The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented

by Derek J. Thomas

  “Grab the pump handle.” Tom shouted to Hank as he approached. Knowing his spare magazines remained inside the cab, he continued to count his shots, nearing bug out time. With multiple targets coming from a variety of directions, he had to avoid getting firing lane lock. He continuously scanned the full perimeter, picking off the closest targets one by one. 26…27…

  “We gotta roll!” 28…

  Hank was already dropping the pump handle and climbing in the passenger side. Tom could see dozens of demented racing toward them. Saving one final round, he sprinted around the back of the Unimog, watching for immediate threats. On the far side, the thugs were firing in all directions, trying to keep the demented at bay.

  Just before Tom reached his door, he saw both trucks accelerating away from their pumps, ripping off the breakaway fuel lines. Two of the thugs were left standing next to the fuel pumps. Both of them had small pistols and were firing rapidly at the oncoming hordes. Stained armpit guy ran out of ammo, flung his pistols at the nearest demented, and made a break for the station.

  One of the demented came sprinting around the front of the cab, his face filled with hatred. Tom barely had time to swing his rifle around, pulling the trigger just as its forehead reached the muzzle. With a boom, it dropped to the pavement. Tom climbed into the cab, throwing his rifle between the seats, and slamming the door behind him.

  Halfway to the station was a cluster of demented ripping at what Tom guessed was stained armpit guy. Firing up the engine, he accelerated away from the pump. He looked over at Hank to make sure he was doing alright. He was grinning.

  “Boy…self-service is a pain in the ass.” Hank grumbled.

  Still jacked up, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tom replied, “Good work, timing was great.”

  “I was about to drop the pistol guy, but then that demented came ripping around the corner.”

  Looking in the mirror, Tom saw a second cluster of demented taking down the remaining thug. Tom tried to dodge through the stragglers still coming into the parking lot. A few demented speed bumps later they were out of the parking lot and onto the street.

  “What do you think about the freeway?” Tom asked.

  “Looks okay from here.”

  Pulling up the ramp and onto the freeway, they were happy to see that Hank was right. There were a few scattered cars here and there, but for the most part it was fairly wide open. Pressing down on the gas pedal, they were able to get up to the full cruising speed of about 45 mph. The one downside to a Unimog becoming extremely evident now.

  Keying the intercom, Hank relayed to Rachael that they were both alright and were rolling on the freeway now.

  “Sounds good.” Rachael replied, the relief evident in her voice.

  Hank sat reloading their weapons, using several boxes they had kept up front for just this reason.

  “Can you load just 29 in my mags?” Tom asked.

  “Whatever you need princess.”

  Tom started laughing, and then Hank was laughing as well. It was the post battle; I can’t believe I’m alive laugh. It felt so good to both of them, the laughter not dying away for several minutes.

  Wiping tears from his cheeks, Tom was finally able to reply. “Maybe I’m just superstitious, but I have better luck with jams if I don’t max out the springs."

  “Yeah…wouldn’t want to max out princess’s springs.” Hank retorted, starting another fit of silly laughter.

  Looking in his mirror, Tom breathed a sigh of relief seeing the green “Welcome to Troutdale” sign receding into the distance. On another day, he would have stopped to enjoy the blood red sunset behind him, however knowing it was caused by the smoke of a burning city only put a knot in the pit of his stomach.

  Would Spokane hold the same fate?

  Chapter 6: The Road

  After passing by dozens of cars on the freeway with nobody in sight, Tom said, “Where did they go? I haven’t seen any people.”

  “I was kinda wondering the same thing. I’ve seen streaks of blood on some of the cars and on the pavement, but no people.”

  Both men sat quietly, running through the possibilities in their heads. Tom occasionally glanced out his side window, trying to peer into the darkness of the trees as they streamed by, wondering if that is where they went. Seemed possible that their ravaged brains sent them out in search of every noise they heard.

