Lucinda turned back around in her seat and faced front.
“I didn’t see any lights anywhere.” she said. “If they chasing, they too far back. We made it, Casey. We safe.”
He loosened his grip on the wheel and eased up a little on the gas. Not much, just a little. Someone could still be coming and there were only three ways he could have gone. They might have more than three cars chasing him. They might still be able to follow. He had to put four or five more turns on different roads between him and any pursuers before he would really relax but he breathed a little easier. You could see for miles on the flat desert roads, they would have seen if anyone was close.
“Where we going?” she asked “Do you even know?”
Casey didn’t like her attitude. He’d just lost everything he’d built. Everything that had taken him nearly a year to achieve was gone in a single hour. His perfect plan. His mighty army. Crushed by a bunch of savages with bows and arrows and a handful of muzzle loaders. Destroyed by that asshole Gunny and that even bigger asshole Griz. He had rocket launchers and machine guns and they’d never even had a chance to use them.
“You shouldn’t have kept sending them forward. You know’d they was high as shit. You know’d they do whatever you said, regardless of the consequences. My life for yours.” she snorted in derision.
Casey could tell she was just getting started, working her way into one of her high handed tantrums.
“Who started that dumb shit anyway? They just threw away they lives for no reason.” she shook her head in contempt. “And you keep on a sending them into the meat grinder. You down at the bottom blind as shit and keep sending them in to die.”
“SHUT UP!” Casey roared. “Don’t push me, woman! Now ain’t the time!”
“Or what?” she asked “You think you gone smack me around like one of yo little ho’s? Nuh uh, sugar. You ain’t touching Lucinda. I think I’m just about shut of you. You too damn dumb to teach anything although Lord knows I tried. You too dumb to know it wasn’t you that built that army. I did. Me and Edmunds had plans and we shoulda just killed you months ago. You ruined everything with your macho bull shit.”
“My life for yours.” she said again in disgust. “You a coward, any one of them worth hella more than you. You just got lucky one time. Everything else was smoke and mirrors.”
Casey was so angry he couldn’t think. So mad he could barely see. This uppity bitch couldn’t talk to him like that. He’d put her in her place. He should just haul off and smack the crap out of her. But she always carried that knife, she might stab him. He should stop and toss her ass out. But what if she managed to get behind the wheel and left him behind? His eye hurt like a mad bastard where that cheating sumbitch Gunny had dug his thumb in it. In the end he said nothing. Did nothing except stare down the path of his headlights with his one good eye. He gripped the wheel so hard his hands shook and his Billy goat beard quivered with his impotent rage.
“That’s right.” she continued. “You just sit there and drive. Lucinda will figure something out but things is gone be different. We ain’t doing things your way no more. We doing them my way.”
She was starting to twoof. To feel the withdrawals, the need for adrenochrome. She hadn’t had any for nearly a week. She and Edmunds had something special planned that night, a tasty young hotdog with a little pizza for dessert. They’d been grooming them for weeks, treating them kind, showering them with love and presents. That way, when they turned on them, began their rituals of terror and pain, they would produce the absolute best high she’d ever experienced. The adrenalized blood would be off-the-charts enriched since the torture would be coming from someone they trusted. Edmunds had promised it would blow her mind. But now Edmunds was dead, her chest blown open by that asshole Gunny and they were on the run. It was okay, though. She’d figure something out, she always did. She was a survivor and she had Casey to do her bidding. The one-eyed bastard would be her bitch from now on.
Headlights blazed only inches behind them and they both yelped in fear as something slammed into the side of their car.
Gunny hit the gas and kept pushing through the pit maneuver, shoving the Mustang sideways at eighty miles an hour. Casey panicked, hit the brakes and made it worse, sending him sliding along the sand covered road. It was the only thing that kept him from tumbling, the smoking tires couldn’t grip pavement. Couldn’t bite and send him rolling and flying through the air. Gunny shot past the tail end of Casey’s car and kept the accelerator mashed, getting clear of the smoking, screeching Mustang as it slid off the road. Casey spun out of control, flew backwards into the parking lot of the trading post as Gunny hit the brakes hard, his own tires chattering, smoking and leaving long black streaks on the asphalt. He found reverse, floored it and spun the wheel, sending the nose of the car around, trading places with the rear. He flipped the switch on the bank of driving lights mounted to the roof, lit up the night and looked for Casey. He saw the smoking Mustang buried nose first, windshield deep in the side of a building, the adobe walls crushed and broken.
