Date: 2020-06-15 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror
Description: In a world overrun by zombies, breathing, living friends are hard to find. Would you risk your life to save them? Nurse Alissa, her friends, and her cat Archer fight their way through a zombie-infested state to get to the safety of her mountain cabin. It offers sanctuary as well as new challenges as all the routine commodities of the modern world are now luxuries. Soon they find a new enemy to fight--cabin fever. The most exciting thing that happens to them is meeting their neighbor Chris and his dog Shithead. Bored people do stupid things. When one of their group is seriously injured and need

Nurse Alissa vs the Zombies II:

Escape

Scott M. Baker

Also by Scott M. Baker

Novels

Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies

Shattered World I: Paris

Shattered World II: Russia

The Vampire Hunters

Vampyrnomicon

Dominion

Rotter World

Rotter Nation

Rotter Apocalypse

Yeitso

Novellas

Nazi Ghouls From Space

Twilight of the Living Dead

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things During the Zombie Apocalypse

Anthologies

Cruise of the Living Dead and other Stories

Incident on Ironstone Lane and Other Horror Stories

A Schattenseite Book

Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies II: Escape
by Scott M. Baker.

Copyright © 2020. All Rights Reserved.

No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any electronic system, or transmitted in form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without written permission from the authors.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art © by Christian Bentulan 2020

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

A Preview of Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies III: Firestorm

A Thank You to My Readers

Acknowledgments

Author’s Bio

To my mother.

My mother is a phenomenal woman. She never tried to make me something I wasn’t, and never pushed me to join clubs or extra-curricular activities I wasn’t interested in. Instead, she encouraged me to be the person I wanted to be, even if it that happened to be a weird little Monster Kid. She instilled in me a sense of individuality and determination that saw me through my years as a CIA officer and now an indie writer.

Chapter One

Alissa Madison stood on the stern deck of the cabin cruiser, watching Nahant slowly recede into the distance. In the past thirty-six hours, she had escaped from a deader-ravaged Boston, made her way home through a society falling apart, and now had to evacuate the island when the outbreak spread this far. Fortunately, the combination of distance and the encroaching darkness prevented her from witnessing the death throes of her hometown. Even the screams and cries for help from the islanders had faded, although she could not tell if that was because they were too far away to hear them or because everyone had been slaughtered.

A warm, gentle hand touched her shoulder. Miriam, whose husband Steve owned the cabin cruiser, stood behind Alissa. “Is everything okay?”

Will it ever be? Instead of speaking her mind, Alissa nodded her head and muttered, “Yes.”

“Steve wants to meet for a few minutes. After that, I’ll take you below so you can clean up.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the least I can do. My family is alive because of you and Nathan.”

Alissa said nothing as she followed Miriam inside. Nathan stood by the steering compartment with Steve, who sat behind the wheel, guiding the ship. Both men had their attention glued to the radio broadcast coming through the console speaker.

“We can now confirm our earlier report that New Hampshire and Vermont have closed their southern borders to all traffic. The governors of both states have ordered state and local police as well as their respective National Guards to shut down all roads and highways from Massachusetts and New York to stop the spread of the violence northward. According to a State Police representative in Salem, New Hampshire, the use of deadly force to prevent border crossings has been approved. No one has officially commented on the rumors that the violence has been caused by a highly infectious disease, but one New Hampshire public health worker noted, off the record, that they cannot afford to let rabies spread into the forests because it would be impossible to contain. According to unsubstantiated reports we’ve received, Maine will also seal off their borders from traffic within the hour. Stay tuned to this station for further updates.”

“My God,” Miriam gasped. “It’s insane out there.”

“I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse,” Nathan replied.

Steve shook his head in frustration. “We need to get to New Hampshire as soon as possible before they close down the waterways.”

Miriam glanced around for Kiera and Little Stevie. “Where are the kids?”

“I sent them downstairs so we could talk in private.” Steve turned to Alissa. “I told them they could play with your cat as long as they weren’t rough with him. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Archer is an attention hog. He’ll love it.”

“Good.” Steve paused. “I know we’ve all been through a lot, but I wanted to plan out tomorrow.”

“I thought we were heading for Alissa’s cabin?” asked Nathan.

“We are, but I don’t know where it is.”

“It’s near North Conway, not too far from I-93.” Alissa thought for a moment. “Sorry, I can’t remember the address.”

“I don’t need that. I need to know the town so I can plot a course.”

“Are we heading there now?” Nathan asked.

“It’ll be too dangerous to travel at night under these conditions. I’m going to anchor ten miles offshore. We’ll head north in the morning.”

Miriam grew concerned. “Will we be safe out here overnight?”

“We should be. Just in case, we’ll post a guard. I’ll take the first watch until nine. Miriam will go on watch until midnight. Nathan and Alissa can do the next two shifts, and I’ll relieve you at six and get us ready to head out. Does that sound fair?”

Everyone nodded in the affirmative.

“Good. Nathan, any chance Miriam and I could borrow one of the weapons you brought on board in case we need to defend ourselves.”

“Of course. Any preference?”

“Bring me whatever you can spare as long as it can blast apart deaders.”

“Miriam?”

“I want one. But I’ve never shot a gun before. What do you recommend?”

Steve and Nathan looked at each other and simultaneously replied, “Shotgun.”

A spark of excitement lit up Miriam’s eyes. “Really?”

Steve chuckled. “My wife’s becoming a bad ass.”

Miriam leaned over and kissed him. “I thought I already was.”

Nathan faced Alissa. “What can I set you up with?”

“I’ll take a shotgun as well.”

“Are you sure you don’t want one of the semi-automatics?”

“I want to make sure I hit what I aim at. I’ve never fired anything bigger than a handgun before.” A tidal wave of images flooded her memory as she recalled her escape from the hospital and all the deaders she had to shoot. “Until yesterday.”

“You got it,” said Nathan. “I’ll get them ready and pass them out later tonight.”

“Thank you.” Miriam smiled at Nathan and wrapped her hand around Alissa’s arm, leading her below deck. “As for you, we need to get you a hot shower and a change of clothes.”

“I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Don’t worry about that. I can lend you some of mine. My husband says I have too much anyways.”

*     *     *

Miriam showed Alissa to her cabin, pulled a facecloth and several towels from the linen closet, and told Alissa she could take whatever clothes she wanted from her wardrobe. Once Miriam had left, Alissa stripped out of her bloody outfit and placed it on the tiled floor in the bathroom. The blood had soaked through to her underwear, so she added them to the pile. She also removed the bandages around her right pinky and chest, leaving them on the counter. A minute later, hot water streamed over her face and down her body. This time, Alissa did not use the shower to relax and wind down, merely to clean herself. Once she had rinsed away all the blood, she dried off and re-entered the state room.

Archer sat on the bed with his legs folded under him, like a furry loaf of bread. Upon seeing his mistress, he meowed once and rolled onto his back, stretching out his legs and exposing his belly. Alissa sat beside him and slid her right hand across his stomach, massaging his chin with her thumb and forefinger. Archer allowed himself the simple pleasure for a few seconds before wrapping his front paws around her wrist. He gently bit her hand while kicking at her arm with his hind legs, an affectionate gesture on his part. After a minute, Archer let go, rolled onto his paws, and rushed onto the pillows where he proceeded to groom himself.

“I love you, too, asshat.”

Despite everything, Alissa had been able to save Archer. He had been her sole source of comfort since Paul had asked for a separation eleven months ago. Losing Archer would have devastated her. For the first time, she began to realize how lucky she had been. So many families had lost loved ones or were completely devastated by the spread of this virus. Sure, Alissa had gone through her own Hell and had lost her home, yet everything truly important had survived. Once they made their way to her cabin, with luck, they could all ride out this crisis and be able to begin their lives over.

Alissa returned to the bathroom and checked her wounds. The pinky still hurt from where she had caught it in the scaffolding while trying to escape from the hospital, but it had ninety-percent mobility. The skin around the ribcage under her left arm was heavily bruised, the black and blue now nearly a foot long and six inches wide, having doubled from the day before. She winced when she pressed against it, the area still being extremely tender. Luckily, she had not broken or cracked a rib otherwise the pain would be crippling. All she needed were pain killers and a few weeks to rest, the latter of which she doubted she would get. Searching through the cabinets, Alissa could not find new bandages. No big deal. The original ones were still relatively clean. She wrapped the longest gauze tightly around her chest and secured it, then shifted to her pinky, reusing the makeshift splint she had made from an old emery board.

Returning to the stateroom, Alissa opened the closet. She slipped on the panties Miriam had given her. The bra, however, was much too big. No problem. She could go without one until they reached the cabin. No one would be paying attention one way or the other. Sorting through the closet, she eventually picked out a pair of jeans and a white sweater that were comfortable and durable enough for what lay ahead. She draped the clothes over the back of a chair and prepared to go to bed, then thought about it at the last second. Things went south quickly back on Nahant, and she and Nathan had only minutes to get to safety. She would hate to have to face another emergency while naked. She pulled on what she had picked out and slid under the covers. The sway of the ship along the waves relaxed Alissa and she fell asleep within minutes.

She remembered Archer curling up in a ball against the back of her head and purring contentedly before she dozed off.

Chapter Two

Alissa woke to a gentle knocking on her cabin door. At first, she mistook it for the thrumming of the engines. Then it grew slightly louder, accompanied by Nathan’s voice.

“Alissa, are you there?” Knock. Knock. “Wake up.”

She snapped out of her sleep. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. We need you on deck.”

“Wait a minute.” Alissa swung out of bed, crossed the state room, and opened the door. “Come in.”

Nathan entered.

“Close the door behind you, please. I don’t want Archer getting out.”

Nathan pulled it shut and leaned against the wall. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired. I’ll wake up in a minute.” Alissa sat on the end of the bed and slid on her boots, lacing them up. “When does my shift begin?”

“It began about an hour ago.”

“Let’s get something straight,” snapped Alissa. “You may have gotten me off Nahant, but I made it out of Boston by myself with no one’s help. I can take care of myself.”

Taken aback, Nathan raised his hands. “Where did that come from?”

“Paul gave me that macho bullshit crap for years. Treated me like his damsel in distress. I’m not going to take it from you.”

“Calm down. The shit hit the fan two hours ago. Steve and I have been topside making preps to get out of here.”

“Sorry.” Alissa’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do.” Nathan sat on the bed a few feet from Alissa. “You went through combat you were never trained for.”

“You’re saying I have PTSD?”

“Probably not, at least not yet. But no one can go through what you’ve experienced without it making them edgy.”

“Thanks.” Alissa forced a smile.

“Forget about it. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

When they reached topside, Steve sat on one of the benches, only half listening to the broadcast, concentrating on the map spread out on the dining table. Miriam stood beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder, her gaze switching between her husband and the radio.

“What’s going on?” Alissa asked.

“Things are getting worse,” Miriam answered. “The police and National Guard have pulled their roadblocks off the I-95/Route 1 corridor back to Route 101, which will be the defense line for the eastern part of the state. Reports are coming in from the western part that the check points on the roads between Massachusetts and New Hampshire have been overrun or are being abandoned. Rumor is the governor will declare a state of emergency within the hour.”

“Shit,” Nathan said under his breath.

“That’s an understatement,” said Steve. “That’s why I want to head out now.”

Alissa checked her watch. “Sunrise is not for another four hours.”

“It’s worth the risk. I want to make sure we’re inland before they close off the rivers and those things overrun the state.” Steve spun the map for the others. “I figure we’ll sail up the coast and head inland at Portsmouth. We can follow the Piscataqua River as far north as Dover before we have to abandon the boat. That should put us ahead of the deaders and give us a chance to make it to the cabin.”

Nathan pointed to Newburyport along the coast of Massachusetts. “What about this river here?”

“The Merrimack?”

“Yeah. It flows all the way to Concord.”

“From there it’s less than a two-hour drive to my cabin,” Alissa added.

Steve shook his head. “I thought of that, but it won’t work. There’s a damn in Lawrence, south of the New Hampshire border. We’d have to leave the boat and travel north through deader territory. Chances are, we wouldn’t survive a day.”

“I won’t argue with that,” said Nathan.

Alissa pulled the map closer and studied it. “How do you know so much about the rivers from this?”

“I don’t.” Steve punched his password into the laptop and opened a file that displayed dozens of close-range satellite photographs of the region. He spun the computer around so Alissa could see the screen. “I called up Google Maps and used the imagery to plot our route.”

“The Internet is still working?”

“It’s sketchy. It took me almost four hours to download these.”

“Good thinking,” said Nathan.

“He’s a smart man.” Miriam kissed her husband on the cheek. “That’s why he married me.”

“Where do we go from here?” Alissa asked.

“We head full speed for Portsmouth.” Steve closed the laptop. “We’ll be there in less than two hours, which should give us plenty of time to sneak through the city and be within the river system before the sun rises. The police will try and stop people from entering but, if we can make it past Portsmouth, they’ll have too much on their plate to track us down.”

“What about the two drawbridges in Portsmouth? How are we going to get by them?”

Steve folded the maps and laid them on top of the computer. “I’m working on the assumption the police will have both bridges raised to prevent deaders from crossing into Maine.”

“That’s what I would do,” said Nathan. “It’s the smart move.”

“Suppose the authorities in Portsmouth aren’t that smart?” asked Alissa. “What if the bridges are down?”

Steve shrugged. “We’ll have to deal with that when we get there.”

Chapter Three

Staff Sergeant Downey stood on the raised portion of the Sarah Milford Long Bridge, one of three connecting Portsmouth, New Hampshire with Kittery, Maine. With the rapid advance of the deaders up the seaboard, the governor had decided several hours ago to abandon the five-mile stretch of corridor along the coast, an overpopulated area with no natural barriers to stop the advance. Everything east of Route 108, from the Massachusetts border to Great Bay-Newington-Portsmouth area, which included the I-95 corridor, was being left to the deaders.

The remnants of the National Guard platoon outside of Hampton Beach, that had survived the outbreak, had fallen back to Portsmouth. Their orders were to set up a line of defense and keep the deaders out of Maine. This task that had fallen to him after the commander, Lieutenant Hannigan, had been torn apart south of Rye trying to save a family stuck on the side of the road. The remaining officers were killed during the retreat. Thankfully, the assignment seemed relatively easy, at least on paper.

The Piscataqua River flowed along the border between New Hampshire and Maine before turning south five miles inland, draining into the Great Bay, creating a natural cul de sac that would stop the deader advance. Only three bridges crossed the Piscataqua.

The structure farthest west was a six-lane arch bridge that crossed the river at an elevation of over one hundred feet. Two squads under the command of Sergeant Simmons had been assigned to its defense since it would be the easiest way for the deaders to cross. Simmons had blocked all six spans with abandoned vehicles, parked side by side, with no space between them, beginning at the start of the approach span and continuing for five hundred feet. One squad manned a Hummer with a roof-mounted machinegun, parking it on the center span to halt any deaders that managed to crawl over the barricade. If that line of defense failed, the second squad had placed a line of explosives two-thirds of the way across the bridge and would detonate them as a last resort.

The bridge farthest east was a vertical-span bridge that carried the local traffic between the two states. A squad under the command of Corporal Wilcox guarded this one. Downey ordered that one be kept open so stragglers had a chance of escaping the upcoming onslaught, although it would be raised at the first sign of a deader approach.

The middle one, a more modern vertical-span bridge and the one he commanded from, had its span raised hours ago to prevent anything from getting across. This bridge connected Route 1 between the two states and carried commercial traffic. From the southern edge of the raised span, Downey surveyed the situation through night vision binoculars.

The streets of downtown Portsmouth were clear of deader activity. Electricity still flowed through the area, running all the streetlamps, which made it easier to detect approaching deaders and gave survivors a better chance of escape. A few passed through every ten to fifteen minutes seeking sanctuary. Wilcox’s men checked them for bites and signs of infection before handing them off to a Shore Patrol detail. That patrol would take them to the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard to be detained in isolation for twenty-hours before being released. Scanning the length of Route 1 into New Hampshire as well as the elevated I-95 to his right showed no unusual activity.

Downey let the binoculars dangle around his neck and keyed the microphone to his communication headphones. “Wilcox, do you read me?”

A few seconds elapsed. “This is Wilcox. Over.”

“Cut the ‘over’ crap. What’s your situation?”

“We haven’t seen anyone or anything other than a stray cat in over an hour. Let’s hope things stay quiet.”

“Don’t jinx yourself. Let me know if anything changes. Raise the bridge the moment you spot a deader.”

“Roger that, sergeant.”

“Simmons, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear. Our situation is boring and friggin’ cold. Any chance of getting some hot coffee up here?”

“I’ll ask the guys at the navy yard to make a Dunkin’s run for you.”

“You’re the best, sarge. Have them bring some donuts while they’re at it.”

Downey chuckled. “Let me know if anything changes and stay frosty.”

“The last one won’t be hard.”

Downey leaned back to speak to his radio operator, a below average private 2nd class who preferred playing video games to doing his job. “Claptrap, get me Lieutenant Commander Jones.”

“It’s Clapton, sarge.”

Downey suppressed a grin and spun the fore and index fingers of his right hand, telling the soldier to hurry up. Jones commanded the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, an island facility surrounded by the Piscataqua River and, once the deaders reached the New Hampshire-side of the river, would be the officer responsible for the defense of coastal Maine. Because everything had deteriorated so rapidly, a proper line of communication had not yet been established with the navy yard so one of his squad with a hand-held radio shadowed Jones.

“He’s on the line.”

“Thanks.” Downey took the radio and held it to his ear. “Lieutenant Commander, this is Staff Sergeant Downey on the Sarah Milford Long Bridge. The situation is quiet.”

“Good to hear. Keep your eyes open. I received a police report about an hour ago noting that a horde of deaders had been reported on Route 95 near Pease.”

Don’t bother passing it on to us, asshole, Downey thought. “Roger, that, sir. I’ll keep you posted.” Downey returned the radio. “Did you get that, Claptrap?”

“Yes.”

“Pass it on to the other squads.”

“Yes, sergeant.” As he did as commanded, the soldier mumbled under his breath, “And it’s Clapton.”

Ocean Escape gently swayed on the river. Steve had cruised into the harbor two hours before sunrise with all lights off and the console set to dim, barely making any headway and being careful to stay as close as possible to the New Hampshire shoreline. He had stopped outside the Kittery Point Yacht Club on Goat Island, hoping that if anyone noticed the ship it wouldn’t raise suspicions. With all the lights still blaring in Portsmouth and Kittery, it would be easy to detect them if Steve sailed down the middle of the river. In addition, the naval shipyard stood less than a thousand feet to starboard. The caution proved fortuitous. If Steve had attempted to rush past the bridges, he would not have gotten far since the one closest to them remained in the lowered position.

Steve sat at the driver’s console. He had sent the kids below to stay with Archer and keep him company. Miriam followed a minute later with strict orders to keep the kids quiet, pull the blinds over the porthole windows, only use a flashlight, and not to come topside unless they were told to. Alissa and Nathan stood on either side of Steve.

After several minutes, Alissa whispered, “What now?”

“We wait.”

“For what?”

Steve motioned with his head. “For that drawbridge to go up. It’s the only thing standing between us and your cabin.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will, eventually. Raising that bridge is the only way to keep the deaders out of Maine.”

“What if we’re spotted first?” Nathan asked.

“That’s why I stopped here. I can crank her up and be back on the ocean before anyone can catch us.”

“Then what?”

“We head north, find another river that will take us inland, and hike the rest of the way.”

Alissa sighed. “Probably right into a deader horde.”

“As much as it sucks, this is our best bet.” Steve leaned back into the chair. “Now we wait for the right moment.”

“This is fucking awesome, dude.” Jimmy loaded boxes of Coors beer into the shopping cart. “If we had thought of this earlier, we could have hit up one of those pot dispensaries in Massachusetts.”

“Be thankful we thought of this when we did.” Fyler stepped over to the plastic cigarette display case behind the customer service counter. He slid a screwdriver between the lock on the plastic door and the shelf behind it, slid the tip to the end, closed his eyes, and jerked the handle up. A loud crack accompanied a chunk of shattered plastic that struck him in the face.

“Son of a fucking bitch!”

“You okay?” Martha Lee yelled from the snack aisle.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Fyler grabbed a large paper bag from behind the counter and emptied the cigarettes into it.

This had been a good idea, if he said so himself. But then, he had a lot of them. Stay away from the big cities. Take back roads. Head north where there were less people. Find a beach house that had been closed for the winter and party away the apocalypse. Oh, and take what you needed cuz the fucking cops were no longer a concern. That’s how they got the RAV-4 that sat in the parking lot, by borrowing it from a family they had stumbled across on this side of the traffic jam near Greenland. The husband cried like a fucking bitch when Fyler left him, his wife, and two little girls on the side of the road. Shit, he let them keep their stuff and left them on their own. Pussy didn’t even try to fight him. Maybe the bitch would finally grow a pair and start defending his family. If not, fuck him. No skin off his teeth. Survival of the fittest, baby.

His best idea yet happened as they passed through the roundabout in Portsmouth and had spotted the New Hampshire State Liquor and Wine Outlet. Shit, you can’t party away the apocalypse without party supplies. Getting in had been easy. The last one out didn’t bother to lock the doors or switch on the alarm. They walked right in and took only what they needed. If this shit storm lasted long enough, he might be able to start pulling together others who thought like him and maybe start rebuilding things the way they should be. With him in charge, of course.

Jimmy came around the corner with two shopping carts piled high with cases of beer. “How’s this?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

“Fuck, this is only the first load.”

“We don’t have enough room in the fucking SUV.”

“We have more than enough room.”

“Asshole, we got to save room for food. That’s more than enough for now.”

Jimmy tried not to show his disappointment at being dressed down by Fyler, especially with his girlfriend only a few aisles away.

“Load that up,” ordered Fyler. “First, get some whiskey.”

“Anything special?”

“A couple of cases of Jim Beam. And a case of Stoli while you’re at it.”

As Jimmy went to the back of the store to get the hard shit, Martha Lee came around the corner with her cart filled with bags of Fritos, Doritos, chips, pretzels, and candy. Typical for a bitch who weighed in at over two hundred pounds. Shit, Jimmy stayed with because the slut would do anything to keep a boyfriend. She pulled the cart behind one of the cash registers and began throwing the junk food into paper bags.

“What do you plan on doing? Getting even fatter and then hibernating for the winter?”

“I’m only getting some snacks.” Martha Lee reached into the cart and pulled out five boxes of beef jerky which she showed to Fyler before dropping into a bag. “See, even got protein.”

After filling five bags with junk food, she went from cash register to cash register, removing all the lottery tickets from their displays.

“What the fuck are you doing? They’re not worth anything.”

“I’m not stupid.” Martha Lee danced as she folded the tickets onto each other. “They’re for entertainment in case we get bored.

Fyler rolled his eyes, which Martha Lee did not notice, and headed for the exit.

“I’m going to check on Dorrie. You and Jimmy come out when—”

From the parking lot, the horn of the RAV-4 began to blare.

Murphy drove east along Route 4, throttling his midnight black Harley at close to one hundred miles per hour as he passed through Newington toward the interchange. His son, Dan, rode behind him on his own Harley, keeping enough distance for safety. As Murphy had anticipated, or at least had hoped, all the traffic would he heading away from the coast toward the mountains. Abandoned cars, trucks, buses, and SUVs blocked those lanes for miles. Thankfully, there were few vehicles on this side of the highway, allowing them to move quickly, the only thing that had gone right for him the past few days.

When the shit hit the fan two days ago, Murphy had been teaching a Russian History class at the University of New Hampshire. His son had been home relaxing after matriculating out of the Air Force five weeks earlier and his wife, Deborah, had been starting her shift at Emerson Hospital in Concord, Massachusetts. She had called him to warn about the outbreak in the emergency rooms throughout the Boston region. Deborah planned on staying to see if she could help contain the infection but, if it grew out of control, she would head home. Murphy would prepare what they needed to bug out and head for the summer home they owned on one of the islands in Casco Bay outside of Portland. The three of them could stay there until the crisis blew over or burnt itself out. Murphy never heard from his wife again. A few hours later, no cell phone connections were available in the greater Boston area and, according to the news, the outbreak had spread beyond the city limits. He realized the chances of ever seeing Deborah again were minimal. Murphy prepped her motorcycle and a well-stocked bug out bag, left both in the garage, and posted a note on the refrigerator telling Deborah that he and Dan had gone on ahead. The family moored a small boat in Portland that they used to travel to and from the island; he would come back to the mooring every day at noon for three weeks in case she made it that far, though he doubted she would. He and Dan had set out at 2100, hoping to reach Portland before sunrise. So far so good.

Murphy dropped his speed to fifty as he approached the interchange. A minute later, he spotted movement up ahead on the eastbound side of the highway. A dozen or so deaders wandered along, spread out for a quarter of a mile. No problem. They could easily maneuver around these few with no—

A deafening cry emanated from the westbound lanes of Route 4, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the Harley’s engine. Hundreds of deaders milled about the vehicles, each attracted by the sound of the two motorcycles rushing past. Desperate for food, they gave chase, the only thing saving Murphy and his son being the retaining wall between the lanes. Within seconds, a marauding mass of living dead swarmed after them. Up ahead, others raced toward the two, many falling over the retaining wall, stumbling to their feet, and rushing the two Harleys. Murphy and Dan swerved through the threat. If they continued along this route much longer, they would be overwhelmed.

Murphy saw the sign indicating the exit to I-95 North. He swerved left around a legless deader blocking his path, moving close enough to the retaining wall that one deader reaching over nearly ripped him from the motorcycle. Glancing over his shoulder, Murphy saw Dan had veered right, avoiding the horde. The two continued along the exit ramp, an increasing number of deaders giving chase. Within a minute, they drove through the Portsmouth, roundabout veered right, and entered the U-turn that would put them on I-95 north.

Without realizing it, they had passed within five hundred feet of the New Hampshire State Liquor and Wine Outlet.

Dorrie sat in the driver’s seat of the RAV-4, the engine off and the door open, wringing her hands. Every five seconds, she checked either the dash-mounted clock, the rearview mirror, or the mirror attached to the passenger’s door. As a change of pace, this time she pulled up her sleeve and checked her watch.

“God damn it, guys. Where are you?”

