Bus Number 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Dawn of the dead nor AC/DC. The characters and their story belong to the author, me.

A/N: This is an old story of mine which hasn't been updated in a few years. I'll try to improve it the little I can and see if I can 'ignite the flame' again, if you know what I mean.

Chapter 1: Routine

¨… Oh Clark! How could you do this to me! I thought you… We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin …¨

The television died by the hands of Alan Cohen. ¨Goddamn early morning soap operas…¨ He muttered. After his long night of drinking, last thing he needed was to wake up to hear Sally and Clark arguing about Clark cheating on Sally with Eric. He rose up from his bed and sat there for a while, rubbed his unshaven jaw and cursed the sour taste in his mouth. The digital numbers on his alarm clock read 08.03.

Alan was a man in his late 30's; A man with an ex-wife and two daughters, which he hadn't seen in a while. Despite that, he and his daughters were pretty close, giving each other a phone call every now and then. The same couldn't be said about his wife. His former family had moved out from Cleveland to New York, following his ex-wife's new husband, leaving Alan alone in the suburbs where they had lived for many happy years. The only thing that made Alan happy was his profession. He was a bus driver. Not the most glorious job you can have, yet he loved every minute of it. He had been working as a bus driver since the tender age of 22. Years and a "sitting-job" had taken it's toll on Alan's once well-toned body and his black curly hair was now more of a gray shade.. He was getting older and he had grown to accept it. The every day routines kept him sane, doing double-shifts since he didn't have better things to do. He didn't complain though, it brought bread to his table and he enjoyed driving in general.

Alan rose from his bed and marched to the shower. After a quick shower and a shave he put on his outfit. He cleaned his nametag and attached it to his chest, combed his hair and added a bit of Hugo Boss to the mix. You couldn't tell that he had been drinking the whole Sunday. After grabbing his keys and continuing his way to the garage, he noticed that clock was already half-past eight. He was late from his work, so he didn't have any time to prepare any breakfast. He walked to his garage and entered his car… a black '67 Ford Mustang. The car meant a lot to him, a childhood dream made true. He fought long and hard against his ex-wife's lawyers to keep it, managing to keep it in exchange of paintings and a door mat. A perfect trade. He sat down in the driver's seat and smelled the leather interior of the car. He smiled. The one last thing missing was the music. He put a cassette in the player and the next thing he knew, the voice of Brian Johnson impaled his brain.

¨I'm dirty, mean and mighty unclean, I'm a wanted man, Public enemy number one, Understand, So lock up your daughter, Lock up your wife, Lock up your backdoor, And run for your life, The man is back in town…¨

Despite suffering from the post-drinking blues, he felt pretty good. Mr. Burgundy, his boss, liked Alan a lot and gave him a few liberties since he was one of the most hard-working drivers in the station. The engine roared and he was on his way to work. On the way he noticed that there was a bit more traffic than usually, which was a bit odd… maybe he wasn't the only one late from work. He also noted that there were quite a few emergency vehicles on the move. He minded his own business and kept on driving. He had a faint memory of TV saying something about an emergency but he quickly forgot it since he noticed a pedestrian running on the road.

He noticed him too late.

Alan hit him, sending him flying and finally hitting the ground. He pressed the brakes and looked at the unmoving figure. He put on reverse and quickly dialled 911 on his cell phone. He couldn't get through since all the lines were reserved. Just my luck, he thought. He rolled his window down…

¨Hey man, you alright? ¨ He asked from the man. The man didn't answer. Instead, it jumped up and screamed and quickly ran towards Alan. Alan barely had the time to close the window, one hit from the figure fractured it. Alan immediately put pedal to the metal and before he noticed, the man was just a dot in the horizon. Alan cursed his luck, of all the people he could have bumped, he chose a hobo on speed. He kept on driving and dodged the traffic until he noticed something a bit stranger.

