She shook her head and chuckled, taking a seat and unscrewing one of the bottles of water.
Adam’s brow furrowed as Zion walked over to the far side of the room, digging through a pile of discarded scrap metal in the corner without even asking permission.
Monique sighed. “His gang enforcer mentality seems to have kicked back in,” she explained. “We’re originally from California, and he ran with some pretty dangerous people. He’s done shit you can’t even begin to imagine.” She put up a hand. “Don’t worry, he’s reformed.” She paused and chewed her lip for a moment. “At least… he was before our home was taken from us.”
Adam stroked the silver stubble on his chin and rested his shotgun on his shoulder, strolling over to the far corner where Zion was still digging for a weapon.
“Your sister tells us you were in a gang,” he said.
The other man didn’t look up, tossing aside a bent hubcap. “I was an enforcer,” he said with a grunt as he reached for a chunk of rebar, but frowned when he saw it was too short. He straightened up. “I don’t like guns. Too quick, too deadly. I wanted the people I was punishin’ to remember me. I wanted them to live with their busted up fuckin’ limbs and remember never to cross my boys again.
“That said…” He raised his chin. “I’m lookin’ to make an exception this time. On the livin’ part.”
“I can imagine,” Adam replied with a nod. “I wouldn’t be too happy if anyone hurt my family and took my home from me.” He paused. “What’s your weapon of choice?”
“Aluminum bat,” Zion replied immediately. He swung an invisible one for effect. “I love the fuckin’ ping sound it makes when it cracks against a skull.”
The old man couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Well, I don’t have a bat, but if you give me an hour or so I think I can whip something up for you.”
“Unless you have a secret exit, we ain’t got nothin’ but time,” Zion said with a shrug.
Adam’s eyes sparkled. “As a matter of fact, I do have a secret exit, but you’re going to want to hang out for a bit.”
His new friend nodded in intrigued appreciation, and extended his hand. The old man shook it with an affirmative smile.
Adam selected a four-foot long by eight-inch wide hunk of metal, and brought it over to a welding table outside of the break room. Zion followed him, watching in quiet interest as he set it down, inspecting it. There were holes along the center of it, as if at one point there had been rods that would slip through it like a shelf.
Adam pulled the short side to the edge of his table and used the torch to bore a hole up into the metal. He pulled a thinner round solid rod from a pile of scrap next to the table and worked it into the still-warm hole, until it was buried securely inside. He welded it together, and then plunged it into a bucket of dirty cooling water to set it.
Zion watched as he wandered over to a nearby tool chest and pulled out a roll of duct tape, wrapping it around the handle he’d just fastened to make sure no jagged edges would irritate the wielder’s hand.
“Sorry, the tape might make the handle a little sticky,” Adam said as he held the makeshift club out to his new friend. “But we work with what we’ve got.”
Zion offered a rare smile. “No worries, I plan on baptizing it in blood soon enough.”
“I’d be happy to add some spikes to it when we have more time,” Adam added, and Zion nodded appreciatively. “But for now,” the older man continued as he wiped his hands on an old rag, “we have a basement exit that leads to a neighboring building. Both of these buildings used to be a multi-level factory. We can create a distraction over here to give you a chance to get outside and head north from over there. We know another group north of the river that are friendly and can help you get back home.”
Zion nodded, eyes sincere. “Thank you,” he said, and put a hand on his new friend’s shoulder. “We’ll be in touch.”
CHAPTER TEN
Zion peered out of the double doors of the neighboring building. It looked out into a quiet side street, though there were a few zombies milling about. It appeared that whatever the others had done to distract the horde had worked, and these few were definitely preferable to the sea that had been here before.
He burst out of the door and swung his brand new weapon at the nearest corpse, knocking its head nearly from its body. He grinned as the zombie crumpled to the ground, neck lolling at an impossible angle, and waved for the group to follow him as he swung at corpse after corpse, heading north.
They stayed low when they crested the alley, keeping behind busted cars and trying to stay silent so that the horde didn’t come back towards them. A few times Zion felt as if he had to hold his breath, they passed so close to a few groups. As much as he wanted to leap out, weapon blazing, and take out as many of the fuckers as he could, he knew he had a duty to get his group home so they could save it. And they wouldn’t be able to do that by taking unnecessary risks.
There was a little cafe across from the bridge, and Zion peered inside, seeing no movement. He opened the door and waved for the others to follow him so they could regroup before making their way across.
“It’s bumper to bumper out there,” Monique pursed her lips as she looked out at the bridge, arms crossed. “And there are tons of zombies… and those are just the ones we can see.”
“We could swim,” Brent offered the idea as he sat down on one of the barstools. Calvin snaked behind the counter and dug around for a drink, finding a few unopened cans of cola.
“I think it’s a little cold for that, bud,” he said as he set a can in front of the ex-leader. “Here, have a can of sugar and let’s rethink that strategy.”
Brent scowled as he popped the tab on the can, taking a long sip and enjoying the burn on the back of his throat.
“Can we go under the bridge?” Monique asked. “Is there a walkway?”
