Perhaps worse, the wipers fought a losing battle as pieces of rotten flesh clung to the windshield. With each swipe, more blood and zombie goo smeared across the glass, and recognizable body parts got lodged within the protective cage enfolding my front end. After a particularly vicious splat, a zombie’s eyeball ended up right in my line of sight, and the cockeyed, overtaxed wipers couldn’t budge it.
“Holy crap,” Clare cried from the passenger seat. “This is insane!”
“No kidding,” I grumbled.
George and Casey, once again seated, also put their eyes to work, gazing out the small barred windows behind the sofa and next to the dining nook.
Jess shrieked when one particularly aggressive zombie banged against the glass beside her.
Most step vans didn’t feature more than the windows up front, and if the previous owner of my kick-ass van hadn’t installed extra panes in the living area, I certainly wouldn’t have.
At least sturdy metal bars covered every window, including the slender rear ones. I’d even fitted the driver’s-side and passenger-side doors, which opened by sliding them into the side walls of the van, with customized bars so the doors would still function.
Back in Hazlehurst, Casey had perused the maps on my tablet and figured out a somewhat direct route to the old riverside dock where Captain Sal would supposedly meet us. Unfortunately, the courthouse battle had impeded the road we needed to leave town, so I struggled to find another way through the mayhem.
Thanks to the influx of eager zombies, I had to decrease my speed and take a lot of inconvenient turns before doubling back to Anthony Street—the route Casey had suggested. Zombies pounded against the rear and sides of the van. Some even hurled their bodies against the barred windows. But we managed to keep moving and eventually leave Port Gibson in our dust.
Of course, we didn’t leave all the zombies behind. As we wound north on Oil Mill Road, a massive horde trailed us toward the Mississippi River. Not all the creatures had decided to make the trip, but too many did to count—or kill. I picked up speed, hoping to lose them, but even as I turned left onto Grand Gulf Road, which apparently led to the riverside boat ramp, most of the pus-sacks were still following us.
“Man, I sure hope we’re not leading these guys to other folks,” Casey lamented. “We’ve passed a few houses along the way.”
“I’m not happy about it either,” I muttered, glancing in my side-view mirror. “But I can’t seem to shake ’em.”
Happily, though, the map hadn’t lied. At the fork near the Grand Gulf Military State Park, I veered left onto a newly constructed road that soon dead-ended at a cracked concrete platform beside the river. Trees flanked both sides of the isolated site, and two decrepit warehouses sat at the far end of the platform, a twelve-foot-high concrete wall separating them.
Sporting rusted exteriors and holey roofs, both structures looked as if a stiff wind would blow them into the river. Strange, given the decent condition of the road leading to the place. Either the weathered structures were as ancient as they seemed—or, else, poorly constructed and rarely maintained.
Each warehouse featured large, overhead doors on both the front and back, and luckily for us, someone had left all the doors open, offering a clear view of the Muddy Mississippi on the far side. Knowing we had little time to make a move, I pulled through the closest warehouse and parked in front of the ramp we intended to utilize to board the Stargazer—if the boat ever fucking showed up.
Of course, it was at that precise moment that our temporary streak of good luck ended. From the inland side of the warehouse, I hadn’t been able to discern that the ramp was in the “up” position. Not all the way up—that I might’ve noticed—but enough to be a problem.
My eyes traced the ramp to a spool of heavy chains preventing it from descending. The chains, in turn, extended upward, through the wall and toward a slender tower—a tower situated on the other side of the twelve-foot-high barrier that separated both the warehouses and the rear docks.
“Damn things look completely rusted to that tower,” I said.
Briefly, I wondered if the other warehouse had a more usable ramp, but one glance in my mirror told me it was too late to investigate. The first zombies had appeared at a bend in the road behind us. We had precious little time to get gone.
