by Derek Slaton
She winked at him. “I’ll see you later, cowboy.” She smacked the roof of the truck and the driver sped off.
Myles watched her disappear around the corner, attracting another group of zombies.
“Hey lover boy,” Duncan said from the roof hatch, and slammed a heavy bag of gear onto the roof. “Now that you’re done making goo-goo eyes, you wanna give us a hand?”
The lovestruck cowboy blushed crimson, and rushed to his companion. “Yeah, sorry.”
Duncan just laughed.
CHAPTER TEN
8:45 AM
Emily took it slow on the city streets. Neither she nor her team were used to driving such big burly vehicles, and they couldn’t afford any accidents. She took in the sight of the Main Avenue bridge as she approached, happy with Mr. Wainwright’s job of getting things prepped for them.
The cars were lined up about thirty yards back, the sheet metal resting against the walls and divider, waiting to be put up. Mr. Wainwright waved her in, stepping back and directing her so that the snowplow just brushed up against the car that blocked the pedestrian walkway.
Three men stood guard with scoped hunting rifles as the plows pulled into position, occasionally peppering a round or two into rogue zombies. The rest of the small army stood waiting to get the sheet metal bolted as soon as they were able.
Emily hopped down from the cab and approached Mr. Wainwright as the last plow shut down.
“Looks like this crazy plan of yours just might pan out,” he said by way of greeting.
She crossed her arms. “Let’s not celebrate yet,” she warned. “Still a lot to get done.”
As Jay got out of his vehicle, blocking an entire side of the bridge, men ran up immediately to begin bolting the sheet metal to the small gaps, filling every hole.
“Man, that thing handles like an anvil in molasses,” Jay declared as he approached the supervising duo. “Big, heavy, and doesn’t want to move where I want it to.”
“Well young man, we aren’t even at nine A.M. yet, so we got plenty of time to pull this off before nightfall,” Mr. Wainwright pointed out.
A sudden hail of gunfire echoed in the distance, from the direction of the one-ninety-four bridge. Emily immediately pulled out her binoculars, running to the far wall overlooking the river.
“What do you see?” Mr. Wainwright demanded as the gunfire picked up its intensity.
“Something’s wrong,” she replied. “They’re firing in both directions.” There was a small huddle of men in the center of the bridge, firing wildly.
Her radio erupted in echoes of the gunfire, and a panicked voice cried, “They’re comin’ at us from everywhere! We need help!”
Emily and Jay immediately darted for the plows, and he jumped into the one she’d parked. She climbed up to the third one that was waiting for position, and threw open the door, startling Randall.
“Move over or get out,” she snapped, and the cowboy immediately leapt over to the passenger seat. She slammed the door shut and popped it into gear, tearing down the road. She lowered the blade, shoving into a line of cars, paving the way for them with a loud screeeeech. Once through, she floored it and picked up the CB radio.
“All right Jay, you’re gonna have to get outside your comfort zone and drive fast,” she instructed. “We gotta get down there.”
“I’m on your tail,” he replied, “let’s do it.”
She led him down the bridge and reached the exit ramp to head south. She threw caution to the wind and skidded around the ramp driving the plow as if she were in a well-tuned race car. She rolled down the window, the gunshots getting louder in the cold air, even over the sound of the engine.
“Holy hell,” Randall blurted as they turned towards the bridge to reveal close to fifty corpses staggering towards the center.
“You take the left side, I’ll take the right,” Emily instructed into the radio. “Raise the plow up as high as it will go and cut them down.” As she said it, she hit the lever to bring the large metal spade up a few feet off of the ground. Once in position, she honked the horn and kept her hand on it, the loud bleating attracting the creatures attention before she punched the accelerator to the floor.
The first wave on either side were cut in half by the impact, those behind them knocked to the ground and squashed by the giant wheels. In the rearview a few flopped about, not dead, but at least they’d been severely disabled.
