“Yeah, thought you might get a kick out of that.” Python and Slick laughed.
They were standing behind Griz, eager to get at the meat.
“I caught them bitches dumping sand in the gas tanks.” Slick said, pleased with himself.
Gunny turned to stare at him.
“Yep.” Python grinned. “Since they were in my tribe, I had to answer for them. We interrogated them for hours. Them dumb bitches actually thought they could put sand in all tanks except one and use that truck to get away. Dumbest plan ever.”
Gunny thought he recognized two of the other bodies as the girls who had been helping her but with the hair burnt off, the eyes melted out and most of their faces peeled away from the fires, it was hard to be certain.
“You tortured them.” Griz said tonelessly.
“Oh yeah. I should have invited you guys, I guess. Sorry, maybe next time.”
“I got to help.” Slick bragged.
He smiled his fang-toothed smile and pointed at a deep slice on her belly.
“I cut her from cooter to breast bone and she still stuck to her stupid story of trying to escape, said there was no one else involved, so I guess it was true, right Boss?.”
“You did that while she was still alive?” Gunny asked, pointing at the long cut that had been stitched back together to hold her on the spit.
“Yeah, she didn’t last long after that.” Python said in an offhand way. “I was getting bored anyhow. The battery was almost dead and I’d already fried her so much both eyes had exploded.”
“Oh yeah,” Slick added in happy remembrance. “That was pretty awesome.”
Casey was waiting for the next in line, impatient at the delay. He looked up, caught the profile of the one in front, the one with the dreadlocks, the one causing the delay, and stood.
It couldn’t be.
There was absolutely no way in hell that asshole would walk right into his camp but there he was. And that big oaf behind him was Griz. They’d made him look weak in front of all his men and it still stuck in his craw. Casey stood dumbfounded at their audacity, unable to speak as he watched them talk to one of his war chiefs. This was too good to be true. A grin started to spread across his face.
“What is it?” Lucinda asked but before he could answer, before he could shout a warning, all hell broke loose.
Griz snatched the oversized roast fork from the startled servers’ hand and swung, he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t care if he was gunned down in the next second, Python had to die. He drove it deep into the grinning face of the Human Hunters war chief, bending the tines against the back of his skull, burying the hilt into the soft cartilage of his nose. He ripped it out and shoved it up through the bottom of Slicks chin, through his tongue and into his brain before the biker had time to wipe the grin off of his face.
Gunny didn’t think, didn’t consider consequences, didn’t act presidential. His mind snapped to Amina and Urwa, the Tajiki women who had been killed by the Taliban because they had dared help the Americans. Now these women had paid the price because they dared to help. He wouldn’t be meek, he wouldn’t let this one slide, he would go down swinging with Griz. They had known it would probably come to this and now it was time to make them pay as much as they could. Shaytan had his blade in hand and was running for Casey as Griz kept killing the tribe. He leaped on the dais before anyone had time to react and Casey threw his arms up across his face. Gunny dove for him just as Lucinda shoved her voodoo stick between them, knocking his knife aim off. He heard screams and shouts behind him as he plowed into Casey, sent him sprawling backward onto his throne. It shattered under their thrashing fury, bleached and broken bones skittered away. Gunny lost the knife in the fall and drove his thumbs into Casey’s eyes. He’d kill him with his bare hands. He wrapped his fingers around his jawbone and dug them in, trying to rip it from his face. Lucinda jumped on his back, knocking the breath out of him and knocking his hands loose. He tried to find Casey’s eyes again, tried to finish blinding him but a hard knock to the back of his head dazed him. Lucinda raised her leg bone club again and swung, this time with the intent to splatter the contents of his head all over the floor. Gunny twisted and she missed, hitting Casey right between the eyes. He stopped struggling and Gunny elbowed her hard in the ribs, hoping he heard them break. She flew off and he jumped to his feet. The first of the voodoo skull warriors came running up the steps, gripping his gold-plated cartel AK-47 like a club. He couldn’t risk shooting it, he might hit the boss. Gunny didn’t have those concerns. He grabbed a bone from the dais, met him with a snapped off femur and drove it up into his kidney when he swung the gun. Gunny stripped it from his hands and immediately had his finger on the trigger. People were yelling and running for the stage, running to help Casey. When they heard the bark of the automatic and saw bodies tumbling to the ground, they ran the other way. Gunny emptied the magazine into Lucinda’s voodoo guards, sent bullets churning through muscle and organs and bones. Men screamed and ran and Gunny leaped off the dais to snatch up another cartel gun.
