by David Smith
"I saw you!" He yelled. "Come out of there or I'll blow you out." He said and I heard him pull the hammer back on his giant pistol. I didn't know why he didn't just start shooting, club loyalty maybe, not wanting to risk shooting one of his own.
I felt around in the bathroom till I found the sink, hoping to find anything to use as a weapon. My hands came across a thick, lead pipe but I couldn't pull it free. I heard glass beneath my feet and reached down to find a large piece of the broken mirror.
"Show yourself!" He yelled.
As the echo of his voice faded out I heard a body move on the other side of the door then two quick shots of an M-4, a young woman's scream and the bolt of the rifle slamming back empty.
"Well, hello gorgeous!" said an all too familiar voice on the other side of the bathroom door.
Before he could speak another word I yanked open the door, crossed the hallway and drive the long, thin shard of glass through his neck with everything I had. It drove straight and true clean out the other side, severing both arteries and his windpipe, a piece breaking off and slicing my hand. It was the one who had held me over the catwalk that night. He slowly crumbled to the floor as blood sprayed out both sides of his neck around the protruding glass with the last few beats of his black heart.
The Boss was still standing, although shot in the stomach, leaning on his desk with his hand, still clutching the big revolver, and pressing the other tightly over his wound, blood oozing out from under it. Kara was standing in the corner of the room with her arms folded, shaking with fear, tears in her big blue eyes but not falling.
"I won't be upset if you kill him." She said.
He picked the revolver up and pointed it at me. I knew there was no way I could get to him before he pulled the trigger, even if I had been well. I heard the whine of the turbo of the fuel truck as it ran through the gears and left the yard accompanied by the sound of a last few gun shots.
"No, not yet." I said. "We still need him."
"And what makes you think I need you." He said as he shook the long barrel of his pistol at me. "You bleed all over my floor. You try to trick me when you know that 'Captain' don't give a shit about you. Your people come here and make a mess of my place stealing my fuel. Then, you turn my own daughter against me."
"Cut the bullshit, Chopper." I said as I eased myself down with a stifled groan into the chair across from him. "You know you did that yourself. You don't care about her. She's just something for you to control people with. And I know you heard that truck leaving. That means one thing. More than half of your men are dead. You got no army, you got no fuel but I know where you can get both."
He put the gun back down on the desk next to an emergency electric lantern as it started to die, picked it up and tossed it to Kara. "Wind that back up for me, baby girl." He then sat down behind his desk and pulled out a drawer to retrieve a first aid kit. "Tell me what you got."
"You gonna live long enough to hear it?" I asked him as he rolled a few squares of gause up into two thick wads.
"I'll be fine." He said as he stuffed a bit of the gause into the bullet hole to hold it in place, gritting his teeth, then pushed another into an exit wound in back and began wrapping A long bandage around his big, round belly. "Shot me clean through off to the side, nothing but fat. Hurts and bleeds like hell though."
Kara walked over to him and helped him tie off the end of his bandage, pulling it extra tight to give him a shock. He grunted and cringed and cut his eyes up at her with a look so full of hateful disregard that it assured me I wouldn't be lulled into a false sense of trust or start to like him just because we were cooperating to reach a mutually beneficial end. The way he treated his own flesh and blood would be enough to remind of the monster he was and that eventually, I would indeed have to kill him.
"Well, I'm listening." He said, getting my mind back on track.
"There's a farm north of here, about a day's drive round trip. There are about nine men up there..."
"Nine men?" He interrupted. "That's all you got?"
"Nine men who have more reason to hate Jennings than you, me or anybody. You could give them a good hot meal and a handful of rocks and they'd nearly take the place all on their own."
He raised a doubting eyebrow.
"Besides, unless Mac is laying dead out there, he's the one who has the fuel truck. You're going to need it to breach the fence and the farm is where he's going." I felt guilty, like I was betraying Mac because I knew he had other plans for the truck but with so many lives at stake, good lives of people I cared about, I felt it was justified.
Kara found another drawer full of medical supplies and shot her father a disapproving glance before walking over and sitting down next to me with an elastic bandage and a bottle of mercurochrome. "Raise your arms." She said as she pulled the end if the bandage loose. I took a deep breath and raised my arms up slowly and with great effort.
"So," he said as she started wrapping my ribs, me holding my breath. When her hands touched my bare skin I got a feeling I never had before; a flutter building from the pit of my stomach and growing up into the middle of my chest like birds were going to fly out of my mouth. I tried not to react. "your plan is to get the truck and these few commandoes or whatever they are, crash the gate like they did here and then what?"
"They don't have hardly any trained fighters left, just a bunch of farmers, a few hunters, women and children."
Kara's boyfriend walked into the room like he had not a care in the world until he saw her wrapping my ribs. "What the Hell is this?" He asked as he stood like a skinny caveman, his long, thin arms bowed out like a sickly rooster ruffling its neck feathers.
"Sit down, Spider." Choppa said calmly and he sat on the other side of Kara, grumbling under his breath as he put his arm around her and scooted closer. "Go on." he said to me.