He watched, the engine rumbling at idle, it’s six hundred horses waiting to be unleashed again, its quiet thunder sending gentle vibrations through the whole car. He heard screams of well-preserved undead from inside the building and saw stumbling husks running down the road at them. Gunny was ready to run him down if he got out and tried to flee. If he wasn’t already dead from the impact. The Chevelle was getting banged up and he still needed it to get away but it would take out one more scumbag if needed. The screamers inside the store tore at the Mustang, trying to get at the bleeding people. The trickle of undead coming down the road ignored the noise from Gunny’s car and stumbled towards the flesh they knew was waiting.
Gunshots rang out, Gunny saw muzzle flashes and smiled a little. He grabbed his poke, rolled another cigarette and sat back to watch the show. He wasn’t leaving until he knew Casey was dead, until he was one hundred percent sure he could check him off his people to kill list. If it meant he was torn apart by zed’s instead of taking some hard calibers to the chest then that was even better. That bald-headed bastard needed to die slow. He heard the revving of the Mustang and saw the back tires start to spin, try to claw their way out of the rubble and he frowned. Sammy had done a pretty good job building it. Even after all it had been through, the machine wasn’t finished yet. Gunny reached around the back of his seat for his magazines loaded with tracers. He’d set the place ablaze if he had to, a few hot rounds into the gas tank should do the job but he didn’t have any magazines behind the seat. They had cleaned the car out back at Cliff Top. He didn’t have any backup weapons either. All he had was his carbine and it was empty. More zombies were coming out of the trading post, fresh and fast, and more were shuffling in from town that was less than a mile behind them.
He watched in aggravation as the front of the Mustang popped out of the side of the building, a dozen undead hanging off of it and trying to bash their way through the bars on the windshield. It rammed a dozen more husks behind it, splashing them under the oversized tires. The Mustang lurched forward, chewing up corpses and sending rubble flying as Casey mashed it and tried to get away from the clinging zeds.
He came out of the parking lot with his motor racing and the back tires squalling but Gunny saw he wouldn’t be going far. Zombies fell off and bounced on the road as he picked up speed. Others were reaching and clawing through the broken windshield at the meat inside. More flashes of fire came from inside the car as the passenger blew apart heads and sent more undead slumping to the asphalt as they raced away. They passed within yards of his idling Chevelle and Gunny saw the terror and panic on their wide-eyed faces.
He grinned. His machine was bent and broken, glass was shattered and it was pulling hard to the left but his motor was good. His transmission still shifted. The Mustang was hissing steam from a busted radiator, it would seize up in a few short miles. They flew past him in a cloud of smoke and Gunny could smell the burning oil, saw a tra
il of it on the road from a punctured pan. A snarling face slammed against the bars on the broken window and hungry hands reached for him. Gunny flipped his cigarette at the things open mouth and dropped it in gear. He followed the wheezing Mustang, his lights shining bright in Casey’s rear-view mirror. The zed clawing for him staggered along for a hundred feet before it finally fell and he thumped over it with the back tires. He let Casey get about a quarter mile ahead then kept his distance. They had bullets, he didn’t. Gunny turned the radio on, cranked it up and leaned back in his seat. The show was almost over. The car would die. The undead would catch up. He’d watch as Casey abandoned it and ran. He’d already decided to just pace him. Keep him in sight. Let the dead take him down because there were a handful of runners chasing them. They’d catch up soon. He wanted Casey to die hard. He wanted him to be alone and screaming in terror as they tore him apart. He didn’t deserve a quick, painless death.