The others had been inside almost fifteen minutes. Fyler promised they would be out in five. Should she go in and check on them? If she did, should she lock the SUV and take the keys so no one would steal it? Would that make them sitting ducks if the deaders attacked? What if there were deaders inside the store? Fyler never left her a weapon and, even if he did, she had no idea how to use it. What kept them? If they didn’t come out soon, should she leave and head out on her own? What an idiotic thought. She had no idea how to survive in this type of situation. That’s why she had agreed to run away with Fyler. She needed to go inside, find out what delayed them, and hurry up their asses.

Dorrie heard a noise growing louder. Car engines. No, motorcycle engines. That’s all she needed; to get kidnapped by a biker gang. She jumped out of the car and headed toward the liquor store when she picked up another noise also growing increasingly louder, and much more frightening. A horde of deaders on the rampage. She focused her attention on the roundabout. Two motorcycles raced through, followed a moment later by a mass of deaders chasing them. A warm stream of urine ran down Dorrie’s leg. Without thinking, she leaned into the car, placed her hand on the horn, and pushed.

When she did, hundreds of the deaders switched direction, ignoring the motorcycles and charging toward the liquor store parking lot.

Murphy and Dan raced along the entrance ramp, the rampaging horde still behind them. Once Murphy came out of the curve onto I-95, he throttled up the Harley and pulled away from the deaders. A half dozen stretched out along the highway ahead of them, with a few more in the southbound lanes opposite the retaining wall. They posed no threat, scattered enough that the two men easily veered around them. Murphy checked on the swarm in his mirror, which remained a good distance behind them.

Dan accelerated, joining his father. With his right hand, he gestured ahead. Murphy focused his attention toward the bridge.

Damn.

Someone had used the abandoned vehicles to barricade the north- and southbound lanes from the last exit/entrance ramps on this side of the river and continuing for hundreds of feet, packing the lanes so tight not even the motorcycles could get through. Murphy slowed, stopping ten feet from the barricade.

Dan pulled up beside his father. “What now?”

“We have to figure out how to get across the river.”

“I’m not going back the way we came.”

“That’s suicide,” Murphy thought for a moment. “Let’s try one of the other—”

A bone-chilling snarl interrupted Murphy. Both men turned to see the horde of deaders drawing near, less than a hundred feet away and lunging, churned into a frenzy by the thought of fresh meat.

“Follow me.” Dan dismounted his Harley and bolted for the line of cars, jumping onto the trunk of a Volkswagen Passat. He continued running, making his way from vehicle to vehicle and heading for the bridge.

Murphy’s survival instinct took control over his paternal instinct. He knew he could never outrun the deaders by climbing over the barricade. Gunning his Harley, Murphy swung it into a U-turn and headed for the entrance ramp a few yards away. A deader in a road worker’s vest moved directly into his path. Murphy steered around it, using his right leg to kick the thing out of his way. Another deader, this one in a bus driver’s uniform, dived at him. Murphy accelerated, avoiding being tackled, although its leg bumped into his rear fender. For a moment, the Harley wobbled. Murphy knew if the motorcycle toppled, he would be dead. Regaining his balance at the last moment, he sped up and continued down the ramp, pulling onto Market Street and heading toward downtown Portsmouth.

Hundreds of the deaders chased after him.

Most of the horde jumped onto the barricade and pursued Dan.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Fyler exited the liquor store. “Trying to call every deader in the area?”

Dorrie pointed behind him. “They’re already here.”

The mass of deaders had entered the parking lot and were closing in. He ran for the RAV-4, screaming over his shoulder to Jimmy and Martha Lee.

“Get to the fucking car.”

Dorrie stood by the driver’s door, the front of her pants soaked. “Hurry!”

Fyler shoved Dorrie into the back seat. She tripped, hitting her head against the opposite door. Fyler could not care less. He slammed the door behind her, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the ignition.

Jimmy exited the liquor store, pushing along one of the shopping carts filled with cases of beer. Martha Lee walked several paces behind, lugging the bags of snacks. When Jimmy saw his friend getting ready to leave, he became furious.

“What the fuck? You leaving us you—”

Seven deaders tackled him at the same moment, knocking over the shopping cart and dragging Jimmy to the ground. One each grabbed an arm or leg, biting off huge chunks of flesh, while two others tore open his abdomen, dragging out his intestines and shoving them into their mouths. Jimmy thrashed about, crying loud enough to almost drown out the moans of the living dead. The screams switched from pain to insanity when the last deader dropped to its knees beside Jimmy’s head, bent over, and tore off his face with its teeth. Other deaders piled onto the frenzy, desperate to get their share of the meal.

At first, the deaders did not notice Martha Lee until she started screeching while watching her boyfriend being ripped apart. Those not already ravaging Jimmy charged toward her. The last Fyler saw of Martha Lee, she ran back into the liquor store with a pack of deaders close behind.

The remainder rushed the RAV-4.

Fyler slammed the driver’s door moments before the first deader reached him. Its hands smeared the window with blood. Fyler shifted into drive and floored the gas pedal as the swarm reached him. One jumped onto the rear bumper and clasped the roof rack, hanging on as Fyler darted across the parking lot. The exits were blocked by the horde. Instead, he drove along the front of the liquor store, dashing through the empty parking lot with the deaders chasing him. At the end of the lot, Fyler bounced the RAV-4 over the curb, throwing lose the deader, which crashed head-first onto the concrete and smashed open its head. He continued down the incline, bounced onto Route 1, and turned left for the bridge.

The swarm followed a hundred feet behind.

“Christ,” whined Clapton. “It feels like it’s getting colder up here.”

“That’s because it is, Claptrap. The temps are supposed to drop below freezing by morning.”

“Are you serious?”

Downey nodded.

“That’s all we need.”

“On the bright side, if we get a lot of snow, it’ll slow down the deaders and make it easier for us to stop their advance.”

“I never thought of that.”

“That’s why I have the stripes, soldier.”

Downey lifted the infrared binoculars to his eyes, scanning the area one more time. He thought he spotted something at the end of town and a mile away at the roundabout interchange, although he could tell for certain in the shimmering generated by the streetlamps at the circle. He switched to his regular pair and focused in.

“Fuck.”

A horde of the living dead rushed through the roundabout. No, that would be an understatement. A wall of deaders numbering in the hundreds stampeded through the roundabout and along Route 1 toward his position. At first, he did not understand what drove them until he spotted a bright red SUV a hundred feet ahead of the pack and rapidly pulling away.

Foster, the third member of the squad, stepped up beside Downey. “Should I have the operator lower the bridge so they can get across?”

Downey made quick calculations on whether he could safely get the survivors across when his headphones blared.

“Sarge, this is Simmons. Something’s going on over here and it doesn’t look good.”

Downey swung the binoculars to his right. Two motorcycles raced along I-95 toward the bridge with a second mass of stampeding deaders on their tail.

“Sarge,” called out Specialist Foster from inside the bridge control booth. “Should I have the operator lower the bridge?”

“Tell him to sit tight.” Downey keyed his microphone. “Simmons, if you can’t stop those things from crossing into Maine, you have authority to blow the bridge. I repeat, you have authority to blow the bridge. Don’t wait for orders from me.”

“Roger that.” Simmons’ voice had a nervous edge to it.

“Wilcox, do you copy?”

“I copy, sarge.”

“We’re under attack. Raise the bridge.”

Alissa paced the deck, not knowing what to do or what to say. Waiting like this was maddening. Her mind wandered, especially to what would happen in the morning when the sun came up and they were sitting here in the open.

A siren cut through the silence of the night, startling Alissa. “What’s that?”

“That means they’re about to raise the bridge.” Steve started the engine of the cabin cruiser.

“Hurry up.” Dorrie stared out the rear window of the RAV-4 as she banged her hand against the back of the driver’s seat. “They’re gaining on us.”

“No shit, bitch,” Fyler responded from behind the steering wheel. Despite his better judgment, he glanced in the rearview mirror. All he could see were those motherfuckers chasing them, though far enough behind they would never catch him. In a few minutes he’d be across the bridge and on his way to the northern coast where he—

“Fuck!”

Fyler slammed on the brakes. The RAV-4 skidded sideways, stopping at the intersection by the access road leading past the U.S.S. Albacore Museum.

Dorrie slid across the back seat and slammed into the right rear door. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“The goddamn bridge is up. We can’t get across.”

Fyler decided to swing left onto Market Street when Dorrie screamed, flung open the back door, and broke into a run toward the bridge. The approaching horde of deaders slammed into the driver’s side of the SUV, their combined weight shoving it sideways several feet. Several dozen chased after Dorrie. Most chose to swarm the easier meal trapped inside. Fyler pressed the accelerator, expecting to break free from the mass of living dead. His tires burned rubber, but the RAV-4 moved only a few feet, held in place by the increasing number of deaders covering the vehicle. Several discovered the open door in back and crawled in, dead hands clawing over the seat, fingers scraping and scratching against his face and neck. Fyler released the steering wheel and punched the deaders attempting to climb in front with him. One bit his hand, tearing a chunk out of his knuckles. Fyler never realized he had been infected, continuing his useless defense against the onslaught. The battle ended when a female deader in a white sweater and tan skirt crawled over the back of the passenger seat, dropped into the front, and attacked, digging its teeth into Fyler’s stomach. He stopped punching the others to rip it away from its feeding, allowing them to get him. Fyler cried out as the deaders inside the SUV tore him apart.

Dorrie saw none of that. She ran toward the bridge as if her life depended on it, which it did, yelling and waving her arms to attract the attention of those on the Sarah Milford Long Bridge.

The whir of engines and the scraping of metal echoed along the river as the center span of Memorial Bridge began to rise.

“Get ready folks.” Steve pushed the throttles and steered Ocean Escape away from the Kittery Yacht Club into the center of the river. “It’s show time.”

Alissa shifted the Mossberg 590 Tactical nine-round shotgun to her left hand. She reached behind her with the right, removed the Glock 23 from between her pants and the small of her back, and held it by her side. Her fingers clenched and unclenched around the grip.

The cabin cruiser approached the structure considerably faster than the center span could rise. Alissa backed away, as if the few feet would matter, stopping only when she bumped into the last bench of the dining area.

Nathan saw it as well. “Ah, Steve. Do you think you ought to slow down?”

“Trust me.” Steve set his attention on the rising span. “I got this.”

Seconds dragged as the cabin cruiser drew closer to the bridge. Eventually, the roof blocked her view of the span. Alissa took a deep breath. Every muscle stiffened as she braced for a collision, expecting a sudden jolt or the grinding of metal as the span tore into the cabin cruiser. Instead, the bridge supports passed by to port and starboard.

Alissa exhaled. “Son of a bitch, we did it.”

Steve lifted his right hand above his head and gave her a thumbs up. “I told you we—”

Semi-automatic fire ripped into the cabin cruiser, punching through the roof and ricocheting off the rear deck.

Murphy sped down Market Street. He checked the rearview mirror. The deaders were half a mile to his rear and falling behind. With luck, he might make it out of this. He only hoped Dan survived. The kid was tough, smart, and could take care of himself. They would meet up later in Portland.

Once in downtown Portsmouth, Murphy veered left onto Bow Street. The twin towers of Memorial Bridge stood a quarter of a mile away. Only a few minutes to safety.

His hopes were dashed when he heard the blaring siren. Murphy accelerated. When he reached the end of Bow Street, he swung left. The bridge stood a few hundred feet away and had not started to open. Increasing speed, he bolted onto the approach ramp.

A burst of semi-automatic fire chewed up the road twenty feet in front of him. Murphy applied the brakes too rapidly, flipping over the motorcycle and landing on his back.

Wilcox heard the engines before he or his men spotted it.

Corporal Taylor moved closer. “Sounds like a car’s approaching.”

“It’s a motorcycle,” corrected Wilcox. “The rider is probably trying to get across to Maine.”

“He’s out of luck.” Taylor chuckled.

Wilcox cast him a withering stare. “He’s only trying to stay alive like the rest of us.”

“Sorry.”

The motorcycle exited Bow Street and headed toward the bridge.

“You and Riviera flag him down and check him for bites before letting him across.”

Taylor snapped his fingers to get Private Riviera’s attention. “You heard the sergeant. Move out.”

Wilcox shook his head as the two men headed out to halt the motorcycle.

“Wilcox, do you copy?”

He keyed the microphone on his headset. “I copy, sarge.”

“We’re under attack. Raise the bridge.”

“Roger that.” Wilcox ran over to the bridge control booth, waving his arms.

The operator opened the door and stepped out. “What’s—”

“Raise the bridge. We have deaders on the way.”

“Fuck.” The operator ducked back inside.

A moment later, the warning siren blared and the stop gates lowered across the north and south lanes, their yellow lights flashing. Wilcox started to call back Taylor and Riviera. The motorcycle accelerated, attempting to reach the bridge before the span rose. Riviera raised his M4A1 Carbine, aimed at the driver, then at the last moment lowered the barrel and fired six rounds into the road in front of the motorcycle. The driver stopped short, flipping himself and his bike.

The span beneath Wilcox’ feet jolted and moved, trapping his men south of the river. He would find a way to get them out later. Raising his binoculars, he scanned the roads leading out of Portsmouth, searching for the approaching deaders Simmons had warned him about. Nothing. Hopefully a false—

An M4A1 Carbine went off behind him. Wilcox spun around. Private Neustadt leaned over the guardrail on the left side of the bridge, firing at a cabin cruiser that had passed beneath the span. A dozen rounds slammed into its roof and rear deck.

“What are you doing?”

Neustadt lowered his weapon. “Trying to stop them. They could be infected.”

“Stand down. You’ll never do it that way.” Wilcox keyed his microphone. “Sarge, you have a rogue boat heading your way trying to run the checkpoints.”

“Sarge, you have a rogue boat heading your way trying to run the checkpoints.”

Downey stepped over to the right guardrail and spotted the cabin cruiser heading toward them. He checked on the young woman who had jumped out of the SUV. She still ran toward them with the deaders slowly gaining.

Downey spun around to the bridge control booth. “Foster.”

“Yes, sarge?”

“Tell the operator to lower the bridge.”

Alissa spun around so she faced the stern. Raising the Glock, she fired five rounds toward the rising span of Memorial Bridge. The bullets struck the metal structure above the gunman, pinging as they ricocheted off the steel. The gunman crouched to avoid being hit.

Nathan rushed up behind Alissa and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Good. You opted to make him take cover rather than kill him.”

“Of course.” Alissa refused to admit she had been shooting at the gunman but her aim was horrible.

“I’ll guard our rear. Go check on Steve. I think he’s wounded.”

Alissa headed forward. Steve clutched his hand against his stomach, hunched over a few inches in pain. Blood stained his shirt. Without being in an ER, the chances of Steve surviving a gut wound were slim.

“Where were you hit?” she asked, placing the shotgun and Glock on the dining table.

“Here.” Steve held out his hand. Blood poured from a hole in the palm. The top half of his middle and ring fingers were missing. “A stray round struck my hand when I gave a thumbs up. Screw my luck.”

Alissa examined the wound. The bullet entered through the middle of his hand and exited through the palm, tearing off the ends of his two fingers and shattering the phalange bones. Blood poured from the wound but did not spurt, meaning the bullet had not struck an artery.

“Am I gonna bleed out?” Steve asked.

“It’s going to hurt like hell, but you’ll be fine. Be right back.”

Steve held his hand by his side. Blood dripped from the remaining fingers, forming a pool by the control console. Alissa used her knife to cut off the sleeve to her sweater and wrapped it around his hand twice, tying the two ends together on the top of his hand and pulling the knot tight to cut off the blood flow.

“We need to get you below and fix that up.”

“Later. If we get the chance.”

“What do you mean ‘if’?” Alissa followed Steve’s gaze farther down the river.

The center span of the Sarah Milford Long Bridge had begun to descend, threatening to block them.

Dorrie saw the bridge lowering to rescue her. She had not prayed in years, or been to church for twice that long, but still thanked God for helping. Now she asked for one more favor, hopefully not pushing her luck. She prayed those things chasing her would not catch up.

She had already made it to the portion of the bridge over the water. Only a few hundred feet to go.

Downey switched his gaze between the approaching cabin cruiser and the young woman running toward them. The first one would not pose a problem. The bridge would be lowered by the time it reached them, trapping it in the bay.

The woman was another issue. Her pace had already slackened off from exertion, allowing the deaders to gain on her. His squad would not be able to fire on the living dead without catching her in the crossfire. He made a quick mental calculation. Even if she reached them, which seemed unlikely, there would not be enough time to stop the flow of deaders and raise the span before they overwhelmed his squad. Damn.

“Foster!”

The soldier leaned out of the bridge control booth. “What?”

“Tell the operator to stop lowering the span.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do it.”

“Nooo!”

A mixture of emotions raced through Dorrie’s mind when the center span stopped moving. Anger. Terror. And resignation. Dorrie gave up and stopped running.

Two seconds later, the horde of deaders swarmed over her. Three tackled her, knocking her face-first onto the cement. Another dozen or so piled on top, nearly twenty sets of hands clawing at her flesh and tearing at her chest. Dorrie had gone numb, not even feeling it when one of the living dead pulled open the flesh and muscles around her abdomen. Dozens of hands plunged inside, clutching whatever organ they could and dragging it from her body, kneeling in a circle as they consumed her alive.

Knowing they would never have a chance to feed from this human, the rest of the horde charged toward those standing on the raised span of the bridge.

“Did the bridge stop?” Alissa asked.

“Someone’s watching out for us.” Steering with his left hand, Steve used the lower palm of his right to push the throttles to full, wincing in pain as he did. The cabin cruiser closed the distance with the bridge. They would pass within fifteen feet of the support piling.

“Will we clear it?”

“With room to spare.”

From the stern, Nathan called out. “We have incoming on the left.”

“What the Hell is he talking about?” Steve leaned to the side to get a better view. “Shit!”

A horde of deaders poured off the edge of the bridge into the river, like living dead lemmings. Steve swung the cabin cruiser to starboard. Alissa watched the living dead waterfall, wishing them good riddance. Four of the deaders noticed the cabin cruiser rushing by and kicked off at the edge of the highway, trying to gain the extra momentum to reach them. One hit the side of the boat and bounced back into the water. The other three landed on Ocean Escape, one on the forward deck, one on the roof, and one on the rear deck, slamming into Nathan.

The deader on the bow, a woman dressed in a torn and bloody waitress’ uniform, snarled and smashed its face against the windshield. It kept up the assault, leaving broken teeth and gore against the glass. A spiderweb crack spread across the surface. Alissa grabbed the Glock from the dining table, stepped in front of Steve, and raised the weapon, steadying her aim on its face. The deader snarled. Alissa fired three rounds. The first two disintegrated its head. The last thudded into the body as it slumped against the windshield.

“Thanks.” Steve motioned to the back. “Go help Nathan.”

Nathan needed it. The deader that had landed on him, a male with no shirt and its internal organs missing, had shoved him against the starboard gunwale and pinned Nathan’s AR-15 rifle against his chest. Its shredded fingers clutched at his face, scraping against his skin. Nathan extended his arms, using the stock of the weapon to keep the deader at arms’ length. Bending his right leg, he tried to place his foot on its chest and push it away, but did not have enough room to maneuver. Mustering all his strength, Nathan extended and locked his arms, shoving the thing away enough so he could place his foot against its ribcage. Loosening his arms, he allowed the deader to get closer before kicking out. The deader flew across the deck and crashed into the port gunwale. It shook itself, snarled, and leaped. Nathan was still halfway to his feet and not ready to defend himself when Alissa body checked the deader. It stumbled to its right, teetering precariously on the stern. She stepped forward and kicked it, sending the deader tottering off the boat. It splashed about, trying to stay afloat, no longer remembering how to swim. As Ocean Escape drew way, the thing disappeared beneath the surface of the river.

Alissa extended her middle finger toward the churning water. “Good riddance you—”

“Alissa, watch out!”

Nathan’s warning came too late. She had forgotten about the deader that had landed on the roof. It had crawled to the stern and dropped on her back, pinning her to the deck. Face down, she could not defend herself. Only the deader’s body mass centered on her back prevented it from getting into a good position to bite. Alissa pulled her arms close to her side and kept moving her head to present as small a target as possible. She waited for the inevitable bite that would seal her doom.

Nathan slammed the stock of his AR-15 into the back of the deader’s head, momentarily stunning it. He used the pause to pull the deader off Alissa with his left hand and drag it into the center of the boat. When he did, it rolled over and attacked. Nathan did not have time to aim. Instead, he rammed the stock into its face, knocking out several teeth, breaking away the left jaw hinge, and shattering the front of its skull. Despite the facial distortions, it continued its assault. Nathan pushed as hard as he could. The deader stumbled back a few feet and collapsed onto the deck, then scrambled back to its feet. Alissa stepped up beside it and fired a single round from the Glock into the side of its temple, blowing away the upper right side of its head. It still did not drop. Slowly turning to her, it opened its mouth and snarled. Alissa placed the barrel of the Glock into its mouth and pulled the trigger. The back of its head disintegrated, leaving only a chunk of the left-hand side of the skull dangling by its neck from a piece of flesh. The deader swayed for a moment before dropping to the deck.

“I hope you’re done,” said Steve. His back and the console were covered in blood and chunks of skin and gore from Alissa’s last two shots.

“Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” He smiled at her. “But you’re cleaning the boat.”

“How much farther?” asked Nathan.

“We should clear the last bridge in a few minutes.”

“Thank God.” Nathan tapped Alissa on the shoulder. “Let’s dump this thing overboard.”

Dan panted, his breathing hitching and shallow, even though he jogged three miles a day. However, a huge difference existed between an exercise routine and running across parked vehicles with a pack of flesh-hungry deaders chasing you. All the jumping from vehicle to vehicle wore him out. Nor did it help that those crazed things behind him never tired. He refused to check on them but could hear their growls drawing closer.

A deader entered his peripheral vision off to his right. Dan waited for it to attack. Instead, the thing’s head exploded. One hundred feet ahead of him, three soldiers stood at the end of the barricade, two on either side sniping at any deaders that drew too close and one in the center urging Dan to run faster. Summoning what little energy he had left, Dan bolted across the cars toward safety.

A blue Amazon van blocked his path. Dan side jumped from the roof of the Dodge Charger to the roof of a Toyota Corolla. Ahead of him, side by side, were a Jeep with a canvass roof and a Ram. He knew he could never get over the Jeep, so he headed toward the pick-up and jumped, catching his foot on the pick-up’s right rear fender. Dan crashed into the bed. The loud snap and the pain shooting down his left side told him he had broken his arm in the fall. Despite the throbbing, Dan rose and attempted to climb over the cab of the pick-up when two deaders dove into the bed. One grabbed Dan from behind and sunk its teeth into his neck. The other tried to bite his arm but could not break through the leather jacket. More deaders piled into the bed until no room remained, each tearing into their prey. The leather jacket and pants slowed the deaders but did not stop them, only prolonging Dan’s agony. Eventually, frenzied fingers and teeth broke through the material and ravaged the flesh beneath. Already weakened by the massive blood loss from the first wound in his neck, Dan did not feel his body being ripped apart.

The several hundred deaders that could not fit in the back of the pick-up surged ahead, focusing on the three meals at the end of the barricade.

Simmons stood on the center span on the I-95 bridge, watching the scene play out through a pair of binoculars. He doubted the motorcycle rider would make it past the barricade. Even if he did, the deaders would be hot on his heels, so blowing up the bridge became the only option to keep the outbreak from reaching Maine. He lowered the binoculars and keyed the microphone on his headset.

“Kenney, is everything set to bring down the center span?”

“Just waiting for the word, sergeant.”

“All right. Hang tight.”

“Shit,” said Private 1st Class Brooks, who stood beside Simmons. “The deaders took down our runner.”

Simmons raised the binoculars in time to see a pack of the living dead swarming over the runner in the back of the Ram. Damn, he almost made it. He keyed his microphone again.

“Lee, fall back. Fast. We’re gonna blow the bridge once you’re clear.”

“On our way.”

Simmons walked over to the two soldiers in the Humvee, one in the driver’s seat and the other manning the .50 caliber machinegun. “Cover their retreat until they reach this point then fall back.”

“Yes, corporal.”

Simmons and Brooks retreated to the Maine side of the bridge. As they reached Kenney and the detonator, they heard the .50 caliber come to life, the heavy staccato echoing through the night. Simmons stood beside Kenney.

“On my command.”

Kenney held the detonator in his left hand, his right ready to set off the charges.

A minute later, the Humvee crested the top of the span doing over sixty miles per hour, the machine gunner firing to his rear. Four hundred feet behind the vehicle, the first of the deader horde crested the top of the span. Simmons waited until the Humvee cleared the explosion zone and gave a single command to Kenney.

“Now.”

A series of explosions detonated along the southern and northern boundary of the center span, creating a cloud of smoke and dust that partially hid the deaders from view. For a moment, Simmons thought the explosives had failed. Then he heard the creaking of steel strained beyond its limits. Without warning, the center span separated from the rest of the structure and plummeted one hundred thirty-five feet into the Piscataqua River below.

Directly in the path of Ocean Escape.

Alissa and Nathan dropped the deader’s corpse off the stern when explosions went off above them. Nathan ducked. Alissa directed her attention toward the bridge. Scores of rocks of various sizes rained down. She reached out, grabbed Nathan by the collar, and yanked him under the roof as the stones began landing around them. Several fell on the cabin cruiser, the larger ones denting the roof and deck, including the space were Nathan had been crouching. One the size of a basketball fell on the waitress deader on the fore deck, exploding her and covering the windshield in blood and gore.

Steve jerked back. “What the—”

“They blew the bridge,” Alissa yelled. “Get us out of here.”

Steve already had the throttles pushed as far forward as possible, which left only one possible option. Yanking the joystick right, he swung the cabin cruiser to starboard and headed for the riverbank.

Alissa ran over to port. The debris falling from the bridge had lessened. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, the sound of steel straining and snapping filled the area. A moment later, the center span broke free and collapsed.

Murphy stumbled to his feet, bruised and sore, but thankfully with no broken bones. He also lucked out that he fell in such a way he had not hit his head, otherwise he would be dead or incapacitated. As he stood and regained his balance, a voice barked an order.

“Don’t move.”

Two National Guard soldiers stood in front of him, their Carbines aimed at his head.

“You’re bleeding.” Taylor used the barrel of his weapon to point toward Murphy’s left arm. The leather had been torn and blood stained his shirt underneath. “Have you been bit?”

“No, you asshole. I got it when you nearly shot me off my fucking motorcycle.”

“Come with us. We need to check you for… motherfucker.”

Hundreds of deaders raced out of Bow Street and swarmed the approaches to Memorial Bridge. Both men raised their weapons. Taylor ordered, “Move!”

