was a lifeline.
“You understand?” Marv insisted.
“Yeah, yeah.” The RV lurched a little as it slowed. “Oh, we’re near Berlin.”
“Great. Go wake Captain Sawyer and tell him.” Marv took a deep breath and headed into the driving area.
Chapter Four
JD, standing between the two captains chairs, pointed ahead. “Berlin, Georgia, population five hundred twenty-five.”
The RV was stopped at the intersection of the state highway and the main street of the small town.
The perfectly normal main street of an American town. A beat-up pickup pulled up to the stop sign on the main street side, eyed the motionless RV, and then cautiously pulled out onto the highway and rolled south.
“It’s like the Twilight Zone,” Dyson observed.
“Were we just killing zombies fifty miles from here?” JD wondered aloud. “I said that before, I think.”
“Yeah, we were,” Marv kept his voice steady, although the sight of normalcy was tearing at him-he wanted to curl up and laugh like a child reaching the safety of home. “Guys, we’ve reached a high spot in a flood zone-the water hasn’t reached here yet. Lets get resupplied and get moving. I just got word from on high, and we’re going to cut further west.”
“The map says there’s a Marine base a couple hours from here,” Dyson protested.
“I know, I’ll explain later. Looks like there is a truck stop up ahead; if there’s an ATM we’ll buy some fuel.” Marv pushed the curtains open. “We’re in a normal zone, guys. Nobody carry any weapons. Captain Jack, Addison, and Doc stay on board to secure the vehicle. The rest come with me.”
Grounding his MOLLE vest and pistol, Marv lead the way off the RV, spotting an ATM sign next to the front doors of the truck stop. “C’mon, I’ll get some official cash and tell you guys something.”
The truck stop looked completely normal except for the fat man in overalls sitting in a chair just inside the front doors with a shotgun across his knees, and the pistol on the clerk’s hip. Marv held his hands open at shoulder height. “We’re just looking to buy some fuel and supplies, cash on the barrelhead.”
“Buy away,” the clerk, a tall, weather-beaten man in his sixties smiled. “We’re just bein’ careful. Radio says there’s a fair peck of trouble going on. Where you fellas comin’ from?”
“Miami,” JD said, as Marv addressed the complexities of the ATM.
“Heard there’s trouble down south.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the promoter shook his head. “It was a war zone just across the Florida line on I-75.”
“Really.” The clerk looked doubtful.
“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, but just remember this: aim for the head.”
Marv came over and laid four hundreds on the counter. “Can you turn on diesel for pump three? Great. Any place we can get water and dump the sewage?”
“Pull around to the side, there’s water and sewage marked,” the clerk flipped switches and then laid a business card on the counter. “Code’s on this, ten bucks for the service.”
“I’ll settle up when we’re done.” Marv motioned for the others to follow him outside. As they started through the doors the fat man with the shotgun held up a hand. “CB says them with the flu, they’re zombies.”
“I wouldn’t call them liars,” Marv shrugged. “Like my friend said, aim for the head, and don’t hesitate. It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.”
Outside he explained to Dyson the significance of the payload, and passed on what Colonel Nelson had told him to all three. “We have to keep Doc completely out of the loop,” he concluded. “The guy isn’t right. If he hears what’s in the payload he’ll be after it with a can opener. I don’t want to have to kill or abandon our only medic.”
“Actually, that trio escaped from a mental institution,” JD said.
“How do you know?” Dyson asked.
“Captain Jack,” the promoter
“You understand?” Marv insisted.
“Yeah, yeah.” The RV lurched a little as it slowed. “Oh, we’re near Berlin.”
“Great. Go wake Captain Sawyer and tell him.” Marv took a deep breath and headed into the driving area.
Chapter Four
JD, standing between the two captains chairs, pointed ahead. “Berlin, Georgia, population five hundred twenty-five.”
The RV was stopped at the intersection of the state highway and the main street of the small town.
The perfectly normal main street of an American town. A beat-up pickup pulled up to the stop sign on the main street side, eyed the motionless RV, and then cautiously pulled out onto the highway and rolled south.
“It’s like the Twilight Zone,” Dyson observed.
“Were we just killing zombies fifty miles from here?” JD wondered aloud. “I said that before, I think.”
“Yeah, we were,” Marv kept his voice steady, although the sight of normalcy was tearing at him-he wanted to curl up and laugh like a child reaching the safety of home. “Guys, we’ve reached a high spot in a flood zone-the water hasn’t reached here yet. Lets get resupplied and get moving. I just got word from on high, and we’re going to cut further west.”
“The map says there’s a Marine base a couple hours from here,” Dyson protested.
“I know, I’ll explain later. Looks like there is a truck stop up ahead; if there’s an ATM we’ll buy some fuel.” Marv pushed the curtains open. “We’re in a normal zone, guys. Nobody carry any weapons. Captain Jack, Addison, and Doc stay on board to secure the vehicle. The rest come with me.”
Grounding his MOLLE vest and pistol, Marv lead the way off the RV, spotting an ATM sign next to the front doors of the truck stop. “C’mon, I’ll get some official cash and tell you guys something.”
The truck stop looked completely normal except for the fat man in overalls sitting in a chair just inside the front doors with a shotgun across his knees, and the pistol on the clerk’s hip. Marv held his hands open at shoulder height. “We’re just looking to buy some fuel and supplies, cash on the barrelhead.”
“Buy away,” the clerk, a tall, weather-beaten man in his sixties smiled. “We’re just bein’ careful. Radio says there’s a fair peck of trouble going on. Where you fellas comin’ from?”
“Miami,” JD said, as Marv addressed the complexities of the ATM.
“Heard there’s trouble down south.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the promoter shook his head. “It was a war zone just across the Florida line on I-75.”
“Really.” The clerk looked doubtful.
“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, but just remember this: aim for the head.”
Marv came over and laid four hundreds on the counter. “Can you turn on diesel for pump three? Great. Any place we can get water and dump the sewage?”
“Pull around to the side, there’s water and sewage marked,” the clerk flipped switches and then laid a business card on the counter. “Code’s on this, ten bucks for the service.”
“I’ll settle up when we’re done.” Marv motioned for the others to follow him outside. As they started through the doors the fat man with the shotgun held up a hand. “CB says them with the flu, they’re zombies.”
“I wouldn’t call them liars,” Marv shrugged. “Like my friend said, aim for the head, and don’t hesitate. It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.”
Outside he explained to Dyson the significance of the payload, and passed on what Colonel Nelson had told him to all three. “We have to keep Doc completely out of the loop,” he concluded. “The guy isn’t right. If he hears what’s in the payload he’ll be after it with a can opener. I don’t want to have to kill or abandon our only medic.”
“Actually, that trio escaped from a mental institution,” JD said.
“How do you know?” Dyson asked.
“Captain Jack,” the promoter
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