The dining tables with the roasted human flesh were tilted over and people were scrambling to get out of the way of an enraged bear of a man with a carving knife in each hand. Gunny spun in place, sending more bullets into fleeing raiders. The light towers on the bands stage tumbled over as they ran for their lives and Gunny aimed a burst their way. The guitarist sucked and the singer liked to add lib cannibal references to every song. He’d ruined House of the Rising Sun with his lines about eating children. He emptied another magazine but the bullets would start coming his way soon. Raiders would be back with pistols and shotguns from their encampments. Gunny grabbed another gold-plated carbine, tossed it to Griz then snatched up one from the quivering fingers of a voodoo man with a blown open chest. He turned towards the stage to finish off Casey but he was gone, disappeared into the chaos. Griz kept killing, his anger and pent up rage finally releasing and he had no concern for himself. The battle fury was in full swing. The voodoo guards didn’t carry spare mags, they never thought they would need them in their own camp, among their own people. Griz flung the empty AK at a man trying to crawl out from under the over turned tables and heard a satisfying yelp of pain.
“Let’s go!” Gunny yelled at him, “They’re coming!”
Both men ran over the pile of broken bones from Casey’s throne and disappeared through the long curtains as the first of the gun shots started ripping through the black, fluttering hangings. They caught a glimpse of Casey as they sprang off the back of the stage, trying to avoid the cables and cases. His face was bloodied and he was still unconscious as the two women tried to drag him to safety. Gunny fired the last of his bullets, caught Edmunds in the chest and sent her sprawling backward over a table stacked with plates and plasticware. Her scream was gurgled and Gunny knew it was a kill shot. It gave him a grim satisfaction even though the next round aimed at Casey’s bloody face was only a click. The gun was empty. He had to finish this and ran at him, ignoring the sounds of stomping feet and shouting men clambering on the stage. He spun the AK, grabbed the barrel and ignored the burn. He was going to smash him, crush his head with a single mighty blow. He didn’t think about his safety. His escape. His life. He only needed to kill Casey. Check him off the list. Lucinda screamed and let him fall as she tried to run, thinking he was aiming for her. Griz grabbed his arm and drug him away, never breaking stride, and Gunny jerked after him, half off balance.
“NO TIME!” Griz yelled as angry men with guns spitting lead tore through the curtains. They both crouched and ran as bullets zinged by them, spanged off concrete and bricks as they disappeared into the shadows of the buildings.
The camp was in chaos. Men and women ran either away from the fight or towards it. Screams of the dying and the rattle of gunshots mixed with breaking glass and revving of motors. Slaves were making their escape; the madness might be their only chance. The chaos may never happen again. Gunny saw some of them climbing into cars, unpainted faces
without the stinking undead adornments tribes’ members wore. They needed more confusion, more uncertainty. Just a little more push might scatter the gathered raiders. Might send them running for the hills trying to save their own skin. Most of them had no idea what was happening, all they knew was a gunfight erupted at the feast. Most of them were already sitting at the long tables and eating, ingesting the drugs. They didn’t know if it was a coup or an Indian raid or even if Lakota was attacking.
“Casey is dead!” Gunny yelled as they dodged through the camps and Griz caught on, added his booming voice to the madness.
“They killed Casey! Run for your lives! They’re coming!” they shouted, adding another layer of confusion and indecision to the people running back towards the battle with guns in hand.
“Fight you cowards!” one of war chiefs screamed at them as they fled past him in the dark. “Come back and fight!”
