“Peter's on the roof, helping people down.” I didn't recognize the voice. “We only got two thirds down before the ramp fell.”
“Can you get the rest out on the crane?” She asked.
“I don't know.”
“No we can't,” Edward Mills, the crane driver, interrupted, “I need to retract the arm before I can drive off, and it would leave nowhere for all those people to sit.”
The plan had always been to abandon the crane after getting all the people off. Most would ride out on the bus, and a few in the back of the dump truck with the rescue team. The dump truck would power through the mass of surrounding zombies, clearing a path for the bus. The original plan called for a snow plow blade on front of the dump truck to help shove the undead aside, but after failing to locate one, we made do by welding together an angular 'cow catcher' of sorts, fashioned from a couple of cattle gates and some bits of scrap metal.
“Get the remaining survivors back up on the roof,” Sarah commanded, “Get the bus out of there. We'll have to regroup and come back for the rest. Maybe tomorrow.”
I heard the sound of arguing coming over the radio. The sound of the bus horn in the distance. Then a cloud of diesel smoke plumed up from the dump truck. It pushed forward, and that pointed nose we'd welded to its front pushed out from the surrounding crowd of undead. The bus followed quickly behind. I saw agitated shapes on the roof the ShopWell, gesturing frantically.
The truck and the bus powered in our direction. The dead fell behind. Suddenly the dump truck turned. It began looping around and heading back to the building.
“What the hell is he doing?” Sarah shouted. “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted into the CB. There was no answer. I didn't know then, but I now know that Richard Poldowski was driving. Sarah shouted a few more things into the radio, not all of them very lady like. The truck hurtled on. It plowed into the crowd of undead, just to one side of the crane. It stopped with its cab just a few feet away from the end of the ramp. The remaining survivors didn't waste any time. They quickly made their way down the ramp, jumping the last few feet from the crane to the roof of the dump truck's cab, from there jumping down into the back of the dump truck. A zombie climbed up on the hood of the truck, it pitched backwards, and a distant gunshot sounded a second later. Someone in the back of the truck must be shooting.
I relayed to Sarah what I was seeing. When one of the survivors slipped and toppled from the truck cab, pulled down into the mass of undead, I nearly choked on the words, but I told her. Only a few survivors remained. Then one froze at the bottom of the ramp. A child. A girl I think. A man came down the ramp and tried to help the child up, tried to convince her to jump. Two people climbed from the back of the truck to the cab. The man practically threw the girl across, losing his balance in the process, falling into the waiting claws below. The girl was caught. She was safe. Three more survivors. Two. The last one.
A plume of diesel fumes. The truck tried to back up. Clouds of dark diesel smoke billowed into the air as it pushed against the massive crowd of corpses behind it. I could hear the engines. Then I could see a bulge appear in the mass of undead now surrounding the crane and dump truck. The back of the dump truck slowly appeared, rolling over the dead as they fell. It was free. It turned and headed toward highway 11 and then west toward the factory.
“I'll be damned,” Sarah said, “We actually did it.”
Jack and I climbed down from the roof and back into the truck cab. As we drove back to the highway, I looked out the window toward the ShopWell. The once tightly packed mass of undead was fracturing. With their prey gone, lone zombies and small groups of undead were beginning to wander away from the building. We wasted no time getting back on pavement and driving west, toward home.
We arrived back at the factory while the bus was still being unloaded. The Blackwell people were lowered gently to the ground. Some began hobbling across the parking lot directly toward the factory. Others lay next to the bus, too exhausted or weakened from their ordeal. Some sobbed uncontrollably. So did some of the rescue team, I noticed. I was surprised that Miguel was not there attending to the various medical needs. I realized neither of the vehicles from the pharmacy scavenge mission were in the parking lot. Maybe they had parked in the warehouse. The bus was the only vehicle that wouldn't fit through those warehouse doors.
Milo raced up to me and grabbed my arm. “Isaac, have you seen the pharmacy crew” he asked with some urgency.
I shook my head. “I was thinking maybe they parked in the warehouse.”