Murphy did not need to be told twice. He ducked and ran between the two soldiers. They ignored him, concentrating on bringing down as many of the deaders as possible, an impossible task. There were too many to take out by themselves, even if they had enough ammunition. The guardsmen bought time for Murphy to make it to the raised span. He assumed whoever commanded the show would not risk lowering the bridge for him. A vertical beam sloped up at a seventy-five-degree angle. Using the holes of the castellated beam, he made his way to the top of the span. The two National Guardsmen had dropped their weapons and headed back to the bridge. One must have spotted Murphy climbing the beam and attempted to do the same; the deaders reached him before he could made it more than a few feet, ripping him off the structure and tearing him apart. The second ran for the raised span, making it only twenty feet before the horde overwhelmed him. A few of the living dead spotted Murphy and howled, attracting the attention of others. Those not feeding rushed the steel structure, snarling and groping at the meal they could not reach.

Not that it mattered. Murphy sat down on the top beam and breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was alive.

Wilcox stared down at the carnage below. He felt horrible about Taylor and Riviera. They deserved better than to be torn apart by the living dead. As for the motorcyclist, the son of a bitch had made it this far so they might as well help him out.

“Foster.”

He stuck his head out of the control booth. “Yeah?”

“Tell the operator we’re going to lower the bridge enough to rescue the survivor on top of the span. Then come down here and help me get this guy to safety.”

“Roger that.”

Wilcox keyed the microphone on his headset. “Sarge, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“I wanted to let you know we’re lowering the span to rescue a survivor trapped on top of the span. And to let you know we lost Taylor and Riviera.”

“Damn.”

“What about that boat that slipped by us? Did you stop it?”

“It got by us. I’ll check with—”

All conversation ceased when the explosions sounded from the I-95 bridge. Everyone, even the living dead, watched as the center span collapsed into the river. Several seconds of stunned silence followed before Downey finally muttered through the headset, “Holy shit.”

“Do you see the boat?” asked Wilcox.

“No. Simmons, there was a cabin cruiser heading your way. Can you see it?”

A momentary pause. “Can’t see a thing, sarge. It must not have made it through.”

Poor bastards, Wilcox thought. At least they were in a better place.

Alissa’s eyes widened in terror as she watched hundreds of tons of steel and concrete plummet toward them. The boat lurched to starboard, nearly throwing her off the side. Alissa closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. Instead of crushing the cabin cruiser, the span landed five feet behind them and to the left. She opened her eyes, staring at the edge of the span only a few yards away. A wall of water washed over them, pushing Nathan against the forward bulkhead and dousing Steve, and propelling the boat thirty feet toward the riverbank. Steve swerved to port to avoid crashing into the rocks, heading into a small cove filled with pleasure craft where he throttled back the engines. Alissa kept her gaze focused on the span that almost killed them, watching it sink beneath the surface of the Piscataqua River.

When the ripples died down, Steve steered out of the cove and headed north up the river.

Nathan stood, shaking his head as much to dry off the water as to bring back his senses. He still needed to support himself on the dining bench. “What happened?”

“You almost got killed,” answered Alissa. “Twice.”

“How much more of this do we have to go through?”

“That was the last bridge. It’s clear sailing from here.” Steve turned to Alissa. “Could you check on Miriam and the kids? I’m sure they’re freaking out down there.”

“I will.” Alissa headed below deck.

Chapter Four

Alissa reached the door to the main stateroom. Archer’s meowing could be heard out here. The poor thing must be terrified. Alissa knocked. Miriam responded, her voice wavering and tinged with panic.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Alissa.” She tried to open the door, but Miriam had locked it from the inside.

“Just a minute.”

Alissa heard Miriam approach the door and unlock it. The door opened a foot. Miriam clutched the Mossberg, her hands shaking as if she feared she might have to use it. She relaxed upon seeing Alissa and pulled the door wide.

“Sorry. We had no idea what’s going on up there. For all that I knew, we’d been boarded.”

“A few deaders jumped onto the ship from the bridge but we cleared them off.”

“It must have been bad.” Miriam closed the door. “We heard rounds hitting the deck.”

“That was the military trying to stop us.”

“Our own people were shooting at us?”

Alissa nodded.

“Do I dare ask what happened a few minutes ago.”

“You mean all the maneuvering and the big splash?”

“Yeah.”

“We were almost crushed when a portion of the bridge nearly fell on us.”

Little Stevie’s eyes lit up. “Cool. I wished I could have seen it.”

Miriam was not as excited as her son. Her eyes focused on where the sleeve to her sweater used to be and the blood stains on Alissa’s hands. She dropped onto the edge of the bed trying to comprehend everything. “Is everyone all right?”

Alissa hesitated a moment before responding, “Yes.”

Miriam’s lips quivered. “Kids, take Archer into the bathroom. I think he needs a drink of water.”

“Bullshit,” said Kiera. “You’re trying to get rid of us.”

“No,” Miriam lied. “I want to shut up that damn cat.”

Kiera confronted Alissa. “Did something happen to dad?”

Miriam started to argue with her when Alissa jumped in. “A stray bullet hit you father in the hand. He may lose movement in some of his fingers, but he’ll be fine.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not lying?”

Alissa took Kiera’s hands in her own. “I’ll always tell you the truth. Considering what’s going on out there, you’re going to be growing up quickly. Do you believe me?”

The teenager took on an adult air. “I do.”

Alissa squeezed her hands lightly and released them. She removed the torn sweater, trying not to laugh when Little Stevie made a face at her being topless.

“What now?” asked Miriam.

Alissa opened the closest and selected a plaid shirt that seemed warm. “Is everything ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Then come up and join us on deck. We should be reaching our final stop in a few minutes. After that, we’ll be on foot.”

*     *     *

After leaving the cove, Steve steered Ocean Escape along the Maine bank of the Piscataqua River, keeping the speed slow so there would be no wake or noise to attract unwanted attention. Where the river split at Bloody Point, he stayed right and continued for several miles. Soon the Piscataqua came to an end and divided into two smaller waterways, Salmon Falls River, which ran north, and Cocheco River, which ran west. Steve veered the cabin cruiser down the Cocheco River as the women emerged on deck.

Miriam ran over to Steve and hugged him from behind. “Are you okay, love?”

Steve patted her arm with his left hand. “I’m fine.”

“What about your hand?” Miriam clasped his right wrist and examined the wound. He winced. “Does it hurt?”

“When you yank on it, yes.”

“Sorry.”

While the two bantered, Alissa moved up alongside Nathan. She noticed the eastern horizon above the tree line appeared a reddish-orange and the undersides of the clouds glowed yellow from the rising sun.

“Where are we?”

“According to Steve, about two miles outside of Dover. There’s a marina there we’re going to dock at if there are spaces available.”

“Then what?”

“You, me, and Miriam will head into town, check out the situation, and see if we can find some transportation to get to your cabin.”

Alissa directed her attention down the river. “What do you think will be there?”

Nathan shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Chapter Five

Steve maneuvered Ocean Escape down the center of the river, passing through the narrows and past a small island. Nathan stood by him, with Miriam to starboard and Alissa to port, watching their flanks. Nathan had opened the bag of weapons he had commandeered from the Nahant Police armory and distributed them. He had already issued both women Mossberg shotguns. Nathan switched out the AR-15 for a Sig Sauer MPX K short-barreled submachine gun with a thirty-round magazine. Alissa kept her Glock as her secondary weapon while Nathan and Miriam each sported a Smith and Wesson M&P 40 sidearm. Nathan had given Steve a Model 870P pistol-grip pump-action shotgun, which would be easier to use with his wounded right hand.

Alissa did not know if they would need the weapons. As the cabin cruiser approached the outskirts of Dover, everything seemed peaceful. No, deserted would be more accurate. No traffic flowed along the roads adjoining the river. Nobody jogged or walked their dogs. No noises came from the city. Most important, no deaders prowled the streets hunting for food. As they drew closer to the marina, most of the mooring spaces were empty, though she couldn’t be certain if that resulted from everyone having drydocked their boats for the coming winter or having escaped while they could. She assumed the latter. The city seemed evacuated, as if the residents had headed north before deaders overran them.

“Where is everyone?” asked Miriam.

“Long gone is my guess,” said Nathan. “I don’t blame them. With that horde heading this way, I’d be on my way to Canada as well.”

“What does that mean for us?” asked Alissa.

“It means we find a couple of reliable vehicles, load up on supplies that we need, and head for North Conway.”

“How are we going to buy that stuff if no one is around?”

“We don’t buy it. We take it.” Nathan noticed the disapproval from Alissa. “Everything changed when the dead started coming back to life.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I’m still not used to it yet.”

“You better get used to it soon or you won’t last long.” Nathan did not say it to be cruel or demeaning, but as a matter of fact.

Steve decreased speed as he approached and maneuvered Ocean Escape closer to the dock. A sign nailed to one of the mooring posts read Welcome to George’s Marina while a smaller one beneath listed in small letters the rules that had to be followed. Steve reversed engines, slowing the cabin cruiser so it floated two feet away. Nathan slung his MPX K over his shoulder and jumped onto the dock. Miriam threw him the forward mooring line which he used to pull the cabin cruiser close. When she tossed him the aft line, he anchored the boat in place. Steve shut down the engines.

“Are you ladies ready?” asked Nathan.

“Let’s do this,” Alissa answered.

“Will you be all right on your own?” Miriam asked her husband.

“I’ll be fine. Worst case, I’ll head back into the middle of the river and wait for a signal from you guys.”

Miriam kissed Steve and whispered she loved him before joining the others on the rear of the cabin cruiser. Nathan helped them onto the dock and motioned for them to follow. He kept his eyes fixed on the riverbank to their right, scanning for any potential danger, living or otherwise. Only when they approached one of the few docked boats did he switch his attention, training his weapon on the vessel until they had passed. After a few minutes and several hundred feet, the three reached the end of the dock where it made land near Castaways Restaurant. Nathan raised his hand for the two women to stop. He faced them, started to speak, and instead rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Miriam asked.

“The way you’re holding your weapons.”

Alissa had no idea what Nathan referred to. She held her Mossberg in her right hand, holding it by the trigger housing and resting the stock on her hip. Miriam had slung her Mossberg over her right shoulder and carried it across her back. The two women looked at each other and back to Nathan, not understanding what he referred to.

“If you’re attacked, you’ll be dead before you can train your weapon on the target. Hold it like me.” Nathan lifted his MPX K to show them. “Drape the sling around the back of neck and keep your hands on the trigger housing and the barrel, with the barrel pointing toward the ground. And don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

Alissa and Miriam copied how Nathan held his weapon. Miriam hefted her shotgun and smiled at Alissa. “Now we’re bad-ass.”

Nathan stifled a sigh. “Stay ten feet behind me, one of you on my right and the other on the left. Call out if you see anything.”

He removed a sheet of paper with a printed map of the city on it and headed out. They followed Cocheco Street until it merged with Portland Avenue and continued for a quarter of a mile to Central Avenue. Nathan paused at the intersection and studied the map.

“There we go.” Nathan folded the map and slid it into his pocket.

“What?”

He pointed north toward a large sign half a mile away towering above the other buildings for new and pre-owned vehicles.

“Follow me.”

Alissa kept a wary eye scanning her surroundings, expecting a deader attack at any moment. After a few minutes, however, she found herself surprised at the serenity of the city. After Boston, Nahant, and Portsmouth, she expected Dover to be a warzone. Instead, it seemed like a small New England town early on Sunday morning. No cars. No pedestrians. No sign of activity. She figured there would be some indications of a panicked retreat, like abandoned vehicles or looted stores. None of that existed here. It seemed as if the entire population closed shop, packed up, and left. For some reason, she found it more disturbing than those areas overrun by deaders.

When they arrived at the dealership, Nathan entered and made his way to the sales building.

“What are you looking for?” asked Alissa.

He smiled and pointed. “That.”

Opposite the main entrance to the sales building sat a black Ram 3500 four-door pick-up. Nathan rushed over to the truck and walked around the exterior, checking to make sure the tires were inflated. The two women stood a few yards away, examining his choice.

“You sure it’s not too small,” quipped Alissa.

“Laugh if you want.” Nathan stood on the running board and checked out the size of the rear bed. “We need to haul six people, one cat, and a shitload of supplies up to the mountains. And we might have to fight our way through deaders to get there.”

“Do you think that’s a possibility?” asked Miriam.

“Probably not. But we have no idea what’s between us and the cabin. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“I agree.”

Nathan tried the driver’s door. It was locked.

Alissa motioned toward the sales office. “Do you want me to go inside and search for the key?”

“No need for that.” Nathan slid his M&P 40 from its holster and aimed at the side of a locked key box mounted on the driver’s window. “Cover your eyes.”

Miriam placed her forearm over her eyes while Alissa closed hers and bowed her head. Nathan fired, blowing the lid off the lock box. The cover and the keys dropped to the ground. He grabbed the latter, unlocked the door, and slid into the driver’s seat. The Cummins Turbo diesel engine roared to life. He let in run for a few seconds before shutting it off and climbing out.

“Now we have to find another means of transportation.”

Miriam seemed confused. “That won’t be enough?”

“Not to carry all of us and our supplies. Besides, it’s safer to have a back-up vehicle in case this one breaks down.”

Alissa started down the lot. “Do you want another pick-up?”

“I want something enclosed, like an SUV. Make sure it has four-wheel drive.”

The three searched for several minutes. Towards the rear of the building, Alissa came across a white Land Rover with a Previously Owned sign taped to the inner windshield.

“Nathan, would a Land Rover do?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Nathan and Miriam joined her. Alissa had already made the rounds of the vehicle, checking the tires. Nathan read the specs taped to the driver’s window.

“Good. It takes unleaded.”

“Why’s that good?” asked Alissa.

“The Ram only takes diesel. It gives us more options in case we have trouble finding one type of gas over the other. The more options we have, the better our chances of surviving.”

Miriam leaned over and examined the interior. “Does it have a DVD system?”

Nathan stared at her, incredulous. “You’ve never been in an emergency situation, have you?”

Miriam met his gaze. “You’ve never been on a road trip with two kids, have you?”

Alissa snickered. Nathan glared at her for a second, then broke into a smile. “You win that one.”

Miriam nodded. “I assume I’ll be driving this?”

“Yes.”

Miriam withdrew her M&P 40 and approached the lock box. Nathan stepped away as Alissa covered her eyes. A gunshot echoed across the dealership. A few seconds later, Miriam sat inside the Land Rover and started the engine.

Nathan leaned inside the cab. “Everything good?”

Miriam nodded. “It has less than a quarter of a tank.”

“So does the pick-up. Follow us. We passed a gas station on the way here.”

Less than five minutes later, they pulled up to the gas pumps at the local Quick 2 Go. Miriam and Alissa headed to fill up the tanks while Nathan approached the market area. He tried the door, but it had been locked.

“Damn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get in. I don’t know how we’re—”

The pinging of the pumps cut him off. He made his way around the pick-up to find Alissa and Miriam gassing up the two vehicles.

“How did you do that?”

Alissa held up a credit card. “We paid for the gas.”

Miriam scrunched her eyes. “Did you want us to steal the gas, too?”

“Whatever works.”

When both tanks were filled and Miriam had climbed back into the Land Rover, Nathan approached the driver’s window. “Head back to the docks. Gather up everything you can from the boat and load it up.”

“Where are you going?”

“The map says there’s a hospital a few miles up the road. Alissa and I are going to hit it up for extra supplies. We’ll join you in about an hour.”

“Don’t do anything foolish.” Miriam started the Land Rover. “We’ll be ready when you get back.”

Miriam exited the gas station, headed south on Central Street, and made her way back to the dock. Alissa waited for Nathan to climb into the passenger’s seat and drove north until they reached Wentworth-Douglas Hospital. She drove past the main entrance.

“Where are you going?”

She motioned with her head. “I’m heading for the ER.”

“Isn’t that risky? Wouldn’t it be safer to hit up the pharmacy?”

“Chances are good the pharmacy is locked down if it hasn’t already been cleaned out. Our best chance of getting meds is the ER. Besides, they’ll have the other medical supplies we need.”

Alissa turned off Central Avenue into the ER entrance. She stopped short as she approached the ambulance bays to the Emergency Room. Her hands began to shake and her voice quivered.

“Jesus Christ.”

Rows of corpses lined the parking area in front of the ER, each covered by a blood-soaked sheet. An ambulance sat in the parking lot perpendicular to the bays. Its rear doors were open and dried blood stained the floor, the rear fender, and the cement. A few feet away, a stretcher lay on its side, the side rails raised and the replacement pad covered in blood and claw marks. A New Hampshire State Police squad car sat across from the ambulance, riddled with bullet holes; blood tinted the fractured rear window Each bay contained two ambulances parked side by side with no room between them, sealing off the entry ways. A fire engine had been parked against the front façade of the ER, blocking the entrance.

Nathan reached out and placed his hand on Alissa’s. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “It brings back memories of Boston.”

“Let’s go.”

“No.” Alissa shut off the engine, slid the keys into her pocket, and got out.

Nathan followed. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, we do. And I have to get used to this if I want to survive. Come on.”

They made their way to the covered corpses. Alissa slung the strap of her Mossberg around her neck and aimed the Glock at the first corpse. Nathan crouched and pulled back the cover. The body that lay beneath belonged to a State Trooper, the side of his neck ripped open, his shirt shredded with fingernail scratches raking deep into his chest, and a single bullet hole in the side of his head between the right ear and eye. Nathan replaced the sheet and moved down to the next body, with Alissa shifting her aim. Lifting the sheet revealed a young boy no more than ten, his left arm torn off, a chunk of flesh bitten out of his cheek, with a single bullet in the same location.

Nathan swallowed hard. “Oh, my God.”

“Get used to it.”

Nathan glanced up at Alissa, taken aback by her callousness until the realization dawned on him. “That bad?”

“You have no idea.” She used the Glock to point to the next body in line.

Nathan covered the child, moved over to the corpse, and pulled back the sheet. A nurse lay on the ground, barely in her early twenties. Alissa guessed she had probably graduated nursing school that summer. HEATHER had been printed across her name badge. The only wounds were the bullet through the side of the head and a bite mark on her left arm.

Alissa’s anger boiled over. “God damn those mother fucking bastards. She hadn’t reanimated yet. She had only been bitten and they still shot her.”

“There was no way to save her.”

“Bullshit.”

Nathan pulled the sheet back over Heather. “Whoever did this tried to keep the situation under control.”

“They could have waited until she became one of those things. They didn’t have to murder her in cold blood.”

Nathan said nothing. What could he say?

The muffled moaning of dozens of deaders broke the silence. Alissa scanned the parking area for danger while Nathan raised his MPX K and searched around the building.

“Over there,” he said. “In the ER.”

The windows at the far end of the Emergency Room were filled with several dozen deaders, each biting at the glass and clawing to get at them. At least those were the ones they could see. Alissa assumed dozens more pressed against the other windows and the sliding doors, blocked by the fire engine. That explained why all the passages were blocked. She assumed the rest of the hospital was infested as the ER.

Alissa lowered her weapon and headed back for the pick-up. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s no way we’re going in and out of there alive. We passed one of those chain drugstores on the way here. They’ll have what we need.”

Chapter Six

Nathan pulled into the driveway of the drugstore and stopped near the entrance. Alissa checked the rest of the parking lot for any signs of deaders. She spotted nothing except a Nissan Pathfinder abandoned in one of the nearby handicapped spaces.

“The coast is clear.”

Nathan shut down the Ram. “Let’s go.”

They climbed out of the pick-up, slung their main weapons over their neck and held the weapons so they were ready to fire, if necessary. Alissa led the way toward the building.

They were ten feet from the entrance when the automatic doors opened. Nathan and Alissa raised their weapons, expecting to have to deal with a pack of deaders. Instead, a middle-aged woman exited the store pushing a shopping cart. On spotting Nathan and Alissa, the woman stepped behind the cart, crouched to present a smaller target, and pulled from under her coat a .357 Magnum which she aimed at Nathan.

“Drop your weapon.” Nathan sited his MPX K on the woman’s head.

She did not respond.

“I said, drop your weapon.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” The woman placed her thumb on the hammer.

Nathan saw the threatening move and wrapped his finger around the trigger, applying pressure. “Drop your weapon now or I’ll shoot!”

Alissa noticed the contents of the shopping cart: diapers, baby food, plastic bottles, and formula. She checked the Pathfinder again. This time she noticed a baby seat in back with an infant wrapped in blankets and a terrified young girl in her late teens slouched down in the driver’s seat peering out from behind the steering wheel. Alissa released her hands from the Mossberg and held them to her sides, palms out.

“Nathan, calm down.”

“Bullshit.” He did not take his eyes off the woman. “She drew on us.”

“She’s trying to get food for her kids.”

Nathan quickly switched his eyes from the woman to the contents of the shopping cart. He made eye contact with Alissa, following the motion of her head toward the Pathfinder. Upon seeing the infant inside, he sighed. The woman had lowered the barrel of the Magnum a few inches. Nathan lowered his arms to his side.

“Go on.”

The woman did not hesitate. She grabbed the shopping cart, keeping the Magnum in her right hand, and ran over to the Pathfinder. As she passed by Alissa, she said, “Thank you.”

Alissa nodded. “Good luck.”

The Pathfinder’s engine started and the back hatch popped open. The woman unloaded the supplies in back.

Nathan stepped up behind Alissa. “Good call.”

“They’re trying to do what we are. Survive.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to get a lot worse. Come on.”

They waited until they were about to enter before raising their weapons again. The automatic doors slid aside and they entered. To their surprise, the store remained untouched. They had expected to find it ransacked, but it appeared the woman they had run into outside had been the only one to raid it. Neither of them expected to find any deaders.

“Is anyone else here?” called out Nathan.

No response.

“We don’t want trouble. We only want to stock up on supplies.”

Still no response.

Nathan lowered his MPX K. “We’re the only ones here, but don’t let your guard down. You get what we need in the way of medical supplies. I’ll pick up the other essentials.”

Each grabbed a shopping cart.

Alissa headed for the pharmacy area, stopping by the cash registers to grab every reusable shopping bag she could find. Instinct told her to stock up on basic first aid supplies, clearing the shelves of gauze, bandages, alcohol, and disinfectants. She grabbed a pair of crutches and every splint and brace available, anticipating there would be more severe injuries ahead. After that, she filled up one of the bags with Aleve, ibuprofen, and various pain relief creams. Next came cold and flu meds, Imodium, stool softeners, antacids, ointment for rashes and bug bites and burns, and two bags filled with multi-vitamins. By the time Alissa finished, she had filled the carriage.

Nathan came around the corner. “Are you ready?”

“Almost.”

He rummaged through her shopping cart. “Are you sure got enough?”

“I’m covering every illness I can think of.”

“I already have my stuff loaded.”

Alissa pushed the cart over to him. “Load this. I still have to hit up the pharmacy for prescription drugs.”

“Hurry. I told Miriam we’d be back at the dock in an hour. We’re already twenty minutes late.”

As Nathan brought the cart up front, Alissa headed for the door leading into the pharmacy. As expected, it was locked. She used the stock of the Mossberg to shatter the glass, reached in, and unlocked the door. A smile pierced her lips. She could get used to this.

Once inside the pharmacy, Alissa began collecting the essentials, grabbing every anti-biotic and pain killer she could find, placing them in plastic bins she found behind the counter. While searching for Oxycodone, she stumbled across pills for high blood pressure. She mentally chastised herself for not asking the others if there were any prescription drugs needed daily. Thinking about it for a minute, Alissa opted for the basics: prescriptions for hypertension, diabetes, and heart conditions as well as inhalers for asthma, and birth control pills in case any of the women develop severe menstrual cramps. When done, she moved the plastic bins into the main part of the store where Nathan loaded them into the truck.

Nathan came back in as Alissa hauled out the final bin.

“How many more?”

“This is the last one.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

As they passed the exit, Alissa said, “I’ll be out in a minute. I need to get something.”

“Hurry up. I don’t want Steve getting antsy and leaving on us.”

Alissa made her way over to the cash registers and opened the refrigerator filled with cold drinks and took out seven bottles of water, cradling them in her left arm. As she approached the pick-up, Nathan stared at her.

“What?” Alissa opened the rear door and dropped five of the bottles onto the back seat, then handed one to Nathan. She opened her bottle. “Rule number one of survival is stay hydrated.”

“I don’t think that’s a rule.”

“It should be.” Alissa took a long swig and climbed into the Ram. “Let’s go.”

*     *     *

Twenty minutes later, Nathan and Alissa arrived back at the dock. The others were waiting in the Land Rover, which sat idling in the Castaways’ parking lot.

Miriam climbed out of the SUV and came over to greet them. “Is everything okay? We were getting worried.”

“Everything’s fine,” Alissa reassured her. “Deaders overran the hospital so we had to go to a drugstore to stock up.”

“Are we safe?”

“They’re all trapped inside.”

“Besides,” Nathan chimed in from the driver’s seat. “We won’t be here long enough.”

“We’re all set,” said Miriam.

“You got Archer?”

Miriam rolled her eyes. “Poor thing has been fussing since you left. Steve is threatening to leave him behind.”

Alissa bristled. “He better not.”

“Don’t worry. Steve can be an ass, but he’d never leave Archer behind, and I wouldn’t let him. He’s in the backseat with the kids. They’re playing with him and keeping him quiet. Do you want me to switch him out?”

“No. As long as the three of them are quiet, let things be.”

Miriam nodded.

Alissa opened the back door, removed the bottles of water, and handed them to Miriam. “These are for you, Steve, the kids, and Archer.”

“Thanks. I’ve been dying for a drink.”

Nathan picked up the plastic bag from the front seat and passed it Miriam. “This is for the kids.”

Miriam opened the bag and removed the contents: two Nintendo Game Boy systems. “Where’d you get these?”

Nathan ignored the question. “I thought this would make up for not getting an SUV with a video system.”

“I was joking about that.”

“I know, but you’re right. It’s better to keep the kids’ attention focused on something other than what’s going on.”

Miriam wiped a tear from her eye. “Thank you.”

Alissa reached out and squeezed her hand. “We’ll take the lead. You and Steve follow.”

Miriam nodded and headed back to the Land Rover. A minute later, squeals of glee came from the backseat as Kiera and Little Steve received their gifts.

“You’re a good man.”

Nathan pretended not to hear, though Alissa detected the barest hint of a smile. Shifting into drive, Nathan made a U-turn, pulled out of the parking lot, and made his way back to Central Avenue. A few minutes later, they were on their way to northern New Hampshire.