There had been a mass car-accident, at least four cars out of which two were burning. There was an ambulance with its doors open and a cop car. The only thing missing were the people. He slowed down and noticed something that froze his blood. He saw two paramedics and a civilian mauling a police officer. They were like wild-animals feasting on their prey, minding their own business. Alan stared in horror as he realized that two of the possible people who had been there during the accident were chased off by three more figures. Alan pissed on the face of speed-limits and drove off quickly. What the hell was going on? He felt shivers go up his spine; he felt nauseous and was in a bit of a shock. He couldn't stop thinking about the image he witnessed a while ago. Something was wrong in an extremely fucked up way.

He kept driving; his work place wouldn't be far away anymore. Just past the wal-mart and then a quick turn to left and he could see the station. More people were running around, these ones looking a bit more human than the ones he had seen earlier. All of them in a panic like state, running inside the wal-mart. He heard gunshots and once again, accelerated. He needed to get away.

He had entered the yard of the station and noticed that there were few cars also parked. That meant that there were some people inside. Still, there were a lot of people missing. He wasn't the only one late. He parked next to a buick, locked the doors and quickly jogged towards the staff entrance on the back of the station. He picked up a steel-pipe off the ground… Just in case. He heard a crash from inside the station. It came from the direction of main entrance. He didn't have much time to think about it, since he heard something else. Steps. Someone running. When he turned around the corner he was stopped by…

¨Oh fuck Alan, you scared the shit outta me!¨ Said Gordon Embury, a fellow busdriver. Gordon was about 10 years younger than Alan, one of the younger ones working at the station. A handsome man with piercing blue eyes and well groomed black hair, he was one the better friends Alan had at the job.

¨Yeah, yeah. Listen, have you got any idea what the hell is going on? I witnessed a lot of fucked up shit on the way here." Alan said. He didn't feel like elaborating.

¨Shit yeah, people are going apeshit. I saw people getting shot on the way here and some good old US-of-A as kicking. I'm telling you man, I saw people eating other people. It was horrible.¨ Gordon said, putting emphasis on the word eating. He was going to continue but then his eyes wided and he yelled;

¨Shit, watch out!¨

Alan turned and noticed a man running towards him. A man with gray skin wearing a heavily stained t-shirt reading ¨I heart NY¨ and blue shorts. Saliva was dripping from it's jaw. Alan took a swing at the figure and hit it straight in the forehead. The man fell to the ground, twitching there for a while. Alan and Gordon stood there for a while, gasping for air.

¨I think we should go inside.¨ Alan said. Gordon nodded. They entered the station and were standing now in a hallway which led in four places. To the locker room, upstairs to Mr. Burgundy's office, the lobby and the cafeteria. The hallway was clean and showed no signs of violence except for Mr Burgundy's door. The window on it was shattered. Alan quickly locked the backdoor, just to be sure.

Moaning.

The sound came from the locker room. There weren't any lights on in the locker room; it was dark inside. Alan motioned Gordon to arm himself, who took the fire extinguisher off the wall. Slowly, Alan opened the door and switched the lights on. Room was empty except for the huge pile of driver outfits on the corner. Alan motioned towards unmoving pair of legs under the outfits. A figure was lying under the outfits and the two armed men approached it. Alan reached forward and moved some of the clothes and noticed that it was Peter Bishop, another bus driver. He was a drinker, so every time he got drunk his wife would send him here to get some sleep. Peter was an old man, few years to retiring. His bald head was sweating from the heat the outfits provided. His heavy-built body breathed steadily. He seemed ok.

¨Wake up¨ Gordon said and kicked the man in the behind.

Man let out a big burp and opened his eyes.

¨Ahh…What do you want? Time to work already?¨ Peter asked. His breath reeked of cheap liquor.

¨What the hell are you doing here? Seen other guys from the work? Tim? Danny?¨ Alan asked

Peter stood up and straightened his back.

