The engine of the boat rumbled to life as Cass neared the water.
Printed on the side of the upper deck was the name Duchess in black.
“What the hell?” Lance watched as the boat backed away from the shore. “Better pick up the pace, Doc!”
The upper part of the boat where the tiny cabin sat appeared empty.
Cass reached the water and stepped onto the plank as it pulled away from the rocks. Eifort was on her heels. They moved up the ramp quickly, turning back to face the land.
Brown splashed into the water, his tall frame allowing him to take big strides. He stretched out with his good arm and grabbed hold of the railing, hauling himself from the river. Lance waded waist-high before he reached the retreating platform. He pulled himself belly-first onto the wood as the doc walked up the slight incline.
By the time Lance got to the bow of the ship, Cass had climbed an exterior ladder. Her axe was back in the holster, the blood of daywalkers coursing down its handle.
“What is she doing?” the doc asked. He leaned against the outer wall of the first floor and slid down it, settling in a seated position. His hand pressed against the wound on his shoulder.
Lance watched as Cass started on a second ladder. “She’s probably going to kick the ass of whoever is piloting this ship. I need to go help her. Are you going to be OK here?”
“I’ll live.”
Eifort stood beside him, watching the slaughter by the stadium. “We’ll be fine.”
“Be careful. We don’t know if more of those fuckers are onboard.” Lance sheathed his knife and started up the ladder. He made it to the roof of the first floor, just reaching for the next ladder when he heard Cass shouting.
“Don’t move!”
Lance hurried up the rungs.
Cass stood at the open door of the cabin, her pistol aimed at a long-haired man wearing a camouflaged jacket. Strands of gray at his temples suggested he was middle-aged.
“Who are you?” Cass stepped inside, putting the barrel within inches of the man’s forehead.
“Nobody.”
Lance stepped onto the upper deck. “Oh god, are you with those crazy militant assholes?” He followed Cass inside and grabbed the lever that he guessed controlled the speed of the boat. He pulled it all the way down, bringing the Duchess to a stop.
“We aren’t crazy.” The man glared at Cass, defiant, jaw set.
Cass’s face, already strained, turned a deep rouge. “Did you bring those things to the shore on purpose?”
Lance almost fell over. It hadn’t occurred to him that the crazy men would have done something like this intentionally. He knew they were nuts, but this went above and beyond. Their insanity knew no bounds.
Bringing a boatload of daywalkers to the camp just as the sunset was a masterstroke of brilliance and madness. These were the kind of men that you didn’t want to cross paths with.
The man shifted a bit, but didn’t respond.
The knife was out of its sheath and in Lance’s hand before he had time to think about it. “Why?”
“A new civilization can’t thrive while the other is still in power.”
“You call that a civilization? Those people were just trying to stay alive! You’ve killed them all!” He stepped forward, murder on his mind.
Cass put a hand on his chest. “Wait.”
“The woman is in charge—how cute.”
Lance took a deep breath.
“What new civilization? The group of men up the road?” Cass held the pistol steady.
“Of course. The Minutemen always lead the revolution.”
“Minutemen?” Lance asked. “You crazy bastards have a name for yourself? You think you’re somehow a part of an American revolution?”
“We are the Minutemen. We are the revolution. Don’t you see? Those government bureaucrats did this. Now they can claim martial law and control every facet of our lives. We’ve been preparing for this since birth.”
Lance peered through the window at the people in the parking lots. Two of the spotlights pointed directly in the air, no one at the controls. Another fell dark. In the far corner, close to the stadium, a lone light searched the area, catching Vladdies in its path.
Vladdies and the people they were eating alive.
“The government is gone. Everything is gone! You just killed the only people still alive in the city!”
“We’ll build anew.”
“This was a suicide mission for you, wasn’t it?” Cass asked.
“I prepared to die but hoped to live. I can see on your faces that you don’t have what it takes to survive in the new world. The meek will fertilize our crops with their rot.”
Cass shot him in the leg.
The boom surprised Lance, pounding his ears in the small space of the cabin.
“You bitch! You shot me!” The man grabbed at his limb, face scrunched in agony.
Lance dropped his knife on the instrument dash and grabbed the man’s shirt, lifting him to a standing position.
“Is Ralph your leader? Older man with a nephew named Mike and a gorilla that goes by Tony following him around?”
“You’ve met him?”
That was all Lance needed to hear. “Hope you can swim. Good luck when you get to shore. The night isn’t too pleasant anymore.”
He jerked the man around, pointing his back to the door. He shoved him as hard as he could, sending him over the railing. The man toppled backward, falling to the river below. His arm cracked off the side of the ship, rending at the forearm.
