Virgil sprinted toward the furthest eighteen-wheeler, shouting for everyone on the ground to head back into the containers. Down below on the road, the horde stumbled toward them, their arms raised and their feet dragging against the dirt road. He knew they had to hurry up and get everyone inside before the dead made their way up the hill. Making matters worse, many of the people lying along the grass appeared to be still suffering from the effects of heatstroke and exhaustion, and looked unable to move.
He felt sick to his stomach. His lungs seared from sprinting downhill. The combination of being out of shape and the lingering effects of heat exposure had worn him out. At thirty-nine, he knew he should have been in much better condition, but he'd never been one to exercise or watch his diet. All he'd ever done was work in his lab or go out in the field and conduct research. It was why his wife had left him, and with the onset of the plague, they'd never finalize their divorce.
“Hurry up and load those people back into the truck, Snow. Gritz and I will try and hold them off for as long as we can. Felicia, grab Styx and get inside the rig. Keep an eye on the little guy.”
Jamaal began to two-hand those in line into the darkened boxcar. Virgil ran over to the grassy area where some of the others were still trying to rise to their feet. Many of them were elderly and frail, and the combination of heat and travel had taken a toll on them. Some seemed disoriented and confused, as if they didn't know where they were. Gritz and Dar began to attack the first wave of zombies and behind them were hundreds more in the column, forcing them to backpedal as they swung their weapons.
“Get inside the trucks before they get here!” Virgil shouted.
He dragged a few of the people over to the first container and handed them off to Jamaal. The two trucks were parked in a roundabout that required a tight turning radius in order that they turn to head back on the mountain road and avoid driving off the cliff.
He turned to retrieve the remaining people when he saw a few zombies slipping past the guard of Dar and Gritz and were now heading toward them. Jamaal grabbed two baseball bats stored inside the container and beckoned Virgil to help him. The big driver tossed him a bat and he caught it in mid-air. A zombie approached and he swung the bat with all his might, cracking open its skull. Mustard colored, stippled brain matter spilled along the ground, resembling burnt scrambled eggs.
He was about to turn and help the others back into the truck when he heard a familiar sound in the air. A helicopter? He glanced up at the sun-splashed sky and searched around. Someone next to him screamed. Turning on his heels, he was horrified to see a monstrously tall zombie taking a bite out of one of the elderly women. She looked confused and he could see from her anguished expression that her pain was intense. The zombie began to tear away at her flesh, mauling and ripping like a savage hyena. Virgil sprinted over and chopped at his knees and both the zombie and the elderly woman collapsed. The zombie stared up at him but before he had the chance to rise, Virgil unleashed a torrent of blows over his rotting skull.
Wiping the sweat out his eyes, he pushed his blond hair off his forehead and saw more of the dead approaching. Dar and Gritz turned and began to sprint back up the hill, shouting for them to run. Their brief defense had given the group just enough time to load most of the passengers on board. Virgil knocked over another zombie, nearly decapitating it, and then looked around. A dozen or so heat-stricken survivors continued to stumble in a daze toward the trucks but it was too late. A swarm of dead was already approaching them. Jamaal secured the double doors, bashed two zombies over the head with the bat and then sprinted over to the driver's seat.
“What about the rest of the people?” Virgil shouted to Dar.
“It's too late. There's nothing we can do for them.”
Virgil turned one last time and saw the horde devouring the dozen or so survivors who hadn't made it back into the trucks. Tears dripped down his eyes at the grisly massacre taking place. But then the chop chop chop of the helicopter's blade beat loudly in his ears. Everyone disappeared from sight and it took only a few seconds to realize that they'd clambered up into the cabs. Annabelle sprinted next to him and grabbed hold of his hand, and the murderous zombies staggered mindlessly past them as if they were invisible.
“Shit! I left the door open in the back,” he said.
“Take it easy, Virge. I've got your back.”
“Actually, you've got my hand.”
“And I'm going to release your hand once we get back to those doors. Then I'm going to slide my hand against the small of your back,” Annabelle said. “Trust me, Virge, I'll not molest you too badly. Just make sure you lock those doors this time.”
Virgil felt his entire body tremble as they turned and walked back into the oncoming swarm, pushing their way to the rear of the truck. He could still hear the chopper hovering overhead, the downshift of the rotors kicking up dirt and making it hard to see through the swirling debris. He glanced to his left and saw the zombies ripping into the screaming survivors, and he quickly looked away. Jamaal sat behind the wheel of the second truck and honked his horn for them to move. Virgil and Annabelle pushed their way through the rotting mass of zombies until they reached the back end of the eighteen-wheeler.
“Who do you think is flying that helicopter?”
“It's the same kind of chopper President Roberts arrived in when she crashed near the Common,” Annabelle replied. “They're using these older models because of the dead's signals. It must mess with the more advanced computer technology.”
Virgil slammed the doors shut and secured them. Grabbing hold of Annabelle's hand, they walked out from between the parked trucks and headed toward the cab.
“You must cease all activity and surrender yourselves. If you refuse then you'll all be taken into custody by the United States Army and tried for treason,” the pilot announced over the loudspeaker.
