud of black smoke blew out the tailpipe when it started. The truck rumbled down the road and disappeared in the distance.

  Quiet enveloped them.

  “This place looks dead,” Jen said.

  She took a step toward the store and D-Day took her arm. “What happened at that last stop? Why did those guys start shooting at us?”

  Jen pulled the wanted poster from her pocket and handed it to him. He unfolded it and whistled. “So you’re public enemy number one.”

  “I just thank God they didn’t use the picture from my driver’s license. I look like a total dork in it.”

  D-Day crumpled the poster and threw it in a trash can. “We can’t have a repeat of that here. Maybe you should stay outside.”

  “Hell, no.”

  D-Day folded his arms. “I can get whatever you want.”

  Jen sighed. He has a point. “What I want is that cell phone so I can call Zeke and Wayne.” She frowned.

  D-Day nodded. “You got it.” He took a step toward the store’s front door.

  “And get me another bag of chips,” Jen said. “I didn’t get to finish the last one.”

  Jen leaned against the faux brick wall of the store and surveyed the area. She turned away and pretended to look at something on the ground when a green sedan cruised by.

  “Shit’s got me paranoid now.”

  D-Day sauntered out of the store a few minutes later with a plastic bag in hand and a smile on his lips.

  “You got what I asked for?” Jen asked.

  He lifted the bag. “Got your phone right here.”

  “Great. What about the other thing I asked for?”

  D-Day reached in, pulled out a bag of chips, and tossed it to her.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” She tore it open, spilling a few chips on the ground, and stuffed a crisp overcooked one in her mouth.

  “How come these bags never open right?” she said. Crumbs fell from her mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”

  D-Day took out the disposable phone and read the directions to activate it. A few minutes later, he smiled. “Good to go.”

  Jen crumpled her chip bag and tossed it into a garbage can. “Let me have it.”

  Sitting on a picnic table next to D-Day, she took the phone, turned it on, and punched in Zeke’s number.

  I’d feel a lot better if he and Wayne were here. She pressed the Call button and then the Speaker button.

  The ringback tone played loud and clear.

  4

  Zeke pressed against the bathroom door wishing he could melt through it. He jiggled the handle. Locked. He had the murderous agents in one direction and an evolving zombie horde in the other. And here I am, the monkey in the middle.

  With a guttural moan, a beefy man in a torn and bloody business suit crept forward. Half of his face had been ripped away and his muscles and teeth lay exposed.

  Zeke shot wildly and missed. The zombie approached as if it had all the time in the world. Zeke lined up his sight on the zombie’s forehead and squeezed the trigger, but it didn’t fire. He glanced at the pistol. The slide was open.

  Empty.

  The zombie leapt at Zeke. Without the time or room to unsheathe his katana, he brought his knees up and kicked the zombie in the chest as it landed. It flew into the aisle and scrambled back to its feet.

  A fusillade of rounds came from the other car with a few of them hitting the zombie. Damn thing didn’t even flinch.

  Zeke drew a six-inch blade from his boot. The zombie sprung and landed inches away. Zeke brought the knife up and shoved it into the zombie’s throat. Blood sprayed everywhere as the zombie pressed in, his teeth snapping inches from Zeke’s face.

  Holding the creature back with his free hand, Zeke pulled the knife out and ran it into the bottom of the zombie’s jaw, through the roof of its mouth, and into its brain.

  Its yellow eyes rolled up and it slumped on top of him.

  The gunfire from the agents continued. Zeke wrestled the dead zombie and positioned it between him and the agents. He stuck his gun through the window and fired blindly into the agents’ car. The gunfire paused for several seconds, then picked up again. Several bullets hit the dead body hiding Zeke.

  The feeding frenzy in Zeke’s car was coming to an end. Everyone else was either a zombie or food. Some of the undead broke through to other cars. Victims’ screams filled the air.

  Zeke leaned against the bathroom door. Guess this is my last stand. “I hope you get away, Wayne. Find Jen and protect her for me.”

  The bathroom door opened and Zeke fell backward, landing on his ass.

  "Get up.” Wayne grabbed his arm and tugged.

  Zeke stumbled to his feet and Wayne slammed the door shut. Something large hit the other side.

  "You were in here the whole time?" Zeke asked.

  "Wasn't sure it was you until I heard you say my name. What the hell's going on out there?"

  The gunshots paused, then picked up again. Shadows under the door had coalesced into a single large one.

  "Those agents were trying to kill me," Zeke said. "Now it's Zombie City out there."

  The train jerked and slowed again. Wayne peered out a small outer
window. "Almost there," he said. “But we aren't getting out of this shitter anytime soon."

  A yell came from outside the door.

  "That sounded like Thurmond," Zeke said.

  Bodies banged against their door and footsteps ran past. "They're moving," Wayne said. "One of the leaders must've opened the door. Those agents are screwed."

  "What about Dr. Preston?” Zeke asked. "What happens if she's killed or turned? Isn't she the last best hope for a cure?”

  The train came to a sudden stop, tossing Zeke into Wayne. Zeke steadied himself and looked out the window at a platform filled with armed cops and militiamen. Someone yelled, “Prepare to fire."

  Zeke grabbed Wayne and pushed him to the floor.

  "What the hell?" Wayne said. "Do you know how nasty this place is?"

  Zeke jumped on top of him. "Stay low."

  "Fire," came the bellow from outside.

  The sounds deafening, bullets slammed into the car, broke out their window, and penetrated the wall. The zombie growls couldn't be heard, but the bodies running into the door and dropping to the floor could.

  What took a few minutes felt like an hour. Someone yelled, "Cease fire." After several seconds of scattered gunfire, it went silent.

  Zeke's heart slammed his chest. He studied the bullet holes in the wall. "How'd we not get shot?"

  Some growling and movement came from the car, but it was mostly quiet. Zeke stood and held out a hand to Wayne. His brother took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet while wiping his pants.

  "Squad A, enter the cars from the rear. Squad B, from the front."

  Boot steps came from the front of the train, followed by scattered shots. Within minutes, only the purposeful pace of human footsteps paced through the train car.

  A slow, heavy set of footsteps came from the back of the car and stopped a few feet away. "Any sign of the targets?" a raspy voice asked.

  "No, Captain," answered another. "Agents Dickson and Thurmond reported them on board as late as five minutes before arriving. They can't be far."

  Targets? Us?

  "What about Dickson and Thurmond?"

  "Dead."

  "And the doctor?" the captain asked.