Joseph Talluto - America the Dead

We walked back over the bridge and found ourselves facing a crowd of about ten men with rifles trained on us. When they saw who we were they lowered their weapons, although there were questions in their eyes.

Nate spoke up. “Clean-up tomorrow! Check the lists to see whose turn it is. Search team beta needs to cross the river tomorrow and do a sweep of the whole area. Search team Alpha needs to check the guard tower first thing in the morning and find the breach.”

There were nods as people packed up their weapons and headed back to their homes. I was impressed with the efficiency of these people and told Nate so. He waved off the compliment.

“We do what’s necessary. We’re all the fence that keeps the demons at bay. You taught us that, John,” Nate said. “You insisted everyone train for battle. If we didn’t have the barriers, we’d still have the fence of arms.”

I was glad to hear it and very glad that this community was destined to survive. All we needed to do was to make sure the country survived so we could make up for the mistakes of the past.

In the morning, we piled about our battle wagon and pointed it south. I sat next to Nate who drove. Tommy and Duncan sat at the little kitchen table and cleaned and sharpened weapons. Boxes of ammo were open and extra magazines were loaded.

Nate fired up the big RV and looked over at me.

I nodded and said, “Strap yourselves in, its gonna be a bumpy ride.”

(TWO WEEKS AGO)

Major Thorton was bored. They had been on the road for several days and had passed several small towns. None of the towns had been inhabited and Thorton was itching for some kind of action. Any kind of action.

The convoy had been following Route 6 out of California and had made their way to Ely, Nevada. There they picked up Route 50, which according to the maps, should take them all the way across the country. But they had to make some jogs through some more inhabited country, so Thorton was confident something would happen soon.

There had been the occasional dead walker, but the convoy chose to ignore the minor threat rather than stop moving. They had been making pretty good progress, all things considered. With most of the world dead, the road crews were not out to clear the debris from the roads that accumulated every spring from thawing hills and falling rocks. Several times the convoy would stop while men cleared the way.

The last action the Major saw was during one of the stops, a lone zombie was working its way up the road and was nearly on the men before they spotted it. In the scramble to get away, the zombie lumbered on, focused on one lone trooper who raised his weapon to fire, only to have it knocked away by Thorton.

“Don’t waste ammo, dumbass,” Thorton said, waiting for the zombie to get closer before he stepped up and shoved his boot in its chest. The zombie flew backwards, over the roadside and down the mountain. Before it was dashed on the rocks below, the tumble down the terrain literally knocked the zombie to pieces.

The Major had glared at his men. “Use your brains. It’s the only thing that separates you from them.”

That was four days ago. They had crossed most of Nevada and were coming up on the town of Beaver. It was thought that they might try the interstate and see how things were before continuing on side roads. Riding in from the west, Major Thorton could see the I-15 interstate as it loomed above him and the outskirts of the small town. The sign read a population of over two thousand, but in surveying the quiet streets, Thorton had his doubts.

He signaled his driver to slow down, to take a look at things. The town didn’t seem too much the worse for wear, but Thorton knew that any town close to an interstate had a high likelihood of infection. They followed West Center street into the town and there was some evidence of problems. There was a car that had crashed into a tree and the inside was covered in old blood.

As they travelled further into the town, there were some homes that had dirty rags hanging from the mailboxes, reminders of the futility of hoping that the disease could be contained and controlled. As they passed by, Thorton began to get a familiar feeling between his shoulder blades, a feeling that told him something was wrong about this setup.

They turned up North Main Street and Thorton signaled a stop. He had seen the Sheriff’s office and wondered if there were any weapons to be recovered. Stepping out into the street, he adjusted his belt and signaled to the truck behind him that he wanted three men to accompany him. Lt. Tamikara got out of his vehicle and two other men came at his beckoning.

Major Thorton walked over to the three men. “Let’s take a look at the police station, see if there is anything worth taking.” Thorton looked down the streets and back at Tamikara, who was looking at him. The other two men headed for the police station.

“Sir?” asked Tamikara.

“What is it?”

“Do you feel anything strange about this place?”

Thorton looked around. “Yeah, I do. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something seriously wrong here.”

“I agree. Do we need to stay?” Tamikara, normally emotionless, actually seemed nervous. Thorton was somewhat amazed.

“No. Something is telling me to get the hell out of here,” said the Major.

The two men who went to the police station walked out, each holding a shotgun and what looked like some ammo. Neither was talking and they both looked shaken.

“What’s up with you two?” snapped Tamikara, his own nervousness showing.

The first private spoke up. “Sir, you better go look for yourself.”

Morbidly curious, Major Thorton walked over to the station and cautiously peered in. He wasn’t scared, knowing he was more than a match for any dead thing and most, if not all, live things. But the unknown was a different factor and his warning bells were screaming at him right now.

He looked inside and didn’t see anything seriously out of order. There were papers on the floor and an overturned chair, but nothing else. He looked down the dark hallway and could see cell doors at the end of the hall. Moving cautiously, he slowly followed the hall and stood at the end, fully taking in the grim scene before him. In the cells were about fifty people, all huddled together. Men, women, children, all tucked into little positions. Dead babies were held by their dead mothers and dead fathers wrapped their protective arms around their dead children. Curiously, all the bodies were as far away from the bars as possible. Thorton was confused about that until he looked down and saw what had happened. Around the cages were hundreds of footprints, dark and foreboding. Zombies had trapped these people here and paced outside the bars until the trapped people died from hunger and thirst.

Ken backed away, leaving that hellish scene of torment and hopelessness. He walked back down the hall, more intent than ever to get away. He had seen some nasty things, but this was up there with the best.

Walking out of the building, he saw many faces turned to look at him. He waved his hand dismissively, then shouted for everyone to mount up. When the trucks were rolling again, he told his driver to head north. The entrance to the interstate was up that way and he wanted to get out of this town.

As they headed up Main Street, a though kept nagging at Thorton. What happened to the rest of the town? If those fifty people were the last of the living, this place was a couple grand zombies short of an explanation. It was possible that the remainder of the town had melted away into the countryside, but there should have been something. It was just strange and kept getting stranger.

The convoy passed the last of the businesses and started the slow curve to get to the highway. On the left was Beaver Valley Hospital and even from a distance of two hundred meters, Thorton could tell it had been hard hit. Burn marks above blown out windows told the story of a fire out of control, while crashed vehicles told the tale of people rushing with their sick loved ones to the emergency room before they knew what horrors they were transporting.