by Ben Reeder
I didn’t bother to look at him as I slammed the truck into reverse and turned the Humvee’s back end toward the garage doors on the cinder block building. Amy was still in the building. I had to get her out. I didn’t bother with the niceties of opening doors, The garage doors buckled under the armored vehicle’s momentum, and the driver’s side mirror was sheared off as I cut it a little too close on that side. The top hatch resisted, then scraped open as I muscled a panel of the garage door off of it.
“Amy, come on!” I yelled as I came up with the M39 in hand. Zombies started moving toward me, and I drew down on them. As soon as I had a head in my sights I pulled the trigger, then went to the next one, emptying the magazine as fast as I dared. Infected fell with about every other shot, until the locked back on an empty chamber. I hit the mag release and let the box fall through the hatch and into the Humvee’s interior as I pulled a fresh mag from my vest. Almost as soon as I had the fresh load in, I chambered a round and put the sights on another zombie face. Bang. Dead zombie. I swept left and started working my way right, closing my right eye long enough to put the crosshairs on a zombie nose, pull the trigger, then opened it again and find another target. Recoil, and another dead zombie, then open the right eye, find another target. I heard feet on the back of the Humvee, then the crack of Amy’s Ruger above my head.
“Wait until I reload!” I yelled after I dropped one of the infected. I pulled the trigger five more times and heard the click of the firing pin hitting air. “Reloading! Fire!” I yelled, grabbing another mag from the vest. The empty bounced off the roof, but I couldn’t waste a second to grab it. I slammed the fresh mag home and chambered a round as Amy’s Ruger popped again and again. It went silent, and I raised my rifle.
“Call it out when you reload!” I reminded her before I pulled the trigger.
“Sorry! Reloading!” she said. I swept the gun across the slowly approaching crowd and thinned them out a little before I got to the end of my magazine.
“Reloading!” I called out. “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” The infected had stopped moving toward us. As one they turned their heads to their left, looking south. I leaned forward to see what they were looking at and saw more headlights approaching. Then tracer rounds sliced through the air and started tearing through the infected. The Prophet’s men started cheering as a pair of Strykers drove up on either side of their line.
With the dead and the Disciples facing each other, I took advantage of the distraction to look over my shoulder at Amy. She wore a pair of blue jeans and had found a pair of hiking boots to wear under her greaves and knee armor. The pistol I’d given her from the hospital was strapped to her right leg, and I swore her vest and upper body armor seemed to fit her better. She’d added a black half-helmet to her gear that bore a bright red nylon Mohawk down the middle. Whatever I had been about to say was lost in the laugh that escaped my lips.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded, suddenly looking a little fiercer in the dim light. When she turned toward me, I could see the hilt of her new sword sticking up over her right shoulder, and the gray cache tube was laying on the roof beside her.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Get in the car, I’m pissed at you.” I dropped down into the driver’s seat and let her toss the cache tube in the back before she followed me. This time I made sure the hatch was secured. When I looked back out the windshield, I could see more zombies marching through the hail of machinegun fire, mostly unaffected by the bullets that were ripping through them. I grabbed the mic and pressed the transmit key.
“Willie, are you guys almost ready?” I said. Moments later, I heard the click and short static burst of another mic being keyed.
“We’re almost there. Stomper One is headed your way to give you a little breathing room.”
“Negative, negative!” I said. “We’re just about clear here.” Even as I said it, I saw movement further up the road. “Oh, shit…” I breathed softly as the flickering red light backlit a group of hulking figures that were slowly making their way down the ramp from the Twelfth St. Bridge. In the poor light I couldn’t tell how many there were, but even one was too many. As I watched them stomp down the bridge, the Necromancer stepped into view behind his slowly advancing horde. With the big, tumor zombies behind him and waves of the normal ones in front, he was all but untouchable for the moment. There were enough infected around him and under his control that even the armored Humvee was vulnerable.
“Are those zombies like the one we killed at the hospital?” Amy asked. I nodded. Then the Stryker slammed into the Necromancer like something out of an old cartoon. With its lights out, no one had seen it coming, and in the din of gunfire and screams of dying men, the lead zombie hadn’t heard it either. The tires rolled over him and crushed his body like a bug. Then the big armored vehicle did the worst thing it could possibly do: it stopped with the Necromancer pinned beneath it. The remote weapons mount on the Stryker turned and opened fire, throwing .50 caliber rounds at the opposing Strykers. Kaplan seemed to be aiming for their weapons, and he was a better shot. Sparks flew from the mount on the one closest to us first, then the enemy gun went silent. The M2 swiveled as the other Stryker gunner got the same idea a split second too late to save his own gun. More sparks flew, and then smoke started to spew from the weapons mount as Kaplan hit one of the smoke grenades.
“Stomper One, Dave, get the hell out of there!” Willie’s voice came over the radio. “Hall’s telling his people to pull back to a safe distance. Get out!”
