The remaining demented still sprinted after them as they dropped down the cement ramp and turned onto the back street.
Looking in his mirror, and then back at Tom, Hank said, “Made that exciting didn’t you?”
“Didn’t go quite like I envisioned. Think I bought them some time, but I can’t imagine how they will ever get out of there.” Pointing a thumb to the back he asked, “Rachael in there?”
“Yeah.”
“Before we go too far we’re going to have to fuel up.”
Hank simply nodded.
Chapter 5: Strangers
In the city, stopping for gas was out of the question. Their initial goal was to grab gas and then head straight out of the city as quickly as possible. This changed within the first two blocks of driving. The level of chaos and destruction was more than any of them ever expected. Wrecked cars filled the streets, sometimes blocking their route completely. Bodies littered the pavement and sidewalks, brains damaged beyond re-animation. The undead and demented wandered the streets, in search of their next victim. If the trio ever got out of this damned city it would be because they kept moving - stopping was certain death.
Hank sat staring through a set of binoculars, yelling out potential road blocks as they came up.
Tom watched immediately ahead, avoiding any obstacles that would stall their progress. At times, he used the massive steel bumper to nudge wreckage out of the way, so they could continue forward. They were having better luck with the smaller back streets because the volume of wrecked cars was minimal.
Crossing Sandy Boulevard, Hank asked, “Are we getting anywhere?”
“We’re almost up to the river. I think from there we will have a better path, maybe use Marine Drive.”
The streets were becoming wider and less populated as they neared the airport and the river. This was more of an industrial area, with streets that were made to accommodate large trucks and delivery vehicles. Working around a tipped over semi-truck, Tom happened to glance to his right and there it was, in large yellow block letters, “Leatherman,” with the little multi-tool symbol next to it.
What are the odds? In all of their meanderings, they had driven right up next to the Leatherman headquarters. Tom did not know if he should see it as a good sign from a higher power or a slap in the face. He jokingly thought about going in to see if anyone was available to hear his review of the overall greatness of his Leatherman. Never having read all the included tools for his Leatherman, he was not sure, but guessed he could inform them that "demented skull crusher" needed tacked on.
“Heads up!” Hank hollered.
Snapping back to reality, Tom swerved just before running over a dark haired woman in a flowery sundress. She was walking right down the middle of the road. Tom slammed on the breaks, skidding to a stop. Looking in his mirror, he could see she was slowly walking toward them.
Before he could say anything, Hank leapt out of the Unimog to help her.
Grabbing his M4, Tom jumped out of the vehicle. “Hank! Wait!”
Looking up, her red rimmed eyes locked on Tom. As he raised the rifle, her lips curled back into a snarl, and her body tensed to begin her charge.
She must have seen Hank coming around the back side of the Unimog, her head whipped to the side and she raced out of Tom’s view. Screams of rage could be heard over Hank’s startled yell. As Tom came around the back corner, rifle ready, the camper door swung open. Hank laid on his back, the woman on top, ripping at his face. He had his arms up in front of him, trying desperately to fend off her attacks. Using the butt of his rifle, Tom pounded her in the back of the head. A few last spasms with her arms, then she went still.
Hank shoved her off to the side. “Wow…my bad…I was not ready for that.” With a confused look on his face, he said, “She didn’t race after the truck like the other demented we’ve seen. Thought she was…normal.”
Rachael leaned down next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, “She scratched you all up, let’s get you inside and I’ll clean those up.”
Worried, Tom looked down at Hank, and then stepped over to the woman, placed the muzzle of his rifle on her forehead and pulled the trigger. In the near silence, the loud shot echoed between buildings. “We better roll.”
Before anyone had time to respond, a cacophony of screams and growls could be heard from all around them.
Looking up, Tom could see several demented less than a block away, sprinting toward them. Turning to Rachael, he said, “Quick, both of you get in the back.” Raising his rifle, he fired off several shots in quick succession, dropping both demented. Keeping his rifle tight to his shoulder, he moved back toward the front of the truck.
He could see several undead trudging their way toward them, too far away and too slow to be of any worry. To his left there were several people pounding on the large window facing the street. Unmoving, it was difficult to say if they were demented or undead. Unworried about them, he decided to save ammo, and instead spun around next to the driver side door to check behind them. Several demented and a horde of undead could be seen, but they were more than a block away. “You guys inside?”
“Go…Go…They’re coming from the building!” Rachael yelled.
Not needing any farther prodding, he quickly climbed into the driver seat, setting his M4 beside him. Several thumps echoed through the cab as demented pounded into the side of the Unimog. A pair of bloody hands poked into his view at the base of passenger window, reaching for their unseen enemy.
Driving away from the attackers, Tom realized he no longer had his spotter to adjust to the forward wreckage. Traffic had decreased since leaving the heart of the city, and he hoped that he would be able to just watch a little farther down the road.
Once they hit Marine Drive things went much better, making good time along the river. He saw several boats loaded up with people. It gave him hope to see that they were normal, living people. Seemed like a good strategy, figuring neither the undead nor the demented could swim. If they could wait long enough, maybe things would calm down. Of course it could be a long wait, depending on how long the undead kept functioning.
