Dead Tide Surge Page 4

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Her cheeks were moist and caked with sand and blood. She kept her eyes closed and answered, “No, nothing is okay, Daric.”

  “It’ll all be alright, Beth. You have to help me believe that.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Behind him, Sinclair said, “He’s gone, Janicea. They’re both dead.”

  “Better be ready,” Janicea replied. “They’ll be coming back soon. Should we shoot them now?”

  Daric shut his eyes and buried his nose in Beth’s hair, trying to shut out the voices.

  A shot rang out, and a moment later, another.

  “What about him?” Sinclair asked, referring to the killer that got left behind.

  Janicea answered after a long pause. “Save him. Let Bronte decide.”

  “We need to find out what he knows,” Daric said, “and whether there are more people like him.”

  “Good thinking, Daric,” Sinclair said.

  “Are you okay?” Janicea asked, while putting her arms around him and pulling him upright into a hug. The hug felt good, even though he still wanted to cry.

  Beth sat up and joined in the hug.

  Sinclair didn’t notice. Daric could see her looking off in the direction where Bronte had gone.

  He heard a boat engine, then saw a light sweep toward them. The boat came in close, and the silhouettes of two men leapt out and waded ashore.

  Bronte and Tracks were revealed in the boat’s light. Beth, Janicea and Sinclair all ran to meet them.

  Daric couldn’t move. His gaze fell on the corpse of the little dog. He realized that, although there may be moments of joy or relief, there would never be happiness in this world. Not now.

  Maybe not ever.

  He picked up the gun, mentally reminding himself to clean it later as he slipped it back into his pants.

  8. Talaski

  For a moment, no zombie was left standing—at least within range of their guns.

  Keller and Amy shared a brief embrace. It saddened Talaski to see love bloom for his friend when no hope was left. Keller had a big goofy smile on his face, but it faded when Amy started to cry. Talaski turned away and strode over to the rail behind them, trying to give them privacy.

  His thoughts drifted back to his own last effort to find love, an effort that lasted over twenty years only to end in failure. He’d quit trying, and then stayed too long after he knew it was over. If only one person was trying…

  He rested the barrel of his shotgun on the railing and looked down at the dark water below him. Rain pattered off his head and shoulders. The moon was visible and reflected off the water as daylight faded from the sky.

  Mills lit another flare and waved it, hoping the people in the helicopter would notice.

  Talaski’s thoughts turned to something he’d been avoiding, but known for some time now: All I’m living for is to help Keller. Not before all this happened, but now…

  Was there anything else motivating him?

  He had known for a long time that his life was aimless, but tried to ignore it. This disaster merely emphasized the point.

  What was the point of surviving if there was nothing to live for?

  With zero interest, he watched a helicopter take off from one of the ships out in the bay. It climbed about four hundred feet or so above the water and banked in their direction. He didn’t believe it was coming to pick them up.

  Blackhawk. Looks like one of helicopters that was strafing people not long ago.

  If he had a weapon with range, he would be tempted to take a potshot or two.

  The heavy beat of the rotors echoed over the water, and a searchlight flicked on as the helicopter slowed to a hover almost overhead. Keller, Amy, and Mills stood next to him at the rail now. The beam of light centered right on them, then panned in the direction of the fire truck.

  An amplified voice said, “Sit tight, help is coming.”

  Talaski shook his head. No one is coming.

  “I can’t wait,” Mills said. “Can you imagine hot food, a shower and then sleeping in a bed?”

  “We may find some of that,” Keller replied, “but don’t get too worked up.”

  Amy stirred in Keller’s arms. “I hope we do find all those things, Matt. It would be nice to feel safe again.”

  “Maybe so,” Keller said.

  “What do you think, Ski…er, I mean Nick?” Mills asked.

  Talaski ignored the question.

  “Something eating you?” Mills asked, stepping closer. Talaski could hear aggression in the guy’s voice.

