Curtis sprinted around the hog truck, the dead and bloated pigs inside stinking up the roadway. “We gotta get past those tracks!” he said, hopping in the back to help Paul cover the others.
“I know.” Paul waved for them to move faster, glancing at the train about to trap them between the hog truck.
Without incident, the others piled in the backseat and Curtis slammed his door shut. “Go!”
Paul slid in behind the wheel and before Wendy could shut her door he hit the gas, lurching up a steep incline toward the train tracks stretching thirty yards before them. The clacking grew louder. Stephanie screamed. He slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing the yellow locomotive rolling past. “Shit!” Pounding the horn, he backed up, catching a worrisome look from Wendy as the train clicked and clacked in front of them.
They fell silent, watching the engineer reach for them out a broken window. The conductor’s eyes were as wild as his salt and pepper hair blowing in the wind. Bloody scratches ran down one side of his face and he yelled things at them they couldn’t hear.
“No. Fucking. Way,” Wendy whispered.
“What the hell, man?” Billy leaned forward in the backseat. “Those things are driving trains now?”
“He’s not driving it,” Paul replied, watching the engine slowly fade into the west. “He must’ve turned while the train was already in motion. He’s just along for the ride now.” Paul looked over at Wendy. “Just like that cruise ship captain.”
“Damn,” Curtis muttered. “How long you think this thing’s been rollin along on autopilot?”
“As slow as it’s going, probably a while.” Paul tried rubbing the lines from his forehead, feeling like a caged animal. He checked the hog truck in the mirror and blew out a slow and low breath. Returning his attention to the train, his heart jumped when he saw two people leap from an open freight car off to the right. The men hit the ground and rolled, kicking up a plume of dust and staggering to their feet.
Wendy locked her door when they began limping closer. “Okay, this isn’t good.”
Paul drew his Beretta and rolled back the sunroof. “Plug your ears,” he said, squeezing through.
“Paul.”
He ducked back inside and looked at Stephanie. “What?”
She thumbed behind her. “We’ve got company coming.”
His eyes drifted out the back window, widening when he the ragged horde coming around the hog truck on both sides. “Oh shit,” he whispered, guessing they must’ve come from the trees because the cars were empty. Turning back around, he saw the railway bums nearly to the pickup. “Lock your doors and roll up the windows,” he said, standing up through the sunroof and staring down the barrel of the Beretta. Lining up the three white dots, Paul was about to squeeze the trigger when more people jumped from the train. Heart pumping, he watched the freight train spill from the trees like an endless metal snake, blocking their escape route for who knew how much longer. Turning back to the horde, a cold realization settled in as he saw there wasn’t going to be time to grab the duffel bag with the majority of their guns in the truck bed – including the M4.
Curtis must have noticed the same thing because he was already trying to pull the guns through the tiny back window one at a time. But it was too late for that. A heavyset man in a red flannel climbed into the bed, making the truck dip in back and diving for Curtis’ arm. Curtis jerked his limb back inside just as the man’s rotting face plugged the open window. Billy screamed, narrowly avoiding his gnashing teeth. Tar-dark blood spilled over the man’s bottom lip and ran onto Billy’s back. Stephanie fired, blowing the thing out the window and making everyone’s ears ring. Curtis slammed the window shut and Paul slid back inside and closed the sunroof, deciding that conservation was in their best interest at this point. There were too many of them and no sense wasting all their ammunition when the train would soon be gone.
The F-150 began to rock as more corpses climbed into the bed and others beat against the windows and doors. Paul watched the first two train hobos mount the hood and begin pummeling the front windshield with sloppy fists. A tall man in a hunting vest yanked on Paul’s door handle. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled. “How fucking long is this train?”
“They’re going to break the glass!” Billy cried, waving his gun around inside the cab.
“No they’re not! It’s tempered,” Paul shouted over the moans and screams. The dead woman in pajamas at Brock’s house flickered through his mind. She’d smashed her fist through Shelly1’s window after only a few attempts and this probably wouldn’t be much different but he didn’t want to tell Billy that because the train would be gone soon anyway. So what was the point?
Everyone stared past the raking claws off to the east, impatiently watching the lazy train unfold from a bend in the trees.
“Sonofabitch.” Billy cried. “This is the slowest train ever!”
The front window cracked under a heavy blow from the hobo with a frizzy beard and tattered sports coat. Paul revved the engine just to reassure himself it hadn’t died along with everything else in this fucked up world. The beefy V8 roared over the collective moans and grunts coming from the decomposing faces pressing against the glass on all sides. In a few more seconds, he could punch it and send the corpses toppling as the pickup sped off to safety.
“Paul!” Wendy shrieked, leaning against him.
He turned to see a mountain of a man barreling toward her door at an alarming rate of speed. The man came hard, tucking his dark beard into his chest and head butting her window with a thunderous crash. Glass exploded into the cab and Wendy screamed. The man latched onto her hair and pulled her to his teeth. Paul took aim but couldn’t get a clear shot, not with the truck shaking like an earthquake. She pushed against the door to keep from getting sucked out the window and just when Paul thought she would be lost like Sophia, everything slowed down in his mind. Everything got quiet. His heart relaxed and he had time to see the tattoo of a four-leaf clover on the man’s neck. Had time to hear his angry rumbles and snorts stretching like a record playing on slow. Had time to line up a clear shot and sink a hollow point into his Cro-Mag forehead and knock the mountain to his back.