Water enveloped him as he thrashed around, struggling to keep his head above the surface.
Cass and Lance watched him from over the railing.
“What’s going on up there?” Eifort stuck her head out from the first floor.
“Throwing out the trash,” Lance said.
The man flopped around, barely staying afloat. He tried to curse at them, but his mouth took in water. His arms slapped at the surface as he swam toward the shore.
They watched him for a few moments, Lance curious to see if he would make it. They would find out whether drowning or being eaten alive was worse.
He hit the shallow slope of the bank and stood out of the water. His knees were still submerged when something exploded from the shore and grabbed him, dragging his flailing body to the rocks.
The screams only lasted a few seconds.
They watched as the last vestiges of Pittsburgh were torn asunder.
The bright lights of the stadium flashed on, temporarily blinding Lance. He squinted, holding a hand up to help with the transition.
Whoops from a helicopter’s rotors came from the stadium. They accelerated, the sound echoing from the empty seats and decks.
Vladdies crawled up the sides of the Steelers’ home field. They moved across the surface with ease, lunging from one handhold to the next. Their strength and speed still amazed and horrified Lance. What place could be safe from them?
They attacked the banks of lights, tearing and smashing at their rear panels.
“Do you see that?” Doc Brown asked from below. “They’re using strategy, as simple as it might be.”
“I see it.” Lance dreaded what would happen if these things continued to grow more intelligent. Were they regaining old memories, or developing new skills?
The whine of the helicopter’s engine reached a crescendo. It rose from the center of the stadium, already banking east before it cleared the top of the lights.
“I guarantee that’s Reynolds. A helicopter has sat on the field, unused, since we got here,” Eifort said. “They told us it needed repairs, but I always thought he was saving it for this exact situation.”
As the chopper continued to rise, flying over the side of the stadium, a shadow lunged from a bank of lights, clutching at one of the skids.
They were too far away to see the details of what happened next, but the wild way the helicopter gyrated in the air told the story. It fell from the sky in a rapid d
escent, disappearing behind the far side of the stadium.
The crash boomed over the empty city.
As the final lights of Heinz Field blinked out, they watched as hundreds of the Vladdies swarmed over its surfaces. It resembled a beehive, its inhabitants crawling over the exterior.
Lance and Cass climbed down to the first floor, helping the doc to his feet.
“Sergeant?” Cass stood before Eifort.
“Staff Sergeant.”
“Whatever. There is no way that you guys didn’t know about the infected not being able to go over water, right? They had to have figured that out.”
“Of course. Why do you think the fences ran to the edge of the river?”
“I don’t understand why you weren’t evacuating by boats then. Why wait for helicopters to go back and forth?”
“We were. A cargo ship took several hundred people down the river a few days. It was supposed to return yesterday, but it never came back. I know for a fact that Major Reynolds also asked for help from the Navy and the Air Force. But again, we lost contact during the last week or so.”
Cass swore and stood by the railing, staring into the dark water below.
They went inside through a door at the bow. A broad, two-story dining room occupied the majority of the boat’s space. Tables were scattered about, embroidered white clothes on top, chairs surrounding them. The second floor had a wraparound balcony with more tables sitting by the railing.
Doc Brown walked across the dining room and a small dance floor, heading for a bar in the back.
“You alright, Doc?” Lance stayed by the front with Cass. Eifort followed the doctor, her rifle held at the ready.
“I need to clean this wound. I’ll probably get drunk too.”
Lance didn’t like the sullen tone of the man’s voice. It sounded hopeless. Complete and utter despair. As understandable as it was, the man had been caring for thousands of people just three hours ago; Lance knew that they didn’t have time for defeatist attitudes.
That would get them killed.
“Eifort,” he called out. “See if you can find some food. I’m running on fumes here.”
She gave a little wave without looking back.
Cass said, “Check the rest of the boat too. Make sure we don’t get any surprises.”
“Got it.”
“Let’s see if we can steer this thing down the river a ways.” Lance went back to the ladders and climbed to the cabin, Cass in tow.
People cried out from the shore in terror and pain. Their wails moved around, as if they were being dragged across the parking lot.
“Why haven’t they killed them yet?” Lance asked.
“Maybe the Vladdies are saving them for later. Why gorge yourself when you can save food for later?”
The thought of people being stored in the sewers to serve as snacks during the day horrified Lance. They’d barely escaped that fate.
He shoved his emotions aside as best he could and inspected the controls of the boat. The engine still ran, so he didn’t have to worry about that.