Chapter Seven

Nathan took 6th Street out of Rochester, picked up Spaulding Turnpike, and headed northwest. He maintained a speed of forty miles per hour, enough to make good time and still avoid any accidents or stalled vehicles. Not that they would come across any. Even though a major toll road, there were no other vehicles, not even abandoned cars. It seemed as if they were the only ones in the area. Alissa knew that was not true. Even if the living had left the area, there were still deaders to worry about.

The turnpike skirted around Rochester, which meant they did not have to navigate their way through the city and encounter God only knows what. North of the city, Nathan veered onto Route 11, a two-lane road heading toward Lake Winnipesaukee. Again, there were no abandoned vehicles. No indications of chaos. No signs of life except for an older man driving a Toyota mini-pick-up with a Marine Corps emblem and an NRA sticker on the back window that passed them going southwest, more than likely a local who decided to ride out the apocalypse from his home. The guy barely acknowledged them as they passed.

After nearly an hour, the two-vehicle convoy arrived at the town of Alton.

Nathan’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, checked the screen, and handed it to Alissa. “It’s Steve. Can you answer it?”

“Sure.” She took the cell phone and pressed the talk button. “Hello.”

“It’s Miriam. Steve and I wanted to know where we’re heading in case we get separated.”

“My cabin in the mountains.”

“What’s the address?”

“I’ll text it to you.”

“Thanks. We probably won’t need it but—”

“Shit.” Nathan began to slow down.

“What’s wrong?” asked Alissa.

“What’s going on?” echoed Miriam.

Nathan leaned over and spoke into the phone. “Steve, we have a police roadblock up ahead.”

A muffled conversation came across the line followed by Miriam. “Any idea what they want?”

“I don’t know,” Nathan said loud enough to be heard. “Could be routine. Let me handle it. If things go south, get out of here and make your own way to the cabin.”

“Roger that,” called out Steve. The connection went dead.

Nathan motioned toward the cell phone. “Text them the address while you have a chance.”

Alissa punched in the information and hit send.

Up ahead, three Alton police cruisers blocked Route 11 where it branched to the left of Lake Winnipesaukee, their red and blue light bars flashing. Six officers were present, each armed with a pump-action shotgun, but none of them seemed agitated or dangerous. Five of them kept their eyes on the approaching vehicles, weapons by the side but ready to be used in a second if necessary. One of the officers moved away from the roadblock and held up his hand, ordering Nathan to stop. His badge bore the name McPherson. He kept his right hand of his holstered Sig Sauer.

Nathan lowered his window and placed his left arm on the rim to show off his Nahant Police shoulder emblem. “Is there a problem?”

McPherson leaned forward. He spoke in a friendly manner even though his gaze checked out everything in the pick-up. “There is if you plan on taking Route 11. There’s an accident about ten miles up the road. Some idiot in an RV came off one of the lake roads too fast and overturned his camper. It’s blocking both lanes. Nothing can get by. You’ll have to go back.”

Alissa leaned to her left. “Is there another road we can take? We’re trying to get to my cabin up north.”

“Where’s your cabin?”

“Near North Conway.”

McPherson stepped back and scoped out the Land Rover. “That’s a long drive.”

“It is, but it’s the safest place right now.”

“I hear you, ma’am.” McPherson pointed ahead of him. “Once you pass the roadblock, take your first right and follow that for a quarter of a mile to Route 28. That’ll take you along the east side of the lake. In Wolfeboro, stay on Route 101 and you’ll eventually reach Moultonborough. And stay on the lake road. Don’t try to save time by cutting north through Ossipee. The latest report this morning indicates their deader problem is getting out of control.”

“Thanks.” Alissa nodded.

“Any news about what’s going on along 93?” asked Nathan.

“It’s a cluster fuck. The horde is past Manchester and by nightfall should overrun Concord. And they’re swarming out of the exits. Within two days, three at most, the entire 93 corridor and everything on either side will be lost. After that, it’s only a matter of time before the whole state falls.”

“What about Massachusetts?”

Despair washed over the officer’s face. “It’s been completely overrun as of late last night. Only a few pockets of humans remain, but there’s no way to get them out.”

Alissa closed her eyes and tried not to think of her friends lost in that nightmare.

“One other thing,” warned McPherson. “As of 1800 tonight, maybe even sooner, the governor is going declare martial law and ban all unnecessary travel, with those who break the restriction being arrested and sent to emergency detention centers. If I were you, I’d haul ass.”

“Thanks.” Nathan offered his hand. “We will.”

McPherson gave it a firm pump and then motioned for his men to move one of the squad cars. One of the officers jumped in the car on the right and backed it up ten feet. Nathan shifted into drive.

McPherson tapped the hood of the pick-up. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Both vehicles drove through the roadblock and proceeded straight, heading to the eastern side of the lake. As the Land Rover passed, the officer pulled his squad car back into place.

Nathan pulled the road map from the console and handed it to Alissa. “Plot out a new course for us to get to your cabin.”

*     *     *

The alternate route offered by the officer may have been considerably longer but contained no traffic, allowing them to make good time. They had been less than ten miles into the trip when a sign off to the right informed traveler’s they were entering Wolfeboro. Nathan’s cellphone rang. Alissa answered and hit the speaker button.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” responded Miriam, a tone of embarrassment in her voice. “The kids finished off the water you gave them and now have to go to the bathroom. There’s a town up ahead. Any chance we can stop?”

“If it’s safe, sure. If not, they may have to use the woods.”

“Stevie won’t mind. Not sure about Kiera, though. Thanks.”

Alissa disconnected the call and began to speak. Nathan smiled and cut her off.

“I heard. I could use a leak break myself.”

Wolfeboro was a good-sized town, a resort location for tourists filled with campgrounds, restaurants, shops, and a host of other amenities. Being November, the town would normally be less active than during the summer. With a deader horde closing in behind them, the place had been deserted, every commercial establishment closed and even the private residences abandoned. Alissa feared this would soon be the new norm for all of mankind.

Nathan applied the brakes, flipped on the right directional and pulled off Route 28 into a parking lot. Alissa grew concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Why the sudden stop?”

“That.” Nathan pointed ahead of him.

A store stood in front of them, not a from a national franchise but a local mom-and-pop place. Alissa leaned forward to see the sign above the main entrance. Carson’s Leather Jackets and Accessories.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to find a restroom at a gas station?”

“We’re here for the leather.” Nathan removed the keys from the ignition and pocketed them as he got out, heading for Steve’s Land Rover.

Alissa followed.

Steve leaned out the driver’s window. “Everything okay?”

Nathan nodded. “I want to get everyone leather jackets and pants. They’ll help keep us warm during the winter and will make it harder for the deaders to bite us.”

From the backseat Kiera squealed, “I’m getting a leather jacket? Cool.”

“I want one, too,” protested Little Stevie.

Nathan leaned over to look at the two kids. “You’ll both get one as long as you do what me and your mother tells you. Deal?”

“Deal,” both kids replied in unison. Stevie added, “I have to pee.”

“We’ll take care of both, buddy.” Nathan focused his attention back to the adults. “I’ll check out the store to make sure it’s safe. If it is, brings the kids in. Steve, do you mind being the lookout?”

“Sure. I’m not much use with this.” He raised his right hand and showed off the bandaged wound.

“Be right back.”

Alissa fell into line behind him. Nathan asked, “Where are you going?”

“I’m your back up.”

He nodded and they continued to the front entrance. Alissa pulled on the handle; the door was locked. She pounded on the glass several times and placed her against the window.

“Hear anything?”

“No.” Alissa peered inside for any movement. Nothing stirred. She pounded on the door again, this time harder.

“Step back.” Nathan used the stock of his MPK X to shatter the window and clear away any broken shards. Reaching inside, he unlocked the door and entered, his weapon in the high ready position. Alissa moved close in behind him, her Mossberg raised and ready to fire.

“Is anyone here?” Nathan yelled.

Silence.

“Go get Miriam and the kids. I’ll switch on the lights.”

Alissa stepped outside and waved for the others to join them. By the time they got to the store, Nathan had lit up the place. He met them by the cash register.

“The restrooms are in back. I’ll take the kids while you pick out jackets. Make sure you have enough room to fight if necessary.” Nathan rubbed his hand across Little Stevie’s head. “Come on, buddy.”

Alissa and Miriam shopped around, trying on various coats and sizes. Miriam chose a black leather trench coat that hung almost down to her knees for herself and brown leather bomber jackets with fur collars for the two Steves. She had picked out a similar coat for Kiera who refused to wear it, the coat not being “cool enough,” and instead chose for herself a black short coat biker jacket. Alissa opted for a black leather motorcycle jacket. By the time Nathan got back with his own jacket, a dark brown B-3 bomber coat with a sheepskin lining, the two women were picking out leather pants and gloves as well as hiking boots. When they were done choosing and had piled the clothing into a pair of shopping carts, Alissa and Miriam wheeled them toward the exit.

Little Stevie pulled on his mother’s sleeve. “Aren’t we going to pay for them?”

Miriam faltered, not sure how to respond. Alissa jumped in.

“We are, just not right now. We needed these jackets to stay warm and the store is closed, so we’re borrowing them and will pay the owner later.”

“We’re not stealing them?”

“Of course not.”

Little Stevie thought for a moment. “Shouldn’t we leave a note for the owner so he doesn’t think the jackets were stolen?”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Miriam leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I love you.”

Little Stevie waved her away.

“Do you want me to leave the note?” asked Alissa.

“Please.”

“I’ll be out in a few.”

Alissa watched from the door as Nathan loaded the clothes into the back seat of the Ram and Miriam led the kids back to her vehicle. She always wanted to have children someday, grateful that it had not happened since the world had gone to shit. She smiled as Little Stevie excitedly told his dad about his leather jacket. Miriam a hugged him before ushering him back in the Land Rover and switching places with her husband up front.

How did Miriam do it? How did she handle knowing her kids were in constant danger and yet still act around them like nothing had changed? Alissa didn’t know if she could put on such a front. Then she had a flashback to Sophia on the roof of the hospital in Boston and how she had lied to her, telling the girl help would be coming. The contentment she felt a moment ago drained away, leaving Alissa feeling cold and empty inside. She headed for the pick-up.

Nathan had laid the last of the clothing on the back seat and closed the rear door. “You ready?”

Alissa nodded, suppressing a sigh building inside of her. She headed around the front of the pick-up. “Let me drive for a while.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I need to get my mind off of things.”

Nathan tossed her the keys. Alissa caught them and slid into the driver’s seat.

A minute later, she pulled out of the parking lot and continued north, picking up Route 109 and heading toward Moultonborough.

*     *     *

A mile south of Moultonborough, Route 109 merged with Route 171. Alissa slowed down enough to safely make the merger and then sped up, heading for the city at over sixty miles per hour.

Nathan studied the map spread out across his lap. He glanced up, noticed the speedometer, and went back to plotting their route.

“You might want to slow down. You don’t want to hit a deer and wreck the car.”

“I also don’t want to be caught outside after sunset when the no-travel order goes into effect.” She drove by an increasing number of residential houses on either side of the road. “We’re almost into the center of town. Where do we go from there?”

“This road ends in about a mile near the airport. Turn right onto Route 25.”

“Gotcha.”

Alissa approached the intersection and slowed when she spotted an accident blocking the roads. A National Guard transport hauling an Armored Personnel Carrier had been pulling out of the road leading to the airport when an Audi Q3 Quattro ran into it, crushing half the roof beneath the carrier. An ambulance sat twenty feet away from the accident scene, its rear doors opened and facing the other two vehicles. Splotches of blood stained the asphalt behind the ambulance and a few deader corpses, their heads blown apart, lead a path from the accident toward the airport. Nothing living or living dead could be seen in the nearby area. Alissa stopped thirty feet from the ambulance and shifted into park, but kept the engine running.

“What are you doing?” asked Nathan.

“There could be a trauma kit in that ambulance.” She slid out of the pick-up, taking her shotgun with her. “I’ll be right back.”

Alissa draped the sling across her neck and raised the Mossberg, making a wide arc behind the ambulance in case anything lurked inside. Nathan also got out and followed a few yards to her rear, scanning the area for any signs of danger. Alissa climbed into the back of the ambulance and searched around until she found a large orange EMS/EMT bag lodged behind the stretcher. She removed it and opened the zippered pouches. All the contents were inside. Alissa closed it up and jumped out onto the street.

“I got it. This will come in handy if one of us gets seriously injured.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” Nathan motioned toward the pick-up. “Let’s get going.”

Halfway back to the pick-up, a car horn blared. They tried to determine the direction it came from. The horn blared three more times. It came from the Audi lodged under the APC carrier. A bloody hand rapped its palm against the passenger window.

Nathan continued toward the pick-up. “It’s a deader.”

“Since when do deaders know how to use car horns?” Alissa rushed over to the Audi.

Nathan swore under his breath and joined her.

A young woman in her early twenties sat in the passenger seat. As Alissa and Nathan approached, she stopped blaring the horn and yelled, “Help me. Please.”

Alissa reached the car first. “Relax. Everything will be fine. How badly are you hurt?”

“My legs are pinned under the dashboard. I can’t feel them below the knees.”

“We’re going to get you out. Hang in there.” Alissa made eye contact with Nathan. “Can you open the door?”

“I’ll try.” Nathan tried pulling on the handle, but the door was stuck. Slinging the MPX K over his shoulder, he clutched the handle with both hands and placed his left foot on the chassis for leverage.

Before he could do anything, a terrifying sound broke through the stillness.

The howls of deaders closing in on their prey.

Chapter Eight

“Shit!” Alissa slung the trauma bag over her left shoulder and raised her Mossberg.

“We’ve to get out of here.”

“No!” screamed the trapped woman. “You can’t leave me.”

“Try getting her out. I’ll see where they’re coming from.”

Alissa climbed onto the trunk of the Audi and then onto the deck of the carrier, scanning their surroundings. As she did, Miriam called on the cell phone. Alissa answered it.

“We hear deaders.”

“I’m checking on that now.”

“Is everything okay up there?”

“Someone’s still alive in the car. Nathan is trying to…. Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

For a moment, Alissa could not answer. The sound of the blaring horn had attracted every deaders in the area. Twenty or thirty rushed down the road leading from the airport, including two in paramedic uniforms. Some wore flight suits. Most were National Guardsmen who had been reanimated. It did not pose as great a threat as the one racing south along Route 25, almost one hundred strong and composed mostly of National Guardsmen, most still wearing their helmets and Kevlar vests. Headshots were not going to work with this horde.

“What’s going on?”

Alissa yelled loud enough so both Miriam and Nathan could hear. “We have two packs of deaders closing in fast.”

“Head back to the pick-up.” Nathan yanked on the door.

Alissa jumped from the carrier to the trunk to the ground and bolted for the Ram.

The woman inside punched the window. “You can’t leave me!”

“I’m not.” Nathan yanked on the door several times. On the fifth try, it popped open. Nathan examined the woman’s legs. The accident had collapsed the dashboard onto her knees, pinning her in.

“Is it bad?” She began crying.

“I’m going to try and pull you out. It’s going to hurt.”

“It’s better than being eaten.”

Nathan slipped his hands under her arms, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled. The woman screamed in pain. Nathan let up.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Get me out of here.”

Nathan tried a second time. This time her screams were accompanied by two other sounds.

The snapping of her knees under the pressure.

And the growling of the first deaders as they ran around the front of the carrier and rushed the Audi.

Alissa reached the pick-up and spun around to check on Nathan. She gasped, not only because a pack of deaders were closing in on him but also because thirty or so of the horde had veered off and were heading straight for her.

She tossed the trauma bag into the cab and climbed into driver’s seat as the first deaders reached the pick-up, swarming around the front and making their way down either side. Alissa closed the door as a deader reached for her, catching its arm between the door and the jamb. Every time she slammed it, more deader hands forced their way in. One of the living dead in an Air National Guard flightsuit pushed through the gap, clawing toward her. Alissa punched it in the face as hard as she could with her left elbow, shattering several of its teeth. The thing persisted. The Mossberg hung around her neck, although she had no room to aim it. Wrapping her finger around the trigger, she emptied the entire chamber into the deaders attempting to get inside, shredding the torso of the deader in the flightsuit and getting a few lucky head shots on others, obliterating their skulls.

Alissa pushed against the corpses but could not shove them away, there being too many pressing against them on the other side. A few began to scale the pile and push into the cab.

“Is Aunt Alissa going to be okay?” Little Stevie asked from the back seat.

“Yes,” Miriam lied. “Now go back to playing your game so you can tell her later how far you got in it.”

Miriam fought back tears. This was no way for someone to die, especially someone who had offered her family safety and brought them this far.

“Should we help them?” whispered Steve.

“We can’t take down that many by ourselves.” Miriam suddenly figured out a way to help her friends.

She raced the engine and laid her hand on the horn. Most of the horde surrounding the pick-up turned in her direction and charged.

Nathan could not pull out the young woman. When she saw the deaders round the front of the truck, she cried out, “Don’t let them get me.”

Nathan pulled his M&P 40 out of its holster, aimed at her head, and fired three rounds, splattering the inside of the Audi with blood, bones, and brain matter. He spun around and jumped onto the car’s trunk as the pack reached them. Five went after the young woman, crowding their way into the passenger seat, tearing off chunks of flesh and stuffing it into their rotting mouths. Three attacked Nathan. A deader in Kevlar and a helmet grabbed Nathan’s ankle as he hopped from the trunk to the roof, knocking him face first onto the car. Nathan rolled onto his back and, with his free foot, kicked at its face, the blows landing on its helmet with no results. He aimed the M&P 40 at its head.

“Hey, asshole.”

When the deader looked up, Nathan fired. The bullet struck the deader in the mouth, passing through the head and blowing off its helmet and the back of its skull. It released its grip and slid down the fender, collapsing on the road. Before the others could get to him, Nathan climbed to his feet and jumped onto the carrier’s deck. Over twenty deaders gathered along the right side of the truck, clutching for the meal out of their reach.

Nathan switched out the M&P 40 for the MPX K, set it to single shot mode, and fired a round into the face of a deader wearing a paramedic’s uniform. The head exploded and the corpse dropped onto the asphalt.

“This is better than the shooting range.”

Miriam waited until the deaders were a few yards away. She shifted into reverse and backed along the way they had come down, her attention focused on the dash-mounted rearview camera. Over sixty of the living dead followed the Land Rover.

Alissa heard the commotion. Much of the horde raced off after the SUV. With the weight of the mass pushing against the pick-up significantly lessened, she shoved some of the corpses out of the cab. As quick as she cleared the opening, other deaders stumbled over the bodies to get to her. Alissa removed her Glock and brought down two National Guard deaders with double taps to the face. Those remaining around the pick-up scratched at the windows trying to get in, a few inching toward the door. Alissa kicked and pushed away the bodies, pausing long enough to administer two shots to the head of any deader that came too close.

She had nearly cleared away the corpses when the last two deaders charged the cab. Alissa aimed and fired. One shot rang out before the bolt locked in the open position. Both deaders stumbled over the pile, one catching itself on the top rim of the door, the other falling into her lap. Before it could bite, Alissa grabbed the front of its helmet with her left hand and lifted it off her. It thrashed around, desperate to sink its teeth into flesh.

With her right hand, Alissa shifted into drive and pressed her foot on the accelerator. The pick-up shot forward, the rear wheels bouncing over the corpses. The deader clasping the door lost its grip and dropped away. The one trying to get at her tripped. She released the helmet. It slid away, smashing its face on the running board before bouncing off and rolling into the street. With the opening clear, she slammed shut the door and stopped, the front fender less than a yard from the ambulance.

Alissa assessed the situation. She had taken care of the living dead around her. Miriam had drawn away most of the horde. That left only the twenty or so gathered around the carrier, and Nathan took care of them one at a time, although he needed help. She could not get to him from the right side of the carrier because the ambulance and Audi were in the way, so she would have to go around the other side.

Picking up the cellphone, she called Miriam.

“Are you safe?”

“Sort of. Where are you?”

“About a quarter of a mile to your rear.”

“Rejoin us. When you get to the intersection, take a right. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Gotcha.”

Alissa broke the connection, shifted into reverse, and backed away from the carrier. When she had room to maneuver, she circled around behind the vehicle.

Miriam ended the call and pocketed the cellphone. She stopped and shifted into drive. The horde, one hundred feet away, closed rapidly.

“You kids buckled up?”

A chorus of yes came from the backseat.

“What are doing?” whispered Steve.

“Getting us out of here.”

Miriam slammed her foot onto the accelerator. The Land Rover lurched forward, the back skidding slightly. A moment later, the vehicle slammed into the closest deader, a female in a green flightsuit. It rebounded onto the hood and slid across, careening off the right fender. She steered from right to left and back again; the fenders struck most of the deaders, tossing them to the sides. Some fell under the tires, the Land Rover bouncing over the bodies and shaking everyone inside. The Kevlar vests banged against the SUV’s body, denting the metal in dozens of places. Rotting hands reached out, clutching at the passing vehicle, hoping to grasp their prey, leaving only bloody streaks across the glass. Miriam prayed none of the warning lights were lit on the dashboard. When she raised her eyes, a deader in a paramedic uniform charged. Miriam increased speed, slamming into it and knocking it under the wheels of her Land Rover. She did not care if she killed or incapacitated these damn creatures. She needed to get past them and to safety.

After several seconds that seemed like hours, they made it past the horde and headed for the intersection. Miriam checked on the kids in the rearview mirror.

Kiera leaned back against her seat, her face pale, appearing as though she might vomit.

Little Stevie smiled. “Can we do it again?”

“Maybe later, hon.”

Switching her attention back to the road, Miriam swerved right onto Route 25, racing past the accident. She saw no sign of Alissa or Nathan.

Nathan watched the deaders swarm the Ram, certain Alissa would extricate herself. At one point, he aimed at the pick-up, ready to put Alissa out of her misery if the pack broke into the cab. Thankfully, she fought her way out of the situation. She backed up and drove off. For a moment, he thought she had abandoned him, a thought he chastised himself for when she maneuvered around the rear of the carrier and pulled up close to the deck. Smart move on her part. Nathan switched his attention from the deaders along the right side of the carrier and began taking down those on the left. For every one that he killed, another took its place, inserting themselves between the two vehicles and preventing him from getting into the pick-up. He shot three; two slipped into their spot.

Alissa rolled down the passenger window a few inches. Half a dozen dead hands clutched at the glass.

“Jump into the bed,” she ordered. “I’ll drive you out of here.”

The cover remained on, but he should be able to keep his balance for a few minutes. “Don’t pull away too fast or you’ll lose me.”

Alissa gave him a thumbs up and rolled up the window, having to pause when the three deaders did not remove their fingers. Nathan withdrew his sidearm and placed a single round into the back of their heads, dropping them. The window rolled up all the way.

Nathan jumped from the carrier onto the enclosed bed of the pick-up, dropping to his knees so he would not tumble off. Half a dozen deaders grasped for him, their hands clutching at his clothes. He kicked and brushed them away, knowing that if one of them got a grip he would be done for. Holding on to the gap between the bed and the cab with his right hand, with his left Nathan banged on the rear.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Alissa shifted into drive and slowly accelerated. The pick-up moved forward several inches, strained for a second, and rolled back. She tried it again with slightly more gas. The Ram moved a few inches than rolled back. One of the deaders must be stuck under the front tire. She could not roll down her window to warn Nathan because five of the things banged against the glass. Praying he would not be taken by surprise, Alissa accelerated again, this time pushing the gas pedal halfway to the floor. The right front tire hit the body and bounced over it. She could hear the crunching of its ribcage even over of the frenzied din. The truck lurched forward. The rear tire rolled over the deader’s crushed abdomen and became caught in the cavity. Alissa applied more gas. She heard the tire buzzing, like being stuck in snow, only this time the rear wheel threw up blood and tissue. The other tires clutched the road, dragging the pick-up forward and steering it into the carrier. Alissa shifted into reverse, backed up, shifted into drive, and accelerated, repeating the process until she created a rocking motion that she hoped would free her.

On the deck, Nathan started to panic. Bouncing over the body and leaning to the left had knocked him off balance. He slid several inches in that direction. A deader grabbed his leg and pulled, nearly yanking Nathan off the truck. Only his tentative grasp on the bed kept him from falling off. He kicked at its face, the heel of his shoe slamming into its jaw and dislocating the bones. By now, two others moved in to share the food. Nathan swung his leg around, making it difficult to grab. As he did, he reached around his stomach with his left hand, withdrew the M&P 40 from its holster, and fired as best he could into the living dead clutching at him. Aiming with his left hand was bad enough. Firing when the pick-up rocked back and forth was stupid. Most of the bullets missed. Half slammed harmlessly into dead flesh. One struck a deader in an MP uniform in the forehead, blowing off the back of its skull but having no other effect. Another grazed Nathan’s leg, missing by an inch.

On the fourth rock, Alissa felt the left rear wheel gain traction. She spun the steering wheel left. The tire spun for a second, slipped out of the carcass, and touched the road. The pick-up bolted forward, picking up speed. Nathan felt his body move along the deck. Those clawing at him fell away, but only for a second before giving chase. He aimed at them, emptying the chamber at the pursuers, knowing none of the rounds would hit but needing a way to vent his anger and fear.

Alissa sped ahead at close to forty mile per hour. When she reached the end of the airport, having put several hundred feet between her and the horde, she stopped and roll down her window.

“Get in.”

Nathan rolled off the bed, whipped open the passenger door, and closed it as Alissa drove off.

“Are you okay? You weren’t bit, were you?”

Nathan panted several times, trying to catch his breath. “I’m fine. You almost lost me back there, though.”

“Sorry about that.”

“I’ll forgive you.” Nathan grinned. “This time.”

Alissa forced a smile, her attention drawn instead to the rearview mirror searching for the Land Rover. There were no signs of it. Miriam should have been able to get out of the situation with no difficulties. Still, if Alissa did not find them in the next few minutes. she would go back and search.

They left Moultonborough and headed north.

Chapter Nine

They caught up with the others at a convenient store/gas station several miles down the road at Bennett Corners, a small crossroads with only a few buildings in sight. Miriam had parked by one of the pumps. Steve filled the Land Rover with gas. Miriam and the kids stared at the front of the vehicle, Kiera clearly repulsed, Little Stevie laughing, and Miriam somewhere in between. As Alissa pulled in, she noticed a deader’s severed arm stuck to the front, the fingers lodged in the grill. Miriam pulled half a dozen paper towels from the dispenser by the pumps and, using them like a glove, pulled the limb off the vehicle, the fingers still moving, and tossed it into the waste basket. Kiera yelled something and ran away while Little Stevie stared into the bin.

