Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache

by David A. Simpson

  The friendly looks he usually got from the people were now questioning and some of the soldiers were already judging. They were remembering the wiliness of an enemy they thought they’d annihilated. He’d screwed up, he’d acted guilty. He should have laughed it off or acted concerned about the poor kids who had been through so much. He could have pulled it off, but he’d panicked. He’d lashed out. He’d lost his cool. He’d hit the girl and spoke in Farsi. Now he was about to lose everything else. His cold-hearted wife would be happy to put a noose around his neck.

  23

  Lakota

  Takeo, Mizuki and the other Hell Drivers were gathered in the parking lot outside of Up Jumped the Devil with the other retrievers and convoy truckers. They were talking cars and routes, hordes on the move and storms that may have left debris on the roads. Sleek road burners, low to the ground and built for speed were parked next to jacked up muscle cars with roll bars and off-road suspension and both were dwarfed by the big rigs with their plows and machine gun turrets. Three different kinds of purpose-built machines for three different jobs. They poked fun at each other’s rides like all car people do but there was an underlying respect and honor among them. They all braved the wastelands beyond the walls where the simplest things, a flat tire or bad gas, could get you killed. They all lived on the edge, they all liked their adrenaline in large doses, they all took risks and they all reaped the rewards. Whether it was the money, the fame or just the thrill of the road that drove them, they were a different breed of men and women. The ribbing and talk died down and they all turned to watch as a crowd of people walked past them and they sensed the mood.

  Tense.

  Angry.

  Something was happening and not something good, either.

  There was a sudden flash of movement from a man in front, a kid was snatched and held close, a gun shoved against her head.

  A dozen other guns came up instantly from the crowd and as one, the drivers grabbed their own hardware.

  “Don’t anybody move!” Bobby shouted. “I don’t care how many bullets you put in me, she’s still dead!”

  He had his little pocket .32 jammed in Lizzies ear, his finger putting pressure on the trigger.

  “Stand down!” Collins yelled. “Everybody stand down!”

  Guns slowly lowered and she holstered her Python and raised her hands to him. Bobby was staring around wildly, a cornered animal. She cursed herself for letting this happen. If it had been anyone else, she would have been more careful. She knew him so well though, or thought she did, she’d let her guard down. Hell, she was married to him, he’d never been so irrational but she’d seen his mask slip just a little. She should have searched him, trusted her gut instinct instead of letting him brow beat her. Make her feel small.

  “I’m getting out of here.” Bobby said. “I didn’t do anything but I can see where this is going. You’re going to believe a bunch of lying kids. She’s going with me and if anyone tries anything, I’ll put a bullet in her head.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this.” Collins said. “If you didn’t do anything then you don’t have anything to worry about. This isn’t a banana republic, Bobby. We can get to the bottom of this.”

  “Shut up!” he said and backed into the parking lot, jerking Lizzie with him, trying to see everywhere at once but the gun never left her ear. “I see how all of you are!”

  “I’m taking one of these cars.” he said “and one of you is driving me. I’ll let her go once we’re out of town. I won’t hurt her unless you try something funny. You got it?”

  The Hell Drivers backed away as he came closer, all of them showing their hands and all of them looking for an opening. A chance to take him down. He kept the gun tight against her head.

  Takeo stepped forward, thumbed the remote and the doors on his Lambo slip upward.

  “I have the fastest car.” he said. “I can take you. No one can catch us.”

  Bobby jerked around, painfully digging the gun into Lizzies ear and she cried out. His eyes were wide in panic, looking for a trap. A spikey haired Asian kid stood by his car, the one with the rocket engine. He was wearing leather with battered plastic armor; a pair of goggles was pushed up on his forehead. Knee high boots were laced tightly and he had a bulky belt with pouches draped over one shoulder but he wasn’t wearing a gun. He was skinny, half Bobby’s size and didn’t look threatening at all.

  Bobby wasn’t a brave man, he had only attacked strong holds and travelers when he was with his brothers and they had superior numbers and firepower. They’d set traps, ambushes and used snipers to kill half of the people before they even thought about getting close. That was the smart way, the jihadi way. Kill them before they even knew you were there. All he knew now was he had to get away, had to get back to the others. There was safety in numbers. He could go back a hero with all the inside knowledge of the town and they could figure out a way to defeat it.

  “Yeah. You’ll do.” he said and pulled Lizzie around to the passenger side then realized there were only two seats. The girl would have to sit on his lap. That was okay. He might like that. He might like that a lot. He licked his lips. This might turn out just fine after all.

  “You don’t need her.” Takeo said calmly, lighting a cigarette. “I can be your hostage. You have the gun, I’m unarmed. I won’t try anything.”

  Bobby pulled her tighter, shot glances all around him at the hard-set faces.

  “Shut up. I’m giving the orders here.” he said. “Get in. Let’s go.”

  Takeo nodded, unruffled by the man with the gun. He slid easily into the cockpit and began his startup procedure. Bobby tried to shove her in first, his gun never leaving her head, but then he couldn’t get in so he jerked her back out.