“Jay, I need you to stay on this side of the bridge,” Emily said into the radio, “keep them occupied and take out what you can. I’ll handle the other side.” He honked twice to acknowledge her, and she drove to the center.
There were at least a hundred zombies, several groups hovering around the recently killed, feasting on corpses like vultures on roadkill.
She startled at the sound of more gunfire, this time so much closer, and spotted Ernest standing on the roof of a sedan. He popped off several rounds into the creatures surrounding the car, and then waved at Emily with a wild smile. She honked in response, drawing the attention of a good chunk of the group and hit the gas.
She hit the corpses, cutting a bunch of them clean in half and flinging the rest through the air, some right off of the side of the bridge. Ernest finished off the last few staggering around the car, and then rested his precious gun on his shoulder as Emily pulled up beside him.
“You all right?” she asked.
He nodded and flicked open the repeater to reload it. “Yes ma’am, living the dream!”
“You the only one left?”
“Hillbilly took a round to the shoulder when one of those other boys got attacked,” Ernest explained. “He fired off a panic shot that caught him. I drug him over here, and threw him in the back seat before I took to the roof and had my own personal Alamo.”
“Well, we gotta clear this bridge,” Emily replied. “I can take out the ones on this side of the road. You mind following me and doing your trick shot act for the other side?”
He nodded with a little salute. “With pleasure, ma’am.”
“Randall, get your gun and go help Ernest,” she instructed to her passenger. “He’s a hell of a shot, so just stick with him and you’ll be fine.”
“I won’t leave his side,” he assured her.
Ernest hopped down from the roof of the car, and tapped on the window with the barrel of his repeater. “That pretty girl and I are gonna go clear off this bridge,” he said. “You just hang tight there hillbilly, we got this.”
Glenn raised his middle finger in a special salute, and his tentative companion blinked in shock.
“Whoa, what was that for?” he asked.
The cowboy looked at his hand, and then lowered the finger, changing it to a thumbs-up. “Whoops, sorry about that. My hand has Tourettes.”
Ernest barked a laugh. “All right hillbilly, we gonna get along just fine.”
Randall sidled up next to him as Emily accelerated down the right side of the road, swerving and hitting every batch of zombies in her path. There were forty or so between her and the end of the bridge, moaning as they lost their lower halves and attempted to crawl along the pavement after her.
The gun-toting duo began to whistle, drawing the attention of the zombies on the other side of the center median. The cement wall came up to chest height on the corpses, giving Ernest a lineup of Whack A Zombie. He fired from ten feet, each bullet finding its place in the demented carnival game, bodies falling in a heap on the asphalt.
Emily peered in her rearview from the other end of the bridge, watching the crimson snow become slush as Ernest and Randall slowly made their way towards her, picking off any still moaning undead.
She picked up the CB radio. “Jay, how you doing back there?” she asked.
“I got em all pretty well smashed down,” his voice came through. “If there is a live one in there, the only way he’s biting someone is if they stick their hand in his mouth.”
“Okay, go ahead and come to my position,” Emily instructed. “
Pick off any stragglers on your way. When you get here park that thing in the middle of the road.”
“I’m on it,” he replied.
She set down the CB and unclipped her walkie talkie from her belt. “Mister Wainwright, do you copy?”
“Wainwright here,” came the immediate reply. “What’s the situation?”
“It’s bad,” she said. “Everybody is gone except for Glenn and Ernest.”
“Son of a bitch,” Mr. Wainwright cursed.
Emily took a deep breath. “I need you to get three of your men over here in cars. We’re going to have to plug this bridge up as best we can until we can get back. Have Odell bring Alex with him so we can head back for another load of plows.”
“I’ll send them right over, but we’re gonna be light on manpower,” he warned.
“I’ll reach out to Zach to see if he’s found any survivors yet,” Emily explained. “He was supposed to use this bridge as the extraction point since he was going to be down south. Gonna have to get people out on yours.”