“Will, shut your radio down and go! Kaplan, get Stomper One on the bus! Do not reply. I say again, do not reply!” Once the Stryker started backing up, I put the Humvee in gear and stomped on the gas pedal. Metal screeched as I took part of the garage door with me, and I felt the steering wheel pull as it tore free of the building. Then I was turning left and heading for the intersection. The only thing that I could think of that would make Hall suddenly give a damn about his people when he had a mad on was a bigger threat. And there was only one thing that was more terrifying than a ton of zombies. A Hellfire missile.
A long, low note sounded to my right, the horn from a locomotive. The ‘bus’ was about to pull out of the station. I turned left again and found myself headed toward the river as the train’s horn got softer and softer. Something flashed ahead and to my left, and I turned that way, looking for an incoming threat. The night sky lit up again, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the soft, rounded shapes of cumulous clouds illuminated from the inside. A thunderstorm to the southwest. I turned my attention back to the road in front of me.
“Mr. Stewart,” Keyes voice filled the cab. “I see your friends are trying to leave town. We can’t have that, now can we?”
“Keyes, don’t do it,” I said. Beside me, Amy pressed her face to the window.
“All the more reason to,” he replied. “Maybe if you’d asked nicely…well, maybe if you had begged me not to, I would have killed you first.”
“There are kids on that train,” I said. Buildings whizzed past, and I made a left turn. In the rearview mirror, I could see infected chasing after us, backlit by multiple headlights.
“Their death is on your hands, then,” he said.
“I’m not forcing you to pull the trigger,” I said. Amy let out a strangled cry as the sky lit up to the north, and I heard the muffled explosion through the armored windows. She turned to me when I put an arm on her shoulder and shook my head, then gave her a wink.“ That was a diversion,” I told her. “The real train is still waiting to leave.” Her eyes lit up at the news, and I summoned up my most convincing indignation. “Damn you, Keyes. I swear, you’re going to regret this.” I pulled the Humvee to a stop and got out. Keyes voice came over the radio as I opened the back door and grabbed my pack and the M39. I slung the pack and my rifle and grabbed the Deuce.
“You’ve been in the military, Stewart,” he said. “You know you can’t outrun a missile. You’ll just die tired.” I stepped back from t
he truck and put the sword back into the scabbard then raised my hand to the night sky to offer Keyes my thoughts on that with my middle finger. Then I grabbed Amy’s arm and started to run across the parking lot. Thunder boomed overhead, and we could hear the low rumble of hundreds of feet running our way. Inhuman screams split the air behind us, and I looked back over my shoulder to see hundreds of ghouls come around the side of the building after us with the Necromancer leading the way.
“Under the truck!” I yelled to Amy, pointing toward a jacked up white pickup in front of us. “Into the manhole! Go south, then west at the first tunnel you can. If we get separated, look for a black Ford Ranger parked at the mattress factory on the other side!” Amy dropped into a home run slide and slid under the truck. I slowed to give her a second to get into the hole before I dropped and rolled under the truck myself. As I backed into the opening, I could see feet a few yards away. Then they were at the side of the truck, and the undercarriage was lifted away to reveal a blackened Necromancer and an army of ghouls. I shoved myself backward and tried to slide into the opening. He covered the few feet between us and grabbed my rifle by the barrel. The sling caught under my arm, and he lifted me bodily into the air. My right hand closed on the bush knife Vali had made for me, and I pressed it against the sling. Nylon parted too slowly under the knife’s edge as his other hand reached for me. Over his shoulder, I saw a flicker of flame, then a bright spot appeared in the night sky, Keyes’ contribution to the fight.
“Die, you son of a bitch!” he screamed, and I pushed as hard as I could against the last few strands holding me.
“You first,” I said as the sling gave way and I plunged into the darkness below. The world went bright above me as I fell, and for a split second, I could see his face surrounded by fire. Then the shock wave shoved me down like a giant fist.
Chapter 14
Crossing the River Styx
~ The only certain freedom’s in departure. ~ Robert Frost
In the distance, we heard the rumble of a locomotive’s diesel engine, then another rumble of thunder as we crawled onto the banks of the Kansas River. A chill wind left us shivering in the darkness, and we turned to look back across the river. The fires from the Hellfire’s impact were still burning, and the distant spires of downtown KC lit the clouds above in the same bloody red we’d grown used to over the past week. Light flashed overhead, the herald of ground shaking thunder a couple of seconds later.
“I feel like Orpheus,” Amy said through chattering teeth. “Standing at the edge of Hades, looking back into the Underworld.”
“Or Dante looking back into Hell after his three hour tour,” I said. Amy’s face was almost visible in the dim light, and I turned back to the east. Gray was beginning to show above the red pall that hung over the city. “Come on, let’s go get some dry clothes.”
“All m-m-m-my c-clothes are on the t-t-train,” Amy said as another gust of wind sucked away anything resembling warmth. Not even our armor was able to stop it.
“You can borrow some of m-mine,” I told her before I broke into a jog. We followed the slope of the bank up to a parking lot and found ourselves looking at the Sealy logo. The huge parking lot was almost completely empty except for a lone black truck with a camper shell several hundred yards away. I headed for it. With the M39 gone, I was down to pistols and the Ruger Takedown 10/22.Getting to cover was vital.