  “Stupid car.” he said and backed into the low-slung seat like the kid had done. He banged his head against the door and the instant the gun moved from her head, Takeo pushed a button on his remote. The door instantly shot downward, the force of the hydraulics slamming his hand and breaking his leg that was still halfway out of the car. Bobby screamed as men rushed forward and snatched Lizzie away, putting their bodies between her and any bullets that might come.

  Takeo made himself small, tucked in so he wasn’t touching any metal and tapped another button. Bobby only grunted as the capacitors released their stored voltage and the whole car sizzled with blue arcs of electricity and the smell of burning hair filled the cockpit. One hundred thousand volts shot through the repurposed microwave transformers and Bobby’s whole body spasmed and jerked as the lethal charge fried anything touching metal. It only lasted a second but it was long enough.

  When Takeo hit the door release, rough hands were there to drag the charred body out and throw it to the ground. Collins had her handcuffs ready but they weren’t needed. The blackened teeth and smoking eye sockets made it obvious that he was dead.

  Mizuki pulled Takeo out of the drivers’ seat and shook him, yelled at him in Japanese that no one else understood but it sounded like she was telling him he was stupid. She hit him then hugged him then hit him again. He pulled her in tight and held her for a long time.

  24

  Gunny

  The last of the tribes had arrived that afternoon, the one missing had been found burnt up and shot up in a bar a hundred miles away. No survivors. The locals who had done it were long gone his Lieutenant had reported.

  “Probably a large group of survivors surprised our men and high tailed it to Lakota as soon as they won the fight.” Paco said, reading from his notes to make sure he wouldn’t forget anything.

  Casey frowned. He didn’t know that group very well, they were relative new comers, but Pounder and his tribe was missing too. The rumors he’d heard said the Road Angel had wiped them out in Blackfoot. He and some mangy mutt had killed eight of his men in a bar, killed eight more at their garage then ran down the rest. He’d caught up with them in some hick town and finished the job. That sniveling little brat had taken out a whole expedition
party and freed all the slaves. He still fumed about that but there was nothing he could do now. First things first. He needed his stronghold.

  “Call the summit meeting for tonight.” he told his gathered war council. “Roast up some people, sacrifice a few virgins, whatever. I don’t care. Lucinda, you and the president make the plans. Make it huge. I want everyone fired up. I want a thousand kill-crazy warriors. I want to work them into a frenzy and then we’re going to drive everything we have up the mountain. We’re going to ram right through, I don’t care how many people we lose. Tonight, we’re taking that town. No more pussy footing around.”

  Gunny and Griz sat with the rest of the Human Hunters on old tires and torn up sofas they’d drug near the firepit. All around them, most of the other tribes had done the same. Men and women relaxing, taking afternoon naps or working on their machines. Casey had set up in the middle of the little town and the tribes had encircled him, taking over workshops, garages and stores. Word was out. Big Pow wow tonight. The first time the entire Raider Army had gathered together and they could already smell the aroma of roasting flesh. They were a massive army with hundreds of war machines and thousands of people. Casey wasn’t tiptoeing around anymore with probing actions: tonight they were going to hit the walls with everything they had. By tomorrow, they were going to be relaxing in the injun village and having their way with the injun women.

  Gunny looked up from sharpening his knife and caught Cherry Pie’s eye. She gave him the slightest nod, the slightest smile then hurried to the next vehicle with her bicycle pump. She’d been ordered to air up all the tires, make sure they were all at the proper pressure. It had been Gunny’s idea when he’d noticed one of his nearly flat. He made sure he yelled at her loud and clear so everyone could hear.

  “A half flat tire can pop right off the rim if I turn a corner too hard, especially in this desert!” He’d tossed her the pump then offered her services to anyone else. Of course, they took him up on his offer. None of them even had a pump.

  “Some of you other lazy bitches help her.” Python hollered over at the women gathered around the cook fires and they hurried over to take their turn with the tire gauge and hand pump.

  “Might be a nice gesture to the other tribes if we had them fill theirs, too.” Gunny said. “They’ve got too much free time on their hands anyway, all they do is sit around and gossip.”

  “You heard him.” Python yelled at them. “Move your asses.”

  The girls glared at Johnny Killjoy to hide their laughter inside. These raiders were so easy to manipulate. At every car they came to, all afternoon in the blazing sun while others found shade, they added air where it was needed. They blocked the view of the gas tank as they worked, their serapes or ponchos hiding them dumping handfuls of sand in each one. The war rigs wouldn’t make it far before the filters clogged up. With luck, they wouldn’t make it halfway up the mountain.

  Gunny sat back and rolled a smoke. The first part of his plan was working out. The easy part. The radio messages had been received last night and he’d seen the flash of lights at exactly three am. They heard, they understood, they awaited further instruction.

  A quick message to Wire Bender about the attack tonight and Joey Tallstrider singing it in a fake interview with Bastille about Native American Culture and the trap was set. A few hundred against a few thousand. It was going to get bloody. Gunny started sharpening his other knife.