The fuel gauge indicated they had three quarters of a tank.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
Cass found a switch that raised the platform on the front of the ship. She pointed at the big lever on the dash. “You already used the throttle earlier.”
Lance managed to get them in reverse and slowly moved the boat backward, spinning the large wheel to rotate the front end around. After several clumsy seconds of trying to get the boat to stop again, he finally got them going forward.
Heinz Field was a shadow in the dark as they moved by. Lance found a button that turned on the front lights of the boat, allowing him to make sure they weren’t going to run aground.
People continued screaming in the night.
“I just want to get down the river a bit so I don’t have to hear them,” Lance said. “I wish we could do something to help.”
“Me too.”
The Fort Duquesne Bridge loomed over the river ahead, barely visible from the boat’s lights. It remained intact, one of the few bridges the military hadn’t destroyed.
The wreckage of the helicopter burned on the other side of Heinz Field. Vladdies surrounded it, standing at the edge of the light.
PNC Park, the home of the Pirates, stood beyond the fire. The moon provided enough light to see its silhouette, but not much more. Had there been people camping around that stadium as well?
As they floated out of earshot of the dead and dying, Lance felt his exhaustion return. His shoulders slumped, arms growing heavy.
Cass leaned into him. “You did well back there. For a dumbass.”
Lance threw his arm around her with a concerted effort. It felt good to have someone to go through this with.
They passed under the bridge in silence.
Lance reached for the throttle when something thudded behind them.
“Did we hit something?” Cass went to the door, sticking her head through the opening. She stood there, motionless, for several seconds.
“What is it?” Lance asked. “Should I stop us or not?”
“Keep going,” Cass whispered. “Get us away from the bridge.”
“Cass? You’re kind of freaking me out.” He spun the wheel a bit, angling the front of the boat to the center of the river.
She didn’t speak, reaching for her pistol instead.
“Oh shit.” Lance pulled his knife free, a movement that was quickly becoming second nature to him.
Cass left the cabin, walking onto the deck behind them. Lance’s hands shook as he followed her, trying to control his nerves.
A Vladdie perched on the deck.
Its thick chest rose and fell with forceful breathes.
Drool slide from its canines.
Its forearms flexed as it pressed against the deck, shoulders and neck bulging. The vascularity of its muscles would have made any bodybuilder envious.
Empty orbitals stared at them, its head cocked at a slight angle, one long ear turned forward.
Lance stopped beside Cass, two feet between them. Fear gripped him as he stared at the killing and eating machine. He licked his lips, squeezed the handle of the knife.
Cass slowly raised her arm, taking aim with the pistol.
It exploded forward, moving with a speed and grace that belied its size.
The gun boomed, fire belching from the barrel.
The Vladdie twitched in the air, but kept coming, crashing into Cass’ shoulder first, knocking her backward into the wall of the cabin. The pistol fell from her hand, clattering over the side of the ship.
Lance reacted on instinct. He flipped the knife in his hand so the blade jutted from the bottom of his fist.
He leapt at its back, driving the knife into its shoulder.
The beast shrieked, swinging its arm in a wide arc. The blow connected with Lance’s stomach, flinging him across the deck.
Pain erupted in his abdomen as he soared across half the span of the boat in the blink of an eye. He landed on the deck with a bone-jarring impact, his teeth clacking together. He slid against a heat pump in back left corner, the metal slamming against his neck.
His diaphragm spasmed, lungs unable to suck in air.
Eyes bulged as he watched the Vladdie turn back to him. Blood coursed down its chest from the stab wound. A bullet hole in its oblique seeped.
Lance spotted his knife several feet away, resting against a white bench. Even if he could breathe, he had no chance of crossing that distance before it was on him.
It slammed its forearms on the deck with a thunderous blow, shaking the Duchess. The wood cracked, splintering around the impact. It reared back on its legs and wailed at the sky.
Lance covered his ears. His eyes watered from the pain in his stomach.
The cry stopped abruptly and it fell back to all fours. Its knuckles punched at the deck as it stalked toward him.
He pushed himself to a seated position, balling his fing
ers into a tight fist.
Go down swinging.
A thunk came from behind the beast.
It stumbled forward, falling to its knees and elbows, mouth twisting in a screech of agony and fury. Its arm snaked out behind it, throwing a wild swing.
Cass staggered away from the blow, the wind from the near miss tussling her short hair.
The Vladdie weaved around, its grace evaporated. It took clumsy steps on wobbly legs.
Cass’ axe, half its blade buried in translucent flesh and taut muscle, stuck from the monster’s back. It went for Cass again as she backpedaled away.