As we got closer, we could see that it was a Ford Ranger that had been modified for the zombie apocalypse. The windshield and windows on the extended cab were covered in quarter inch steel mesh, and the camper shell was enclosed in a similar metal cage that was bolted to the bed so that it became the frame the camper rested on. Up close, I could see the pack stowed behind the driver’s seat, and the gear stowed in the bed. I reached under my shirt and pulled out the keys Willie had given me two days before. The door unlocked easily, and I pulled out a couple of pairs of pants and t-shirts. I tossed one of each to Amy.
“Get in and change in the back, kid,” I told her. “Then we’re going to have a talk.”
“Won’t that be fun,” she said as she climbed in. Once she was in, I laid the SOCOM on the truck’s hood before I stripped out of my wet armor and clothes, then grabbed a pair of dry underwear and socks from the plastic bags I’d stored them in from the Ruger’s pack. Lightning and thunder came every few seconds, and the wind started to get stronger as I hurried to get dressed. Just as I was pulling the plain black t-shirt down over my head, I heard the hiss and spatter of rain on asphalt. In the growing light I could see the wall of rain heading my way. Not wanting to get soaked again, I tossed my wet things behind the passenger seat and grabbed the SOCOM off the hood just as the rain hit us. The truck door slammed shut on the first few drops, enough to get my left arm nice and damp.
Amy crawled into the passenger seat beside me a few minutes later, and we watched the rain pound down in silence. Without the helmet on, I could see that she’d cut her hair short so that it hung level with her jaw, except for bangs that ran an inch above her eyebrows. In my shirt and jeans, she looked even smaller than normal, and I fought the conflicting urges to reach out and shake some sense into her and hug her as tight as I could.
“If you’re waiting for me to apologize,” she said after a few minutes, “that ain’t happening.”
“You could have gotten yourself killed and taken me with you,” I said. “Things are dangerous enough now without you making me take even more chances.”
“Then don’t try to send me away,” she snapped at me.
“With all the people I’d pissed off back there? The further you were from me, the safer you would have been!”
“That’s bullshit!” she said, her voice cracking. “The only place I’m safe is next to you. You proved that at the hospital, in New Eden, and back there. And I had a damn good reason for what I did. I could feel the Necromancer back there. He was coming for me! I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to imagine what you would do. The only answer I could come up with is to get as far away from Heartland as I could and make shit up from there.” I sat there in stunned silence, unable to argue that I would have done any different. In fact, I’d done pretty much the same thing, spending the past two nights at the Guest House and limiting my time in Heartland.
“Amy, I’m…I…” I stammered.
“The whole time,” she said, her voice going high as tears spilled down her face, “I just kept telling myself that you’d come. That you’d show up and get me like you always do, that you’d figure it out somehow, because you always follow Rule Twenty Three.”
“I only have twenty two rules, Amy,” I said, feeling lame as I argued something so stupid with a teenage girl. It was the only thing I dared address, though. She had believed in me, believed I would somehow know what to do. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. That I had known what to do was total, blind ass luck. That she was actually telling me about it was even more serious. Teens didn’t do vulnerability well, and it seemed best to just pretend that hadn’t happened.
“Nope, twenty three. Never turn your back when someone needs help.”
“Well, shit,” I said. “I guess I’ll have to revise the list. I’m still pissed at you, but I’m proud of you. I can’t say I would’ve done anything different.” I reached out and pulled her to me in a one armed hug. When she pulled back, she had a broad smile on her face.
“So, are we cool?” she asked. In the face of her expectant smile, all I could do was nod. “Where are we going?”
“To get you some clothes,” I said as I started the truck. “And I need another gun.”
Journal of Maya Weiss
Friday, October 25, 2013
This is getting to be a habit. I swear, if Dave survives the trip to Wyoming, I’m going to kill him myself for putting me through this so many times.
I woke up this morning to the government radio broadcast reporting that he’d been killed by a drone strike in Kansas City, and Amy along with him. They called him out
by name this time, and their spin artists had been busy. They cast him as a domestic terrorist, a threat to freedom of religion, and a radical bent on spreading sedition. Their words, not mine. I couldn’t listen to it after that. And yes, it ripped my heart out to think they were dead. Porsche tried telling me they had to be lying, but she was crying too. Major Lynch stopped the caravan when he heard. I wish I could say I was stoic about it, but after a few minutes I was just numb. After a little while, I just focused on making good on Dave’s promise. Getting Cassie and Bryce to Wyoming was the only thing that mattered. “The show must go on.” Once again, my life was a lyric in a Queen song.
And then, he did it again.
We were just getting ready to get moving again, and the shortwave radio started beeping. The Morse-to-text translator on the laptop started putting the letters on the screen, and I lost it. You’d think it would take more than a few letters, but it was proof that they were still alive.
“CQ CQ DE K7SDE K7SDE HEADING W WITH KID. STILL ALIVE.C U SOON.”
On with the show…
Zompoc Survivor:
Odyssey
Dave’s Rules of Survival
98% of survival is mental. Attitude, knowledge and planning ahead will keep you alive when shit hits the fan.
Only 2% of survival is physical, but it’s an important 2%.