“Joe, look,” George said, leaning down to gaze through the windshield. “There’s some kind of release up there, next to the—”
The loudest horn I’d ever heard cut her off. I gazed at the river, where the sunlight glinted off an enormous double-decker ferry drifting toward us. Way bigger than the ferry that once transported people and vehicles from downtown New Orleans to Algiers Point on the west bank of the Mississippi—and way sturdier than the Cajun barge that had carried me, Azazel, and my gore-covered van to Gonzales.
Jess bolted up from the table. “It’s my dad!”
“I should hope so,” I grumbled.
Immediately, Jess and Casey started setting up the shortwave equipment so they could communicate with him.
Clare, meanwhile, glanced in her side-view mirror. “Uh, Joe…”
“Yeah, I know. We gotta do this thing.” I sighed, fed up with having to figure shit out. “Just not sure how yet.”
“We could leave the van,” she suggested.
I gaped at her. “Yeah, not gonna happen. Even if we do make it to Louisville, we’ll have nearly six hundred miles left to go, if not more… and this baby’ll help us get there safely.”
“But, Joe—”
I slid my driver’s-side door open, hopped out of the van, and walked toward the warehouse, my Glock drawn. The mirrors hadn’t lied. About five hundred yards lay between us and the zombie horde, but it was closing fast. Too fast. Objects were definitely closer than they appeared.
Desperate moments demanded harebrained ideas—even if such crazy-ass plans hardly ever succeeded.
But, hey, why stop now?
I gazed at the overheard door closest to the road, weighed my limited options, and sprinted back to the van. Clare, George, Casey, and Jess all offered their opinions, with varying degrees of panic and desperation, which predictably worsened my renewed headache. The only traveling companion not hurling around conflicting ideas was Azazel, who instead stared at me with her intense, green eyes, as if urging me to make a decision already.
Ignoring the hyper voices around me, I pulled the van as close to the ramp as possible. In case my plan went sideways—which was exceedingly likely—I needed to ensure that the rear end of the vehicle, which I’d angled toward the wall, lay several feet from the warehouse.
“OK, enough! Here’s the plan,” I shouted, loudly and confidently enough to silence the others. “I’m gonna bring this warehouse down. The horde will then have nowhere to go but backwards or into the next building. Then, thanks to the wall, they won’t be able to reach you. At least not right away.”
“Um, and where are you gonna be?” Clare demanded, worry and disbelief creasing her forehead. Again.
I pointed at the tower, where I could see the winching device that George had spotted. “Once the building’s down, I’ll climb on top the van, pull myself over the wall, and get to the tower. I’ll lower the ramp…” I met Clare’s skeptical gaze. “And then you can drive the van onto the ferry.”
She immediately shook her head. “No way, mister. We’ll just have to find another ramp.”
“Look, we don’t have time to argue,” I snapped, bolting from my seat and scooting around George. “Those zombies’ll swarm this place in less than three minutes, and there are no other roads outta here.” I lifted the sofa cushions. “It’s this or we swim for it, and I have no intention of abandoning the van.”
As George and Clare each protested the scheme, I geared up. Beneath the couch lay an assortment of weapons, including the AR-15 that a gun-range pal had modified for me. I figured the rifle, my pistol, and some ammo would be about all I could lug over the wall—particularly given how sore and e
xhausted I was.
“What are those?” Casey asked, pointing to a couple of pipe bombs I’d made a week earlier.
“Those are what’s gonna bring that building down.”
Frankly, until that moment, I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d pull off what I hoped to accomplish. I’d totally forgotten about the homemade pipe bombs, which turned out to be a boon. If I’d recalled having them back at the Walmart in Harahan, I might’ve used one to bring that inner door down, and I suspected the remaining one wouldn’t be sufficient to pull off my crazy-ass plan.
Clare stepped into the doorway, not far from the sofa. “Seriously, Joe, don’t do this. Let’s just jump for it. Zombies can’t swim, right?”