“I’ll let Eldon know what’s going on and coordinate with the ferry crew to come here to pick up the civilians,” Mr. Wainwright agreed.
“Sounds good, Emily out,” she replied, and then flicked the channel knob. “Zach, you there?”
“Hey Miss Walker,” he replied after a beat. “What can I do for you?”
“Please tell me you’ve found some survivors?” she asked, working hard to keep the desperation out of her voice. “We’re in dire need of warm bodies at the moment.”
“As a matter of fact, we have,” he drawled back. “Found one of those apartment high rise complexes that had twenty people holed up in it. We’re loading them and their supplies into some trucks right now.”
“Thank god,” Emily said, letting out a deep sigh of relief. “When you get loaded up, I need you to haul ass to the one-ninety-four and drop off any able-bodied people you have. There… there was an incident and we lost pretty much everyone.”
There was a long pause, and then Zach finally came back, “Understood. We should be on the move in about twenty.”
“Coordinate with your dad about transporting the survivors back to the ranch,” she instructed. “This bridge isn’t going to be a viable exit.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised. “Be safe, Mis Walker.”
She clenched her jaw before answering, “You too, Zach.”
She hopped down out of the vehicle as she clipped her radio to her belt, enjoying the quiet after all of the mayhem. Her moment of tranquility was cut short, however, at the sound of Ernest firing off another batch of bullets. She power-walked towards Ernest and Randall, gun in hand, just as Jay approached in his plow.
“We’re all clear, ma’am,” Ernest declared.
She nodded. “How many shots you got left?” she asked.
He flicked open the chamber to reload from one of the two ammo bags he had attached to his belt. “Not keeping a running tally, but I started the day with two hundred in reserve, so should be good to go for a while.”
“Good, I want you with me,” Emily replied. “Randall, I need you to coordinate things on this bridge.”
“Not to challenge you ma’am, but may I ask why?” the cowboy asked.
She cocked her head. “Because I get the sense Ernest here hasn’t had a whole lot of experience welding and bolting stuff to cars, and I’d be willing to bet that you have.”
The two men looked at each other and then nodded in agreement.
“And you know the people here, they’re going to listen to you,” Emily continued. “They’re not going to listen to him. Hell, would you listen to him?”
“Hey, that’s…” Ernest paused, and shrugged. “That’s a totally fair point.”
Odell pulled up with the reserve crew from the Main Avenue bridge, stopping beside them with Alex in the back. Jay hopped the median and clambered up into the truck bed.
“Ernest, here’s our ride,” Emily said. “Randall, we’ll be back soon. Be ready.”
He nodded. “You can count on me.”
Ernest scrambled up into the back of the truck as Emily hopped into the passenger seat.
“All right Odell, round two,” she said.
He nodded and put the vehicle into gear. “Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
10:15 AM
“Alan, Don, you boys got anything?” Chad asked as he scanned the horizon through his binoculars. The only thing he could see from the top of the capitol building that looked even mildly threatening was a few dozen zombies milling about the courtyard below.
“Not much going on to the west,” Alan replied. “Although if you wanted to squeeze in a quick eighteen, you’re probably going to be out of luck.” He watched a pack of slow corpses trudge up the fairway.
“Don, what have you got?” Chad asked.
His companion didn’t reply, simply gripping his binoculars with trembling hands.
“Don?” Chad furrowed his brow. “You with me, bud?”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The others approached the frozen man carefully.
“What is it, man?” Alan asked.
“The… the horde on the interstate,” Don rasped. “It turned around.”
Alan and Chad quickly brought up their binoculars, zooming in on the thousand-strong mob. Instead of wandering out of town, they’d done a one-eighty and were heading straight for the I-94 bridge.
“Holy fuck,” Alan breathed.
Chad clenched his fists around his device. “Something must have caught their attention and spun them around.”
“What’s going on?” Lowell asked, stepping up to the group.
