Floodwater Zombies (39 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

The helicopter’s deafening drone filled the small cabin as everyone sat quietly, trying to catch their breath and staring out the side windows. Just outside of Lake Darling, the flooding wasn’t near as bad. The swollen Mouse River ran over its banks but didn’t get far. Grundy lit up another nasty smelling clove cigarette as Hooper wrapped his good arm around Kourtney and Alex.

“The lake feeds into the river,” a young black soldier yelled over the whirling blades. “That’s how they came into town!”

“How bad is it?” Rory shouted.

The soldier leaned forward, bouncing in his seat with some turbulence. “Not as bad as around the lake, but anytime
you got dead people walking around…it’s
bad!”

“Is it happening anywhere else?”

“That’s a negative.”

“Why here?” Woody asked.

The soldier shrugged like Woody had just asked him why the Cubs haven’t won a World Series in over a hundred years.

Rory grimaced and leaned his head against the headrest.

Rachel squeezed his hand and brushed her dry lips against his ear. “It’s going to be okay! I’m sure everyone is fine.”

He smiled thinly and squeezed her hand before turning back to the window. The lake slowly disappeared behind them, looking smaller than he had ever remembered it looking before. A few minutes later, he could see Minot sitting off in the distance, looking more like home than he had ever remembered it looking before. The spattering of houses encircled the downtown’s small cluster of tall buildings. An image of Woody - blood trickling from his ears - suddenly flashed through Rory’s mind. He tried to shake it from his head, but it stuck like glue, forever etched into his memory banks.

Grundy
ashed
his smoke onto the helicopter’s metal floor. “How
many’d
we lose, Wheeler?”

The soldier swallowed hard.
“Nineteen, sir!
Including those in your company.
But all in all, it could’ve been a lot worse!”

Grundy took a long drag and turned back to the window with glassy eyes. “Could’ve been a lot better, too,” he said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke into the cabin

Wheeler leaned in to Rory again and nodded. “Who’s your friend?”

Rory followed his gaze to the bony claw wrapped around his ankle and shook his head. “That’s a stage-five clinger.”

Wheeler laughed and sat back in his skinny seat. “I got one of them back home!” he shouted over the propellers. “Her name’s Lisa!” The soldier shifted in his harness and pulled a long knife from the front of his vest. He reached down and carefully inserted the blade between Rory’s leg and the dead hand. With a slight grunt, he twisted the blade. The hand’s thumb snapped off and dangled from a flap of clammy skin, releasing the pressure around Rory’s ankle. Wheeler jabbed the knife and brought it back up with the hand stuck to its tip like a scorpion in an
Indiana Jones
movie. He arched an eyebrow at Rory. “You want it?” he asked, shoving the blade towards him.

Rory held up a hand and leaned back into his bumpy seat.

Wheeler slid the large side door open, letting the wind blast through the cabin and making their ears pop. He steadied himself with a nylon loop hanging by the door and flicked Powder Blue’s hand from the blade, sending it hurtling back to Earth.

Rory bent over and rubbed his raw ankle, feeling as free as someone who had just had an electronic ankle bracelet removed. “Thanks!”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The pilot sinuously set the helicopter down in the middle of the deserted parking lot. “How’s that for service?” he shouted over his shoulder, flipping some switches on the ceiling console. The long whirling blades fanned the inch or so of water covering the empty lot as Rachel, Rory and Major Grundy hopped out. They kept their heads down as they jogged across the soggy lot.

Connor stepped out onto the funeral home’s large front porch, a steaming mug in one hand and a curious look gripping his face. His white lab coat fluttered in the breeze as he took a long drag from a Marlboro 100, watching them through narrow eyes. Hesitantly, he waved to them while smoke slipped from his lips.

“Asshole!”
Rory barked at him, continuing his jog across the wet pavement.

“Who’s that?” Grundy asked, trying to keep up.

Rory squinted at the two-story mint julep-colored house sitting across the street without responding. Other than the helicopter, it seemed quiet. The house’s windows and doors were still intact and no billowing smoke or wrecked cars sat piled in the front yard. It looked like any other sunny day.