  Talaski’s rage was a sudden, all-consuming thing, but somehow he controlled the urge to butt-stroke the guy with the stock of his shotgun. Instead, through gritted teeth, he hissed, “Don’t call me Ski. You listening to me? I warned you!”

  Mills stepped back. Hard to say whether it was fear or simply for propriety. He could tell that Keller and Amy were watching now also.

  “So you did,” Mills said.

  Talaski stared into his eyes without flinching.

  Mills held a hand palm out, and backed away. “Listen, man, I’m just asking questions. Keep your thoughts to yourself, if you want.”

  “What I think, Mills,” Talaski answered, “is that we need to get out of here.”

  Mills turned to Amy and Keller, and asked, “You two agree with him?”

  “Long as we stick together, I don’t care where we go,” Amy said. Keller nodded.

  “We’ll wait a bit longer for a boat,” Talaski said.

  For a moment, there was silence. Far away, one of the Coast Guard ships was lowering a boat to the water—the ship illuminated by lights—and they could watch the whole process.

  “That has to be for us,” Amy murmured.

  “I’m not waiting for it,” Mills said.

  Talaski turned back toward him. “What’s that?”

  “I’ve helped you all get here to be rescued, now I figure I can do more good back there,” Mills answered, pointing with a gloved hand at St. Petersburg. “There have to be other survivors. I’ll find them and bring them here. It’s what I should be doing, or at least my chance to do the most good.”

  “What makes you so sure they don’t need you just as bad on a ship?” Keller asked.

  Mills shrugged. “I’m sure people need me in the city. Out there on a boat? Maybe. I’ll stay with the sure thing.”

  Talaski watched him, but said nothing. He thought there was another angle here, but he didn’t care enough to find out. Simply the truth. Overall, he thought Mills was a good guy, but he wasn’t someone who meant anything to him.

  The small rubber boat was powering toward them, leaving a white phosphorescent wake. Mills was already walking away.

  Amy called out, “You can’t go by yourself!”

  Mills didn’t answer. Keller and Amy were looking at him and each other.

  “I can’t believe he’s going to go back out there alone,” Amy said.

  Talaski thought he knew what the other man was thinking.

  All of us are alone, just some of us haven’t caught on yet.

  9. Ray

  “That fucking bitch is going to pay.”

  He mumbled the words, but meant every one of them. A promise made in the dark. The sun was gone, and darkness enveloped the world. His world.

  Raymond Kincaid, or Ray, eased the throttle down and let the jet ski slow to a stop. He couldn’t help it. Going home and telling the women what happened, or at least a version of it, wasn’t going to be easy. He drew his lips back, baring his teeth, threw his head back and howled. His rage was all consuming, almost blinding. Ray wasn’t comfortable with anxiety or fear, or anything really. He’d never had to worry about any of that until a few days ago. Having a trust fund and influential parents had saved him from the mundane cares of the average person.

  Tears coursed down his face. He had to leave Chris and Ralph back there. He pounded a fist on his thigh.

  Two friends gone! Then
that fucking kid shot me in the back! I’m still bleeding.

  The blood was soaking the back of his cut-off jean shorts.

  The water was rougher than when he, Chris and Ralph left earlier in the day, and the moonlight was too feeble through the clouds to give him anything to steer by.

  His hand was on the switch to turn the light on when he heard another engine fire up, and then light flared as someone turned the running lights on in a small motorboat, catching him in the beam. The rumble of the other boat’s powerful engine ramped up, and it headed right for him. There wasn’t much time to think it over. He held the throttle down and zipped past the bigger craft with ease. The bridge wasn’t far away, and he steered beneath it and into the canal beyond.

  The people on the boat must have seen him or heard him, but his mind was far away, thoughts a jumbled mess, all centered on revenge.

  When the boat didn’t follow, he slowed down.

  It was dark out. Fear edged out some of the rage, and he was forced to turn his own light on to continue. In the darkness, paralysis would overtake him. Real monsters roamed the earth now. They moved in the dark, or the light, without fear.