Alissa pulled in at the pump opposite the Land Rover, shut down the engine, and climbed out. Alissa motioned toward the waste basket.

“I see you picked up a souvenir.”

“You as well.” Steve pointed to the Ram’s right rear fender.

Blood mixed with small pieces of flesh and muscle formed a spray pattern on the fender, the result of Alissa spinning the tire when it got stuck in the deader. They had commandeered these vehicles less than six hours ago and already each had become a banged up mess.

“I’ll pump the gas,” said Nathan, then paused. “Can I borrow your credit card?”

Alissa removed it from her jean’s pocket and handed it to him. While the tank filled, Nathan tried to use the squeegee to clear the blood off the fender but the cold had frozen the water.

When Steve finished filling up the Land Rover, he and Miriam joined Alissa and Nathan.

“We’re concerned about heading for North Conway,” said Steve. “We vacationed there a few summers ago and remember the town being pretty big.”

“We’re still shaken up by that last encounter,” added Miriam. “We figure the chances are good we’ll run into a lot more if we make a run through North Conway.”

Steve nodded. “Is there another way we can go?”

“It’s even riskier.” Alissa opened the door to the pick-up and removed the map from the dashboard, unfolding it against the front fender. She pointed at their current location and ran her finger west across the map. “The only other way to go is up I-93 and come in from the west. To do that, we’ll have to cut through the city of Plymouth to pick up I-93 north. That’s assuming the deaders haven’t moved this far north, which is possible.”

Alissa moved her finger back to their current position, ran it up through North Conway, then west along Route 302. “Once we get past North Conway it’s clear sailing. My cabin is located ten miles outside of town in the mountains.”

Miriam peered over her shoulder to be certain the kids were not listening. “Be truthful. What are the chances of getting through North Conway without being swarmed by deaders?”

“Better than you think.” Alissa smiled. “As you enter Conway there’s a residential road that cuts north. It bypasses the center of town and the tourist areas, and eventually hooks up with the main road north of town.”

Steve and Miriam conferred with each other via a glance. “It sounds good to me,” she said.

“It’s our safest route,” added Nathan who finished filling the tank and replaced the nozzle back onto the pump.

Steve nodded his assent. “I’m in. I assume you’ll lead the way since you know this area best.”

“I will. What time is it?”

Miriam checked her watch. “It’s about a quarter till eleven.”

“Then we should be at the cabin early afternoon with plenty of daylight to spare, assuming we don’t run into a clusterfuck.”

Miriam rolled her eyes. “God forbid.”

“We ready?” asked Nathan.

Everyone responded in the affirmative.

“Let’s roll.”

Alissa and Miriam took the driver’s seats of their respective vehicles and started the engines as the others took up their positions. Alissa pulled out onto Route 25 and headed east with Miriam one hundred feet behind her.

*     *     *

They drove a few miles before turning left onto Route 113 and following that for another few miles before catching Route 16 north of Chocorua. This road led them through miles of countryside before entering the southern outskirts of Conway. They had not spotted a single living person since leaving Moultonborough. Now, however, signs of life became more evident. Cars lined up at the ATM and the Mobil station where gas prices had gone up to twenty dollars a gallon. Three Conway squad cars sat out in front of the gas station, five of the officers trying to maintain order while the sixth argued with the station owner. Alissa could feel the fear and frustration hanging heavy in the air. They had to get clear of this area before tension flared into violence.

Less than a mile into Conway, they came upon Kancamagus Highway, the bypass around North Conway, a two-lane road that wound through the forests for miles, occasionally passing a cluster of homes or a scenic overlook. They followed it, swerving around a line of cars and RVs waiting to enter the Saco Ranger Station. These people were searching for a place to stay, information, and a guarantee of safety, the latter of which could not be promised. Alissa cruised by, hoping not to attract attention. The last thing they needed would be to have a group seeking refuge following them to their sanctuary. No one broke ranks and fell in behind them. All the campgrounds had barricades in front of their driveways with posted signs notifying the refugee that they were full. The overflow had set up camp in the overlooks, smartly seeking a secure place away from the mass of people who, when overrun by the deaders, would merely add numbers to the horde. They passed a dozen cars and a few RVs, either locales preparing for the inevitable or the displaced searching for a spot to ride out the storm. No one paid any attention to her.

After driving for five miles, the Kancamagus Highway merged again with Route 302 at Cooks Crossing. They followed it into the mountains for another few miles before Alissa came to a small unpaved road leading to her cabin and entered it. Five minutes later they reached their destination.

The sun made its slow descent to the west, giving them more than enough time to unload and settle in before nightfall.

“We’re here.”

Nathan whistled under his breath. “When you said a cabin, I pictured two or three rooms. This is a small house.”

Which, in fact, it was. When buying a place in the mountains, Paul had insisted on purchasing something big enough to hold family and friends in case they needed to ride out a crisis. The cabin had four bedrooms on the second floor, each with its own bath. She appreciated the deck out back and its view of the mountains, the perfect location to relax.

Alissa pulled up in front of the door and parked. Miriam stopped alongside her. As Miriam got out, she smiled.

“I don’t think I’m going to want to leave here.”

“We might not be able to,” added Steve.

Alissa climbed the three stairs leading to the front porch and lifted the cover to a keypad mounted on the wall to the left of the door.

“Really?” asked Nathan.

“Paul always said a key could be lost or stolen. This was more secure.”

“What’s the code?”

“My birthday.”

She typed the numbers into the keypad. The door buzzed. Alissa pushed it open and flicked on the light switch. The others entered.

The living room/dining room took up most of the first floor. The inside had been decorated with thick wooden logs for the beams and structural supports and smaller logs composing the railing leading upstairs and across the second-floor landing. Polished oak covered the floors. A fireplace dominated the wall to their left, twice the size of a normal one and constructed of large stones rather than bricks. Directly ahead of them stood a pair of French doors that opened onto the back deck with a spectacular view of the mountains, including Mount Washington in the distance. To the right, beyond the dining table, stood the entrance to the kitchen. A staircase in the far-right corner led up to the second floor.

Miriam could not help but stare. “Alissa, this place is gorgeous.”

“Thanks. Paul and I put a lot of money into it figuring we would retire here someday. I never expected this.”

Kiera entered clutching her leather jacket and boots. “Is this where we’re staying?”

“It is,” Alissa answered.

“Pissah.”

Alissa chuckled. “I’m glad you approve. There are four bedrooms upstairs. The one at the end of the hall on the right is my room. Miriam, you and Steve can have the bedroom across from mine. The kids can share the room by you and Nathan can take the one by me. There are some extra clothes in the closet in the master bedroom if you need to change. Take what you need, we’ll burn the dirty ones later. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds perfect,” Miriam said. “Thank you.”

Everyone began bringing things into the house. When Kiera passed by, Alissa asked, “Can you do me a favor, hon?”

“Sure.”

“Could you bring Archer inside and put him in my bedroom, but keep the case closed. I want him to calm down a bit before I let him out.”

“No problem.”

Alissa entered the kitchen and made her way over to the counter where a telephone and answering machine were connected to the landline. A “3” showed on the LED display. She pressed the play button.

The first message was from Paul from six weeks ago. “Alissa, it’s Paul. I’ve been upgrading the cabin and adding some things to the grounds. If you pop by and it’s a mess, sorry.”

The second was from Paul from five weeks ago. “Me again. Everything is done. I added a safe to the bedroom. All the manuals and keys are in there If you have any questions, feel free to call. Later.”

The last message was also from Paul, this one from a few hours ago. His voice seemed strained and on edge, and the sound of screaming and sirens could be heard in the background. “I’ve been trying to reach you on your cell phone but can’t get through, which doesn’t surprise me. I hope you were able to get out safely and are listening to this. I’m trying to make my way to the cabin, but things have gone to shit here. I’m talking a full-fledged cesspool. If you make it to the cabin, hang tight. I’ll be there as—” The connection went dead.

Alissa wiped away the tear that ran down her cheek. Paul might be asshole, but he still cared for and watched out for her.

Archer’s incessant meowing brought her back to reality. Alissa exited the kitchen in time to see Kiera hauling his carry case upstairs. He would be a pain in the ass for the rest of the night.

Little Stevie opened the screen door for Nathan who entered carrying three thirty-six-packs of toilet paper. “Where do you want these?”

She grinned. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I have three more of these in the pick-up.”

“You’re funny.”

“You wouldn’t be laughing if we ran out.”

“Okay, you win. Place on them on the dining room table for now. We can put everything away later.”

It took less than thirty minutes to empty the Ram and the Land Rover. Alissa had to admire Nathan’s organizational skills. He had scoured the drugstore for the necessities: canned foods, protein bars, cat food and kitty litter, cases of bottled water, and flashlights and batteries. Of course, Paul the Prepper had already stockpiled the cabin with enough of these to last six months. What impressed Alissa were the things Nathan had picked up she had not thought of: tampons and pads, a variety of socks and underpants (although those for the women looked like something her granny would wear), a few toys for Little Stevie and Archer, candy bars for the kids, and three bags filled with cigarettes. When she questioned him on the latter, he noted that, with the economy trashed, things like alcohol and cigarettes would be the new currency. Nathan was a good cop and someday would make a good father.

If they all lived long enough.

*     *     *

After the initial excitement of arriving at the cabin had worn off, everyone crashed from exhaustion, no one wanting to eat or shower. Alissa made sure everyone had what they needed before retiring. Archer sat in his carrier, still complaining but much less than before. When she let him out, he darted across the bed, jumped onto the floor, and made a beeline for the bathroom where she kept his litter box. She followed him, relieving herself and washing her face and hands, then stumbled back into the bedroom.

She noticed the gun safe in the corner. The damn thing could hold two people. A note had been taped to the door.

Everything you need is inside. The combo is your birthday.

Alissa would check it tomorrow. Right now, she could barely keep her eyes open. She stripped out of her dirty clothes and climbed into bed in her underwear. She felt pressure on the bed and heard Archer meow as he crossed the mattress and curled up on the pillow around her head. Alissa fell to sleep listening to Archer purr contentedly.

Chapter Ten

January 20

I’m writing this journal to document the events of the deader outbreak so someday future generations will have an accurate history of what happened. If there is a future generation.

Who am I kidding? I’m writing this journal because I’m bored out of my mind. We’ve been in this cabin for six weeks with nothing to do for the last month. It was either this or succumb to cabin fever.

The first few weeks after we arrived at the cabin were interesting. Paul has been busy up here since the separation. He installed solar panels on the roof and a water filtration system in the backyard, chopped enough fire wood to keep us warm through the winter, and stockpiled enough MREs and canned goods to last two people two years, or eight months for the six of us. He purchased an ATV and snowmobile for local travel, both of which we found in the shed out back. The biggest surprise was inside the gun safe. Paul had purchased a mini-arsenal—two .308 R1A1 FN FAL battle rifles, an Mk 14 Enhanced Battle Rifle that doubled as a sniper rifle, two Model 610 10mm Smith and Wesson revolvers, two Colt .45 semi-automatic pistols, two machetes, two hunting knifes, and so many boxes of spare ammunition for each weapon that it seemed like Paul planned on going to war with all of New Hampshire. He spent most of his time and money on fortifying this place for us.

I still have not heard from him since we arrived.

Not that it’s any surprise. By the fourth day of the outbreak, our first full day in the cabin, the situation around the world had gone from critical to full deterioration. News services across the globe reported on society’s collapse. The virus had spread to every country and almost every major city had fallen or was on the verge of collapse.

Here in the States, the President had declared a State of Emergency and ordered an evacuation of the east and west coasts, surrendering everything east of the Mississippi River and west of the Rocky Mountains to the deaders. Before the President could be evacuated from Washington, deaders swarmed the White House. The President and a handful of staffers made it to Marine One and were transferred to Andrews where they boarded Air Force One for the escape to NORAD. According to unverified reports, someone on the plane turned and infected the others; Air Force One crashed in Pennsylvania with everyone on board killed.

In fact, only a handful of elected officials made it out of Washington alive. The continuity of government was guaranteed by the Vice President and those Congressmen who were not in the city during the outbreak and who were able to make their way to Colorado.

The same took place around the world, with people evacuating overcrowded metropolitan areas for the relative safety of less populated ones, whether it be the fly-over states of the mid-West, the Latin American rain forests, the jungles of Africa, or the unforgiving deserts of the Middle East. Media outlets lost contact with India on day five, China and continental Europe on day six, and most of the rest of the world on day seven. Governments collapsed or were overrun; in a few sad cases, the leadership abandoned the people and made their way to safety, hoping to survive at the expense of the populace. Coverage of the outbreak rapidly devolved into the spreading of rumors and incorrect information because the situation changed so fast no one could verify it. One by one, the major media news outlets went off the air, with CNN being the last to broadcast. A few local television stations around the world stayed on the air, as well as a handful of radio stations; by day eleven, the airwaves had gone silent.

We did get one tidbit of useful information from the daily government briefings from federal and state officials. Amid updates on the situation, one Pentagon official noted that traditional headshots against the deaders are ineffective since the cerebrum is not the portion that is reanimated and drives the living dead but the primordial portion, the hypothalamus, hippocampus, and amygdala. A shot to the forehead won’t destroy the living dead, only a wound to the portion above the brain stem will bring one down. That explains why many of the headshots we inflicted on the deaders did not work.

No one has ever expressed this openly, but I think we all realize how lucky we are to have made it here safely, especially after watching the news. There are three other cabins within a five-mile radius of mine. Nathan and I checked on them last week, hoping some of our neighbors also made it to safety, but they were unoccupied. The view from the mountain top shows no sign of life as far as we can see.

On the plus side, everyone here has settled in. The gunshot wound in Steve’s hand did not become infected, thank God, and has been healing nicely, although he’ll have limited mobility in his fingers. He is doing what he can to help but, for the most part, is taking it easy and allowing the wound to heal. Nathan, on the other hand, has not rested since we got here. The first few days he checked out every gun, cleaning them and making certain they were operable, then went through our supplies, inventorying everything. After that, he spent a few days walking around the woods, searching for places to set up traps or build defenses. Now he’s teaching me and Miriam how to handle and clean the weapons, although we’ve not actually been able to live fire them since we don’t want to tip off anyone, especially the deaders, where we are. At least we’re better prepared to use them than when we first arrived.

Even Kiera and Little Stevie have received training in how to use a weapon, though I doubt Miriam will allow them to shoot live ammo for quite a while. Nathan agreed to train the kids to keep them busy. By the end of the second week, they had both played through the video games he had gotten for them two or three times and all the television stations had gone off the air, so they were bored. Nathan has also been taking them on his checks of the perimeter, teaching them basic survival techniques such as how to get back to the cabin if they are lost, how to detect if something has been in the area, and other life-saving skills. Nathan calls Stevie his little deader hunting buddy.

One very unusual thing about this winter has been the weather. I had expected that we’d get snow by now being the mountains. In fact, we were hoping for it because deep snow would slow down the deaders, making it difficult for any of them to sneak up on us. Yet, it’s the middle of January, and we have not even seen a dusting. To make matters worse, it’s been bitterly cold—the temperature has not gone above thirty degrees in five weeks—and dry. If we do any strenuous work outside, we must drink plenty of water to prevent us developing a heavy, dry cough.

Alissa placed down the pen and flexed her fingers. She had been writing for over an hour and her hand ached. She had no idea how professional writers could do this all day every day, but admired them for it. Standing and stretching, she crossed the dining area to the kitchen, poured herself a fresh cup of hot coffee, and went back into the living room. Sunlight streamed through the porch windows, with Archer stretched out in the center of the beam. She strolled over and crouched, petting his exposed belly. His fur felt warm from the sun. He mewled, rolled over, and clutched her hand between his front paws, licking the knuckles. After a few seconds, Archer mewled again, rolled onto his legs, and took over across the cabin, bounding up the stairs.

Taking his place, Alissa stood in front of the porch windows, basking in the sun’s warmth. Sometimes she admired Archer. He had all the comforts of life with none of the hassles, although you would never know it by the way he complained all the time. That’s why he was an asshat. She still loved him.

Opening the French doors, Alissa stepped out onto the porch. The outdoor thermometer registered twenty-eight degrees but, in the afternoon sunshine, it did not feel that cold. She closed the door behind her and crossed to the railing. The view was gorgeous and the main reason her and Paul chose this cabin. The mountain gently sloped down. From here, she could see Route 302 wind its way through the valley, passing by Bretton Woods and the Omni Mt. Washington ski resort. In the background, the White Mountain range dominated the horizon. Enough pine trees covered the slopes that swarths of green still colored the mountain range. She also enjoyed the serenity. None of the sounds of an industrialized society made their way up this far, only the chirping of birds and, at night, the call of wildlife. No crowds. No pollution. No traffic. She and Paul had always fantasized about spending the rest of their lives up here. Ironically, she might.

Nathan slid open the glass doors and joined her, with Archer sneaking out behind him. The cat jumped onto the railing and made his way to his mistress, beating Nathan by a few seconds. He rubbed his head against Alissa and purred. She petted his head. Archer closed his eyes and purred louder.

“Can I join you?” asked Nathan.

She motioned to Archer. “You can if he’ll let you.”

Nathan zipped up his coat halfway. “I see why you like it here so much. It’s beautiful. And peaceful.”

“And, at the moment, one of the few safe places around.”

“That’s a plus.”

Archer spun around on the railing, swishing his tail against Alissa in the process. When he settled down again, she continued petting.

“Have you been this far north?”

Nathan shook his head. “No. I’ve always been the beach type. I usually went on vacation to the Cape and Martha’s Vineyard. To be honest, I wished I had come up sooner. I like it here. Of course, the company helps.”

Alissa felt her cheeks flush and said nothing, concentrating on petting Archer.

The door opened again. Miriam stepped out wearing a sweater. Upon seeing Alissa’s expression, she hesitated. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” answered Nathan as he waved her over.

Miriam moved along side of them, slipping her hands inside the wide wool sleeves of the sweater. She sniffed.

“Isn’t mountain air beautiful?” asked Alissa.

“It is,” said Miriam. “Though I will miss the salty smell of the ocean.”

Nathan nodded. “I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before we get home.”

Miriam sniffed again. This time she squinted. “Do I smell a forest fire?”

Alissa smelled the air. “That’s not a forest fire. Somebody’s burning wood in a fireplace.”

Nathan scanned the area then pointed over the roof of the cabin, “It’s there.”

A small column of grayish-white smoke swirled skyward, dissipating the farther it climbed into the atmosphere.

“We have company,” said Nathan.

“Where’s it coming from?” asked Miriam.

“The only cabin in that direction belongs to the Hendersons.” Alissa nudged Nathan. “When did you last check it out?”

“Seven to ten days ago. The cabin hadn’t been lived in.”

“Then we have ourselves a new neighbor,” said Miriam.

Nathan smirked. “We should pay them a visit and see if they’re friendly.”

Chapter Eleven

Alissa and Nathan closed in on the Hendersons’ cabin from its right flank, using the woods on the downward slope as cover. Nathan opted for a flank approach to lessen their chances of being detected while simultaneously being able to cover the front door if the person or persons occupying the cabin opted to flee. Miriam moved around to the opposite side to cover the rear if anyone attempted to sneak out and outflank Alissa and Nathan. Steve stayed home to protect the kids. The group had driven the Land Rover to the other side of the mountain and approached up the northern slope to ensure that those inside the Hendersons’ place, if they were hostile, could not easily trace them back to their own cabin.

One hundred feet from the cabin, and approximately fifty feet from the tree line, Nathan stopped and crouched, using a tree for cover, and motioned for Alissa to do the same. “What can you see?”

Alissa raised the binoculars and scanned the area. Smoke still poured from the chimney. She concentrated on the windows, hoping to see inside. Burning logs filled the fireplace. The floor lamp by the recliner near the front window was on and a glass of liquid sat on the end table. A hand reached over, picked up the glass, and drank from it. One of the chairs around the dining room table moved although she did not see anyone there.

“There’s at least two people inside, but I can’t get a good view of them. One of them is male.”

“Any weapons?”

“None that are visible.”

“What do you see outside?”

Alissa studied the area out in front of the cabin. No vehicles sat out front, not even a bicycle, though that did not mean it had not been parked farther down the access road. She saw no signs of booby traps or an ambush. The only things out of place were a large pillow tossed on the front porch and cigar butts in an ashtray by the chair as well as a piece of cardboard covering the windowpane near the interior lock, which explained how he/they got in.

“Nothing out front is suspicious.”

Nathan removed the radio from his jacket pocket, keyed the talk button, and softly asked, “Miriam, can you hear me?”

A moment passed. “Loud and clear.”

“You see anything unusual out back?”

“Not a thing.”

“Good. We’re going in to check and see who’s there. Hopefully, everything will work out fine. If the situation goes south, head back to the cabin with Steve and your kids.”

“I’m not leaving you two behind.”

“We can take care of ourselves. We’ll buy you time so you can get to safety.”

“Okay,” Miriam replied with a reluctant tone. “Be careful.”

“Roger that.” Nathan slipped the radio back in his pocket. “Are you ready?”

“I should go alone.”

Nathan shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“There’s no indication these people are dangerous. We might spook them if we both go down there armed. Besides, you can cover me and save my ass if something goes wrong.”

“I’m good at that.”

Alissa flashed him a look part flirtatious, part annoyed. She circled around behind Nathan, moved three hundred feet down the slope, then emerged onto the access road and approached the cabin. She unslung the Mossberg from her shoulder and draped the strap across the back of her neck, allowing the weapon to sit across her chest, holding it in a non-threatening fashion. She walked in the middle of the access road to be easily seen. When a hundred or so feet from the cabin, a dog began barking from inside.

Alissa stopped. “Hello?”

She heard movement from inside the cabin. This was a dumb idea.

“Is anyone there?”

The door opened a few inches. The dog whimpered. A male voice called out. “That’s close enough.”

Alissa removed her hands from the shotgun. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. I saw the smoke and wanted to see what’s up. I haven’t seen another living person in weeks.”

“Place your weapon on the ground and come forward so I can see you.”

“Is that necessary? I don’t know who you are.”

“Same here, hon. So, either lay down your weapon so we can chat or you’re free to continue on your way.”

“Have it your way.” Alissa held the Mossberg by the barrel and the stock, lifted it over her head so the strap came off her neck, then crouched to place it on the ground. She stood up and took several steps back. “Done.”

The door opened all the way and a man stood in the center of the jamb. He held an AK-47 pointed in her direction but aimed at the ground in front of her. “What’s your name, hon?”

“Alissa. What’s yours?”

“Chris.”

“As you can see, Chris, I don’t pose much of a threat.”

He studied her for a moment and lowered the barrel of his semi-automatic. “Grab your weapon and come on in. You can warm up by—”

The next few seconds happened so fast Alissa almost missed them. As she bent over to retrieve her Mossberg, a barking came from inside the house. A German Shepard raced onto the front porch, barking at Alissa but not rushing to attack. She froze, showing the dog she posed no threat. Chris leaned out and grabbed the dog’s collar with his left hand. As he did, his right inadvertently raised the AK-47 in her direction. A shot rang out as Chris pulled the dog back into the cabin, missing his head by inches and tearing a chunk of wood out of the door jamb. Chris yanked the dog back inside as he swung to his left, spraying the woods near Nathan with gunfire. Chris used the second-long distraction to slide prone to the floor inside the cabin and site in one Alissa, who stood dumbfounded in the center of the access road.

“You lied to me, bitch.”

“Sorry.” Alissa stared at the muzzle of the Russian weapon pointed directly at her. “We didn’t know if we could trust you.”

“Like I trust you now?”

Alissa tried to speak but Chris cut her off. “Tell whoever is in the woods to drop his weapon and come out where I can see them or I’m taking you out.”

“Nathan?”

“I heard,” he yelled from his hiding place. “No way I’m giving up my position and giving him the upper hand. He’s got you in his sights.”

“Hey, asshole,” yelled Chris. “I’m not the one who fired first. Show yourself or your girlfriend gets it.”

Nothing happened for several seconds.

“Buddy, your time is running short.” To emphasize his point, Chris focused his aim on Alissa.

“Do as he says,” called out Alissa. “I don’t think he’ll shoot us.”

“I hope you’re right.” Nathan emerged from behind his cover. He laid his weapon against the tree and, with his hands above his head, cautiously made his way to Alissa, moving alongside her.

“How many of you are there?” asked Chris.

“Just the two of us.” Alissa spoke too quickly.

“I fell for that once.” Chris raised his AK-47 and aimed it at Nathan. “How many of you are there?”

“Three. Now drop your weapon.”

Miriam stood at the right corner of the cabin, her Mossberg pointed at Chris. During the commotion out front, she had snuck up from the rear and gotten the drop on him. To his credit, Chris did not flinch. He kept his aim fixed on Nathan.

Miriam took several steps toward Chris, stopping five feet from him. “I said drop your weapon.”

With his right thumb, he switched the weapon from single shot to semi-automatic mode. “Shoot me and there’s a good chance one or both of them will die.”

“Take the shot,” ordered Nathan.

Chris’ finger tightened on the trigger. “Stand down if you want your friends to live.”

“The odds are against you, so lower your weapon. Now.”

Alissa glanced down at her shotgun, calculating whether she could retrieve it and fire back before Chris gunned her down. She felt certain Nathan made the same calculations.

The German Shepard burst through the cabin door, pausing by Chris. Seeing Miriam holding a gun against his master, he started barking. Miriam switched her aim to the dog, giving Chris the advantage.

He did not take it.

“I give up.” Chris raised the AK-47 above his head and tossed it off the porch. With his right hand, he reached down and grabbed the dog’s collar.

Nathan picked up Alissa’s Mossberg and aimed it at Chris.

Chris raised his left hand in surrender while still clutching the collar. “Don’t kill Shithead.”

“Shithead?” asked Alissa.

“My dog.” Chris crouched and wrapped his arm around the Shepard, which calmed him down.

“I know who you mean.” Alissa suppressed a smile. “But Shithead?”

“Yeah.”

Miriam lowered the Mossberg a few inches. “Why Shithead?”

“Well,” Chris scratched the dog behind his ears. “He is a bit of a shithead.”

Alissa unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh. Miriam joined in a moment later. Nathan looked between the two as if they were crazy. As he began to aim, Alissa placed her hand on the barrel. She knelt on the access road.