Calvin shook his head. “No ma’am, there is not,” he replied, walking out from behind the bar to hand her a can. She thanked him and opened it, resuming staring out at the bridge of writhing hungry monsters.
“We’ll go over the cars,” Zion finally said after chugging his own can of soda. “We’re going to have to be quick, though. It’ll attract a lot of attention with the noise, and we’re gonna have to haul ass that five blocks to where Adam’s friends are.”
“So he says,” Brent muttered.
Zion didn’t bother answering him, because he knew that it was a risk. Those people hadn’t given them any reason to distrust them, but this was the apocalypse, and to trust too easily was to die quickly. They would have to be careful. If there was help there, then great, but if not, then they’d just keep going.
Calvin let out a grunt as he crushed his empty soda can, grinning at Monique’s unimpressed but amused expression at the faux-manly gesture. “We ready to go, then?” he asked. “Let’s ride out this sugar high.”
“We go two-by-two,” Zion instructed. “Brent, you’re with me on the left row of cars, Monique and Calvin, you’re on the right. Stay focused, be fast, but make sure to know your footing.”
The group nodded and Brent put a little weight on his bad foot to test it out. It wasn’t perfect, but the pseudo-nurse had done a good job strengthening it a little. They readied the pipes they’d salvaged from the factory and followed Zion as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Ready,” he hissed. “And go!” He took off at a sprint towards the cars, clambering up onto the trunk of the first sedan. Calvin kept pace with him, and Monique and Brent took up the rear of their respective rows.
The zombies immediately figured out their meals were running overtop of their heads, and started attempting to get there. One managed to flop onto a low hood, and Zion leapt down from the roof, crushing its head with his weapon and kicking the corpse to the side so that none of the others could use it as leverage.
Calvin whacked two corpses back from the trunk of a Cadillac, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Monique was ke
eping up with him. She waved him off, urging him with a hand to hurry up.
“We’re halfway!” Zion called as he thwacked the head off of another zombie, and glanced back just in time to see Brent trip over a flailing arm.
The ex-leader screamed as he hit the back window of a compact SUV, the zombie tearing into his calf as he went down. Zion scrambled back over the vehicle, grabbing Brent by the back of his shirt to haul him up onto the roof.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” Brent babbled as he clutched at his knee, fear evident in his eyes.
Zion clenched his jaw, offering his hand. The ex-leader smacked it away.
“You gotta kill me, man, I don’t wanna become one of those things,” he begged, voice strained. “And I don’t wanna slow you down, either. You gotta save our home.” He reached up and clutched at the bottom of Zion’s shirt, eyes pleading. His comrade nodded and stepped back, tightening his hand around his weapon.
“Promise me you’ll rescue our people,” Brent whispered, as he let his hands fall to his sides, preparing for death.
Zion raised his weapon high above his head with a firmly sincere expression in his eyes. “You can count on it.” And then he cracked Brent’s skull open.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Fuckin’ Brent, man,” Calvin moaned as they hit the asphalt on the other side, still shellshocked from so abruptly losing their ex-leader.
Monique shoved him from behind. “Later, we’ve gotta move!” she cried, the zombies easily staggering out of the traffic jam to follow them.
Zion darted into the residential street at full speed, leading the last two remaining survivors of their rag-tag group of exiles into suburbia. His legs screamed as they pumped, outrunning the horde that, though slower, was large enough that they needed to put as much distance between them as they could.
“This has gotta be it,” he huffed as a makeshift fortress came into view.
It was a set of six houses, all with high privacy fences around the back halves, the middle two reinforced with busted cars and sheet metal. In the middle someone had built up the gate between the two center houses, two guards standing on top of a seemingly well-built guard tower.
“Let us in, please!” Monique shrieked as they reached the front lawn.
Zion stopped to smash a few zombie skulls of stragglers to give them a few extra minutes.
Calvin banged on the wooden gate. “Please, man, come on, Adam sent us up here, open the gate, please!”
One of the guards’ eyes widened at the sight of the thick horde of zombies groaning their way up the street. He lifted a radio to his mouth.
“Permission to open the gates,” he said, and Monique and Calvin turned around, pipes at the ready, to back up Zion in case the corpses got too close.
He whirled around and pointed his weapon at the guard tower. “I’ll burn this whole fucking place to the ground if you don’t open those fucking gates right now!” he bellowed.
Both the guards went white as sheets, and hastily opened the doors. The trio bustled inside and helped pull the gates shut as soon as they were inside to keep the horde from slipping in after them. Several guards rushed up to reinforce the gate with wood, metal, and their own bodies, pushing back against the smacking corpses on the other side.
“What the fuck are you people doing?!” a tall red headed woman stormed over to the trio, eyes blazing.
Zion reared on her, his own expression dark with anger. “You tried to get us fucking killed!” he yelled.
“You led the horde here!” she screamed back, pointing at the doors. “If they get in then all of my people are fucked!”
Monique put a hand on her brother’s chest, pushing him back from the woman who looked ready to wring his neck with her bare hands. “Listen, we appreciate you letting us in, and we want to help you,” she said calmly, hoping to defuse the situation. “We were with Adam and his group on the south side of the bridge and he said you were friendly and could help us.”