  With the light on he could see about twenty feet ahead. The canal was narrow, about thirty feet wide at best. Docks were behind almost every house, but only a few boats. Most of the boats were the size of canoes or an occasional john boat. No sign of any yachts. The engine’s noise echoed off the water and the houses as he picked up speed.

  Ten houses down, on the island side, he cut the jet ski’s engine and glided in toward a dock behind the eleventh house. Ray turned off the headlight and was amazed at how dark it was. The moon was behind a cloud or something. He saw distant lightning flare and light up the horizon to the north. Heat lightning, he knew. He didn’t hear any thunder.

  Now that his hearing was returning, he realized how quiet it was. No shots, no screams, no explosions.

  No one came out to greet him either.

  Ray tied up the jet ski to a piling and hoped for the best. He shouldn’t leave it in the water, but there was nothing he could do now.

  He reached out for the stepladder and hoisted himself up onto the dock. The pain in the middle of his back wasn’t much more than an annoying throb, but it was distracting. He didn’t think the bullet went through. He wasn’t going to be able to remove it by himself. Couldn’t even reach it.

  Will Cora do it?

  He grinned despite himself.

  Someone should have challenged or greeted him. His shoes were soaking wet and made a squelching noise every time he took a step. He kicked his shoes off and pulled the pistol from the waistband of his jeans.

  The wood of the dock was rough beneath his bare feet. He hoped he didn’t get a splinter.

  A moment later he stepped onto the top of the concrete seawall, and onto the two-by-two foot paving stones of a sidewalk that curved across the yard to an open lanai behind the house. There was a wrought iron table, two matching chairs, and a propane BBQ grill near the patio doors.

  Still no lights.

  One of the patio doors was open. He could see a curtain blowing in and out through the opening. His gut tensed.

  He knew the island hadn’t been cleared yet. There hadn’t been enough time. He knew he probably should’ve stayed and not gone on the joyride, but the temptation was too much. His apocalyptic dream had finally come true, and some hell-raising was required.

  All the impulses he’d resisted most of his life were finally possible. It was good to have his friends around him also to share the dream.

  He wanted to call out, but couldn’t. The zombies might hear him.

  There was definitely a downside to the apocalypse.

  Someone was in the doorway. He couldn’t tell who it was in the dim light.

  “Who’s there?” Ray asked.

  The figure didn’t answer, stepped out onto the lanai, stumbled a bit, and one of the chairs fell over with a clatter.

  “Who’s there?” Ray asked again.

  No response. He realized then that he’d whispered the second time.

  “Who are you?” he said loudly, and raised the pistol. What if everyone was dead on the island? Panic seized him.

  The person, a large fat man, kept coming and didn’t answer.

  Ray felt an almost uncontrollable urge to urinate.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  Two more figures appeared from the side of the house, coming from the front yard.

  The large man stopped mere feet away, turned sideways, and raised both hands. Flame blazed forth several times as the man fired a gun at the two others. It took at least four shots to put them down. Ray watched his apparent savior step closer to them and put a bullet into each of their heads.

  “Dirty fuckers,” the man murmured. His voice sounded muted, but after several shots from what was probably a .357, he could be screaming.

  “That you, Dad?” Ray asked. The two men were close enough now that Ray could see that the man had a comb-over and was wearing a dirty business suit.

  How could I not recognize my own father?

  The other man exhaled noisily and scratched his nose. As always, the big, gaudy ring he wore drew attention to his large hands and long fingers. “Yeah Ray, it’s me. ‘Bout time you came back. Everything’s gone to hell.”

  Ray bit back a bitter remark, catching himself in time, and settled for replying with: “You think so?”

  His father didn’t answer, but instead began to reload the revolver. He pulled loose cartridges out of a greasy handkerchief. His face went stony. “I heard your engine, Ray, if you are wondering. Been hiding out with most of the women over at the Clark house. Raiders killed all the others. Not sure why they didn’t make sure I was dead. I don’t think they saw me. They just took off all of a sudden…”

  Ray took a step back. “What did you say?”