Free of the man’s grasp, Wendy dove into Paul’s lap to escape the other mangled hands now reaching through her shattered window. The truck rocked back and forth while Paul unloaded his magazine in a controlled manner that would’ve made Brock proud.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
One by one, decomposing bastards flew back outside the truck and hit the ground. And one by one, more replaced them. A young blond woman – probably very pretty before the outbreak - took one to the face. A senior with stringy hair hanging down one side of his head…boom…gone.
A frat guy in a Sooners tee.
Pop!
Down.
A black girl missing her nose.
Bang!
Dead again.
A Boy Scout.
Click.
The gun ran dry.
“Come on!” Paul cursed the lethargic train unraveling from the goddamn fucking tree line. He tried getting to the extra magazine in his holster while stiffs came through the window. “Curtis! I’m out!”
Curtis leaned on the center console and started blasting, each gunshot a hammer to their ears in such close quarters. But their hearing was the least of their problems and it was only a matter of time before another window broke out and if this stupid fucking train didn’t get the hell out of the way they’d be dead in less than sixty seconds.
Paul’s fingers hit metal. He slapped the mag in just as the back window exploded. Putting their backs against the front seats, Stephanie and Billy peppered the dead reaching through the small window while Curtis and Paul popped the ones coming through Wendy’s. Shell casings fell like copper rain. The moans and screams grew louder, more desperate. The pickup shook. Wendy raised her head to help out and Paul shoved her back into his lap like some horny teenager at the drive-in. At th
is point, she would only block his shots.
The locomotive blew its horn off in the distance and Paul had time to think about what that meant. Had time to envision the undead conductor pulling on that whistle chain as mad laughter rolled from his split lips. Sinking a slug into a man wearing a Carhatt, Paul felt the hot sting of a shell casing slide down the inside of his coat. The caboose finally slithered from the trees, injecting a shot of much needed hope into his racing bloodstream. The driver’s side window blew out and someone wrapped their slimy fingers around his face and pulled. His gun went off, blowing out the sunroof and raining down jewel-like pieces of glass upon them. Paul could taste the rot on the fingers fish-hooking into his mouth, could feel the teeth biting into his neck before they even broke the skin. Could see Sophia’s hand reaching from the vapor and he was ready to take it. Just before he shut his eyes, he watched Wendy rise from his lap in slow motion and point her gun at his face. Saw the muzzle flash and felt the heat of the bullet whizzing past his ear. The clammy hands went limp and fell away from his face. He spun around in the leather seat and spent his magazine on the things coming through the window, praying to a God he wasn’t sure existed anymore that his rounds would last longer than it took for that red fucking caboose to cross the sonofabitching road.
Decomposing corpses swarmed Paul’s window like bees to an open can of Orange Crush, lining up to be sent back to Hell where they came from. The hail of gunfire inside the cab made his head spin, threatening his aim and reflex. Wendy’s muzzle blast lingered in the corners of his eyes. Blood and brains flew into his face. The PX4 clicked dry and he stomped on the gas pedal, sending the things in the truck bed tumbling out the back. Wendy braced for impact. The caboose wasn’t all the way across the road yet and it was going to be close but it was now or never.
Fuck it.
Paul cranked the wheel to the right and the truck bounced with the massive tires steamrolling the bodies in the road. The garish sound of twisting metal filled the cab as the left side of the pickup grazed the caboose steps, shearing off the undead and the truck’s outside mirror. Then they were free. Sort of. Paul jetted into the open road stretching before them with angry corpses clinging to the hood. Wendy shot the Boy Scout hanging onto her door, sending him cart wheeling across the pavement and losing a leg in the tumble.
“Hang on!” He mashed the brake pedal to the floor, launching the stragglers on the hood into space. When they landed with a roll he stepped on the gas and ran over their heads, the sickening sound of crunching bone making him wince.
Then they were free.
Really free.
The wind whistled through their hair.
Nobody said a word.
Sunlight glistened off the cracks in the windshield and the abrupt silence was as deafening as the gunfire that got them here.
Two miles later, Paul stopped in the middle of the road and got out, pulling his shirt up and letting the shell casing inside clink to the pavement. Pacing back and forth across the road, he shook off the near death experience with his ears ringing and heart hammering against his ribcage. The others climbed out and brushed chunks of flesh and glass from their hair and clothing. They looked like they just finished a late October shift at the most gruesome haunted house on the planet.
“Goddamn!” Billy rested his hands on his knees behind the truck and caught his breath. “That was the most fucked up shit I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, just wait,” Curtis said, using his shirt to mop blood from his face. “It gets better.”
“Man, I am telling you, black people do not do zombies.”
Curtis spit to the ground. “They do now, Montel.”
Wendy hurried around the front of the truck where Paul was simply trying to breathe with his fingers locked behind his head. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “You?”