Annabelle stopped and stared up at the chopper, the dust and dirt kicking up in their faces. Virgil noticed one of the bloody survivors staggering past them, still alive but obviously infected. But how had this person gotten free? Annabelle pushed him up into the cab and then walked over to the passenger side, her eyes on the injured woman running straight for the cliff. Annabelle opened the passenger door, grabbed the president by the arm, and dragged her out of the truck. By the time Virgil realized what was happening, the injured woman had jumped over the edge and disappeared from sight.
Annabelle stood in front of the truck and held up the arm of President Roberts. Even now, stripped of all her worldly powers, every survivor but Dar still referred to her as president. Three members of the horde stood at the driver's side door, banging on the metal and trying to break in.
“We've got the president of the United States on our side, asshole! She's the Commander-in-Chief, the person who you're supposed to take orders from,” Annabelle shouted, waving Robert's arm up in the air.
“I suggest you surrender right now and hand the president over to us,” the pilot repeated.
“You want her? Come and get her, dickhead.”
“If we don't capture you then the Chinese Army certainly will. They've come ashore and are trying to take over what's left of this country.”
“The Chinese can kiss my Irish ass, pal, just like the Army can.”
Virgil stared up at the chopper now swerving violently over the edge of the steep cliff. Annabelle pushed President Roberts up into the cab, grabbed Styx off the seat and ran him back to his mother. Then she returned to the truck and climbed inside. The horde had surrounded both rigs and was now rocking them back and forth. Annabelle started the engine and the diesel truck roared to life. Virgil could see the chopper descending and falling until it disappeared over the edge. The truck's engine thundered in his ears as Annabelle began to turn the wheel hard to the left. He didn't like heights and dreaded the possibility that they might careen over the side and into the valley below.
The truck began to inch forward and toward the edge. One misjudgment and the whole rig would go over. Annabelle turned the wheel as hard as she could, knocking some of the zombies over the edge. Virgil, sitting in the passenger's seat, could see straight down into the abyss. He noticed that the helicopter had not crashed but was now soaring unsteadily just over the treetops. President Roberts shrieked in fear as the truck began to navigate the hairpin turn. Rocks cascaded over the edge and tumbled down below. Another inch and they would drop over. Sweat poured down Annabelle's face as she studied the terrain and debated whether to risk going any further.
“Oh my god, Annabelle, we're not going to make it. We're going to plummet down the mountainside!” President Roberts said.
“Take it easy, Prez, we'll make it.”
“I can't bear to look,” she said.
“Hold my hand,” Virgil said, grabbing the president's hand.
Virgil could see the chopper flying off in the distance. At least he knew that there were others out there. The U.S. Army in particular. But why would the Army risk going after their small caravan when they had so much else to worry about?
Then it came to him why they'd been following them. President Roberts! That's who they wanted.
The truck slowly navigated the bend until it straightened out on the road. The three of them breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing that they'd made it. Just beyond was the dirt road leading down the mountain. Annabelle rolled down her window and gave Jamaal a thumbs-up sign. Then she shifted the truck into gear and started down the mountain, smashing into the tail end of the horde still marching up the road.
“I'm still worried about the people in back,” Virgil said. “I'm not sure they can hold out much longer in those conditions.”
“We had no choice. It was either get those people inside or let them all die.”
“I suppose you're right.”
“You saw what happened to the others we left behind,” President Roberts said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Look, we all feel terrible about not being able to help them, Virgil. I wish I could have done more myself.”
“But you can hardly walk with that sprained ankle of yours.”
“I can still hobble around a little, but not enough to be of any real help.”
“Your our ace-in-the-hole, Prez,” said Annabelle. “We need to keep you safe at all costs. Without you we would have never made it out of the Boston Common.”
“Ace in the hole?” asked Virgil.
“It was President Roberts that got us back into that camp in the first place. Once the survivors saw who we had with us, they immediately surrendered and helped us overpower Brabas. That's the power of the presidential office.”
“And then Brabas had to go ruin it all by blowing up the fence,” Roberts said. “I made a huge mistake when I sent him to your camp and for that I'm very sorry.”
“You did what you thought was right,” Annabelle said, shifting the truck down the winding road.
“So where do we go from here?” Roberts asked.
“You'll have to ask, Virge. He's now the cruise director of this love boat.”
“The first thing we need to do,” Virgil said, “is find a safe place to stop and give those people in back a breather. It must be a hundred degrees in those containers. They won't last long in such conditions.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Annabelle said. “Once we get to the bottom of this hill, feel free to show me the way.”
Virgil sat back and watched as they rolled down the final part of the hill and onto the main road. At his direction, Annabelle sped westward. They passed empty fields and rolling hills, smashing into the rogue zombies that happened to wander aimlessly onto the road.
He thought back to all those poor suffering people who had perished at the hands of the horde. The memory of their grisly demise would stay with him forever. He didn't want to see or experience any more death or dying. All he had ever cared about was the living, studying human biology and viral behavior. Those unfortunate people had been his friends and neighbors, and would be sorely missed. The senseless violence caused by this plague was almost too much to bear. And what about all the rest of those wretched souls still back in the boxcars? Would they succumb as well? How many of them would even survive this journey?