  His father put the handkerchief full of bullets back in his pocket. “I said that a bunch of dirty bastards ambushed us. I wasn’t even looking and these guys started blasting away at us. Left us for dead, and except for me, we all were.”

  Ray didn’t know what to say.

  “Where were you guys, anyway?” his father asked.

  “Where we all are, Dad…Hell. Just a different part.”

  “And your friends? Where are they? Did you leave them?”

  “They’re dead, Dad. Might even be by friends of the ones who tried to kill you.”

  “Katrina’s going to take that badly, son. Are you sure?”

  Katrina was Ralph’s wife. Ray nodded. “Yeah.”

  “As it is, your sister took a shotgun and is hiding out in the house waiting for the killers to come back. Two of the other widows are with her.”

  “Cora is what?”

  “You deaf or something, son? I couldn’t stop her. She’s waiting to ambush the killers if they come back. She’s over in the Turner house.”

  “We have to go get her, Dad. Those people will be after me for sure!”

  His father was silent.

  “They will be coming back, Dad!”

  His father put his hand on his shoulder, and Ray tried not to wince.

  “Well, son, we better be ready for them, then. I need to borrow your jet ski, first, though.”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling good enough to go anywhere? Where you going, anyway?” Ray asked, not for the first time, concerned about his father’s unhealthy pallor.

  “I have some unfinished business to take care of. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

  “It can’t wait? We are really in danger here.”

  His father looked at his watch and said, “No, this is something I have to do now. Take care of everyone.”

  He climbed aboard the jet ski and fired it up. His old man was still agile. What surprised him was that his dad didn’t go southwest on the course Ray had taken. He steered instead around to the northeast. What lay in that direction was a mystery.

  10. Foster

 
President Foster emerged from the bunker exit into the golden halo of the setting sun backlighting the tree-shrouded slopes of a valley. Lieutenant Green was right on his heels. The ground was spongy underfoot with a thick layer of pine needles. Some of the tree trunks had some sort of fungus growing along one side. He could hear a few birdsongs, but nothing else other than Green’s footfalls as he hurried to join him.

  “Where can we go, Green?” Foster asked.

  Green’s expression was grim. “There isn’t anywhere nearby to go. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “What about Fiore’s compound?” Foster asked. “Can’t we go there?”

  “It is a long walk, Mr. President. We could go to…”

  Foster held a finger to his lips and pulled Green to the side of the doorway. They both knelt down behind an ancient oak tree. Foster felt his knees get wet on the swampy ground. More of the white, fuzzy fungus was growing on the base of the trunk.

  A moment later he heard the sound of voices and clattering boots echo up from the depths.

  Foster drew his pistol, motioning for Green to follow suit. He pushed a button on the side of the pistol that ejected the pistol’s magazine and inserted a fresh one from the ammo pouch on his belt.

  Green looked green. Sweat broke out at his temples and upper lip. Still, he was man enough to draw his own pistol and cock it.

  “No time to run, Lieutenant,” Foster whispered. “We’ll make a stand here.”

  A distinct voice floated up. “They went this way!”

  “Wait until I shoot,” Foster said quietly. “We need to kill as many as we can.”

  Green nodded. Not long ago, the thought of having to shoot a fellow American would have been unfathomable. Beyond conception.

  Not now.

  The first soldier was a Marine, who nearly stumbled in his eagerness to exit the tunnel and catch them. The soldier right behind him, an army MP, reached out a hand and steadied him. Both men looked around with their carbines held ready as a third guy emerged. This one was tall, skinny and shirtless. He had a shock of red hair on the top of his head, and a big revolver held in both hands.

  “See anything, guys?” the redhead asked.

  “Not yet,” replied the first guy, a short thin Hispanic. “We shoulda just killed that bastard and rescued our families from the beginning. Keeping him alive didn’t save anybody.”