  The party that night was epic. A party to end all parties. The wasteland raiders had the generators powering the amplifiers and lights and a band of sorts had been hastily thrown together. The drummers pounded out a hard driving beat on dozens of homemade drums. The lead guitarist made up in volume and speed what he lacked in talent and anyone that had an instrument joined in. The singer wasn’t bad. He had been the Friday night hero at a local karaoke bar and his vocals covered up a multitude of missed notes and slightly out of tune players. A dozen bodies had been slow roasted over coals, basted with a hallucinogenic concoction cooked up by the tribe’s best bathtub chemists and drugstore cowboys.

  “I want something to make them loose all fear and inhibitions.” Casey had said. “Something that will make them kill crazy.”

  The chemist showed him his special recipe, a concoction he’d come up with to do everything Casey wanted and more. A little bit of angel dust, a kilo or two of uncut cocaine and some home-made meth mixed in a washtub then liberally injected into the meat should do the trick. A basting paste of bath salts should give them unwavering courage. After they took the clifftop, they could have an orgy.

  “Sounds good.” Casey said. “Better crush some Viagra and add it to the recipe.”

  He’d wanted to end the whole eating people rituals but not tonight. Tonight, it was expected and needed to get everyone in the right frame of mind. His last disastrous run at the town had revealed something to one of his lieutenants observing with the binoculars. The Indians were almost out of ammo. By the end of the battle, they had been using black powder rifles. One more hard push and he’d get that gate open and get inside. Things could change then, he told himself. Once I have my stronghold, then I’ll put an end to some of this extreme stuff. We’ll be a real society with real plans.

  There was plenty of flesh for everyone, even the slaves, and Casey wanted one hundred percent participation. Everyone needed to be amped up and eager for battle. The Human Hunters were on the outskirts and were some of the last to be ushered to the feast. Gunny and Griz couldn’t stop the grisly barbeque but they tried to avoid it. Both of them were elbow deep under the hood of the Chevelle tinkering with the electric fans and tried to make their excuses. They tried to say they would join them later but the enforcers were there, marshalling everyone in an orderly manner.

  “Casey’s orders.” the big, black man with the voodoo skull painted on his face said. “Leave your guns here. Everybody gets in line. Everybody eats. Everybody pledges fealty. No exceptions.”

  His band of heavily muscled all black enforcers in their voodoo garb, Lucinda’s personally chosen men, didn’t take excuses and Gunny barely had time to close the hood before the Human Hunters were hustled off to take their place near the end of the queue.

  The music was loud and the sturgeon moon hung low over the desert, letting everyone on the cliff top see and hear what was coming. Striking fear into them. Letting them know there was nothing they could do to stop the mighty Casey.

  Casey was on a raised dais and sat on a throne made of bones at the end of the buffet tables like some ghastly pope. He wore crisscrossing machine gun belts across his chest, Pancho Villa style. Lucinda, in her high priestess voodoo garb and Edmunds dressed in a ghoulish outfit, complete with long black cape and deer antlers for horns, stood at either side. Once they had their plate of meat carved from one of the roasted bodies, everyone swore their oath when they got to the head of the line. They would drop to one knee, thump their heart, and make their pledge.

  “My life for yours.” they would say and eat the flesh.

  For some, it was a new experience. For most, it was the first time they actually got to see the great and powerful Casey.

  He sat his throne, accepting each oath with a nod of his head and a wave of his hand, looking aloof, royal and king-like. Just like Lucinda and Edmunds had insisted he act.

  Gunny and Griz had been herded to the back of the line and were unable to get out without causing a scene without being noticed. The Voodoo Brothers stood watch with their cartel guns and ensured everyone made the pledge. Everyone ate the meat. The tables were full of tribesmen eating their meal and some were already going back for seconds. They both had their faces painted in the red stripes of the tribe, Griz had freshened his mohawk and Gunny’s braids were more like dread locks now but they were only going to be a few feet from Casey. They were going to have to take a bite of the human meat and swear the oath while he watched. Their disguises were good and the longer he sat there, the more bored he became. He was going through the motions of t
he ritual on auto pilot, hurrying everyone along. They let a few the other tribesmen get between them. They wouldn’t be recognized.

  Everything inside of them was screaming refusal.

  It was better to die on your feet than live on your knees.

  There was much more than just their lives at stake, though. All of the lives in the cliff top village, all of the lives in every fortified town and all of the lives in Lakota were depending on them and whether they could finish off most of the Raiders in the ambush. Killing Casey wasn’t enough. Either one of them could have done it at any time if they were feeling suicidal. The Raiders were too well organized now and someone else would take his place. They had a chain of command and some of the tribe leaders were worse than him. They had to decimate his army and leave the survivors broken and scattered. They couldn’t ruin the ambush, it had to be tonight. If Casey caught them inside his camp, he would be suspicious and change his plans. Maybe he would keep sending small probing units up the mountain until the cliff top was out of ammo, until they were reduced to spears and bows. They couldn’t let their pride be the cause of thousands of deaths. When they saw there was no way out, they knew they would do it. They would bend the knee. They would eat the flesh.

  It had to be done.

  It just had to.

  25

  Gunny

  Gunny held out his plate for a slice of mesquite smoked, golden browned flesh then nearly dropped it when the body was turned on the spit and he saw the cherry tattoo on a roasted shoulder.