Alan swallowed hard. “The horde turned around.”
“What do we do?” Lowell asked, unable to keep the tremble out of his voice.
“We’re handling it,” Chad snapped. “You get back to your post of watching over Rex.”
His unavoidable companion growled. “I’ve had just about enough of you talking down to me. I don’t know who you think you are, but-”
“I’m the man in charge,” Chad cut in, rearing on him. “And if you had listened to me, we’d have two more people standing here with us.”
Lowell’s fist connected with the Wainwright boy’s jaw in a hard sucker punch, sending him tumbling to the ground in shock.
“I told you,” he seethed, “don’t you dare put those deaths on me. It was an accident, and accidents happen.”
Chad spit out a stream of blood, but before he could get back to his feet there was a loud moan from behind them. Rex launched from his sitting position and dove for Lowell, who struggled to draw his handgun, but he was too late. The corpse of his fallen friend slammed into him, teeth sinking into his shoulder.
The force sent Lowell staggering, and before anyone could grab him, he flipped back over the edge of the roof. In a panic he grasped onto Rex, but all he succeeded in doing was pulling both over the edge. His scream cut short with a sharp smack as they hit the ground below.
The trio were frozen, eyes wide and mouths dry.
“Jesus fuck man, what the hell just happened?” Don finally asked, voice hoarse with shock.
Alan cleared his throat. “Lowell finally took responsibility. First time for everything, I guess.”
Chad shook his head and got back to his feet, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his arm. He pulled his binoculars back up and resumed his study of the horde.
“Looks like they are about a mile from this exit,” he reported. “Which means they are three miles away from the bridge.”
“So that’s what, an hour, hour and a half before they hit it?” Don asked.
Chad moved away from the edge and unclipped his walkie talkie, adjusting the channel knob to broadcast to all frequencies. “All right, everybody, listen up,” he said. “We have a serious situation developing. The horde that Susanna lured to the I-94 has turned around and is now headed toward the bridge. We’re just pu
lling numbers out of our asses, but we’d say they’re gonna be getting close in the next hour, hour and a half.”
“Those goddamn motherfuckers!” Susanna cried back through the radio. “Okay, we’re gonna swing around the backside and see if we can get em going back in the right direction.”
Don pointed to the far end of the I-94, waving Chad forward.
“Hang on, Susanna,” her brother said, and took a look. A hundred or so zombies hadn’t turned around, still wandering up the road. “That’s a no go,” he said into the radio again. “Looks like a pretty large number of them didn’t turn around, so you wouldn’t be able to get through.”
“Son of a bitch,” she cursed. “Okay, we’re down here in the south of the city clearing the way for Zach’s next run, but if there’s something we can do, you tell us.”
“Ten-four, Susanna,” Chad replied. “Emily, do you think you can get enough plows up there in time to fortify it before they get there?”
“Negative,” Emily came back. “We just sent two out to finish up the one-ninety-four. And Ken is telling me it’s going to be an hour, maybe longer, before he’s hoping to have four more in good enough shape to make it to the I-94. So even if everything went perfectly, we’d be getting there at the same time.”
“This is Randall,” the cowboy cut in after the beep, “when we get our bridge secure we’ll send every available man up there. Maybe we can get enough firepower to hold them at bay.”
“Can you divert those two up to the I-94?” Chad asked. “Not going to be perfect, but it could help hold the line.”
“We really need to get this bridge secure,” Randall replied. “We’re short on manpower, and half of what we do have is focused on the rear since we have zombies still coming out of the woodwork. If we don’t plug this hole now, this bridge might be overrun.”
Chad sighed. “Ten-four, Randall.”
“Emily,” Mr. Wainwright’s voice cut in, “when you get that batch ready, send them down to the Main Avenue bridge. It’ll take a little longer to get up to the I-94, but if Eldon has to retreat they can roll right up it and clean em out just like you did.”