The message spread and they heard more engines firing up, whether to run or to form a perimeter, they didn’t know and it didn’t matter. They had to go, too many people had seen them, there was no blending back in, no hiding from Casey when he woke up. They slowed their run for the Chevelle, trying to hide in the mass of rushing people. Gunfire and yells were coming from everywhere and no one knew what was going on. If they hurried, they could get away in the confusion, they would live to fight another day. They hadn’t killed Casey but at least they had a consolation prize. The old battle axe would never survive two rounds to the chest. At least Edmunds was dead and with a little luck, Casey was blind.
“Shut up and listen!” a voice came booming through the amps the band had been using. “Casey is talking!”
There was the sound of someone grabbing the mic and the unmistakable voice sent a little shiver down Gunny’s spine. What did it take to stop that bastard? Why was he so hard to kill?
The camp came to a sudden halt. People stopped running, engines were shut off. He wasn’t dead. Casey wasn’t dead. A calm covered the camp and the fear and scurrying around in terror left them. Casey was with them.
“I know you’re still out there, President Meadows.” he said calmly, tauntingly. “I know you can hear me Johnny Killjoy.”
There was a gasp from some, angry exclamations from others.
“You failed, yet again.” he said “I have a thousand warriors here and we’re looking for you.”
He sounded strong and confident, he was unshakeable. Unwavering. He was the mighty Casey and bullets didn’t touch him. Knives slid off of him. He couldn’t be killed.
“Spread out and find them.” Casey told his troops. “Bring them to me alive. We need to teach them a lesson. We need to make them pay.”
A thousand fists thumped their chests, My life for yours, as Gunny and Griz hunched their shoulders and tried to blend deeper into the shadows.
“Hey!” a burly, bearded raider said and brought his gun up when he saw them come around the corner of a building. Gunny grabbed at the pistol, twisted it out of his hand and snapped the finger in the guard. Before the man could start to scream out in pain, he had the barrel of his own gun jammed hard up into his ribcage and barely felt the sledgehammer blow of the forty-five smash through most of his vital organs before following the path of his spine up through his neck and out the top of his head. Gunny shoved him aside and they started running for the Human Hunters camp. For their cars.
Some of the tribe was already there, had the doors to their cars open and were tossing them. Griz’s LaSalle was a goldmine for them and they were pulling out his supply of guns, arguing over them and laying claim to the large assortment of machine guns and rocket launchers.
“Chevelle.” Gunny said and they turned, hurrying towards it.
Someone spotted them crouching beside the work shop and yelled, pointing them out in the cloudy moonlight.
Gunny tossed Griz the pistol and they ran for the Chevy, the only other car in the tribal camp that hadn’t been sabotaged by the girls. Bullets started flying both ways as they dove for the protection of the Kevlar lined car, bashing into each other from opposite sides of the shifter. Gunny fired it up and stomped the go pedal with his hand, slinging sand, gravel and dirt towards the raiders. The car powered side ways and he used the steering wheel to pull himself upright, to see where he was going. They’d spun all the way around and were charging right for the men taking shots at them. Eyes got big and they dove out of the way as Gunny eased off the gas and let the car straighten. Griz popped up with an M-4 and kept them scrambling to hide behind something as he hit them with three round bursts. The big block thundered up to redline and Gunny slammed second. The oversized tires gripped, the car launched forward and the push bar knocked men aside who weren’t fast enough to dive out of the way. Bullets slammed into the car, windows shattered and both men ducked as low as they could and hoped nobody had a .50 caliber that would punch right through the Kevlar.
Casey heard the whole thing, heard the unmistakable roar a big block as it shot out of the town and yelled at his men to run them down.
“Not this time!” he urged them through the speakers. “Don’t let them get away. Don’t let them escape.”
“Let the Hopi’s know we’ve got to switch to plan B.” Gunny said and concentrated on his driving. Head lights were coming up behind and he had no idea how many cars the girls had been able to sabotage. No way to out run and outlast a dozen guys on their tail and shooting at them. The only way out was up. Griz got the radio station on the ham and Bastille patched him through live like he would any other call in show. No need for subterfuge and stealth now. The entire free world heard the exchange of gunfire, the roar of the engines and the grit in the men’s voices as they yelled over the noise to let the Indian village know they were coming in hot and had hell running up their back door.