“Come here, boy.”

The dog hesitated.

Alissa patted her leg. “I won’t hurt you.”

Chris nodded his approval. Shithead stepped off the porch and walked over to Alissa, his ears down and his tail between his legs. Alissa held out her hand. The dog extended his nose and sniffed it. After a few seconds, he inched forward and licked her fingers, continuing until he gave her hand a full tongue bath and his tail wagged furiously. Alissa slowly reached for his collar and checked the name tag. It read ACHILLES.

“It says his name is Achilles.”

The dog barked and wagged his tail even harder.

“It is,” Chris replied, his hands still in the air.

“Why did you change it?”

Chris shrugged. “He didn’t seem like an Achilles.”

Alissa couldn’t argue with that. She stood up and headed for the discarded AK-47 with Shithead trotting along beside her. Picking it up, she ejected the magazine and removed the round in the chamber, then handed the weapon back to Chris. He slung it over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said.

“That’s okay.” Alissa handed him the magazine and single round. “Sorry we shot at you.”

“It’s a good thing your friend here is a good shot. The bullet came awfully close, though.”

“I wasn’t trying to miss,” said Nathan.

For a moment, Chris didn’t know how to respond. Finally, he smiled at Alissa. “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“That sounds good. Anything to get out of the cold.”

Chapter Twelve

Everyone introduced themselves while Chris made coffee, including Shithead who made his rounds from chair to chair, pestering Alissa, Miriam, and Nathan until they petted him. Alissa related everything that had happened to her from the beginning of the outbreak in Boston to their arrival at the cabin, with Miriam and Nathan jumping in to add their portions when appropriate. Chris would step out of the kitchen to ask questions or bring in coffee mugs, packets of sugar, and a dish towel he folded in half and placed on the center of the table. On his last trip, Chris brought out the pot of coffee and set it down on the dish towel.

“Sorry I don’t have any milk or cream or anything to offer you to eat.” Chris sat in an empty chair and pulled it closer to the table. Shithead came over and curled up on the rug beside him. “There wasn’t much here when I arrived. I’ve been living off the supplies I brought with me and the few canned goods that were already here. Thank God the electricity is still running so the pumps work, otherwise we’d be screwed.”

“Most of the electricity for the cabins comes from windmills erected a few miles from here,” Alissa explained. “Once those break down there’s no one around to fix them.”

“I’m enjoying it while I can.” Chris lifted the coffee pot. Alissa and Miriam held out their mugs, which he filled. Chris offered some to Nathan, who sat with a stern and stoic expression, and declined. Chris pored himself a mug and placed the pot back on the towel.

“To be honest, we’re lucky to have made it this far. This is the first place I’ve come across since this all began where I’ve felt comfortable holding up for more than a day or two.”

“Have you broken into a lot of places?” asked Nathan, making no effort to conceal his contempt.

Chris bristled but kept his demeanor calm. “It’s not like I threw out who ever lived here or killed them. This cabin was empty and I needed a place to stay. Where are you staying?”

Alissa raised the mug to her lips, pausing long enough to say, “I own a cabin not too far from here.”

“Guess that makes me look foolish.”

“Not all.” Alissa placed the mug back on the table. “You do what you have to in order to survive. We stole two cars to get here.”

Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“How long have you been here?” asked Miriam.

“We arrived three days ago.”

“We?” asked Nathan.

“Me and Shithead. I spotted this place from the road and thought it might be a good location to hole up for a while. I knocked on the door and checked to make sure the place was empty before breaking in. We pretty much slept and warmed up for the first twenty-four hours. I’ve been afraid to light a fire or turn on the lights fearing I’d bring a deader horde down on us. Today is the first day I used the fireplace.”

“It did bring attention to yourself,” joked Miriam.

“Thank God you’re decent folk.” Chris raised his mug in a toast.

“You never told us your last name,” prodded Alissa.

“Sorry about that. It’s Christopher Andelman, but everyone calls me Chris. And you’ve already met Shithead.”

The Shepard lifted his head and wagged his tail at the sound of his name.

“What’s your story?” Alissa asked.

“I’m from a little town named Myra about twenty miles northeast of Bangor, in Maine. When the shit hit the fan, a bunch of us who used to chum around in high school came up with the brilliant idea of pulling together all the supplies and weapons we had and heading for one of the islands off the coast. There were only four of us. We figured we could hide in one of the empty homes out there until this thing blew over. Man, did we screw up.”

“How?”

“We loaded up Curt’s van and headed down to Bangor thinking we’d be able to pay someone to take us out to one of the islands. Everyone had the same idea. There were thousands trying to find a way to safety. Most of the boat owners were cool about helping. Then a bunch of rich assholes cut to the front of the line and offered to pay big bucks to be taken out first. That’s when the trouble began. Arguments broke out. Arguments turned into fights and fights turned into gunfire. Most people panicked and ran. Others stormed the last few boats available with predictable results. We went back to the van to try another city and some asshole had stolen it and our supplies. The four of us headed out of Bangor as fast as possible. We lost John in Bangor, though I don’t know how or when. After that, the rest of us decided to make our way inland.”

“You walked?” asked Miriam.

Chris nodded.

“From Bangor?”

He took a sip of coffee

“That has to be over a hundred miles.”

“A little over a hundred and fifty. We didn’t walk the entire way. We followed the river to Searsport, Belfast, Lincolnville, and Camden hoping to find someone with a boat who would take us out to the islands. Everyone in those smaller towns had already hunkered down or fled. We found an abandoned Prius outside of Camden and drove to Portland, hoping to catch a boat from there. We made it as far as Brunswick when the radio reported that Portland had been overrun by deaders. The three of us decided to ditch the idea about escaping to the islands and head for the mountains instead. We took the back roads trying to get across I-95 before the deaders. We didn’t make it.”

Chris paused and grew sullen.

“You don’t have to tell us the rest,” Alissa offered.

“I do. For their sake.” Chris drank some more coffee. “We made it as far as Gray and figured we’d cross there, but the deaders had already made it that far. The city had become a fucking nightmare. A lot of people got trapped. We couldn’t get across the highway because of the deaders and couldn’t backtrack because of the traffic, so we left the Prius and set out on foot along with hundreds of others seeking a safe place to hide. A horde of about two hundred deaders jumped us an hour later. That’s when I lost Curtis and Richie. Thankfully, there were more deaders than humans otherwise none of us would have survived.” Chris paused and made eye contact with everyone at the table. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so callous.”

“It’s okay,” said Alissa, suppressing her own flashbacks about what happened in the ER in Boston.

“After that, I headed west and searched for any place that seemed safe. There weren’t any. I tried to find warm places to spend the night. Homes. Businesses. Any place where I could get out of the elements and not be overwhelmed while I slept. I spent five days hiding out in the sleeper cab of a big rig outside of Sebago. That thing wasn’t fit to live in by the time I left. I also spent a week trapped inside a tourist information center while those things roamed around outside. That sucked. I couldn’t sleep in case I snored and brought them down on me. In both cases, something distracted them and I took the opportunity to move on as fast as I could. As the deaders got slower it became easier to avoid them. I stayed in a couple of places, for a few days at a time, but moved on because I knew they wouldn’t be defendable if a horde showed up. I eventually made my way to the mountains, found an isolated cabin, and figured it would be the safest place to wait out the end of the world.”

Miriam pointed to the dog. “When did you two team up?”

“About three weeks ago. I found him trapped in a house. The owners probably were killed before they could get back to him. I broke in and fed him, and he let me spend the night. We’ve been together ever since.” Chris leaned over and petted Shithead, whose tail began to wag furiously. “He’s been my best friend, has listened to me piss and moan, and has even saved me once or twice from running into deaders.”

“I have a question.” Nathan placed his forearms on the table. “What do you mean the deaders got slower?”

Chris seemed confused. “Haven’t you run into any lately?”

“We’ve been up here for six weeks,” explained Alissa.

“You remember how fast these things were in the beginning? They’re nowhere near that dangerous anymore. The deaders stumble along like the ones in the movies. They don’t pose a threat unless you get caught by a group of them.”

“None of them are fast?” asked Miriam.

“Only the ones that are newly reanimated.” Chris lifted the pot and gestured if anyone wanted more. When no one accepted, he filled his mug.

“Do you have any explanation for this?” Nathan asked Alissa.

Alissa thought for a moment. “The only thing I can think of is that, as their bodies decay, the deaders lose the ability of movement, like someone who’s been laid up in bed for weeks and their muscles begin to atrophy.”

Miriam grew excited. “So, if we wait long enough the deaders will decompose like any other corpse.”

Alissa shook her head. “Possible, but don’t count on it. If the normal rate of decay factored into this, none of the deaders turned in the first few days should be ambulatory. Chris, did you see any immobile deaders while you were out there?”

“Not a one.” Chris took a sip of coffee.

“How do you account for that?” asked Nathan.

“Whatever virus turned these people into deaders has probably slowed the rate of decomposition.”

“Why would it do that?”

“I’m not a biologist, so I’m not an expert,” explained Alissa. “A virus can only survive as long as its host survives, so it has to keep the host alive long enough for it to spread to others. Like Miriam said, if the normal rate of decomposition applied, this pandemic would burn itself out in a few months at most. By delaying the rate of decay, the virus has a better chance of spreading.”

“That’s fucking cheery,” huffed Miriam. She held up her mug to Chris. “Do you have alcohol to add to this?”

“Shit, I wish I did. I haven’t had a drink since the outbreak began.”

“We have some back at our cabin,” said Alissa. “We’ll share it with you.”

Nathan cleared his throat.

“What?”

Chris detected the discomfort. “Do you want me to step out for a few minutes?”

“Please,” answered Nathan.

“You can stay,” countered Alissa. She focused her attention on Nathan. “We have more than enough supplies. We can share some.”

“The more we share the sooner we have to go on a run to get more.”

“And we’ll have another set of hands to help us.”

Chris jumped at the chance. “I’ll be happy to help out anyway I can.”

“Thank you.” Alissa smiled in appreciation. “Welcome to our group, but you’ll have to stay here. Our cabin is crowded enough as it is.”

“I don’t mind. I enjoy being alone.” Shithead raised his head and barked. Chris leaned over and scratched the dog’s ears. “You know what I mean, boy.”

“Once we’re done here, come on by our place. We’ll set you up and Nathan can drive you back.”

“Great.” Chris drank some more coffee. “How far is your cabin from here?”

Alissa motioned with her head. “On the other side of the ridge.”

“Damn. I can’t believe I missed it.” Chris took a final sip and placed his mug on the table. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Thirteen

The trip back took less time because they followed the direct route over the ridge. As they approached Alissa’s cabin, Nathan pulled a radio from his coat pocket and keyed the talk button.

“Steve, do you read me?”

A few seconds passed before the radio crackled to life. “Nathan, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“How did your recon go?”

“We made a new friend.

“Who?”

“You’ll meet him in a minute. We’re bringing him back with us, so don’t get spooked.”

“Roger that. See you in a few.”

As Nathan pocketed the radio, Chris said, “Any chance you have an extra one for me in case I need to get in touch with you?”

“We can spare one,” said Alissa to Nathan’s chagrin.

A minute later the cabin came into view. Chris whistled.

Alissa grinned. “You like it?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait till you see inside,” added Miriam.

When they entered, Kiera and Little Stevie raced over and hugged their mother. Alissa introduced everyone as Shithead sniffed out the kids, his tail wagging the entire time. As they were hanging their coats on the rack by the door, a loud meowing came from the bedrooms and Archer raced down the stairs. Upon seeing Shithead, he stopped.

“Shit,” said Alissa. “I forgot about Archer.”

Shithead slowly approached the cat.

Little Stevie pulled on Chris’ sleeve. “Mister, your dog won’t hurt Archer, will he?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know how he’ll react.”

Shithead inched his way toward Archer. The cat hissed. Shithead stopped, his ears popping up and his head shifting to one side. Archer hissed again. Shithead broke into a smile, his tail wagging. Lowering the front half of his body to the floor, he presented himself.

Alissa nudged Chris. “Looks like he made a friend.”

With his right front paw, Archer slapped the dog repeatedly on his nose and forehead. Shithead backed away. Archer followed, hissing and keeping up the pounding until Shithead jumped back and ran behind Chris, whining. Archer meowed defiantly, spun around, and proudly headed back upstairs.

Nathan stifled a laugh and Miriam gently punched him in the shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” said Alissa, suppressing a giggle. “I didn’t think Archer would beat up your dog.”

“I’m not surprised,” Chris responded good-naturedly. “Why do you think I call him Shithead.”

Little Stevie squealed. “Mister, your dog is named Shithead?”

“No.” Miriam waved her hands. “His name is Achilles.”

The damage had been done. Little Stevie hugged the dog and repeated his name.

Kiera petted his head and scratched his ears. “Did that mean old cat pick on you, Shithead?”

Miriam rolled her eyes and walked away.

Basking in the glory of unbridled affection, Shithead quickly forgot his humiliating defeat.

Chapter Fourteen

Four days after meeting Chris, the freezing cold let up, with temperatures rising into the low 40s. Nathan and Steve decided to take advantage of the mild weather to chop new firewood, partly to replenish their stock but mostly to get out of the cabin and enjoy some fresh air. Nathan split each log in half, then into quarters, and then into eighths. When finished, Steve stacked the wood in front of the porch to expose it to the air and sun while Nathan went to work on another log. Nathan placed it on the cutting stump, raised the axe above his head, and brought it down hard, powering his way through the split and cleaving the log in half.

“Can I make a suggestion?” offered Steve. “If you let the axe fall naturally rather than putting muscle into it, you won’t tire out so soon.”

“I know. I’m working out some frustration.”

“Ah, Chris.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“A bit.”

“We don’t know a lot about him.” Nathan placed one of the half logs on the stump. “I’m not keen on the idea of giving him supplies.”

“It’s only a month’s worth of food.”

“That’s not what bothered me. I’m worried that she gave him one of the Colt. 45s and two hundred rounds of ammunition.”

“I wouldn’t worry. We outgun and outman him. Besides, he’s been over every night for dinner.”

“That’s another thing that bothers me.” Nathan brought down the axe so hard the two split logs flew off in different directions. “Why does he spend so much time here?”

“Maybe because it’s the end of the world and those few survivors who are left need to band together?” Steve picked up the two logs and brought them back to the stump, placing one upright for Nathan to cleave again. “Are you more concerned about Chris being a danger to the group, or being a rival for Alissa’s attention?”

“That’s absurd.”

“Is it? Miriam and I have seen the way Chris eyes her.”

Nathan spun around. “Seriously?”

“No. But your reaction tells me you are jealous.”

“Bastard.” Nathan split the log and set up the other one Steve had collected. “And you’re right. I am a little jealous.”

“I understand. Give him a chance. Miriam and the kids like him, and they’re a good judge of character.” Steve smiled. “They stayed with me this long.”

“That’s supposed to be a recommendation?” Nathan joked. He finished splitting the log.

“What are the chances of me splitting some?” asked Steve. “I could use some exercise.”

“Not with that hand.”

“Come on. I can use it.”

Nathan shook his head. “Alissa and Miriam would have my ass.”

Steve meowed and then made the sound of a whip cracking.

“Damn right I am.” Nathan picked up the wood and headed for the porch. “I’m going to get a beer. You want one?”

“No, thanks.”

Steve waited until his friend had dumped the logs into the pile and entered the cabin. He could do this. Shit, he needed to do this. It had not been lost on him that, ever since he got wounded in the hand, he had been the one left to babysit the kids while the others gathered up supplies and transportation in Dover and investigated Chris at the cabin. He was wounded, not crippled. He had to show them.

Stepping over to the stump, Steve placed a full log on it and hoisted the axe above his head. He carefully lined up the blade with the log and let the axe drop. Because of his weakened right hand, he could not keep the axe steady. The blade veered right, missed the log and stump, and imbedded itself in his right lower thigh. He bellowed from the pain as he dropped to the ground and propped himself against the stump. Terror replaced pain when Steve saw blood spurting from the wound.

Nathan rushed out holding a FAL, expecting to find deaders descending on the area. When he saw his friend on the ground, a large pool of blood forming under his leg, he pushed open the door to the cabin.

“Alissa, Steve’s hurt. He needs medical assistance.”

Nathan rushed over to Steve, unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops. He crouched, wrapped the belt around Steve’s upper right leg, put the end through the buckle, and yanked it tight. Steve gasped. Nathan continued until the belt could go no further, pushing the artery against the bone and stopping the flow of blood.

“Oh my God.” Miriam dropped to her knees beside her husband. “What happened?”

Steve inhaled between clenched teeth. “I tried chopping some wood and the axe slipped.”

Alissa ran over with a trauma bag and gently moved Miriam out of the way. “What happened?”

“He was chopping wood and accidentally cut an artery,” said Nathan.

“Good move stopping the bleeding.”

“It’s not going to hold once I release the pressure on the belt.”

“I know.” Alissa removed a tourniquet from the kit and secured it around Steve’s leg above the belt. “It’s all set.”

Nathan removed his belt and slid it back on as Alissa placed a sterile bandage over the wound, taping it in place.

“Let’s bring him inside. I can work on him there.”

“Work on me?” asked Steve.

“Surgery.”

“What can I do?” asked Miriam.

“Get the door for us.” Alissa placed the strap of the trauma kit over her shoulder and positioned herself by Steve’s legs. She made eye contact with Nathan. “Grab his arms and lift on three.”

“Is this going to hurt?” Steve asked.

“Badly.”

“Ready when you are,” said Nathan.

“One. Two. Three.”

Steve screamed when they lifted him. Alissa and Nathan carried him across the yard, up the steps, and into the cabin.

“Dad!” Little Stevie ran over to hug his father.

“Stay back.” Alissa said it firmly but gently. “You can hug your father later.”

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Kiera.

“Yes. Let me do my job. Miriam?”

“Yes?”

“Clean off the dining room table.”

Miriam and Kiera ran over and cleaned off the surface. Alissa and Nathan placed Steve on the table. He groaned. Alissa checked the bandages. Blood had soaked through but at least the bleeding had slowed.

She caught Miriam’s attention. “Stay with him while I scrub up.” Then to Kiera. “Get my case with the surgical supplies.”

As Kiera raced upstairs, Alissa headed for the kitchen, ordering Nathan to join her.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing for surgery.” Alissa turned on the hot water faucet, testing the flow until it reached the correct temperature.

“Are you serious?”

“I stopped the blood flow, but we can’t keep the tourniquet on forever otherwise he’ll lose the leg. I’m going to suture the arteries.”

“Do you know how to?”

“I’ve assisted doctors before in the ER when they’ve done the procedure.” Alissa wet her hands and began soaping up. She motioned to the sink. “Come on.”

“Sorry?”

“Scrub up. You’re going to assist me.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Weren’t you medically trained?”

“To deliver babies and do triage. Not surgery.”

“Congratulations. You’ve been promoted. What are you waiting for?”

Nathan rolled up his sleeves and joined in. By the time they both returned to the dining room Kiera had retrieved the surgical supply kit and opened it. Alissa selected a package of latex gloves, opened them, and slid them on.

“Kiera, get me the vodka, please.”

The teenager ran off and came back a few seconds later with the bottle, handing it to Alissa.

“Is that to clean the wound?” asked Steve.

“Yes.” She unscrewed the top and handed it to Steve. “It’s also anesthesia.”

Taking the bottle, Steve took a large gulp every few seconds, drinking down a third of it before giving it back. As he did, Alissa removed from both kits two clips, three needles, and surgical thread. She threaded the three needles before dousing them and the clips with vodka. Alissa removed the bandages, revealing the wound. She held the bottle over the wound.

“Are you ready?”

Steve nodded. When she poured the vodka on the wound, he groaned from deep in his gut and bit his lip so hard it bled. Miriam held his hand.

Alissa worked quickly. She secured one clip two inches from the end of both sections of severed artery and then stitched the ends shut, making two rows of sutures on each section to ensure they would hold. Steve passed out from the pain before she had finished the second set. When completed, she removed both clips and then placed her hand on the tourniquet.

“Keep your fingers crossed.”

Alissa released the tourniquet. The blood flowed back into the artery and the stitches held. She sighed in relieve.

“He’ll be all right.”

Little Stevie and Kiera cried. Miriam smiled and fought back her tears.

“Thank God.” Nathan started to take off his gloves.

“You’re not done yet,” said Alissa. “We still have to sew up the wound.”

*     *     *

An hour later, the wound had been closed, Steve had been transferred to his bed upstairs, and Alissa had pumped him with a medical cocktail of pain killers and antibiotics. Miriam sat with her husband while Alissa and Steve cleaned up the mess and themselves, with Kiera’s help.

They were all sitting around the fireplace, the adults drinking triple shots of whiskey, Kiera reading a book, when Miriam came downstairs.

“How’s he doing?” asked Nathan.

“He’s sleeping peacefully, thank God.” Miriam poured herself a quadruple shot of whiskey and joined the others. “Thank you both. He’s alive because of you.”

Alissa took a sip. “He’s not out of the woods yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Alissa called to Little Stevie. “Would you go upstairs and play with Archer? He’s been alone all day.”

“Can I give him treats?”

“Yes.”

“Yay.” He raced upstairs. Alissa waited until she heard the bedroom door close.

Miriam leaned forward. “What do you mean he’s not out of the woods yet?”

“The surgery went fine and his chances of recovery are excellent. Steve lost a lot of blood. I estimate about a liter, maybe a little more. That’s not enough to kill him, but it could hamper his recovery, especially if an infection sets in. If for some reason he starts bleeding again, he can’t afford to lose more blood or it’ll kill him. We need to give Steve a blood transfusion.”

“Doesn’t sound like a big deal,” said Nathan. “We can donate.”

“I wish it was that simple.”

Nathan drank down the rest of his whiskey and refilled the glass. “It never is with us.”

“What are saying?” asked Miriam.

“Your husband’s blood type is rare. AB-. Less than one percent of the population has that. He can only take a transfusion from someone with a negative blood type.”

“Let me guess,” said Nathan. “None of us have negative blood types.”

“Exactly.”

“And the only place to find this blood is at the local hospital.”

Alissa nodded.

“Shit.” Nathan drank a mouthful of whiskey.

“No problem.” Miriam tried to remain optimistic. “We’ll head into town and pick up what we need.”

“You won’t be going,” said Alissa.

“Why?”

“I need you here with Steve in case something happens to him while we’re in town.”

“I can stay with dad,” offered Kiera.

“You won’t be able to handle any medical issues that develop. Your mother needs to stay with your father.” Alissa paused. “I need you to go into town with us.”

Kiera perked up. “Really?”

“You’re not going into town,” said Miriam. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t ask her to go if I thought she would be in any danger. Nathan and I need someone to stay outside in the pick-up to warn us if any deaders threaten to cut us off.”

“As much as I hate to say it,” began Nathan. “Why don’t we ask Chris?”

“We’re picking him up at eight in the morning on our way into town.”

Nathan did not look pleased.

“I radioed him earlier and he agreed to help. Kiera will be his back up.” Alissa switched her attention to Miriam. “I promise, if things get bad, Chris will pull her out of the area.”

“Please, mom. Let me go. To help dad.”

Miriam thought about it for several seconds. She took a long drink of whiskey and sighed. “You can go.”

Kiera nearly jumped out of her chair with excitement.

“But no heroics on your part,” Miriam warned her. Then to Alissa. “I’m counting on you to keep her safe.”

“You have my word.”

Miriam raised her glass. “Then here’s to good luck tomorrow.”

Alissa and Nathan joined in.

Kiera asked, “Can I have some?”

Miriam flashed her a stern glare. “Don’t press your luck.”

Chapter Fifteen

Alissa and Nathan sat in the Land Rover and Chris and Kiera sat in the Ram in the far corner of the parking lot of Memorial Hospital in North Conway. They had gone over the plans several times to make certain each of them knew what they needed to do to get in, grab the blood, and get out as quickly and safely as possible. Enter via the front rather than the Emergency Room; even though farther from the blood bank, there should be fewer deaders along the route. Use bladed weapons over firearms if possible so that they didn’t attract more of the living dead. Let Chris worry about covering the outside while Alissa and Nathan focused on what’s inside.

“I don’t like this,” said Alissa. “This hospital is too close to the center of town.”

“We don’t have much of a choice. Every other hospital is on the other side of 93, which is overrun with deaders.”

“I know. It’s—” Alissa tried to blot from her memory what had happened back in Boston.

“Don’t worry. You know the plan. If it gets bad, we’ll withdraw and try the next one in Berlin.”

“That’s more than sixty miles north of us.”

“We all agreed not to risk our lives unnecessarily.” Nathan reached out and rubbed her shoulder, squeezing affectionately. “Are you all set?”

“Yeah.”

Nathan keyed his radio and waited for Chris to answer. “What’s up?”

“Ready when you are.”

“Roger that.”

Chris placed the radio on the seat beside him. “It’s showtime.”

Kiera smiled. “Let’s do this.”

He drove across the parking lot, staying close to the building until he reached the front entrance, then stopped with the rear of the pick-up twenty feet from the sliding glass doors. He pressed on the horn three times. The twenty or so deaders inside the main lobby stirred. One in a long white coat spotted the humans and snarled. The pack stumbled toward the entrance. Chris revved the engine a few times to agitate them. The moaning, groping pack headed for the doors.

And slammed into the glass.

“What the fuck?”

“The electricity is out,” said Kiera. “The sliding doors won’t work.”

“Shit.” Chris keyed his microphone. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” asked Nathan.

“There’s no electricity in the hospital. Won’t the blood have spoiled?”

Alissa’s voice came over the radio. “There should be an emergency generator that keeps the important portions of the hospital running.”

“Wouldn’t the gas have run out by now?”

“I saw solar panels on the roof. I’m hoping they’re keeping the emergency generators running.”

“And if not?”

“Then we head north to Berlin.”

Chris placed the radio back on the dashboard and thought for a moment. He slid in his seat to face the rear. “Hold on.”

Shifting into reverse, he accelerated quickly, smashing the rear of the bed into the doors. The glass shattered, the metal frame collapsed, and most of the deaders were thrown back several feet. The red emergency light above the door began flashing. He pulled away and stopped ten yards from the hospital. Those deaders not knocked over maneuvered around the others and exited the lobby. One by one, the others climbed to their feet, except for the three with broken legs, and shambled after them.