¨Nope. Haven't seen anyone. I came here sometime during the night since wife didn't let me in. I think someone broke in sometime ago but I didn't care to give two flying fucks about it. I heard a glass breaking few minutes ago and a loud bang upstairs" Peter said.

Gordon and Alan exchanged looks. Things didn't look too good.

¨Let's head up to Burgundy's office. If I remember right Burgundy owned this old revolver, we could have use for it¨ Alan said.

¨Yeah, let's just hope that he had some ammunition too¨ Gordon replied.

Peter stood up and stretched himself, as Alan and Gordon had already entered the hallway.

¨Hey, wait up! ¨ Peter shouted and followed the two men. He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he knew that being alone wouldn't be the best solution.

They were now standing in front of the door to upstairs. Peter had taken the broom in the locker room as his weapon, so he wouldn't be completely defenceless against any unwanted people. Alan opened the door. The doorknob was slippery. He looked at his palm and looked at the red goo. It was blood. Alan quickly cleaned his hands on his pants. Disgusting.

There were quite old wooden stairs leading upstairs. Unlike in the locker room, the lights were on. Alan took the lead as they slowly walked the stairs. A creaking sound came after every step. It was silent, only the creaking could be heard. Alan felt like the stairs were going to continue forever.

They made it upstairs. The door to the boss' office was open. They creeped closer. He peeked inside and felt something rise up in his throat. There was a body lying on its belly on the floor, with a hole on the back of its head. The corpse resembled a guy at their worked who went by the name Bennings but he wasn't sure or willing to check. But then, he heard a weak sound coming from behind Mr Burgundy's desk, a sound of someone breathing heavily. Slowly, the three men walked beside the desk and saw…

Mr Burgundy, sitting on the floor with a revolver in his one hand and one hand pressing a piece of cloth to a wound in his shoulder. From the signs of is, it looked like he was bitten.

¨Don't come any closer! ¨ Mr. Burgundy shouted, pointing the single action army at them.

¨Don't shoot! We aren't one of those things!¨ Gordon said as he raised his hands. He held the fire extinguisher high in the air, making him look silly.

Mr Burgundy was a fairly old man, his almost bald head was well waxed and he was wearing a suit, like always. Everyone wondered why would a owner of a filthy bus station wear a suit at the job. Apparently it added value or showed rank amongst the people in the station. It worked.

¨Alan! Peter! How nice of you to show up. That guy there on the floor, what's his name… Bennings chased me here after biting me in the hallway. I managed to run up here and shoot him when he ran upstairs. I think he's got rabies or something… Bastard managed to take a bite out off me. Stupid, so stupid…¨ Burgundy said.

Burgundy grinned. The old man was hurt and the wound in his shoulder kept bleeding badly.

¨Let me see that.¨ Peter said and approached Burgundy.

He raised the piece of cloth and saw Burgundy's shoulder. The shoulder had a huge chunk missing. His, beige suit had turned in to brownish colour on the shoulder from all the dried blood

"It was self-defence… I didn't want to." Burgundy sobbed. Alan put his hand on Burgundy's shoulder, the one that wasn't bitten.

¨I take your word for it. We've seen all kinds of messed up things happen during the course of the day. But now I think we should…¨ Alan didn't have the time to finish his sentence because Gordon interrupted him.

¨Come on, check this out! There's something happening outside.¨ Gordon said and pointed out of the window.

The men walked to the window.

A police car had stopped in the yard and two cops and a civilian were running towards the station. They were being chased by a group of figures up to ten. Alan opened the window and shouted;

¨Quicky! Come to the backdoor! ¨ He pointed to his right. The police saw it and ran there. He fired a shot at the horde, hitting one of them in the chest. Alan stared in awe, as the figure didn't even flinch and kept running.

¨Stay here with Burgundy ¨ Alan said and ran downstairs. Gordon and Peter didn't object.

