Zombie Ocean (Book 3): The Least by Grist Michael John

Author:Grist, Michael John [Grist, Michael John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2015-12-23T05:00:00+00:00

15. CAIRNS

Julio wanted to scour Chicago for survivors.

They argued about it their first evening together, sitting round a fire in a campsite north of South Bend, Indiana, after they'd eaten their ration of canned beans, dried rice and turnips Cynthia dug out of a garden.

"You said it's about survivors only," Julio said, staring through the flickering yellow flames at Cerulean sat in his wheelchair. "Your friend Amo's made a trail, that's great. Let's help him and gather who we can."

It was a fair point. Masako, sitting close by his side as if for warmth, though it was sweltering already and the fire just made it worse, plainly agreed. Even Cynthia did, with a dull grunt.

He didn't want to tell them why they should hurry: that Amo had tried to kill himself once already, that he might try again, and if there was no Amo then he'd be stuck in charge of them and would never be free.

"I don't want the trail to go cold," was all he could say.

Cynthia harrumphed. "Trail's written in traffic paint, son, it ain't going anywhere."

Julio eyed him. They'd hardly spoken all day, with him always 'scouting' ahead in his Mustang. After that first burst of speed, racing out of sight, he'd dropped back and kept fairly close. Perhaps he was worried they'd turn off and leave him.

At one point Julio had stopped at a railway crossing on the Ohio Turnpike just after Toledo, and Cerulean pulled the RV up behind. Julio had gotten out and stood on the tracks with his pistol drawn, pointing.

There was a dust cloud in the distance, stretching back in a long diagonal along the rail tracks toward the horizon.

"Now's your chance," Julio said. "Prove they're safe."

"God, how many?" Masako whispered, craning for a better view.

"Half a million," Cynthia said. "Lot of tramping feet. Protest march, maybe."

Cerulean grimaced, then climbed out of the RV and into his chair. They waited for a while, until the first of the horde came into view round the corner of a long stand of Douglas fir. They were gray, ragged, and presented a front as solid as a wave.

Cerulean started rolling toward them, feeling like a magician being forced to perform at a kid's party. "Just don't shoot," he said as he went by Julio. "You'll get us all killed."

Julio grinned but it didn't reach his brows. Probably he thought Cerulean was about to die, leaving him with Masako and Cynthia. But Cynthia was standing by the RV door with her rifle by her side. She nodded and he nodded, then he hit the shale by the tracks, rolled on and soon hit the edge of the zombie horde.

He hit the dust cloud first, then fibrous gray bodies surrounded him, like a dry forest of silver birch on the march, ignoring him completely. They didn't even touch him. Their bodies flowed either side of him, and there was no sense of threat, just a strange surreal calm, like he'd fallen in with a herd of wandering buffalo.

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