Gunny hit the bottom of the hill in a skid, more bullets blowing out lights and riddling the rear of the car with new holes. Tires squalled. Gunfire pounded the night and the whine of a blown big block could be heard over the throaty thunder coming from the headers. Headlights came close then fell away as Griz sent a barrage of bullets at them. There were no guard rails, just a wide path cut up the side of the mountain that curved its way back and forth to the summit. Gunny got sideways, counter steered and drifted through a long, sloping turn. Griz had a perfect shot for a few seconds and with his arm wrapped around the roll bar to steady his aim, another raider truck started spewing steam from the radiator. The Chevelle was gone after that, they couldn’t keep up. The twists and turns got tighter as they neared the top and the Raiders were left behind in a cloud of dust.
The Hopi had no way of replying, he didn’t know if they received the message. They didn’t know if the gate would be open or if they’d get pinned in the cross fire when the Raiders rounded the final bend.
Gunny drove, concentrating on putting distance between them, enough to make it through the gates if they were open before Casey’s men arrived. He concentrated on keeping the jacked up Chevelle on the mountain, not taking a corner too hard and sliding off into space.
He drove like he was on the dirt tracks back home, blasting through the curves in a clapped-out bomber held together with bailing wire and a prayer.
He saw flashes of movement on the mountainside, caught glimpses of men levering boulders and piles of rocks onto the road behind them as they passed. They’d heard. The ambush was being sprung.
Gunny feathered the gas around the last curve, the big tires breaking loose in the sandy gravel and aimed the nose towards the gate. It was open with a dozen men urging him forward, ready to roll it closed as soon as they were thru. It was his first time at the top of the mountain and he saw how Casey was going to take the town. They had tall walls carved out of solid stone that couldn’t be broken down but the gate was a weak point. It was a massive rock, probably weighing a hundred tons, but it was on rollers. Telephone poles from the looks of it. The men could push it back and forth and it was impregnable, impossible to smash. But it only took
a handful of men to shove it out of the way. All Casey had to do was be willing to sacrifice enough people to throw themselves into a hail of bullets and arrows to get it moving then the cars could get in. It would be all over then. The Hopi had never anticipated an onslaught like that which was coming for them. There were only a few wheel chocks against the timbers to hold it closed. It was more than enough to keep out the Z’s. It was plenty strong enough to stop a handful of raiders. It would never hold against hundreds of adrenaline-charged men high on kill crazy drugs and vengeance.
Gunny shot through the gate, braked hard, grabbed his vest and guns and sprinted for the stone wall to lend his rifle to the fight. The Raiders were coming, they were angry and in a frenzy. Half the cars and trucks had stalled out, sputtering to a stop with clogged fuel lines but that didn’t stop them. They abandoned them, climbed on to passing vehicles and hung on, screaming vengeance. Swearing violence. Promising slow death with lots of pain. When the road became clogged with dead trucks and fallen rocks, they left them and ran for the peak. Urged on by Casey’s voice booming through every speaker, coming across every radio, he pushed them onward and upward. Hearts thudded in chests and breathing came in great, sucking gasps as they sprinted up the hill but they didn’t slow. They didn’t tire. They were almost as insane as day one zombies. Everyone joined the assault: Every warrior, every drugged-up slave, every mechanic or cook. Thousands ran for the gate to shove it aside. Thousands ran towards the victory party in their new stronghold.
Gunny tossed a bandolier of grenades to one of the men and climbed to the narrow walkway that ran along the wall near the top. It was a thousand years old, chipped out of solid rock with stone tools and had probably taken generations. There wasn’t time for small talk, greetings or pleasantries. He and Griz found spots among the men and women and saw they were woefully outgunned by Casey’s men. There were only a handful of guns on the wall, most of them single shot hunting rifles, some antique black powder pieces. Most had slings and arrows, a few compound bows and everyone had piles of rocks to throw. Between them Gunny and Griz had more hardware than the whole village combined.
Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache Page 21