He ran as fast as he could to the backdoor. With one quick move, the lock was open and the men inside. Few seconds later the door was being hit by the unknown assailants.

Alan looked at the two cops. One of them was a man about same age as Alan and the other one was a young woman. Man was wearing a standard issue police uniform and wore thick glasses. The man reminded him of Phil Hartman and spoke with great sense of authority. After all, these guys were only bus drivers.

¨Officer John Stack, thank you for letting us in.¨ the man said and pushed his hands forward. Alan shook it.

¨And this is deputy Vanessa Taitano.¨ pointing towards the woman

¨Thank you for letting us in.¨ Vanessa said and smiled. Her chocolate brown eyes reminded Alan of his ex-wife.

¨Come on, let's get upstairs. There's a…¨ Alan was going to say something, but the figure standing in door of the cafeteria took his attention.

The cook, an obese black man was looking at them. He looked as hideous as always… Despite the pale unseeing eyes and bleeding arm.

The cook made a run towards them. Vanessa and Alan took few steps back while Stack pointed his gun at the fat figure stumbling towards them.

BANG!

The fat figure collapsed to the ground. The bullet was a direct hit to the forehead.

Alan looked at Stack who was holding a Beretta 92F. Stack blew the smoke coming out of the barrel of the gun.

¨Upstairs, was it?¨

They were walking in the stairwell when Alan noticed the civilian with them.

¨And who might you be?¨ Alan asked

The man was muscular and was wearing a black tank and blue jeans.

¨Scott Hartigan.¨ The man said. A man of few words, Alan thought.

"We're transferring him to an other prison. We've got no idea what he did, only that it's something serious. He might be a serial killer for all we know…" Stack said.

Clock was now 10.52Am. It was a living hell outside. Burning houses, people attacking each other, death… The minor chaos Alan had witnessed had taken a turn for the worse. There was a radio on Burgundy's desk and they were now listening to the emergency broadcast.

¨… Lock your doors, seal the windows, and wait for the National Guard to pick you up. It's only a matter of time until we have the situation under control. As we stated few minutes ago, do not, I repeat, do NOT make contact with the unknown attackers. This is a nation-wide event which started this very morning and we've had reports of cannibalistic behaviour by the people all around the nation. We're now going live to the streets, where Mark Simmons gives us a report. Mark, what's the situation there? ¨ The news broadcaster asked.

After a brief moment of static, a voice could be heard.

¨Maxwell, I'm standing next to a police department taking siege! The previous reports are true; the people are in fact eating other people. It is just insane, I, I just cannot explain. It's just, it's just…The officials have no idea what could have caused this. There's a lot of speculation going on whether these people are alive or dead. But one undeniable fact is that… ¨ the panicked voice of award winning street-reporter Mark Simmons turned in to horrible screams and gnarling sounds.

¨Mark? Can you hear me? ¨ the newscaster spoke

The newscaster put his finger to his ear-piece. ¨I'm sorry but we've lost contact with Mark. More information will follow shortly."

¨Oh god…¨ Gordon said. They all were shocked about the news. Not one of them stood without leaning to something.

Burgundy coughed. The old man was now in extremely bad condition. His skin had turned to yellowish colour and the bite mark on his shoulders smelled rotten. He was sweating badly.

¨Burgundy, drink this. ¨ Peter said and gave him a glass of water. Burgundy took it.

¨I have a… first name too you know…¨ Burgundy said in a weak tone.

¨What's that? ¨ Peter said, he couldn't hear what the old man was saying.

The glass of water dropped to the floor, and Peter put his finger on burgundy's temple. Burgundy's unseeing eyes were locked to the ceiling.

¨He's gone. ¨ Peter said.

Alan took the revolver and looked it in his hands. It felt weird to be carrying something that could so easily take someone's life.

¨We shouldn't stay here. We should…¨ Alan said

¨Burgundy's alive. ¨ Peter said. Alan turned his head and was horrified.