Lance scrambled across the deck, grabbing his knife. He fought to his feet, his oxygen-deprived body begging him for a reprieve. Resolve settled in when he saw Cass had nowhere to go. She had seconds to live.
He teetered forward, praying it wouldn’t turn around. He didn’t have the energy or agility to dodge a blow of any kind.
Aiming for the right side of its lower back, Lance stabbed at its liver. Dark ichor flowed from the puncture as he jerked the knife free and plunged it in again.
He released the knife, leaving it hilt-deep in the Vladdie’s back. He gripped the axe handle and yanked it free as the beast fell forward, landing face first on the deck.
It struggled back to a kneeling position, claws gouging into the wood.
Lance tossed the axe to Cass. She caught it with both hands and swung it over her right shoulder.
It lodged in the thick skull of the pseudo-vampire.
A death spasm twisted its body before it fell still, staining the deck with its blood.
They stared at its cooling carcass for several minutes, looking at what humanity had morphed into.
Lance collapsed to the deck, landing on his tailbone with a painful thud.
“What’s going on up there?” Eifort called from below.
“Getting our asses kicked.” Lance flopped to his back, watching the stars as the boat slowly moved through the water.
Eifort’s head appeared at the top of the ladder. “What do you—” Her head rocked back when she spotted the enormous corpse of the Vladdie. “Holy shit!
She walked across the deck with tentative steps, as if she expected it to come back to life.
Doc Brown followed her, struggling with the ladder because of his wounded shoulder. His face, flushed from the exertion, had beads of sweat covering it by the time he made it to the upper deck. A torn shirt held his shot limb in a makeshift sling, the fabric tied in a knot over his shoulder.
“My god,” he said. “You managed to kill one with a knife and an axe?”
“Barely,” Cass said. “It was a tough bastard.”
“Where did it come from?” Eifort’s head snapped around as she inspected the rest of the area. “Are there anymore? I thought we were safe on the water?”
Lance pointed behind them. “It jumped from the bridge as we passed under it.”
“Oh, great! How are we supposed to use the boat if we can’t go under the bridges? There are a billion of them in this damn city!” Eifort gave the Vladdie a kick.
“Carefully.” Lance stood up, the pain in his abdomen making it difficult. “We are safe here as long as we only go under them during the day. We’ll drop anchor at night and stay put.”
Cass asked, “Did you find any food?”
“Days to weeks’ worth.” Doc Brown gazed ahead. “More than enough to get us out of the city and beyond, depending on how we ration.”
“We made it,” Lance said to Cass. “Told ya. No big deal.”
“No big deal?” She gave him a tired, but genuine smile. “Not too bad for a failed artist and a loser.”
It took three of them, Brown watched because of his injury, to move the beast’s body to the side of the boat and roll it into the water. Lance went into the cabin and turned the engine off. After several minutes, he figured out how to drop the anchor. He left the lights on while they got themselves situated for the night.
They ate small meals from canned goods they found in the galley at the back of the boat. Lance wanted to eat more, but his stomach felt queasy and he didn’t want to risk getting sick.
Cass made a bed for the two of them on the second level of the dining room. She placed seat cushions and tablecloths on a well-worn rug, giving them decent padding to sleep on.
Eifort and the doc made separate beds on the first floor, using the same materials Cass had.
When Lance came back from turning off all the lights and shutting down the generator, he stripped to his underwear in the dark and lay beside Cass. His muscles just started to relax, his mind wandering into a jumble of dream-fogged images, when he heard Eifort call out to them.
“What are we going to do now? Everyone is gone.”
“Get out of the city—see what the country is like.”
“But then what? Are we going to search for more survivors? See if the safe zone in Greensburg is still going?”
“If that’s what you want. Does anyone have any family they need to track down?”
Everyone responded in the negative, even Eifort, which drew surprise from the rest.
“My parents died last week,” she said, her voice cracking.
Doc Brown let out a long, exhausted sigh. “We have food, fuel, water, and a safe place to sleep. That puts us in about as positive a situation as we could ask for. We’re probably better off than anyone else.”
“We can finally rest,” Lance said. “We’ll figure the rest out later.” He moved against Cass, letting his body relax against hers. “What do you want to do?”
Cass rolled over and stared into Lance’s eyes. “I want you to let me fall asleep.” She grinned. “Dumbass.”
*****
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Other Works by Jason Brant:
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Tartarus
Sheol
West of Hell Omnibus Edition
Standalone
The Dark
The Gate
Echoes
3 Supernatural Thrillers
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The following is an excerpt from The Gate, a bestselling horror novel from Jason Brant.
Chapter 1