It was well into the afternoon before they finally reached the edge of the city, much later than any of them expected. Running dangerously low on fuel, Tom decided they would have to stop at the first gas station they could find. He would have much preferred to get well clear of the city, but far too much fuel was spent traversing the chaotic streets.
Reaching the I-84 freeway, Tom saw a gas station just across the road that would have to do. It was a large, fancy station, with a long line of pumps sitting nearly empty. There was a small hatchback at the far end, and a pickup in the middle, with its driver side door wide open. He did not see any people, living or dead, in the parking lot. As he was pulling into the lot, he thought he saw movement from within the attached convenience store. Going to have to keep an eye on the store, he thought to himself.
Easing to a stop next to one of the pumps, he shut off the engine, and listened through his open window. Keying the intercom that Rachael discovered in the camper, he whispered to those in the back, “Hold for a bit.” Over the creak of a sign swaying in the breeze, he could hear sporadic gunfire in the distance. Good, there were others surviving and hopefully dishing out some hurt. Other than the boaters, he had not seen any survivors along the way, so they must be few and far between, or really hunkered down.
Not wanting any surprises while he filled up, he continued to sit, checking his mirrors and watching the store, trying to peer through the glare on the windows. Maybe the movement he saw was just his imagination or a shifting reflection. After one final glance in his empty mirrors, he gave the all clear over the intercom. Grabbing his M4, he climbed out of the Unimog.
Taking his eyes off the storefront, he looked over to see Hank coming around the back. Rachael had gotten his face and arms all cleaned up, only small pink slashes remained.
Hank slung a large rifle over his shoulder a
nd started climbing the external ladder leading to the Unimog’s roof. “I’ll cover your slow ass.”
“I’m going inside to fire up the pump.” Tom replied.
He watched Rachael walking away, the bookstore lady’s shotgun in her hands. At the convention center, she said she felt comfortable with it, so they had found her more ammo. Tom knew when they got a chance he would need to train her on more effective weapons, but for now it would have to do.
Tom walked across the hot pavement, rifle at the ready, keeping his eyes trained on the glass door. Once to the door, he pressed his face to the glass, using his hands to block the glare, and get a better look at the inside. Several long aisles filled with snacks, magazines, and trinkets stretched across the store to the beverage refrigerators at the end. Nobody was in sight. Near the back, he could see some items spilled out across the floor, knocked from their shelves.
Figuring there should be at least three people around here somewhere, he was very careful in easing the door open. Hatchback, Pickup, and Attendant had to be somewhere; Tom just hoped to find them before they found him.
Stepping inside the store, Tom checked his corners and moved swiftly adjacent to the aisles, keeping his rifle up, scanning for targets. The final aisle had items spilled to the floor and a small pool of blood, but nobody in sight. He spun around and cleared behind the checkout counter, again nothing.
He was sure there would be restrooms and maybe an office down the back hallway, but figured there was no reason to push his luck. Stepping next to the till he turned on the pump, and then headed for the door. Nearly there, he heard something and froze.
Listening intently he heard it again. It sounded like a shuffling noise, maybe something sliding across the floor in the back.
Trying to decide what to do, after a beat he let out a sigh, knowing he could not just walk away. He had to know if it was someone needing help. Spinning around, he raised the M4, and began walking down the back hall, listening for the noise. The hall was smeared with blood, both on the floor and along the base of the walls.
Standing still in the center of the hall, he heard it again, coming from the women’s restroom.
Opening the door to the men’s restroom, he quickly swept through it to make sure it was clear, finding no one he felt better about moving on to the women's room. He also felt better knowing the general layout of the room, figuring it would be similar to the women’s.
Easing open the door, he found the lights were already on. There on the floor, directly in front of him lay the source of the noise, and likely the blood. The two of them were connected by white nylon rope. One was a middle aged man wearing jeans and a dirty t-shirt, with a large chunk of his face missing. The other was a younger woman in shorts and a tank top…undead. She had a softball sized hole in her back that looked to be the exit wound that killed her. One end of the rope was wrapped around the older man several times, and the other was tangled around the ankles of the woman. Using only her arms, she was attempting to drag her human anchor across the restroom floor.
Tom stood staring, trying to figure out how they could have even got into this predicament, his morbid curiosity not letting him just finish the woman for good.
She looked up at him, her hollow eyes locking on his. Letting out a gurgled moan, she reached for him with one hand. Under different circumstances it would have been a gesture of needing help, but he knew better. She wanted him, maybe even needed him, to satisfy some instinctive urge.
To keep from drawing unwanted attention to the gas station, he simply backed out of the bathroom. Tom figured these two were likely Pickup and Hatchback, leaving only service station guy unaccounted for. Still unable to piece it all together, he felt that Attendant was probably the source of the wounds and the rope, but why and where were still questions.
Grabbing a marker from the pen holder next to the register, he went back to the restroom and wrote “One Undead Inside!” on the door. Betting Hank and Rachael were getting worried about him, he headed for the entrance.