Chris moved fifty feet ahead of the pack and stopped, waiting for the living dead to catch up. Checking his side mirrors to make certain all the deaders had cleared the lobby and were behind him, he coasted across the parking lot, occasionally shifting into neutral and revving the engine to keep their attention. At the end of the lot, Chris veered right onto Route 302 and led the deaders away.

Alissa and Nathan sat silent and motionless in the Land Rover, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. It took twenty minutes for Chris to clear the area. Once no deaders were in sight, Nathan waited five extra minutes, started the engine, and pulled over to the hospital entrance.

Half a mile to the south sat the John H. Fuller Elementary School. At least it had been an elementary school until six weeks ago when the National Guard had converted it into a registration center for the thousands of refugees pouring into North Conway. The authorities had originally intended to register their names, check them for bites, and set them up with cots inside the school. As should have been anticipated, one or more persons had been infected, reanimated, and attacked other refugees. Within an hour, the entire compound of nearly two thousand people had either become deaders or food. None of them had eaten in over a month and, with no distractions around, had never wandered from the compound.

However, today unusual noises came from the north. The blaring of a car horn. The shattering of glass. The revving of an engine. None of these sounds were distinguishable by the deaders. They related them to only one thing.

Food.

As one, the mass of two thousand living dead staggered out of the compound and headed for the hospital.

Alissa and Nathan climbed out of the SUV. The stench of decayed flesh overpowered her senses, making her gag. She swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to puke.

“Are you okay?” asked Nathan.

She nodded. “I didn’t expect it to smell this bad.”

Nathan and Alissa slid the straps of their FAL and Mossberg, respectively, over their shoulders in case they needed them. Alissa slid her machete out of its sheath. Nathan clasped his hunting knife and unbuttoned the clasp on his holster in case he needed quick access to his S&W.

One of the three deaders Chris had crippled, its femur jutting out from its leg and oozing a trail of congealed blood, crawled toward Nathan. A swarm of gorged flies and wasps fed off the body. It lifted its head toward him and snarled. Nathan raised his left foot and smashed it down on the deader’s head. Several of its teeth shattered on the cement. Flies and hornets flew off, several buzzing around his head. He stomped the deader’s head two more times until the skull caved in. He then stepped over to another deader laying on its back, its spine crushed, but still moaning and clawing at him. Nathan rolled it over and plunged his hunting knife through the base of its skull and twisted the blade until the deader went still. Again, flies and wasps formed a cloud around Nathan, one of them stinging his hand.

“Ready?” he asked.

“One minute.”

The last crippled deader lay in front of Alissa, its legs fractured and its left arm bent backwards, unable to do anything other than rock back and forth. She stepped up and slammed the machete into the back of its skull, cleaving the head in half like a melon. Alissa walked around the body, pausing long enough to clean off the blade on its clothes.

“Now I’m ready.”

Alissa crossed the lobby to the receptionist area, checked to make certain nothing hid there, and moved behind the desk.

“What are you looking for?”

“A floor plan for the hospital. We need to find the blood bank.” She set down her machete and shuffled through the papers. “Here it is.”

Alissa laid the floor plan on the top of the desk. The blood bank was located at the opposite end of the hospital outside the ER. To get there, they would have to go to the Women’s Health center, go right, and, at the end of the hospital, go left toward the ER. Only five hundred feet on paper, but how easy it would be depended on what lie beyond the double doors behind them. She folded the map and slid it into her jacket pocket.

“Let’s go.”

“If the power’s out, how are we going to buzz ourselves in?” Nathan asked.

“The security locks are disengaged during a power outage.”

“Which also means there’s nothing keeping the deaders locked in their rooms.”

Alissa picked up the machete and held it in front of her. “It’ll make it interesting.”

“They’re still behind us.” Kiera shifted in her seat, facing front.

“Are you okay?”

“If you mean am I scared, no. Well, not anymore. These things are so slow I could outwalk them if I had to.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Chris shifted into neutral and revved the engine. The pack behind him surged forward, grasping for them.

Alissa pushed open the lobby door enough to stick her head through. A small corridor stretched for fifty feet before ending on another one. On the right were male and female bathrooms. The doors pushed inward, so any deaders inside the bathrooms could not get out. The two moved down the corridor, Nathan quietly closing the door after him. The stench of the dead lingered here as well, although not as bad as in the lobby.

At the intersection of the corridors, Alissa and Nathan paused and cautiously peered around the corners. It ran the length of the main building. Four deaders roamed it, three to the right and one to the left, each at varying intervals, stumbling around in the limited lighting provided by the emergency system.

Alissa mouthed, “Do you think we can take them?”

Nathan nodded.

They stepped out into the center. Alissa tapped the top of her machete against the wall. The four deaders were unable at first to determine the source of the noise. Nathan whistled. The living dead focused on the two humans and moved toward them.

Alissa rushed the lone deader, a male nurse whose blue scrubs were discolored by dried blood. She held the machete over her right shoulder like a bat, slowed as she drew near, and swung. The blade sliced through the deader’s neck. It collapsed. Its head lopped to the side, bouncing off the wall and coming to rest alongside the body.

Nathan stepped up to the closest of his three targets, a woman in civilian clothes with a bite wound on its lower arm. Nathan planned his move carefully. When it drew close enough, he clutched the front of its shirt, holding it in place, and plunged his hunting knife through the side of its neck below the right ear and twisted. The deader stiffened for a moment before dropping to the floor, sliding off the blade.

The second deader was partially naked, the remains of a hospital gown dangling from its right arm, leaving Nathan nothing to hold on to. Its lower jaw had been torn off. Nathan allowed it to get closer, waiting for the right opportunity. When it lunged, Nathan stepped forward, wrapped his left hand around its arm, and drove the hunting knife through its mouth into the primordial brain. He tried to pull it out, but the hilt caught on the jaw.

The last deader, a motorcycle State Trooper that still wore its helmet, took advantage of the opportunity and attacked. Nathan let go of the knife and moved back. The naked deader slid to the floor, tripping the trooper which stumbled into Nathan. Both fell against the wall. Nathan felt its teeth gnawing at his leather jacket. He unsuccessfully tried to force his hands between himself and the dead thing to push it away. Something moved on his right. Panic welled up inside of him as he expected another deader to join in the frenzy. Instead, Alissa body checked the trooper, knocking it off Nathan and sending it sprawling on its back. She passed by and raised the machete over her head. When the deader growled, Alissa brought down the weapon with as much force as possible. The blade drove through its face, slicing past its nose and gouging out its left eye. The deader went into seizures. Placing her left foot on its chest, she yanked the weapon from its face, repositioned it, and slammed the blade down on the neck. The severed head rolled a few inches away.

“Thanks.” Nathan picked himself off the floor. “That—”

Alissa brought her index finger to her lips as she listened. She heard agitated deaders in the distance, but the sounds were muffled, indicating they were trapped in rooms. A few moments passed and nothing came after them.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

“Which way?”

Alissa led them to the ER. Occasionally, as they passed a patient’s room, something moaned and scratched against the door on the other side. Since the deaders were trapped they posed no threat, and no loose ones roamed the building. Three quarters of the way down the corridor, they reached a pair of coded double doors to the hall that led to the Emergency Room, pathology, and the blood bank. Two deaders in civilian attire stumbled around the hall and a third in a nurse’s uniform lay face down, its legs broken, motionless. Alissa gently pushed against the doors and they opened.

Nathan clutched the grip of his hunting knife tighter. “Let’s get them.”

Alissa stopped him. “If we do it there, it’ll create too much noise and draw the others from the ER, then we’re screwed. Let’s lure them out her.”

Nathan moved to the right of the doorway. Alissa pushed the left door with her hand hard enough for it to bump into the wall. The two deaders spun around, searching for the noise, and noticed the door swinging back into place. They made their way forward, bumped into the twin doors, and continued through into the corridor. Nathan attacked the one on the right, plunging the hunting knife into its ear and through the canal, twisting the blade several times. As its knees gave way, he clutched the deader under the left shoulder and quietly lowered it to the floor. Alissa swung her machete like a bat but misjudged, slamming the blade between its jaws. The deader bit down, its snarl becoming a gurgle as congealed blood flowed down its decayed throat. Alissa held it in place while Nathan stepped over, moved behind the deader, and jabbed the knife into the base of its skull. When the deader went limp, they lowered it to the floor.

Leading the way down the hall, Alissa hugged the wall to go around the nurse deader and not be seen through the door windows to the ER. She peered in. Five bodies lay on the floor in various levels of being eaten. Seven deaders stood amongst them, though it was impossible to tell how many more may be lurking in the rooms or around the nurses’ station.

Nathan tapped her shoulder and mouthed the words, “How many?”

With her free hand, Alissa held up five fingers and then two more. She moved away from the ER, backtracking against the wall to the blood bank. She tried the knob. Locked.

“Shit,” whispered Nathan.

Alissa pointed to the nurse on the floor and patted her own chest, indicating he should check her for a card badge. He crouched, made his way to the body, and rolled it over. Sure enough, a lanyard with a security card hung around her neck, covered in blood and gore. He took the card in his left hand and pulled the lanyard over—

The nurse’s eyes opened and focused on him. Before he could react, it sat up and bit his wrist. He pushed his arm down, pinning the deader’s head to the floor, and with his right scrambled its primordial brain through its neck. When its body went limp, he pried open its jaw and crawled back against the wall.

A stirring came from the ER.

Alissa scurried over to the body and removed the lanyard. In one swift motion, she pulled Nathan off the floor, swiped the card across the access panel to the blood bank, and, when the security lock clicked, opened the door and dragged him inside. She closed it quickly, slowing down at the last moment so it wouldn’t slam shut and attract any more attention. Listening carefully, Alissa thought she heard at least one deader roaming outside. At least they were safe for now.

Nathan slouched against the opposite wall, shaking and breathing heavily. She ran over to him and knelt by his side, reaching for his arm. Blood stained his sleeve.

“How bad were you bit?”

“I d-don’t know.”

Alissa examined his arm. The deader had bitten him near the end of the leather jacket’s sleeve. Blood stained his wrist. She wiped it off. There were no bite marks underneath, although another two inches and it would have punctured flesh. She saw no tears in the coat. Pulling it off and rolling up his sleeve, she checked Nathan’s arm, terrified of what she would find.

There were no wounds.

“Am I okay?”

“Yes,” Alissa sighed with relief. “You’re fortunate it didn’t break through your coat.”

“That’s why I got us the leather.” Nathan stood up and buttoned up his sleeve.

Alissa went to work completing the task at hand. She found the carrying cooler for transporting blood supplies, placed it on the counter, and opened the lid. Stepping over to the refrigeration units, she opened the door. They were operable.

Nathan patted her shoulder. “You were right about the emergency generators still working.”

“Thank God.” Browsing through them, Alissa found all the supplies of AB- blood and removed them. There were only five bags, which would be more than enough. Alissa placed them one by one in the cooler.

“Shit.”

Nathan slid on his coat. “What’s wrong?”

“The blood is ten to twenty days beyond its expiration date.”

“We went through all this for nothing?”

“Not necessarily. It may not have the same recuperative effects as fresh blood, but it won’t kill him. And it’ll replenish the blood he lost.” Alissa closed the cooler. “Let’s head home.”

“Easier said than done.” Nathan pointed to the monitor for the security camera outside the blood bank.

Five deaders hung around the door.

Chris had driven over a mile while Kiera consulted a map of the area. The pack of deaders still followed behind the Ram, with a few stragglers having joined along the way.

Kiera pointed through the windshield. “There it is, Mr. Andelman.”

“Chris.”

“Excuse me?”

“If we’re going to be hunting deaders together, I want you to call me Chris.”

Kiera beamed. “Okay.”

“Where are we going?”

Kiera pointed again. “Hurricane Mountain Road. A little farther down is a cul de sac that circles around. We can lose them there.”

Chris turned right onto Hurricane Mountain Road. The pack followed. A few hundred feet on the right they came to Crestwood Drive. Chris pulled into it, leading the deaders past several houses. When the rode curved to the left, he accelerated, speeding around the corner and circling around the neighborhood until the road merged with itself near Hurricane Mountain Road. None of the deaders were in sight. As Chris pulled onto the main road and backtracked toward the hospital, he and Kiera gave each other a high five.

Neither realized how premature the gesture was.

While driving down Route 302, they had passed several tourist lodgings bunched together near a scenic overlook. Following the outbreak, local authorities had housed hundreds of displaced persons here to ease the overflow in the downtown area. When the shit hit the fan, this area had been one of the first overrun. With no ready food supply available, the newly reanimated deaders had no reason to stray far from these lodgings, most wandering the nearby woods in search of wildlife. The only noise they had heard in weeks came from the pick-up with the revving engine as Chris lured the pack away, and it brought them back to the highway. Unbeknownst to Chris and Kiera, when they rushed back to rejoin Nathan and Alissa, they sped past deaders emerging from the trees that pursued the food.

As Chris and Kiera approached Memorial Hospital, they were unaware that five hundred deaders followed only a few hundred feet behind them.

Chapter Sixteen

“Is there is another way out of here?” asked Nathan.

Alissa shook her head. “Unless you want to crawl through the air ducts.”

“That only works in movies.” Nathan studied the monitor. “There’s only five of them. We could take them out.”

“And attract every deader in the ER. I don’t like our chances.”

“Then our best bet is to make a break for it.”

Alissa thought for a moment. “We could lead them in here first.”

Nathan thought Alissa had gone crazy.

“You open the door and hide behind it. I’ll lead them around the island in the center of the room and, when the coast is clear, we’ll sneak out.”

“Like I have a choice?”

Alissa placed the cooler of blood on top of the counter by the exit as Nathan took up position. Brandishing the machete, she stood halfway down the right side of the island and nodded to Nathan. He opened the door and remained hidden from view. The closest deader, dressed in a soiled New Hampshire State Trooper uniform, stared at her but did not move. Alissa tapped the tip of the machete on the island loud enough for those in the corridor to hear it. One by one, the five deaders shambled into the blood bank. She prayed none would be attracted from the ER. Alissa slowly backed away, drawing the first four toward her. The fifth deader, noticing the opening to the left of the island, sauntered in that direction. Nathan emerged from behind the door to take it down, but Alissa motioned for him to stay put. She continued around the island, luring the first four deep into the room and getting closer to the fifth. When three feet away from it, she spoke a single word.

“Now.”

Nathan stepped from behind his hiding spot, grabbed the cooler, and held the door open. Alissa slammed the handle of the machete into the face of the fifth deader, shattering several of its teeth and knocking it backwards, giving her enough room to escape. As Alissa ran, the other four snarled and stumbled around the island, anxious for fresh meat. Once she made it to the hall, Nathan closed the door, trapping the deaders inside.

Attracted by the noise, a deader in a security guard uniform pushed its way through the double doors of the ER. Nathan placed his body against the door and shoved, sending it tumbling back into the ER. The noise caught the attention of the others. Eight deaders staggered out of the side rooms and nurses’ station and headed for them.

Placing a hand on Alissa’s shoulder, he gently nudged her. “It’s time to go.”

The horde of deaders from the elementary school/displacement center continued marching north, no longer remembering why, merely moving along via instinct. As it passed Memorial Hospital, something attracted the attention of a deader in a priest’s uniform, its white collar hanging askew after suffering a bite to its neck. A flashing red light over the main entrance. The deader priest did not know what it meant or understand its importance. The remnants of its mind understood that something unusual meant food. Snarling, the deader priest broke from the pack and made its way across the parking lot toward the hospital.

The other two thousand deaders followed.

Alissa and Nathan made their way back through the hospital, staying in the center of the corridor. They passed through the main building, turned left, and followed the shorter corridor that led them to the front entrance. Busting through into the front lobby, Nathan summed up their situation with a single word.

“Fuck.”

Deaders filled the parking lot, swarmed around the Land Rover, and blocked the door, scores reaching for the flashing red light.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Alissa.

The sound of her voice attracted the attention of the closest deader. It spotted the humans and snarled. Within seconds, the living dead poured into the lobby.

“Haul ass.”

They made their way back to the main corridor. A covered walkway led from the main building to the separate orthopedics building out front. As they passed through it, Nathan removed his radio from his pocket.

“Chris, we have a situation. The parking lot is full of deaders and we can’t get to the SUV.”

“Where did they come from?”

“Who cares. We need to be extracted.”

“We’re approaching the hospital now and… holy fucking mother of God.”

“That sums it up nicely. Where are you now?”

“At the main entrance.”

Alissa clasped Nathan’s hand and pulled the radio close to her. “Go back to the Emergency Room exit and pull in behind the first building. The orthopedics building. We’re cutting through there and will meet you out back.”

“Roger that.”

As they passed through the opposite end of the walkway, Nathan said, “We have our way out.”

Alissa grabbed his arm and stopped him. “I wouldn’t be too certain about that.”

Only then did they realize that the orthopedics building had been converted into a morgue, more than a dozen deaders had made their way into this part of the building for the free lunch, and were still there.

Chris stared at the horde of deaders flooding across the parking lot and jamming near the main entrance. He had never seen so many of the living dead in one location and hoped he never would again. For a moment, he had no idea what to do. Those closest to the pick-up heard the engine and, attracted by the sound, switched direction toward them.

“Now would be a good time to get out of here,” warned Kiera.

“I agree.” Shifting into reverse, Chris backed the pick-up onto Route 302 and continued north until he entered the ER exit. He pulled alongside the orthopedics center and parked, waiting for Alissa and Nathan.

Nathan peered down the walkway into the main building. A stream of deaders from the lobby filled the main corridor. In front of them, the deaders in the makeshift morgue moved in.

“No need to remain quiet any longer.”

He slid his FAL off his shoulder, switched the weapon to single shot mode, aimed, and fired a single round into the face of the closest deader, a man wearing a blue jacket with FEMA embroidered above the chest pocket. Its head exploded. Alissa unslung her Mossberg and blasted away at the living dead. Every shot that tore into a body disturbed a cluster of flies and wasps that took to the air and buzzed around their heads. It took less than a minute to clear the nineteen deaders from the room.

Alissa grabbed the cooler and headed for the opposite side of the morgue when Nathan reached out and held her arm. He ejected the empty magazine from his FAL, slipped it in his pocket, and inserted a full one.

“I’d do the same. Never move into a potential battle zone without being fully loaded.”

Alissa loaded her shotgun then followed Nathan deeper into the building.

Kiera stared out the passenger window, focusing on the corner of the orthopedics center. The first few deaders rounded the building and, upon seeing the pick-up and hearing its idling engine, increased their pace.

“We have two minutes at most.”

Chris leaned forward and followed her gaze, “Come on, guys. Hurry up.”

Nathan passed a metal door with an attached sign reading:

TO LOADING DOCK

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

“This way.”

Nathan opened the door and stepped through, stopping so suddenly Alissa bumped into his back.

“Why’d you—?”

Alissa let the question drop. The loading dock area had been used to quarter National Guard troops. She knew that because torn and bloody cots were strewn around the area and twenty deaders in tattered and bloodied camouflage uniforms stared back at them. The closest stood a few feet away and lunged. Nathan shoved Alissa back into the building, knocking her off balance and into the wall. He slammed the door, but the deader had already reached its arms through the opening, preventing it from being closed. Nathan tried pushing it away. The deader grabbed his sleeve. No matter how many times he closed the door, it would not let go.

“I need help.”

Alissa rushed over. She spun her Mossberg around and used to stock to smash the deader’s fingers, pummeling the hand two or three times before it released its grip. The deader fell away, only to be replaced by two more that pushed through the gap. She spun the weapon back around and aimed.

“Get out of the way.”

Nathan released the knob and jumped back. Alissa fired at the door, blasting away their hands. Several rounds of buckshot ricocheted off the metal, one slicing her across the left cheek. She ignored the sting and continued firing until she ran out ammunition. As she loaded more rounds into the Mossberg, Nathan rushed forward to close the door. Three more deaders pushed their way through and stumbled down the corridor after them. Alissa and Nathan gave up and ran.

Nathan reached into his pocket and pulled out the radio.

“Chris, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Change of plans. There are too many deaders between us and the rear exit. We’ll have to go out the front.”

“That isn’t going to work. The deaders have the front blocked and are already swarming along the sides of the building.”

Chris watched the horde spread out across the front lawn and move along the side of the building.

“What about the windows?” asked Kiera.

“I don’t follow.”

She pointed to the front of the building. “The windows are high up like in a house. Can they get out that way?”

“You’re brilliant, kid.” Chris keyed the radio. “Nathan, can you make it to the very front of the building, the side that faces the street?”

“We should be able to.”

“Then do it. We’ll pick you up there.”

“What are—”

“Trust me.” Chris placed the radio on the seat beside him and shifted the pick-up into drive. “Make sure your door is locked, kid. We’re about to get close and personal with those things.”

Kiera fingered the button that locked the door. “It’s about time.”

Nathan pocketed his radio and continued down the corridor. “Chris told us to meet him at the front of the building.”

“There’s no exit there.”

“He told me to trust him.” Nathan gave her a stern look.

To their rear, the deaders from the loading dock merged with those from the main building. Alissa kept checking on the pack. After a few minutes, sunlight filtered through ahead of them, coming from the doctors’ offices along the front façade. Nathan tried the first four doors he came to. All were locked.

“Screw this.”

Nathan kicked the door, breaking the lock and busting it open. Alissa closed it behind them as Nathan pushed the heavy desk across the floor, creating a barricade. Alissa rushed over to the windows, raised the pane, and punched out the screen. When she peered out, her heart dropped. Chris drove the pick-up toward the road.

Nathan joined her and cursed under his breath. “I told you we couldn’t trust that son of a bitch.”

Chris made a U-turn and proceeded down the driveway leading to the main road. Rather than turn right and head for safety, he turned left and backtracked to the front of the hospital, then pulled into the main parking lot. After a hundred feet, he veered left over the curb and crossed the grass in front of the orthopedics center. A group of deaders broke off from the main horde and swarmed around the Ram, enclosing it on all sides. Chris maintained a speed of ten miles per hour, pushing through the sea of living dead.

“Will they trap us?” Kiera asked, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice.

“They shouldn’t as long as we keep moving.” Chris patted the dashboard. “There’s a lot of horsepower under the hood.”

Chris carefully maneuvered the pick-up against the building, scraping the right front fender along the wall to plow the deaders away until he pulled parallel with the front of the building. Hundreds closed in around them, those closest clawing at the glass, leaving streaks of congealed blood along the surface.

Kiera spotted the open window with the screen knocked onto the grass. A moment later, Alissa leaned out and waved. “There they are.”

Chris increased speed.

Alissa felt relief wash over her as she watched Chris re-enter the hospital from the front entrance and make his way toward the front of the building.

“You owe him an apology.”

“I’ll give it to him if he gets us out of here.” Nathan focused his attention on the growing mass of deaders around the pick-up. “I’m not sure he’s going to get through that.”

Alissa leaned out the window and waved to get their attention. Kiera waved back. For a brief second, Alissa allowed herself to think they might get out of this alive.

Then a pounding on the door snapped her back to reality. The first of the National Guard deaders had reached the office. The pounding changed to shoving as the mass of living dead grew. Enough weight gathered that they shoved aside the desk. Three deaders pushed their way into the office.

Chris drove the pick-up up to them. As Kiera lowered the passenger window, Alissa quickly handed her the cooler.

“We have deaders breaking through. Pull up a little so we can get into the bed.”

“But it’s covered.”

“We’ll have to make do. Move it.”

Nathan had already used his FAL to take down the first deaders that had entered, creating a log jam at the doorway. As more and more fought to get in, they tripped over those eliminated or shoved the desk even farther across the room, allowing more inside. Nathan ran out of ammunition and reloaded.

“I got this,” yelled Alissa. “Get in the truck.”

Nathan crawled through the window onto the bed. Dozens of dead hands reached out, trying to get a grip and drag him into the horde.

Alissa did not waste time with lining up each shot. Instead, she fired into the heads of the closest threats, not caring if she took them down as long as she slowed the surge. When she heard Nathan call out, she emptied the rest of the shotgun into the pack and headed for the window. Nathan took the Mossberg from her and offered his hand, helping her onto the bed.

She had almost cleared the window when a decayed hand reached out and clutched her pants leg. Nathan tried to yank her free, but it gripped her too tight. Removing his hunting knife, he stabbed its arm, hoping to break its hold, but with no effect. More hands stretched through the window. Nathan crouched behind Alissa, wrapped his arms under her shoulders, and yelled, “Pull up five feet!”

Chris pressed the accelerator, but the Ram would not move because of the deaders packing it in. He tried a second time with the same results. By now, clutching dead hands filled the window. Alissa kicked at them, preventing them from getting a hold, it being only a matter of time before she would be pulled back into the office.

Chris rolled down the window and called to the back. “Hang on. This is going to be messy.”

Chris shifted into reverse and accelerated. There were fewer deaders to his rear, so the pick-up went back five feet. Nathan did not expect the pick-up to go in that direction and lost his balance. He fell onto the plastic cover and, in the process, yanked Alissa free from the deaders’ grip. However, being close to the edge of the bed, dozens of dead hands clawed at his face and shoulders. Alissa rolled onto her knees. Seeing the danger that threatened Nathan, she grabbed his ankles and pulled him away.

At that moment, Chris shifted into drive and accelerated again, using the space he had created to make headway through the horde. Rather than push the deaders aside, the Ram knocked them over and under the wheels. The already sickening stench intensified to nauseating levels as the bodies burst, releasing months of pent up gases. Angry flies and wasps attacked the windshield, blocking Chris’ vision so bad he switched on the wipers. He pushed on. The pick-up had the power and ability to drive over the dead and shove aside those around them, but the jostling proved a nightmare for Alissa and Nathan sitting on top of the plastic bed cover with nothing to hold on to. The first mound of living dead lifted the left side of the pick-up, throwing Alissa and Nathan to the right. Alissa dropped and rolled left to the center of the bed. Nathan bounced off the wall of the building, allowing him to kick himself back onto the pick-up.

Kiera crawled in back and opened the rear windows. “Give me your hands.”

Alissa crawled to the front of the bed and clutched Kiera’s left hand. Kiera wrapped both hands tight around Alissa’s wrists. Alissa stretched out her left leg. Nathan clutched her ankles with both hands and pulled himself away from the end of the pick-up.

Chris eventually made it past the horde onto the driveway leading from the Emergency Room and pulled out onto Route 302, putting several hundred feet between him and the deaders. He jumped out and opened the rear passenger door, then helped the others off the bed. Kiera crawled back in front.

“Anybody hurt?” he asked.

Nathan crawled into the back. “A lot of bumps and bruises, but we weren’t bitten.”