  Not getting anywhere, and tired of the silence, Tom said, “Did you ever see the demented chasing animals?”

  Hank looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Can’t say I saw any animals.”

  Tom had not been looking for them, but now that he thought about it, he had not seen any either. More questions with no answers.

  Hank was the first to start the small talk. “So what do you do…or did you do?”

  Not wanting to admit out loud that the world he knew was all but obliterated, Tom said, “I’m a trainer. Not workout stuff, more on the survival side.”

  “So you teach people how to build fires and purify water?”

  “Some of that…also tactics, evasion, preparedness…”

  Hank grinned, “ahhh, knew I picked you for a reason.”

  “Picked me? What the hell are you talking about? If I remember right, I saved your butt.” Tom jabbed back.

  Hank let out a chuckle. “All part of my master plan.”

  “What about you? What’s your story?”

  “Not much story. Lied to get in the army when I was fifteen. Spent a lot of years getting paid to go camping and shoot guns.”

  “See any combat?”

  Nodding his head, Hank said, “Multiple vacations in the tropical paradise of Vietnam. Several years of hell is what that was, and to top it off, I was able to enjoy a spit parade when I got back.”

  Tom shook his head, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all good, wouldn’t change a thing.”

  After driving for nearly an hour, mostly in silence, they came across the first real roadblock. Along the way there were abandoned cars and trucks, but they were easily avoided. This was a large tractor trailer that had spun sideways and flipped onto its side, landing up against both the cement median and the steep embankment.

  “Ain’t that a bugger.” Hank said.

  “You’re a world of help.” Tom leaned on the steering wheel. “I think we have two options. One, we hook on with the winch and see if we can drag the trailer back out of the way. Two, we drive back to the last exit and go around. Either the old highway we’ve been seeing or take the westbound side.”

  “It’s getting fairly dark. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to stay inside the mog.” Hank said, while slapping the dashboard in front of him.

  With that, Tom maneuvered until he had the Unimog facing the other direction. Keying the intercom he said, “We hit a dead end, we’re turning back. Should be an exit a few miles back.”

  About twenty minutes later, they found the exit they were looking for. During the return drive they had all agreed to take the old highway rather than get back on the freeway.

  They quickly decided it was a good choice. With far fewer cars along the back road, they were nearly able to just drive, without dodging around.

  The only thing Tom did not like was the narrow road, bringing the thick dark trees right in next to them. The headlights and cab mounted lights threw a bright swath of light on the pavement, but to the sides was a different story. The woods were a huge part of his life, and this was the first time since he was a kid that they looked creepy, if not downright scary.

  Hank sat looking out his side window. He had not said a word since they had turned around. Hank’s scratches from the woman were bright red and swollen. Every now and then he would absent-mindedly scratch at them.

  “How are the scratches?” Tom inquired.

  “Fine…they itch a bit, but they’ll heal up.” Hank sat thinking, and then turned toward Tom with a concerned look on his face. “You don’t think it’s like the movies do you? Now I’
m gonna become one…turn or whatever they call it?”

  “I’ve been thinking on that and I don’t think so. I think we already have it…whatever IT is.” Tom turned toward Hank. “We're already infected or at least most of us are.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Tom sat trying to gather his thoughts, still unsure. “Like you said the other day, it can’t be solely caused by the flu shot. Those are spaced out too much over time for this to happen so quickly. What I wonder is why are all the dead coming back…not just the demented.”

  Hank nodded and waited for Tom to continue, sensing he had more to say.

  “After hours of driving through Portland, we saw hundreds of demented and probably thousands of the risen, as that one guy called them. No bodies anywhere, so either they are dragging them off, everyone is getting bitten by an infected, or the infection has already spread. I should clarify some. I think the infection has been spreading for a while, we just don’t know someone has it until they go crazy, or die and come back.

  Hank shook his head. “I don’t know, sounds plausible, but I think we’re still missin something.” Continuing to scratch at his face, he turned back to his window.