She stared at him for a moment before rushing into his arms and bursting into tears. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
He wrapped her in his arms, too exhausted to do much else.
Tears mixed with the blood splatter on her cheeks. “That was too close.”
“But we made it. Again.”
She pulled back with a frown, a light breeze tickling her matted locks. “I love you,” she whispered.
A shell-shocked expression blanketed his face while Sophia’s words drifted through his head like ghosts.
Let me go.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered back.
“It’s true.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know you more than you think.”
He sighed. “Wendy, we’re just stuck in this thing together and…”
“Don’t tell me how I feel, Paul!”
Creasing his brow, he noticed the rest of the group watching from behind the truck. “I don’t want to go back home anymore.”
She wrinkled her brow. “What’re you talking about?”
“I almost got all of us killed just going to Sophia’s grave and Des Moines will be a lot worse. And for what? Some photo albums?” Looking behind the truck, he imagined the horde catching up to them through the wavy vapors blurring the road. “We need to stick to the countryside and search small towns for supplies until we can figure out our next step.”
“Paul, I know how much those photo albums mean to you. You’ll only change your mind later and want to go back to get them so let’s just go now. We’re almost there.”
There is nothing but trouble waiting for you there.
Sophia again.
Figment of his PTSD or not, his late wife was right. It was suicide and he had no right leading these people straight into the hands of death. He should be leading them to safety, to victory. He missed Sophia more than anything in the world and couldn’t see her face and it was suffocating as all hell but right now, the blood and guts dripping from the others in gooey globs made the whole thing seem foolish. Selfish. Dangerous.
“No, we can’t risk it.”
Wendy yanked on his hands, drawing his eyes back to her. “We didn’t come this far to stop now. Something is leading us back to your house that will tell us what to do next. It’s not just about the photo albums.”
“Something like what?”
“I don’t know, Paul. The same something that got us to Wavy Gravy. The same something that led us to these people.” She pointed down the road. “The same something that got us past that train.”
Paul laughed. “Oh, you mean the same something that got Sophia and Dan killed. Or the same something that almost got you raped by two maniacs? Gotcha.”
Wendy pinched her eyes against the glare. “Who were you talking to on Wavy Gravy the morning we almost died?” Her eyebrows went up. “Huh? Who was it Paul?”
He puckered his brow. “I…I don’t remember.”
“And how did that bedroom door slam shut right before I was about to get raped? Explain that one to me.”
“The wind.”
“The windows were all closed and you know it because we checked.” She sighed and dropped her gaze to her bloody sneakers. A crow squawked off in the distance, rising above their ragged breathing and overworked hearts. Wendy looked up and set a hand on his heaving chest. “Whatever is inside of you, don’t fight it. Just let it come.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “It will see us through.”
He swallowed dryly, the taste of dead fingers haunting his mouth. If she only knew the dream he’d had this morning she’d rethink everything she just said. “First we need to find another ride,” he said, examining the battered truck. “Then we’ll figure out our next move.”
He tried walking away but Wendy pulled him back to her. “We already know our next move,” she said, planting a soft kiss on his lips. Pushing away, Paul turned for the truck, catching a lingering look from Stephanie that filled him with shame.
Chapter Seventeen
The dealership looked just like it did when the manager shut out the lights and went home for t
he night nearly one month ago today. The water cooler still worked and, other than the glass they just broke out in the front door, nothing was out of place. Sunlight streamed through the large front windows, giving the place a cheerful Saturday morning cartoons and cereal feel that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Paul stepped around a white Chevy Volt on the showroom floor and filled a paper cup with some more water, blurring the rising bubbles into jellyfish-like blobs. Adrenaline receding, exhaustion began to settle in like an old cat. He put the cup to his lips and glanced at the others seated around a large circular table where deals were hashed out in the past. They were a motley looking crew and he had to get them someplace safe to reset for a few days. It couldn’t be kill, kill, kill all the time. There had to be some R&R in there somewhere along the line, some levity, some fun. But right now he just felt like sleeping on one of the couches in the offices in back and fuck everything else. Unfortunately, what waited for him in sleep was almost as bad as reality. The water was warm against his tongue and helped rinse the taste of death from his mouth but not his mind. How many more close calls could they possibly survive without…
“Are you okay?”
He turned to see Stephanie standing next to him. “Yeah, you?”
She straightened her bloody jacket. “There’s glass in my ears but other than that…” She flashed a halfhearted smile and he appreciated the attempt.
Picking a piece of flesh from her hair, he flicked it onto the window of a red Camaro. “Hope you weren’t saving that for later.”
“There’s more where that came from.”
He smiled and she smiled back.
“Soooo…is everything okay?”
He followed her tight gaze to Wendy. “What do you mean?”
“She seems…upset.”
His face flushed in the sunlight. Stephanie knew Sophia just died and he also knew what she must be thinking and it embarrassed the hell out of him. “It’s not what you think,” he said, refilling the cup. “She’s just scared and looking for something to hang onto but she’s grabbing onto the wrong life raft.”
Dead Series (Book 2): A Little More Dead: Gunfire & Sunshine Page 16