“Smooth ride,” teased Alissa as she got in.

“At least you’re alive.” Chris closed the door, climbed back into the driver’s seat, and sped north along Route 302. He kept his focus on the rearview mirror, checking on the horde. Sure enough, they were filtering onto the road and following, not that—

“Watch out!” yelled Kiera.

Several hundred deaders blocked the road. Woods lined both shoulders, making it impossible to pass. And the road behind them filled in with the living dead from the hospital. They would be surrounded in minutes.

Kiera glanced to the others in the cab. “We’re trapped.”

“Only if we stay here.” Alissa opened her door. “Kiera, follow me. And bring the cooler.”

As Alissa led Kiera into the tree line to the left, Chris and Nathan lifted the plastic cover to the bed. They each grabbed one of the four bug-out bags in back. Nathan grabbed an axe while Chris threw a two-hundred-foot length of rope over his shoulder. The closest deaders were only a few yards away. Nathan followed the women into the woods. Chris gave the horde the middle finger and joined his friend.

They caught up with Alissa and Kiera on the other side of the copse of trees. Alissa stood in the center of a sandbank one hundred feet wide and stretching for several hundred feet in either direction. The Saco River lay directly in front of them, the surface covered with ice.

Nathan stepped up to Alissa. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We’re waiting for you.”

Moaning came from the woods behind them. The first of the deaders broke through onto the sandbank.

“Follow me.” Chris sprinted down to the edge of the river and crossed. He made it only a few feet when the scariest sound imaginable broke the silence.

The ice beneath his feet cracked.

Chapter Seventeen

“Don’t move,” warned Alissa.

“We have no choice.” Chris unslung the rope from his shoulder.

“We’ll drown if we try to cross,” said Nathan.

“It’s better than being eaten alive.” Chris uncoiled the rope.

Alissa checked on the deaders. The closest was seventy-five feet away.

Chris tied one end of the rope around his waist. “I’ll try to make it across and tie this rope to one of the trees so you can follow. If I fall through, pull me back.”

“You’ll never make.” Kiera undid the knot around Chris’ waist and tied it around her instead. “You’re too heavy. I weigh half as much. I have the best chance of getting across.”

No.” Alissa tried to take the rope away from her. “Your mother will kill me if anything happens to you.”

Kiera held her hands. “You know I’m right.”

Alissa still hesitated until Nathan said, “It’s the only way.”

Alissa hugged Kiera. “Good luck.”

Kiera set off across the ice. Chris wrapped the rope around him and played it out, ready to pull her back if necessary. Alissa and Nathan stood on either side of him, taking down deaders that got close.

Kiera made it halfway across the river when she heard the ice beneath her crack. She paused. A few feet ahead of her, the ice appeared translucent and water flowed beneath it. The dangerous patch spread ten feet in width. She knew she could never cross it, so she moved to the right until the ice became thicker, then darted across to the opposite side. Only as she reached the opposite bank and ran up to the trees did she realize she had been holding her breath. Rather than waste time trying to loosen the rope and tie it around a tree, she circled the closest tree three times then yelled out, “Ready.”

Chris didn’t need the acknowledgement. The moment he saw Kiera reach the other side of the river he passed the rope to Alissa.

“Go. Now!”

A pile of deader corpses littered the sandbank around Alissa and Nathan, but the horde emerging from the woods had grown too large to hold back. Slinging her shotgun over her shoulder and grabbing the cooler in her right hand, she wrapped her left arm around the rope and took off across the river.

“You’re next.” Chris handed Nathan the rope.

“Playing the hero?”

“If they follow you across here, their weight will take down the ice around you two. I’m going to lead them away and cross farther down.”

Before Nathan could say anything, Chris ran north along the sandbank, screaming at the deaders and firing wildly into the mass. Half the horde veered to the right and followed. The remainder bore in on Nathan. Loosely clutching the rope between the fingers of his left hand, he set off across the ice.

Alissa followed the path Kiera took, hoping the ice would hold under her weight. She heard a few minor cracks and felt the ice buckle under her feet, but it held. It took less than a minute to cross and she never felt so glad to be on dry land.

As Nathan passed the melted section of the river on his left, he got an idea. He circled back, placing the weakened portion between himself and the deaders, then faced the horde and wrapped the rope around his waist several times.

“Come on, you rotting bastards. Time for a hot meal.”

As expected, the deaders closed in on him. The weakened portion around the melted section gave way first with a loud crack, dropping close to a hundred deaders into the river where the current washed them away. The horde surged forward, those in the lead also falling into the water and being swept downriver. The ice around the break weakened under the weight and collapsed, several hundred square feet at once, dropping even more deaders into the river. Those still on shore waded in, oblivious to the fate that waited them. One by one, the current dragged them away. A few reached out and grabbed onto the ice, clutching for safety, only to join the others when more ice broke free. An intrepid deader off to the far right, wearing a Florida Gators sweatshirt, attempted to go around the break but remained too close to the edge. Every few feet, the ice under its left foot gave way. The deader leaned to one side and moved forward. When twenty feet from Nathan, the ice beneath it broke. As it plunged into the water, it still managed to grip its fingers onto the sheet, trying to pull itself back up. Its efforts succeeded only in breaking away a chunk of the ice sheet it held on to. Nathan watched it flow down the river, still trying to climb out, until the chunk flipped and the Gator deader disappeared beneath the surface.

The deaders coming after Nathan had been swept away; however, several hundred still pursued Chris. He had sprinted fifty yards down the sandbank and paused, waiting for them to catch up. When he saw his friends had safely made it across and the pursuing deaders had fallen through the ice, he headed to shore. Cutting across the river, Chris stopped after twenty feet and emptied a full magazine into the ice a yard in front of him. He replaced the empty magazine as he walked backwards thirty feet, emptied the rounds into the ice in front of him, and repeated the process. The deaders closed in, passing over the shot-up ice. Halfway across, massive cracks formed, spreading rapidly in all directions. Chris spun around and ran for shore.

He barely made it five feet when the ice gave way, plunging them all into the frigid water.

“Chris!” Kiera untied the rope from around her waist and rushed down the bank to help.

Alissa grabbed the cooler and followed close behind.

Nathan only delayed long enough to gather up the rope.

All they could see were the deaders thrashing around and the ice collapsing, both of which churned the river into a frenzy.

“Do you see him?” asked Kiera.

“No.”

Kiera hugged Alissa and cried.

Nathan ran up to them. His gaze met Alissa’s. She shook her head and held Kiera tighter.

“Let’s go.” Nathan gently placed a hand on their shoulders and led them away.

A cry came from the ice. “Aren’t you assholes going to help me?”

Kiera spun around and squealed in delight. Chris lay on a sheet of ice along the edge of the break, his legs and groin immersed in the river. Only the hunting knife plunged into the sheet like a pick, which he held onto for his life, prevented him from being swept away.

“You’re alive.” Kiera ran out onto the ice.

Alissa grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “It’s too weak. You’ll both get killed.”

“We can’t leave him there.”

“We won’t.” Alissa took one end of the rope and tied it around her waist. She handed the other end to Nathan, who ran it around the closest tree and attached it to his own. Alissa walked ten feet out onto the ice before laying prone and crawling the rest of the way, moving as rapidly as possible.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” Chris groaned.

Alissa quickened her pace, ignoring the cracking all around her. After seconds that seemed like an eternity, she reached Chris and held out her right hand.

“Grab on.”

Chris reached out and clasped Alissa’s hand and wrist other.

“Now pull yourself up.”

Alissa yanked her right hand into her chest, straining to lift Chris out of the river. As she did, he kicked his legs to the side, throwing them up on the ice.

The ice gave way, plunging him and Alissa into the river.

Alissa’s first reaction warned her to let go of Chris and fend for herself, but rationality prevailed. She had a rope tied around her and Nathan would save them. She needed to hold on to Chris and her breath until they were rescued. The former would be easy. She clutched Chris like a frightened child hugging a teddy bear. Holding her breath would be much more difficult. When she dropped into the water, she did not have time to inhale.

The rope tugged against her waist, nearly pushing out what little air remained in her lungs. She felt herself being lifted through the water and held Chris that much closer. Each jerk made it harder not to hold her breath, but she hung on, knowing… praying… it would be over soon. Only a few—

Alissa plunged deeper into the river, suddenly and violently enough that it forced her to inhale, sucking water into her lungs. Panic took complete control. She let go of Chris and fought to swim to the surface, but the desperation to breath clouded her judgment and ability to rationalize. She struggled for air. Her vision narrowed and blurred. She felt herself being raised and saw a bright light growing larger. Her last thought was, Oh God, please don’t let me die like this.

Nathan yelled, “Get her to shore.”

He and Chris each grabbed one of Alissa’s arms, dragging her across the crumbling ice.

“Will she be okay?” asked Kiera.

“Don’t come out here.”

They dropped Alissa onto the frozen ground. Nathan knelt beside her and compressed her chest several times. Nothing happened. Nathan continued pushing. Her still body suddenly rolled onto its side and purged the water from her lungs. Alissa hacked and struggled to take in air. She spewed again, forcing more water from her lungs. Some of the liquid stuck in her windpipe, causing her to hack. The coughing became so intense, it prevented Alissa from catching her breath. With each attempt, each wheeze, she felt her body slipping back into panic mode. She coughed violently, clearing the airway. The hacking continued.

“Don’t panic.” Nathan knelt beside her, rubbing her back and squeezing her hand. “Try to relax and let the air flow.”

After several terror-filled moments, Alissa took a long, deep breath, providing her with the air she needed. Slowly, the coughing subsided and she began to breathe easier.

“I’m okay,” she gasped.

“Are you sure?” Nathan asked.

Alissa nodded and the two men helped her to her feet. Kiera hugged her.

“Where’s the cooler?”

Nathan pointed behind him. “We left it by the tree so it wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Let’s get home. I’ve had enough for one day.”

Chapter Eighteen

It’s been five days since our incident in North Conway or, as Kiera has been referring to it, Deaders on Ice. We found a thick patch of ice not far down the river where we were able to cross safely, and there were only a few deaders to contend with on the opposite bank, so retrieving both the Ram and Land Rover was not a problem.

We gave Steve enough blood to replenish what he lost in the accident and have enough left over, although I doubt he’ll need it. His recovery has been excellent. The wound is healing nicely and isn’t infected, and with luck there’ll be no complications. Hopefully, he won’t get any more.

I expected Miriam would chew me a second asshole for putting Kiera in danger. Surprisingly, she was not as mad as I had anticipated, probably because of her pride over the way Kiera handled herself in the crisis. I can’t blame her. I’m proud of Kiera myself. She’s grown up fast. It’s a shame it has to be in such a nightmare.

The only downside to the day was that Chris and I both caught colds from being dunked into the river, although he got a bit sicker than I did. For a while, I feared he might contract pneumonia, which thankfully he didn’t. We let him and Shithead stay here the past couple of days. He slept on the living room sofa and enjoyed the company. Shithead not so much; Archer has been a bastard to him the whole time.

A knock sounded on Alissa’s bedroom door. She placed her pen in the journal and closed it.

“Come in.”

Miriam stepped inside. “We’re having some coffee on the deck. Would you like to join us?”

“That sounds nice.”

“Good. I’ll make you a cup.”

Alissa didn’t bother to change out of her wool pajamas. She slipped on a pair of sneakers and threw on her leather jacket before making her way downstairs, with Archer tagging along. Miriam had left a mug of coffee on the dining room table, steam lofting from the surface, along with some sugar; the cream had gone bad weeks ago. Not that it mattered since she took her coffee black with no sugar. Alissa took the mug and headed for the back deck, stepping out into the cold. It felt good after being cooped up the past five days.

Miriam, Kiera, Nathan, and Chris stood by the rail overlooking the mountains. Shithead stood beside his master, his front paws on the railing as if he were one of the humans. Archer sauntered out, jumped onto the railing, and made his way around to the others, hissing when he got to Shithead. The dog whimpered and got down from the rail, curling up at Chris’ feet and keeping a wary eye on the cat.

“Sorry,” she said to Chris. “Archer can be an asshole sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He coughed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Believe it or not, much better. Whenever I get a cold it’s followed by a cough that lasts for weeks.” Chris took a drink to wet his throat. “It’s a lot better than the alternative. I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for you two.”

Kiera cleared her throat.

“Sorry. The three of you.” He raised his mug. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” said Nathan, patting his new friend on the shoulder.

“We make a good team,” added Kiera, smiling at Chris.

Miriam flashed her daughter a disapproving glare. “We all make a good team.”

“We do.” Alissa took a sip of coffee and stared out across the mountain. “Let’s hope we don’t have to put it to the test again any time soon.”

A Preview of Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies III: Firestorm

The small town the convoy entered seemed like so many others they had passed through during the last two months–either quiet and desolate or overrun by the living dead. Those in the convoy would find out in a few minutes whether this town was clear or infested. Chances were fifty-fifty which, for Todd Dickson, were good odds. If a deader town, they’d plow right through. If vacant, they’d stop and replenish. Same procedures his team had followed since leaving Buffalo.

Nora Robbins watched the scenery pass by from the passenger seat of their Hummer H3. “Where are we?”

“How the fuck do I know. What am I, a fucking GPS?”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Nora huffed. She took the radio off the dashboard and keyed the microphone. “Jack, what town are we in?”

“Waitsfield,” replied Jack Carter from the lead vehicle, a red Silverado 1500.

“Are we still in Vermont?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Give me that.” Dickson grabbed the radio, twisting it out of Nora’s hand, and keyed the talk button. “What’s the fucking deader situation like?”

“Nothing so far.”

“Good. If you see a good spot to pull over, do it.”

“Roger that, boss.”

Dickson tossed the radio back on the dashboard.

Nora massaged her fingers. “That hurt when you took the radio.”

“Don’t be such a bitch.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“You’re welcome to switch places with Diana if you want.”

“That’s okay.” Nora lowered her head and focused her gaze out the window.

“I didn’t think you would.”

Nora had been more of a pain in the ass than an asset. They had picked her up a week or so after the clusterfuck in Henrietta when he needed new people, no matter who they were. He didn’t expect much from her at first. She was only five feet two inches, in her early twenties, and a bit of a princess. Though not unattractive, she had that rough appearance of someone who has lived a hard life. She caught on quickly, learning how to use a firearm and a bladed weapon, how to effectively take down a deader, and how to be cold and hard to survive. Nora remained the least capable of the team and constantly mouthed off, but she would do until someone better came along.

As the convoy entered town, it passed by the usual: residences, a florist, a cable company, an elementary school. But no humans or deaders. The former was unfortunate yet not unusual. They hadn’t come across anyone in several weeks. The living had either been eaten, become deaders, or, most likely, gone into hiding, which sucked. His team could always use more people. He couldn’t blame them, though. The deaders were fucking horrendous to deal with. They had learned that the hard way outside of Rochester.

Dickson tried to repress those memories, which always ended in futility. He’d never forget their attempt to escape the nightmare that engulfed Buffalo. Sure, they planned on taking advantage of the situation. Why not? No one had ever given a shit about them, so now they looked out for themselves. But first, they had to make it to safety. Dickson thought he’d been smart by avoiding Rochester, the next big city east of Buffalo. However, not smart enough. He had chosen a major road that passed south through Henrietta, the bed and breakfast community for the city, and a location swarming with deaders. Twenty of them entered Henrietta. Four came out. Deaders got the rest: eleven friends, his two brothers and sister, his mother, and his fiancée. He would never forget their screams as the living dead tore them apart and devoured them alive. The arrogance of the two cops who drove by and didn’t bother to help. And that fucking Spic bastard who stole the Jeep from his younger brother, making his own escape and leaving Tommy behind to die. Since then he had played it safe, staying on back roads, avoiding cities and large towns, and always planning for the worst.

The lessons had been learned… the hard way. Their numbers had fluctuated since Henrietta, never coming close to matching the original twenty, and only himself and his best friend Stratman remained from the original group. They had survived and would eventually find a good place to settle down, somewhere isolated, defendable, and well stocked. After that, then he could concentrate on building up their ranks and making sure that, whenever this fucking apocalypse ended, he’d be in a position where no one would be able to push hum around again.

The Silverado pulled off the road and into the parking lot of the Mad River Valley Ambulance Service. Dickson chuckled to himself. Damn, how appropriate.

Dickson pulled up alongside the Silverado. Carter climbed out of the pick-up. A burly guy, he stood six feet two inches in height and close to two hundred and forty pounds, all of it muscle. With his curly red hair and beard, and the flannel shirt he wore, Carter reminded him of a lumberjack. Except a lumberjack didn’t carry an AK-47 and wear a .357 Magnum and a hunting knife on his belt.

From the passenger seat, Billy Barnes came around the front of the Silverado and joined Carter. Dickson didn’t want to bring Billy along. The kid was a scrawny punk, not even twenty years old, who used to bully the other kids in high school, thinking that made him tough. They ran into Billy hiding out in an abandoned truck stop in upstate New York. The kid gave them shit about how he owned the place and warned them to fuck off or else. The “or else” was a fifteen-minute ass kicking by Carter. After that, the kid became more cooperative. Carter had taken a liking to him because the kid took his beating like a man, never once crying or begging Carter to stop. Afterwards, he asked that Billy be allowed to join the gang, and Dickson reluctantly agreed. Billy wasn’t tough, smart, or useful in any way, but he was pliable, and as such agreed to do a lot of the dirty work for Dickson, which made him handy to have around.

“Why’d we stop?”

Carter motioned toward the ambulance service center. “I saw three ambulances parked behind the building. I thought there might be something worthwhile in there. Besides, I need to take a leak.”

“Do what you have to.” Dickson nodded. “I’ll get our little gophers.”

He and Nora strolled across the parking lot as the last vehicles in the convoy pulled in: a black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter cargo van and an old, rusty, banged up 1999 Chevy 2500 pick-up truck with a decrepit cap covering the bed and a mismatched right front fender still coated in primer. Elaine Vasco climbed out of the Sprinter. They had picked her up five weeks ago handcuffed in the back seat of an abandoned New York State Police car, malnourished, dehydrated, and wallowing in her own piss and shit. She had claimed the cops had arrested her for turning tricks to support her drug habit and then, in transit, left her when the deaders attacked. Dickson didn’t buy it. Elaine did not act like a strung-out junkie. Besides, so many weeks into the apocalypse, the cops wouldn’t be wasting their time on a street whore. It didn’t matter. Elaine wanted to join, and he needed an extra body. They got her a long shower, a new change of clothes, and nursed her back to health. Elaine waited by the van. She stood five feet six inches, now a little paunchy around the waist and face, short dark hair, and a face and body that wouldn’t turn many heads.

Jim Stratman, Dickson’s best friend since high school, leaned out the window of the pick-up. Six feet in height, Stratman was crammed when seated behind the wheel of the Chevy. Clean shaven, close cut blonde hair, and sporting handsome features and piercing blue eyes, he had been a ladies’ man in school, even with a few bitches who didn’t want it. Not that he cared. Stratman was loyal. They had been through a lot of tough times together and would see this one through as well.

“Everything okay?” Stratman asked.

“No problems. Carter found some ambulances he thinks might contain some useful supplies.”

“Let me guess.” Stratman opened the door and slid out onto the pavement. “You want the gophers.”

“Just the asshole. We’ll let the bitches and the kid get some air.”

Elaine rushed over to the back of the pick-up. “Can I get him out? I still owe him for mouthing off to me last time.”

Stratman tossed her the keys. Elaine unlocked the cap, raised the lid, and lowered the tailgate. She leaned over and smiled. The only way Dickson would describe it as malevolent.

“Morning, dickless.” Reaching in, Elaine grasped onto something and pulled, dragging out a man in his thirties by his leg. She pulled him off the truck and let him fall. He hit the back of his head on the tailgate and landed hard on the pavement, moaning in pain. Elaine leaned over again and motioned with her hand. “Come on. You, too.”

A woman in her thirties crawled out next, sliding along the tailgate and carefully lowering herself to the ground. Once out, she helped her two children, a young girl no more than nine and a boy almost fourteen. The woman went to help her husband, but Elaine pushed her back against the pick-up. Reaching down, Elaine wrapped her right hand around the man’s handcuffs and yanked him to his feet, ignoring his cry of pain.

“Stop whining. No one likes a snowflake.”

“You could be more careful.”

“Shut the fuck up, dickless.” Elaine moved her hand as if about to punch the man.

“That’s enough.” Dickson walked up to them. Elaine backed off a few feet. Dickson removed the key, undid the man’s handcuffs, and slid both back into his pocket. “There are some ambulances behind the building. I need you to rummage through them for supplies.”

“You promised to take care of us.”

Dickson ignored him, not even bothering to face the man as he talked. “When you’re done with the ambulances, check out the building itself and see if there’s anything there we could use.”

“My family hasn’t eaten in days and we’ve not had anything to drink since yesterday morning. My family have peed themselves because you won’t let us out to go to the bathroom.”

“After that’s taken care of, we’ll stop for a short break.”

The man said nothing. Dickson met his gaze. “Why aren’t you moving?”

“I’m not going anywhere until my family gets—”

Dickson removed a Colt 1911 from his shoulder holster, placed the barrel against the man’s face, and fired. The round ripped off the top of his head. His family gasped but did nothing, staring in shock at the upright body. It teetered a moment before collapsing, the wound gushing blood onto the pavement. The young girl held her older brother, averting her eyes away from the scene, wailing. The woman rushed forward and knelt by the body of her husband, caressing his chest and sobbing.

“No, Bobby. No.”

Dickson reholstered the Colt. “Mrs. Taylor, I hope you were listening to the instructions I gave your husband. I don’t like repeating myself.”

“You didn’t have to kill him, you fucking bastard!” she screamed, spittle and snot flying from her lips.

Dickson grabbed Diana by the ponytail, yanked her away from her husband, and slammed her against the side of the pick-up. Before she could respond, Dickson shoved his right knee between her legs, pushing them aside, and pressed his body against hers. He still clutched the ponytail in his hand. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear.

“You don’t want a recurrence of your first night with us, do you?”

Her hands covered her groin and she mumbled, “No.”

“And you don’t want the same thing to happen to your daughter, do you?”

Diana shot her head up, her eyes pleading. “Please don’t.”

“Then what is it I need you to do?”

“Y-you need me to check the ambulances out back for supplies.”

“And?”

Diana tried to think. Dickson yanked on her ponytail, causing her to gasp.

“And?”

“And you want me to check inside the building.”

“Good girl.” Dickson let go of the ponytail and lightly patted her cheek. He stepped away. Diana slid down the side of the pick-up and cried.

“Jim, go with her and provide cover.”

“Why me?” protested Stratman. “I need to go take a shit.”

“Fine, let Billy do it.”

Stratman moved up beside Diana and urged her to come with him. She had her head bowed, sobbing into her hand, and didn’t see him. He reached down and gently touched her shoulder. Diana slapped his hand out of the way. Stratman clutched her jacket and dragged her to her feet, ripping the fabric in the process. Shoving her in front of him, Stratman placed his hand on her back and pushed.

“Hurry up, bitch.”

The two children called out and went to follow their mother. Elaine placed herself in front of them. “You stay here and don’t give me any trouble. Got it?”

The teenager hugged his younger sister and protected her, but backed off, leaning against the tailgate.

Dickson smiled. Everything was under control here. He’d let the others handle things for the next few hours. For now, he would grab some lunch and maybe take a nap before they hit the road again.

A Thank You to My Readers

I want to express my heartfelt thanks to everyone who has become a huge fan of Nurse Alissa.

Alissa’s adventures will continue, as will all lucky enough to throw their lot in with her. Yes, you’ll see much more of Archer and Shithead. For those intrigued by the underlying sexual tension developing, now’s a good time to choose Team Nathan or Team Chris. Just don’t get too attached to any of the characters. The worse is yet to come for Alissa and the others.

Acknowledgments

Writing is very solitary and lonely. Getting a book published, on the other hand, is a complicated process involving many people, all of whom deserve to be recognized.

A major thanks goes out to my beta readers: Tammy Michelle Mayberry, Michael Atkinson, Pammy Troupe, Tom Williamson, Marla Dewitt, Dan Uebel, Norma Seitz, Roseann Powell, and Cari Laffrenier Thompson. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Lisa Holland Mastandrea who reviewed the final draft before publication and caught those damnable spelling/grammar errors that always remain so well hidden during the editing and revision stages.

Christian Bentulan designed the cover art for this novel as well as Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies. I love Christian’s work. His covers reach out and grab the reader’s attention. I also love how Archer appears in each one.

You would not be holding this series book were it not for my dear friend and colleague Alina Ionescu. I hadn’t written a zombie series since Rotter Apocalypse was published in 2015. Alina is a major fan of my stories and kept urging me to go back to writing about the living dead. With some gentle shoving in the right direction and a few well-placed ideas, over the course of a long week on the road I came up with the concept of the Alissa series. If you like this series, be sure to thank Alina.

Finally, a major debt of thanks goes to my family, human and furry. I wrote, edited, and released this novel during the COVID-19 lockdown because I had so much time on my hands. Being home all the time had its downsides. This has been the best two months of the dogs’ lives because they think I quit my job and stayed home all day to be with them, and they want to spend every minute with me. The cats, on the other hand, are more pissed off that I’m around all the time, especially Archer whose naps are disturbed by my typing. (Yes, Alissa’s Archer is taken directly from my own cat Archer, especially his asshattery.) It’s hard to maintain my writing discipline, but I couldn’t do this without their love and support.

Author’s Bio

Scott M. Baker was born and raised in Everett, Massachusetts and spent twenty-three years in northern Virginia working for the Central Intelligence Agency. Scott is now retired and lives outside of Concord, New Hampshire along with his wife and stepdaughter. He has written Nurse Alissa vs the Zombies, the first in a multi-book series focusing on a young woman learning how to survive in a world overrun by the living dead; Shattered World I: Paris and Shattered World II: Russia, the first two books in his five-book young adult fantasy series; The Vampire Hunters trilogy, about humans fighting the undead in Washington D.C.; Rotter World, Rotter Nation, and Rotter Apocalypse, his post-apocalyptic zombie saga; Yeitso, his homage to the giant monster movies of the 1950s that he loved watching as a kid; as well as a several zombie-themed novellas and anthologies.

Please check out Scott’s social media accounts for the latest information on future books, upcoming events, and other fun stuff.

Blog: https://scottmbakerauthor.blogspot.com/

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/groups/397749347486177/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/vampire_hunters

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/scottmbakerwriter/