  Looking down at the instrument panel, Tom noticed a small red light next to the fuel gauge. They were on Empty and Tom did not know how long the light had been on. These things were not made for highway cruising, and their fill-up was cut short by the idiots in the trucks.

  Not wanting to panic Hank, he asked, “Have you seen any town signs? How far till we get somewhere?”

  “I think I saw a Hood River sign back a bit, said 14 miles.”

  Tom’s stomach knotted up with this reply. He tried to coast down each hill, hoping to eke out every last drop. The mile markers came few and far between, making every mile feel like an eternity. The more he thought about being out of gas far from town, the more dread sunk in, tightening his chest, and making his heart race.

  Nearly to the top of a small rise it happened. The Unimog sputtered a bit, fired back up, sputtered again, drove a ways, then sputtered to a stop. Tom screamed out and slapped the steering wheel a few times, trying to move them on sheer willpower.

  “Can we switch to the other tank?” Hank asked.

  “I did…back in Portland, when we were working through the back streets. Planned to top them both off, then the moron squad dropped in.”

  Tom keyed the intercom. “We’re outta gas.” Silence hung in the air, like a weight on all of them.

  The silence was broken with a sudden bang at his door. Startled, he whipped his head around to find Rachael’s face pressed up to the glass, staring in at him. He unlocked his door, and she squished in next to him.

  “Sorry, I was getting creeped out back there. Now what?”

  Tom replied, “I’ve been counting mile markers, and we’re no more than three miles out. I’ll walk and bring us back some fuel.”

  “There will be cars on the road, can we siphon some?”

  Hank chimed in, “They’ll have gas. We need diesel.”

  “She does have a thought, I could at least grab one to drive in to town and bring fuel back.”

  “We should stick together.” Rachael said, panic rising in her voice.

  Hank nodded his head in agreement.

  Looking out at the darkness surrounding them, Tom wondered if they should sleep here until morning. The only thing that scared him more than the darkness was the thought of waking up to hordes of undead surrounding their camper, pounding on it and moaning in rage.

  “Let’s grab some gear and roll then.” He replied.

  Worried they would draw attention with flashlights, instead they relied on the light cast by the sliver of a moon in the sky. It was not alot, but once their eyes adjusted, they could follow the road without a problem. Although, following the road was not what worried them.

  The sounds of twigs snapping somewhere back in the woods sounded like gunshots in the still night. At times, Tom thought he heard grunts and crunching noises, but his mind could easily be playing tricks on him.

  In the distance he could just make out the silhouette of a small car, the rear end sticking up out of the ditch, on the edge of the road. Signaling the others, he motioned for them to stay back. In a half crouch, he moved in on the car, rifle up to his shoulder. He did not see anyone inside, and circled around to the driver’s side, keeping his rifle trained on the windows.

  The front of the car had slammed into the hillside, crunching the bumper in, but otherwise it looked okay. Tom shouldered the rifle and pulled out his pistol. Using his left hand he tugged on the door handle, easing it open while keeping his pistol in front of him. Nothing inside.

  Laying his rifle on the passenger seat, he climbed in and set the pistol on the dash. Keys were still in the ignition. He gave them a turn…click. Tried again…click. Checking the controls, he found the lights had been left on. The driver must have been an early morning commuter that flipped, crashed, and apparently walked away, leaving the lights on, but managing to close the door.

  Or I’m the second person to try this, Tom suddenly thought to himself.

  With that, he grabbed his pistol and rifle, and hopped out of the car. Turning a quick circle, he scanned all around, prepared for someone to be rushing him. Only Rachael and Hank could be seen in the distance. He waved them over.

  “Car’s dead…there might be someone ahead of us.” He whispered.

  Rachael’s head snapped down the road. Hank simply nodded.

  “Let’s keep moving, just keep your eyes open.”