Grundy stared at the classic house, its wraparound front porch a symbol of the American dream that would make anyone jealous.
“That it?”

“Yep,” Rory replied, not slowing his gait. “Is the power out?”

“Only in a few spots.”

“What about the phones?” Rachel asked, matching Rory stride for stride.

“Negative.”

The helicopter’s roaring blades gradually winded down behind them as they crossed a two lane residential street called Meadowlark Drive. When they hit green grass, Grundy drew his weapon, wincing with the pain that shot through his right hand. He pointed the sidearm at the ground and scanned the house and yard with shifty eyes. Rory finally slowed his roll, drawing his gun and quickly remembering he was out of bullets. He shoved the cannon Doc had given him back into the holster and stopped on the sidewalk. “Why don’t you stay here while we go check it
out.
”

Rachel’s face twisted in the morning sunlight, creating dark wrinkles in her puffy skin. “Have you lost your mind?” she gasped. “I’m not staying here by myself!”

Rory sighed and looked over his shoulder at the helicopter where Kourtney and Alex were watching them with sunken eyes. Hooper flashed a thumbs-up with his good hand while Wheeler carefully placed his broken arm in a makeshift sling. Rory raised a hand into the air just as the front door to his house burst open. His head snapped around to the front porch almost as quickly as Grundy’s gun.

“Don’t shoot!” Laura cried, throwing her hands into the air and freezing on the white porch.

“Mom!”

Grundy hesitantly lowered his weapon and watched Rory sprint up the front steps and rush into Laura’s open arms, driving her back a couple steps. They embraced tightly. Tears rolled down Laura’s pallid cheeks, soaking her son’s shoulder. There was a ball of white tissue in one of her hands wrapped around his neck. Laura opened her eyes, her gaze landing on the Major. Grundy turned away and slowly holstered his weapon.

“I knew you were telling the truth,” she whispered in Rory’s ear, hugging him tight. “I just knew it.”

Rory pulled back and studied her carefully. Her black v-neck t-shirt and tight fitting jeans were dry and free of blood, no visible cuts or bruises anywhere on her body. The only sign of anything wrong were the pink running shoes on her feet. His mom would never be caught dead wearing running shoes with designer jeans and it made Rory’s heart race. He looked back into her watery eyes and swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and cupped his face in her cold hands, looking him over from top to bottom. “Are you?” she sniffled.

Rory exhaled a tired breath. “Woody’s dead.”

Her face fell, making her look much older than she really was. She stepped back, as if taking a heavy blow, and placed a hand over her heart. “No,” she said softly, reaching out and hugging him. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“He saved our lives.”

She pulled back and stared at him with sad eyes, unsure what to say next. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said, brushing something black and gooey from his hair.

The screen door squeaked open as a trim man with a full head of silver hair stepped out onto the porch, looking past Rory and Laura. A smile crept across his gristly cheeks as he let the screen door bang shut behind him.

“Dad!”
Rachel shrieked, bounding across the plush yard and up the porch steps. She flew into his open arms, hugging him with all her strength. He leaned back and picked her up off her feet, twirling her around the shaded porch.

“Thank God you’re okay,” he said, burying his face in her neck and stroking her wet hair. “Thank God.”

Rachel turned on the water works, soaking her father’s yellow Polo shirt.

Rory puckered his brow and turned back to his mom.

She took a deep breath and swallowed dryly. “Christopher came over last night to make sure we were okay.” Her smile was tight and forced.

Rachel released her dad and stepped back, wiping tears from her eyes. “Where’s mom?”

Christopher stared at her with pitiful eyes and dropped his head.

Her face soured.
“Dad?”

He looked back up, tears slipping from his eyes, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Rachel took a wobbly step backwards and Rory had to help steady her. She shook her head defiantly with clear snot streaming from her nose. “What…what do you mean?”

Christopher swapped glances with Laura and turned back to his daughter. “She was…bitten.”

Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Bitten? By what?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

His Adam’s apple bounced one time. “Joe.”