I clenched my jaw. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it swimming, but I’ve seen them wade into a bayou. Can’t take the chance they’d follow us into the river.”
“But, Joe—”
“Got no choice, baby.” Then, I checked my ammo, slung the AR-15 over my shoulder, and wedged the two pipe bombs into the pockets of my jeans.
As I closed the compartment beneath the sofa, I heard Captain Sal’s voice on the radio.
“So, what’s going on? What’s taking y’all so long?”
Jess quickly explained the plan to him.
“That’s batshit-crazy,” he barked. “Just swim for it!”
“That’s what I said,” Clare grumbled.
Right. Cuz jumping into a big-ass river is perfectly sane.
I stepped around my teary-eyed wife and slipped through the driver’s-side door, but as I whirled around to slam it shut, Clare leaned over my seat, grabbed my collar, and pulled me toward her for a passionate kiss.
“Don’t you dare get yourself killed,” she told me, her eyes glistening but resolute. “I don’t think I could handle losing my mom and my husband in the same day.”
“Love you, babe.”
She smiled, the skin crinkling around her moistened eyes. “Love you, too. Till the wheels come off.”
“And long after that.” I gently extricated myself from her grip. “Just get this thing on the boat, and I’ll be right behind you.”
Then, I slammed the door closed, headed for the warehouse, and realized the zombie horde had multiplied… and gotten a helluva lot closer.
Oh, yeah, this is a great fucking plan.
Chapter
24
“Go on and get out of here. I’ve got these punk-ass bitch motherfuckers handled.” – Swink Sylvania, Stay Alive (2006)
Despite innumerable doubts about my latest harebrained scheme, I hastened into the warehouse and surveyed the undead horde headed my way. While I’d observed enough zombies over the past few days to know they could vary in strength, speed, and state of decomposition, some of the ones making a beeline for me seemed faster and more determined than I’d anticipated.
Perhaps extreme exhaustion had thrown off my perception, but whatever the case, if my calculations were accurate, the front-runners were less than two minutes from reaching me.
So, if I don’t make a move right this second, I’m royally fucked.
I scrutinized the inner front wall of the building, trying to guesstimate which support beams I’d need to blow up to bring the whole damn thing crashing down. Though far from a demolition expert, I assumed it wouldn’t take much oomph to do the job. Hell, if I’d had enough time, I probably could’ve pressed my shoulder against one of the corners and toppled the run-down warehouse on my own.
But time is one thing I don’t have.
I unzipped one of my jacket pockets and fumbled around for the lighter I often carried. As with many of my favorite things, Clare had given me the engraved Zippo for a special occasion. I found it amusing that, like the ornamental axe I’d used to brain the undead pirate in my courtyard, the lighter would prove to be necessary in a zombie apocalypse. Somehow, I doubted my wife had chosen such thoughtful gifts with the present maelstrom in mind, but perhaps I’d underestimated her.
After a few false starts—during which I frantically glanced at the approaching undead herd—I finally got the lighter going, ignited the first fuse, and slid the bomb between the facade and a support beam. Then, I darted to the other side of the oversized opening, lit and positioned the other bomb behind a second post, and retreated through the riverside doorway.
The fuses were short, but the bombs still hadn’t gone off by the time I reached the van. I couldn’t see the explosives from my vantage point, so I could only hope the slight breeze from the Mississippi River hadn’t extinguished the flames. If they’d gone out, I had no time to light them again. The horde was mere yards from the warehouse.
I hopped onto my back bumper, about to climb atop the van and pray the zombies wouldn’t rush the vehicle so hard and so fast that they pushed us all into the river. Just then, the first bomb exploded, bending the support beam and busting a large, zombie-sized hole in the warehouse wall—but doing little to collapse the structure.
OK, so that was pretty underwhelming.
I turned toward the river, contemplating our meager chances of swimming for the approaching ferry, when I caught Clare’s panicked expression in the side-view mirror. I shrugged sheepishly. It was my first pipe bomb. Maybe my proportions were wrong—or the ingredients too old to be effective.