The old Mustang just kept going and going and they’d already left the undead chasing them miles behind. Casey had started out pushing it hard, trying to run as fast as he could but slowed to fifty once he got away from the followers. Maybe he was trying to preserve his motor. Maybe the transmission was messed up and that’s as fast as he could go or the driveshaft was bent and wobbling. Maybe he was waiting for Gunny to try to ram him again and had guns at the ready. Maybe he thought he could shoot him through the windshield and take the Chevelle. Gunny had all night, kept his patience and kept his distance, tapped his fingers to the tunes. He didn’t know what kind of weapons they were packing but he knew it was a lot more than he had. The end was near, he just needed to run down the clock and not get too close. He needed to let Casey suffer in fear a little while longer. He trailed behind, his lights bright and blinding and could smell the burning oil, the overheated metal and the steaming antifreeze from a quarter mile back. He bided his time, rolled another smoke and cruised through the night, not at all unpleased about how things were turning out.
Casey eased up a little more on the gas as he watched the temperature gauge nose its way up into the red zone. The car only had a few more miles of life left in it and he cursed it for being such a piece of junk. He’d already ripped the rearview mirror off and tossed it out of the broken windshield in a fit of rage. That bastard was goading him, following along and blinding him with his lights. He was just going to follow until the stupid car broke and then gun him down when he got out to run. He was far enough ahead of the zombies he could probably get another car started if he found one. His battery was still good, he had fresh gas in his tanks but that asshole Gunny wouldn’t let him. He’d be right there as soon as he stopped.
Lucinda wasn’t doing very good, either. One of the things had taken a chunk out of her through the bars. She’d let herself get too close. It was her fault and now she was going to change. He needed to get her out of the car but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t risk Gunny getting a good, clear shot at him. It would take a little while for her to turn though. She only got bit once. He had time if he could just shake the lights from behind. He could find a way out of this mess if he only had time. Or more guns. He only carried a chrome plated forty-four magnum revolver for show. It looked good on him. Lucinda had said a leader didn’t need to carry a bunch of guns around, he had people to keep him safe. He had bodyguards and her voodoo warriors with their gold-plated Kalashnikovs. A lot of good all that did. He should have ignored her and kept an arsenal in the car like he used to. That would take care of his pursuer. That would take care of the zombies, too. Never again, he told himself. Never again would he listen to anyone else when it came to his personal safety. He’d have backup guns for his backup guns.
The car was losing power and slowing. He was down to thirty miles an hour and it wouldn’t go any faster. He didn’t have any headlights left, they were busted out when that asshole Gunny had sent him crashing through the building, but he could see well enough from the moon. They were getting near the Grand Canyon, the landscape was becoming rockier and he could see where gully’s cut through the desert, getting deeper the farther west he drove. There were actually cliffs, the creek beds were becoming ravines. The baby cousins to the Grand Daddy of them all that was only a few miles ahead.
A dirt road was coming up right before a bridge and he didn’t hesitate to turn. The car was nearly done for and he’d be a sitting duck on the blacktop. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Maybe, just maybe he could get down in a ravine and disappear in the shadows. He could tell Lucinda to run in the other direction, she was starting to get delirious, she wouldn’t know any better. Maybe Gunny would chase her and he could get away. He sped past the no outlet sign and breathed a sigh of relief. This was the desert. Roads always had an outlet unless they ended at a cliff and he needed a cliff. A place to hide. He pushed the car harder, it only had to hold together for a few more minutes and he’d be home free. The little creek to his right had steep banks and the farther he went, the deeper they became. This was the very beginning of the canyon lands and if he could make it another mile or so, it would be a deep ravine. He’d have the last laugh yet.
Gunny saw them turn off and hit the gas. If they got too far ahead and found good cover, they could set up and ambush. They might have rocket launchers for all he knew. He needed to end this now, stop playing cat and mouse. Stop toying with his prey. He slid onto the dirt road and stomped it, let the horses lose and saw Casey’s taillights through a cloud of steam and dust. Boulders flew by on his left, he saw the gulch forming on his right and knew he had to stop him before he could disappear down in it.