Burgundy had turned in to something else. He was screaming and grabbed Peter by the shoulders but Alan was faster.

BANG! He had shot Burgundy straight in the forehead, his eyes blinking once before his body went limb.

¨What in the name of… ¨ Stack said. He didn't expect anything to happen.

¨But he was dead! I didn't find his pulse! I swear… he was dead! ¨ Peter rambled.

¨He was bitten… and he turned. It cannot be a coincidence. ¨ Stack said Alan.

¨I don't know, there has been so much happening today…¨ Alan replied in a serious tone.

Stack and Gordon covered Burgundy's face. The very sight of it made them sick. Alan wasn't done talking;

¨But one thing I know for certain. We have to get out of here. We have to make a run for it. ¨ He said

¨Where? ¨ Vanessa asked

¨I don't know, somewhere safe, how's that? ¨ He said. The sarcasm overflowing from his voice.

Peter changed the frequency of the radio to a local station. Stack made a gesture that suggested he was going to change the frequency back.

¨… your way towards Fort Lawrence. It's the best shot of you guys out there surviving. We're going off the air. This is Shawn Bixby saying have a good day, I'm off to get saved¨

It felt like a divine sign.

That's it! We have to go there! ¨ Alan quickly shouted

¨How? ¨ Vanessa asked

Alan looked at Vanessa. They were on a bus station, naturally they would take a bus. Woman should start making judgements of her own instead of muttering questions…

¨We'll take a bus.¨ Alan said.

The plan sounded good to everyone, not one objected. They should have thought of going to Fort Lawrence immediately since it was the nearest military base to them. Naturally, they had other things on their minds.

¨Hell yeah, let's do it! ¨ Gordon said. He was 100 percent confident about the plan. He slapped his hands together.

¨Alright, grab the revolver ammunition and let's go to the garage. Straight through the cafeteria¨ Alan said, leading the pack of survivors.

They quickly ran down and through the cafeteria. Good for them that it was empty. It was neat inside, if you didn't notice the slight blood drops on the ground.

Alan opened the double doors and was now standing in the garage. There were seven busses. Alan had only one bus in mind.

Alan looked around. He walked near a big bus, with a small nametag on door handle ¨Ursula¨. It was a standard issue bus but somehow it felt a bit more secure and bigger than the other busses. Their steps echoed in the empty garage.

The group entered the bus, as Alan tried to start the vehicle, which was the tricky part.

¨You sure that this piece of shit will move? ¨ Scott said his first words out loud.

Alan looked at him. The disrespect shown towards his bus made him a bit angry.

¨Nah man, I'm just starting it for the kicks, we've got a tank waiting outside if you feel like taking that instead. ¨ He said.

Scott sat down, quiet. Finally, the bus showed that it indeed was a fine piece of public transport.

¨Gordon, go open the garage door, will you? ¨ Alan asked Gordon

Gordon nodded and jumped out of the bus. He ran to the big garage door and pressed the big green button on the wall next to the door.

He waved to Alan, but as he turned around, his blood nearly froze. Nearly a dozen figures were waiting there, now running towards Gordon.

¨Gordon! ¨ Alan shouted. The young man ran towards the bus and outran the figures with relative ease. Everyone except for Scott cheered. Alan accelerated through the figures and took a quick right after the yard. They felt a bit more confident about their chances. Alan smiled as he steered the bus through all the horror that waited them outside the bus.

¨Buckle up, next stop, fort Lawrence. ¨ He said in the microphone and his voice could be heard from the speakers.

The bus number 13 was on its way to salvation

A/N: Right, I tried the best I could to improve the story. Forgive me if there are error and contradictions in the next chapters. I'm working on them as we speak and they should be re-uploaded shortly. As a sidenote, I haven't written anything in a long time and to be honest, it feels pretty damn good. If you're a new reader, please give this story a shot. Reviews are highly appreciated.