But before I could let my wife’s dismay rub off on me, the second bomb exploded—and this time, it unleashed enough power to topple not only the beam but the entire facade, plus the overhead door and part of the roof. Luckily, the rubble landed on the speediest zombies—who had almost crossed the threshold when the follow-up explosion occurred—and thwarted the rest of them from reaching the rear dock.
Clare gave me a thumbs-up through the driver’s-side window, while the others cheered inside. Though pleased that the first part of my crazy-ass plan had worked, I couldn’t rest on my laurels. I still had more insanity ahead of me.
With no time to waste, I scurried onto the roof of the van. But as I steeled myself to leap for the top of the wall, the ferry horn blasted again. Startled, I stumbled and almost slipped off the edge. Worse, the moans, hisses, and stomps of the unseen zombie horde amplified in response.
“What the fuck?” I yelled to no one in particular. “Stop working them up!”
Not that Captain Sal and his shipmates could hear me over the collective din of the undead.
But, seriously, why had the captain chosen that precise moment to toot his damn horn? Was he telling me, not so subtly, to step on it? He did realize I was risking my life for his daughter, right? Not to mention doing my level best to solve a problem he’d created by sending us to a decrepit wharf in the first place.
I glanced at the ferry, which bobbed close to the shore, and glared at the riveted spectators on both levels.
Terrific. I love defying death for other folks’ entertainment.
I pivoted back toward the wall, the top of which was almost even with my scalp. Of course, the height didn’t concern me as much as the three-foot gap between the van and the barrier. I’d parked as close as I could, but not close enough. Given my sleep deprivation, I suspected jumping toward the wall, striving to grasp the rim, and attempting to pull my fat ass over it wouldn’t be easy—especially with an audience floating nearby.
Once again hoping for the best—while expecting the worst—I extended my arms and leapt toward the wall. My fingers slipped, the rifle smacked against the concrete, but I managed to grip the edge and, after a modicum of effort, pull myself upward. With my chest and elbows pressed against the wall, I swung my right leg over the side and, after a bit of struggling, straddled the top.
Cheers erupted from within my van and out on the ferry. Blushing, I took a few seconds to catch my breath. But only a few. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see (and hear) the zombies rushing and stumbling through the second warehouse.
Then, trying to ignore the fact that a whole bunch of folks were watching the exhausted, overweight guy on the wall, I rose gingerly to my feet, shimm
ied along the top, and climbed over the railing of the deck that encircled the tower.
As soon as my shoes hit the steel bar grating, several zombies collided with the lower level of the structure, causing the entire edifice to shake unnervingly. Whatever I was fixing to do, I’d better do it quick, or else, the tower would tumble into the river with my dumb ass on it.
A stream of undead creatures thundered up the outer staircase below me. I squinted at the winching device on the landing, calculating the odds of my being able to turn the crank and release the ramp before the zombies ripped me to pieces. Suddenly, I spotted a fulcrum on the other side of the reel and a lever leading from it to a hole in the exterior wall of the tower.
Turning toward the stairs, I realized the leaders of the undead pack had almost reached the top. Instinctively, I darted inside the control room, slammed and bolted the door, and toppled an empty shelving unit across the entrance. The flimsy structure couldn’t hold off my uninvited guests forever, but perhaps it would buy me an extra minute or two.
Scanning the wall, I sighed with relief. Someone had indeed installed a crank below the window—perhaps in case an operator had to lower the boat ramp in inclement weather. Or an undead shitstorm.
As soon as the zombies reached the upper landing, they immediately hurled themselves against the door and windows, trying to get to the tasty meal inside the tower’s control room. Though suspecting I was fucked, I knew I couldn’t give up yet. I had at least one more job to do before the grotesque pus-sacks busted inside and devoured me.
Zombie Chaos Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 65