  Moving together, with weapons at the ready, they headed down the road. The darkness clung to them, constantly reminding them of the undead and demented that roamed. A breeze was beginning to pick up, stirring the leaves. With the rustling, it was difficult to make out sounds around them.

  “Stay sharp.” Tom whispered.

  More crackling noises could be heard, sounding close. Rachael began to panic, picking up her pace.

  Tom knew he needed to calm her. “Stay tight. Shout it out guys.”

  The breeze suddenly shifted, blowing in the stench of urine and feces. It was coming from directly behind them. There was a sudden scraping noise, metal on pavement.

  Rachael was breathing hard, nearly in a panic.

  Tom remembered the NV illuminator on his rifle. Clicking it on, he peered through it, viewing the world in a strange green light. Scanning back the way they came, he felt a surge of panic. There were at least two dozen things following them. Demented or undead he was not sure. Their eyes glowing a bright green, nearly white, as they shambled forward.

  The nearest one, a huge man, was dragging a metal pole or maybe a fence post along the pavement, bright sparks flying in the air. The night vision made them appear like white hot embers. Tom continued to walk backwards, watching in horror as more joined them from the woods. The sound was drawing them like moths to a flame.

  Spinning around, Tom checked the road in front of them, finding some shamblers working their way onto the road. His heart was pounding in his chest, the blood rushing through his veins. The beating was so loud in his ears, it felt like it was echoing through the night, drawing more of them.

  Continuing to walk, he took a few steadying breaths. “We have to move.” He started an even trot, weapon out. He could hear the soft patter of footsteps as Rachael and Hank followed.

  Immediately in front of the group were a couple undead staggering straight at them. Wishing he did not have to do it, Tom squeezed the trigger. The boom shattered the night, sounding like a bomb going off. It was immediately followed by growls, shrieks, and screams of rage.

  Squeezing the trigger a second time dropped the next immediate threat. With the quiet broken, Tom yelled, “Move!”

  Not needing extra encouragement, the trio made a mad dash down the road. Rushing across the pavement, they could hear snapping branches and loud rustling from deeper within the dark trees. Behind them the volume continued to ramp up. Tom
glanced back to see several dark forms rushing toward them, sparks leaving a glowing trail behind the largest form.

  They were coming fast, too fast for Rachael and Hank. Tom turned and dropped to one knee. The huge man was in a full charge. Placing the dot of his magnifier right on his green-white head, Tom pulled the trigger, black sparkles sprayed out the back of the demented's head as the bullet ripped out the back. Not even waiting for the body to hit the ground, he spun to his next target, quickly squeezing the trigger as it centered on the forehead.

  Trying to control the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tom focused on counting his shots, and maintaining a steady rhythm. Even in the cool of the night, beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. The panic was gnawing at him, the urge to flee, nearly overwhelming. With each shot, a demented would drop to the pavement, only to be replaced by another.

  There was a sudden patter of footsteps to Tom’s left. Before he could get his rifle around, something slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. The weight of the demented pinned his rifle to his chest.

  Between the weight and the stench of feces, Tom could barely breathe, panic swelling inside him. He could imagine the mass of demented sprinting his way, like a swarm of angry hornets. His mind flashed to the two thugs that succumbed to the surrounding hordes, torn to pieces he was sure. I can’t die like this.

  The demented on top of him began trying to claw at his face. Tom used his forearm and the rifle to keep distance and fend off the attacks. He could hear rapidly approaching footsteps. Using his left arm, he reached down for his pistol, pulling it out of the holster. Bringing it around to the demented’s temple, he pulled the trigger, warm blood spilling onto his neck. With a shove, Tom rolled the body off of him.

  Looking to his right, he saw several demented barreling down on him, shrieking with rage when they saw their prey laying helpless. He brought his pistol around, and began firing into the oncoming rush. No longer counting rounds, these were rapid, desperate shots. Several dropped to the pavement, but his pistol ran dry before the onslaught did. He reached for his M4, slick with the demented’s blood, knowing he would never bring it to bear in time.