He nearly ran face first into Rachael as he hurried out the glass door. “Holy crap! You scared me.”
Relief was evident on her face. “I was getting worried.”
Jogging toward the Unimog, Tom replied, “Sorry…all clear. I got the pump on. Help Hank keep an eye out while I fill up.”
Tom was nearly mesmerized staring at the numbers ticking up as the fuel pumped into the tank. He absent-mindedly wondered why he was watching the price continue to climb when there was no attendant to pay. Then his mind strayed to more relevant questions, like how long will the undead live, how long will fuel last, and then how are Kelly and Sam. Dread weighing on his stomach, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it, still no service.
“Heads up…I’ve got a couple trucks rolling this way.” Hank said, sitting on top of the Unimog with a pair of binoculars held up to his eyes. “Two trucks…several people in each one.”
“Living?” Tom asked
“Yeah…I would say they are all living. Couple in the cab of each one and a few sitting in the beds.” Never taking the binoculars away from his eyes, “They’re working their way through the cars like we did. Be here within the next minute or two, if they stop at all.”
“Rachael, climb in the camper. I don’t want them getting bad ideas. Hank, you wanna make for the propane enclosure back there. Cover me in case this goes south.” Tom pointed to a large propane tank with a chain link fence surrounding it.
Hank climbed down and made for the propane tank.
While the fuel was still pumping, Tom walked to the back of the truck to watch the vehicles approach. As they neared the station, he could see a pair in the cab, and three people in the back of the lead truck, and two in the back of the second. Keeping his M4 slung over his shoulder, he watched as they came to a stop near the other pumps. Nobody moved as the pair inside the cab of the closest truck sat talking to each other, with occasional hand gestures.
Tom started their way, not wanting them to discuss for too long. The gestures stopped and the nearest one in the cab spun his head around, watching Tom approach. Before getting halfway there, both the two in the cab hopped out.
“Hey guys.” Tom said.
The driver came around the front of the truck, hand resting on a holstered pistol. His too tight, grey t-shirt was stretched to the max, gut hanging over his belt. He looked absolutely exhausted. “How’d you fair?”
“I made it…barely. City’s a disaster.”
“Yeah, we were gonna wait it out, but…but it just keeps gettin worse.” He looked back toward the city. “You seen the risen ones? Not the fast ones, but the others?”
Tom nodded. “There’s one in the women’s restroom in there.” He gestured toward the station. “I left her. Shots really draw them.”
The guy that was riding shotgun, started opening the fuel tank on their truck.
“You’ll need to turn the pumps on manually. Right behind the register. Like I said, don’t use the ladies room.” Tom said.
The man reached back in the cab and pulled out a beat up AK-47 before heading for the station. His dirty jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed in days, but Tom would not be surprised if they were brand new yesterday. His rifle hung limply in his left hand, unready.
“Hey! Watch yourself in there!” Grey shirt yelled.
These guys were loud and disorganized. Tom knew he needed to get away from them as soon as possible.
As if on cue, a couple of the guys from the other truck came walking over and stood next to Grey Shirt. One of them, wearing a white shirt with arm pit stains, stood eyeing the M4. The other guy stood for a bit and then turned back toward his truck.
“You like your AR-15?” Pit Stains asked, still staring at the weapon.
Rather than bring up that it was actually a M4, Tom nodded and said, “It’s solid.”
Everyone turned toward the station when they heard several rapid shots from within.
Grey
shirt started to say, “What the f…,” but stopped short when the man with the AK came out the entrance.
“Blam…girls room doesn’t need no sign anymore.”
The shots were muffled by the cinder block construction, but Tom still wondered how far away they could be heard. As if in answer, several screams of rage could be heard in various directions. None came from the immediate vicinity, but they would be coming fast. He spun around and started for the Unimog.
“Hey! Why don’t you join us?” Someone from behind him said.
“Yeah, we could use some extra firepower and your sweet ride.” Another chimed in.
Not liking the way this was going, Tom continued on toward the Unimog. “I think you guys have enough of both.”
The click of a hammer being pulled back could be heard.
“Maybe we’ll take it.” One of them said.
Tom stopped and raised his arms out to his sides. “You sure you want to go this route.”
More screams and growls could be heard, much closer now. There was a sudden boom from in front of Tom. Anticipating something like this, he immediately dove on the ground and rolled underneath the Unimog. From the other side he could see the legs of the truck guys. Far to the right of them, near the corner of the station, lay a body, too far away to be one of the thugs. The legs from the guys were moving rapidly, but not really getting anywhere, panic setting in.
Tom stood up on the far side of the Unimog and quickly scanned his periphery. Hank was using the chaos to make a sprint for the mog. Seeing several demented coming through the back alley, Tom raised his M4 and began firing rounds.
With this, absolute chaos erupted. More howls of rage, very close now, even inside the parking lot. Between the booms of the M4, Tom could hear shouting, and pops from gunfire on the other side of the Unimog.
The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented Page 6