The woman grunted, crossing her arms, as if petulantly accepting this information because of affiliation with Adam. “These gates aren’t going to be strong enough to keep a large horde at bay. What the fuck are you going to do to fix this?”
Zion stepped forward. “We can lure them away for you. We need to move on. But we need transportation to do that.”
“And why should I give you anything?” The woman scowled.
“Look lady, we’re in the goddamn apocalypse,” he said, throwing up his hands to emphasize their surroundings. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but humans are in short supply. And we need to work together if we have any hope of surviving the zombies and the end of the world. We had a home, a self-sufficient place with gardens and people living. And a group of power-tripping military assholes came and took over, exiling a bunch of us and are doing god-knows-what to our people. We need to save them.”
The woman’s gaze softened, as she took in the trio’s defeated bodies but determined eyes. “Name’s Wendy,” she said gruffly, and waved for them to follow her. “This way.”
She led them through the fortress, which looked to be about a hundred people strong.
“I’ll also need a rifle,” Calvin piped up, trotting after them.
Wendy pursed her lips. “I don’t know if I can part with that,” she said with a shake of her head. “Ammo is a very limited resource.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, I won’t need much ammo,” he assured her. “I can shoot the squirrel off a tick at a hundred yards.”
She raised an eyebrow as they paused in front of a large bug tent. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”
“Not if you’re hungry.” Calvin shrugged. She sighed and motioned to the tent, which was their makeshift armory.
“I also need my sister to stay here,” Zion spoke up.
Monique gasped. “No! No way! I’m coming with you, Z!”
He shook his head. “I don’t think you’re prepared for what needs to happen when we get back to the complex,” he said gently, taking her shoulders in his hands. “And I’d be able to focus a lot better if I knew you were safe, here.”
Tears welled up in her big eyes as she wound her fists in her shirt. She knew he was right, but she didn’t have to like it. “Fuck you, big brother,” she said weakly, and he pressed his lips affectionately against her forehead.
“She can stay,” Wendy replied gently, crossing her arms. “But nothing comes for free. We all earn our keep here.”
“Monique’s got lots of skills,” Calvin announced as he came out of the tent, rifle in hand. “Don’t worry about that.”
Wendy turned back to Zion. “There’s a park and ride three blocks east of here, with cars that seem to be in working order, but there aren’t any keys,” she said.
He grinned. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said.
Her radio crackled. “The gate’s starting to buckle!” somebody’s voice yelled through, and she motioned to the wall behind her.
“You can go up and over here,” she tugged on a rope hanging there, and the trio approached.
Monique pulled her brother in for a tight hug. “You come back for me, you hear?” she said.
“Don’t worry Monique, I’ll keep your bro alive and kicking,” Calvin said, puffing his chest out.
She laughed wetly and wiped her eyes, punching the wiry stoner in the shoulder. “You’d better not die on me either, you little shit,” she said affectionately, and he winked at her before slinging the rifle over his shoulder and grabbing the rope in his hands.
Zion extended his hand to Wendy. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.
She shook it with a nod. “Just hurry.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Calvin hit the ground behind Zion, rifle in hand, and they crept around the corner to see about a hundred zombies pushing against the front gate of the small community. Zion leapt out, banging his bat-sword against the asphalt to cause a ruckus.
“Hey, cocksuckers!” he bellowed. “You hungry? I
’m packin’ a giant one for ya!”
Calvin kept pace with him as they tore off for the parking area. “We maybe should have waited until we hot wired the car,” he huffed breathlessly.
The lot was fenced in, but the walkway that used to be locked up behind a gate was hanging open instead. Zion shoved the wiry young man ahead of him, and Calvin tore open the driver’s side door of an impressively shiny truck, popping open the console to grab the wires.
Zion stood in the walkway entrance, which was about double his width, smacking his weapon back and forth in an impressive display of zombie dominance. The bodies began to pile up, but the horde just kept coming, climbing over their fallen brethren and forcing him to back inside the lot. More flooded in, spreading out of the bottleneck to surround him in a more threatening way, the stench of rotting flesh overwhelming.
The truck roared to life and he darted around to the passenger’s side, hopping it just as Calvin slammed his own door shut and popped the vehicle into gear. He mowed down the zombies ahead of them, crashing right through the remaining gate as if it were made of paper. Bodies flew everywhere, but what was left of the horde was sufficiently distracted from the small community at least.
Hope swelled inside of the duo as they sped towards their home. If there was anything left of it, that was.
“Do you think everyone is okay?” Calvin asked quietly, jaw tense.
Zion shook his head, more than a little taken aback at the sight of his young friend being serious for once. “Can’t say for sure. But we’ll do what we can. We’ll take out every one of those fuckers, and pick up the pieces after as best we can.”
They drove off of the beaten path just as the sun was setting, cutting the engine in the trees to keep a low profile.
“We’ll rest up here for a bit while we wait for nightfall,” Zion said, jumping down from the truck. Calvin rummaged around in the backseat and found a backpack full of crunchy snacks, cheese puffs and salt and vinegar chips. There was a bottle of water too, which was a godsend.
Dead America The First Week (Book 7): Portland Page 4