“No. Nobody's seen them.” He was visibly upset. “Kalee is with them,” he blurted out, then ran off. I located Max near the bus talking to Sarah and a couple of unfamiliar people, Blackwell survivors no doubt. Without thinking, I interrupted.
“The pharmacy team, I heard... has anyone...”
Max looked at me sadly. “Nobody's seen them.”
“They should have beat us back,” Sarah replied tiredly, “it was supposed to be a smash-and-grab.”
I wanted to shout. I don't know what. Something. Demand we form a rescue party. Ask for the keys to one of the chase cars. Ask for a gun. Something. Instead I just stood there. Mute. Confused. Hopeless. I turned and ran inside.
I wandered through the office area, past familiar and unfamiliar faces. Blackwell survivors being fed their first decent meal in days. Gray lipped people drinking water like it was heavenly nectar. I walked past the partially built hydroponic garden, a lattice of metal tubes and containers suspended two floors up, just below the atrium skylight. I found myself on the roof, next to Kalee's container garden. Rectangular plant beds constructed from scrap lumber. Five gallon buckets with drainage holes drilled in them. They all sported vegetable plants transplanted from area gardens. The tomatoes looked a bit wilted and water deprived. They had been neglected during our rescue preparations. I lifted a wooden cover from a large plastic barrel. As I suspected, it was filled with water. I scooped out a bucket full and set about watering the tomato plants. When finished, I sat down on the roof and just stared at those pitiful plants. The leaves took on a gold and red aura as the sun began to set.
Sounds drifted up from the parking lot. People discussing the events of the day. Survivors being helped into the building. Vehicles being moved. I heard shouting. The loud slam of a car door. The voices were louder, more excited. I finally pulled myself up to look.
Two more vehicles sat in the parking lot. Miguel was walking from one of the cars, carrying a heavy duffel bag. My heart began to race. Two more people carrying bags of medical supplies climbed from the cars. The moment her dark hair emerged from the SUV, I knew it was her. She sauntered out of that car like she was simply returning home from an average shopping trip.
A tall figure came running across the parking lot. Milo dropped his shotgun as he lifted Kalee in the air, spinning her around and then squeezing her close. He stood there for some time, hugging her fiercely while she hugged him back and laughed. A thousand feelings raced through me. Joy and relief that she was back safe. Jealousy over Milo's greeting. Shame over the Jealousy. Anger at myself that I was not there to greet her. Mostly I felt confusion that I could feel so many things simultaneously, particularly about someone that seemed to occupy a completely different universe than me only a few weeks ago.
She saw me standing there, at the edge of the roof, and waved. I waved back, then headed down to greet her.
May 19 - The Factory, Oklahoma
Miguel told us the whole story over breakfast this morning. They got to the pharmacy with no real trouble. Only a few dead attacked them while they were collecting the medical supplies, and those were quickly dispatched. They took longer than expected locating the specific prescription medication they wanted, but they found everything they were after and loaded up with extra general purpose medical supplies while they were at it. Disaster struck when they finally headed ou
t of town.
“The plan had been to take Main Street south out of town all the way to West Hubbard Road,” Miguel explained, “then take that west past I35 and then wind back up to highway 11 and back here. Problem was, we hit a big pack of zombies before we'd gone even a few blocks. I don't know where they came from, but it was more than we could push through, so we turned around. Then we saw another mess of them wandering down from highway 11. Those I suspect followed us from the ShopWell. We turned East but quickly bumped up against the river on the edge of town. I thought for sure we were stuck between the river and all those walking dead, but we just kept following the river south and eventually ran into a road that crossed it, Blackwell Avenue I think. After that, we were home free. We ended up going pretty far out of our way before we found another road that crossed back over the river without going through town.”
Despite the chaos at the end, the pharmacy raid can only be called a complete success. They found all the supplies they sought and lost no team members. The same cannot be said about the ShopWell rescue. We lost two Blackwell survivors and one of our own. Peter Decker was the man I saw throwing a child to safety at the cost of his own life. That loss brought an