Gunny hit him hard, no finesse, not fancy pit moves. He rammed him and sent the Mustang skidding on the edge of control. He let off on the gas then nailed it again, slammed into the sliding car and sent it’s back end into a boulder. It bounced off with a shower of sparks, ripping metal and flying parts. The car got sideways in front of him and Gunny hit the gas again, driving his busted-up push bar into Casey’s door. The halogen lights on the roof lit up his wild, wide eyes and the voodoo woman who was asleep in the passenger seat. Gunny kept pushing. They were going fifty, the Mustangs tires sliding on the dirt road and the all terrains of the Chevelle digging in and slinging sand. Gunny kept the go pedal mashed and watched in fascination as he saw the black girl wake up and snarl. She launched herself at Casey and he screamed as the car flew over the edge of the ravine. Gunny slammed the brakes but it was too late. With a plume of dust trailing them over, both cars plunged. The Mustang dropped and the Chevelle sent the old Ford spinning when it shot over the top, the rear tires inches from Casey’s face and they seemed to float for a second before gravity started pulling them down. The creek cutting through the sandstone wasn’t very wide and Gunny held white knuckled the steering wheel, foot still mashing the brake pedal as he flew through the air. If I’d had a ramp, I probably could have made it across he thought as the nose started diving for the cliff wall on the other side.
28
Gunny
Gunny braced for impact as the nose of his Chevelle smashed into the limestone on the other side of the gully and felt the shoulder straps dig into him. Everything not bolted down went flying forward and a can of SPAM slammed him across the ear, exploding it in pain and blood. The soft rock broke away from the crumpled doghouse, his head bounced off the seatback and the car fell, hitting an outcropping and balancing precariously for a moment before the fragile rock collapsed and he fell thirty feet straight down, landing hard on the rear bumper. Dirt, debris and sand showered down as the car finally stopped moving, nose in the air resting against the canyon wall, back section sunk into the soft sand that would be under a few feet of water when the rains came. Gunny’s hand went to his ear and it took him a moment to quiet the pain. A tin can across the ear hurt hella worse than a punch to the nose. His eyes watered as he tried to stem to flow of blood pouring out of the gash. When the blinding white stabbing throb let up a little and he could finally breathe again he took a quick inventory of himself, making s
ure nothing was broken. He was fine, except for his ear. Jeez, it stung, fragging can had nearly cut it in half.
He slipped out of the harness and pulled himself out of the deep bucket seat. He had to move fast, there was at least one zombie in the chasm with him. The voodoo woman had turned and a little car wreck wouldn’t slow her down very much. He rolled out of it and slid down to balance with one foot on the package tray, the other against the headliner. The rear window was gone, just bits of glass in the corners. He heard the godawful keening of the undead, the sound of hunger they made when they were attacking, then he heard Casey scream. He jumped down to the sand, felt the car shift and start leaning. It was going to fall and he rolled away to get clear. The Mustang was laying on it’s roof, one of the tires still spinning and he heard the snarl of Lucinda as she spun to face him, her eyes a solid black, her teeth bared. She was on her belly fighting to get in the Mustang but turned towards the noise and smelled his blood. Her hands dug into the sand and she lunged for him. It was nearly pitch black in the shadows of the gully but the moon shone down in the middle. It was enough for Gunny to see her hideously mangled legs. She had been thrown free during the mad, tumbling ride to the bottom and the car had landed on her, breaking them in a dozen places. She tried to stand again but they folded, the muscles and skin ripping when the jagged edges of bone tore through. She screamed at him and started forward, mouth wide open, bloody and hungry. Her fingers clawed the sand and she scrambled towards him like a freakishly huge hunchbacked spider.
Gunny reached for his knife and came up empty. It was somewhere in the car. He backpedaled on all fours and could only stare in disbelief as she launched herself at him, her powerful arms jerking towards him with long, springing leaps. He looked for a rock, a chunk of metal from his car or anything he could use as a weapon but there was nothing. He jumped to his feet and ran, he had to get a little distance from the thing. He had to find a big rock and bash her head in. She kept coming and Gunny kept running. The creek floor was bare, just tumbleweed and sand and gravel. The crawling thing was fast, unbelievably fast for something with no legs. Gunny ran, a jog wouldn’t keep ahead of the thing. The crevice wasn’t very wide, maybe thirty feet in places but the farther he went, the steeper the walls were. He was starting to get tired, he needed to find a way up but he couldn’t slow down. That ugly, leaping thing wasn’t getting tired. It wasn’t breathing hard. It didn’t seem to mind that its fingers were already worn down and bleeding or that its clothes were being shredded and torn off.
Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache Page 23