"They came here to get that truck and if they failed like I think they did, they're demoralized now. If we go in there peacefully, show them that we don't want anymore bloodshed and demand they turn Jennings over to us. I believe they will and then the place is all yours."
He shook his head. "Spider, how many dead we got out there?"
"Ain't got a count yet Chop but there's about thirty of us left."
"What about them?"
"There's about ten or fifteen of them dead."
"What about that redheaded fella? He out there?"
"I couldn't find him, Boss."
He turned his attention back to me. "He's already convinced them same farmers to attack us just to get that truck. Now you think he's not gonna be able to convince them to fight when we're trying to take their home from 'em?"
"But they failed," I argued. "and they lost people. They're not used to losing people. Plus, there are some there who've seen that he's corrupt and they aren't loyal to him. If we go in there and show them you've got their best interest in mind, they'll turn in your favor. Wouldn't make sense for them not to."
He thought for a long moment, staring at me like a wax statue. "Alright. We'll try it your way."
"Boss!" Spider interrupted. "You're not going to run it by..."
"Shut up, Spider." Choppa retorted. "Have I ever run anything by?" He then turned his attention back to me again. "But...if things don't go our way, every step of the way, I'm gonna take this here pistol and blow your head in half."
I gulped hard and nodded.
"Let's go assess the damages." He said as he stood from his chair. It occurred to me at that moment that every time he used a word or phrase above a third grade level, he drew it out and spoke much more deliberately and clearly like he was impressed with his own grasp of the English language. Perhaps this was part of his limited charisma and what gave him the ability to lead people who had such minimal intelligence.
The sky was just starting to turn a lighter shade of black, the silhouette of the treetops starting to materialize, as we walked out into the yard. There were bodies strewn from the door to where the fuel truck had been parked
, pools of bright red blood starting to coagulate on the concrete around each one and long smears of it in various places where they had tried to drag themselves or been dragged halfway to safety before bleeding out. Fresh brain and bone and guts were spread where they had been shot or beaten or cut out. It was the first time I had seen so much carnage of live bodies and it almost turned my stomach in a way that the soulless, dried up remains of the long dead could not when splattered or dragged or smashed.
They had done a good job of taking their wounded with them as there was not one left behind that was alive. The thirty that were alive were rummaging through the field of mutilation for what valuables they could find, some with tears in their eyes and all with anger and revenge in their tribulation-hardened faces. No one spoke a word.
I walked through, stepping around the bodies and looking into their dead faces, looking for and fearing that I would see Beth or Nicholas or anyone else I knew. I did find the other two rooftop guards from the altercation nights before but no one I didn't want to see dead. I must have searched them all three times before I looked across the yard to see Kara, her hand over her mouth and her eyes closed just before she ran over behind the stack of pallets by the door to empty her stomach in privacy. Choppa was walking through with a blank expression on his naturally sour face, his lips moving involuntarily as he counted the bodies in his head.
We walked to the back fence as the sun broke through the trees and saw a few of the dead still pulling at the chain-link, standing on top of others who had been laid to rest, a tangled pile of rotting meat and bones. Some of the dead still hung by the fence, their bony fingers still clutching onto it. There were a few more just now walking out of the woods and crossing the road and I realized I needed to check the place they had been attacking from.
It seemed to take forever to walk all the way back to the front gate, out of it, around the side of the compound through neck-high grass following the side fence and then along the back fence to where the few remaining infected dead had gathered. It wasn't until I got there that I noticed that every able-bodied man had followed me. They made quick work of killing the dead, outnumbering them 3 to 1, and we continued across the road and into the dense woods by way of a trail blazed by the herd of dead.
Only about fifty yards in we found a spot where the undergrowth was beaten down and five bodies lay here and there, half buried in its thickness. Four of them were half-dressed in sun-faded, tattered clothes but the fifth and furthest one was wearing a less weathered outfit and a tactical vest. I made my way quickly through the bushes, stomping them down as I passed the first four bodies, keeping a close eye on each of them. I grabbed the fifth one by the vest and rolled it over then looked at its face, dead eyes staring blankly past me.
It was Perez. He had one bullet would in his upper chest, the blood soaking through his shirt, still damp and sticky. His lips were pale, indicating he had died from asphyxiation due to a collapsed lung and judging from the placement of the wound. I was disappointed that he had been involved in this diversionary tactic that included not rescuing us, but I knew I shouldn't have been. He was, after all, a follow every order to the letter kind of guy even if he didn't approve.
That was the only sign of anyone except for scratches on the trees where they had climbed up and down and an almost unrecognizable trail leading deeper into the woods. They must have had climbed trees to get a view of the compound then fled once the diversion was accomplished, complete with a herd of dead they knew would gather around them then go to the sounds of the returning gunfire once they had stopped shooting.
Suddenly, we all heard the sound of a big diesel engine idling its way down the road that passed by front of the compound. Everyone took off running, leaving me behind as I tried to keep up, every step sending jarring pains through my chest and back.
When I made it half the distance to the front of the compound I had to stop and hang onto the fence to keep from falling. How the human body reacts to broken ribs is fascinating. It's like your brain subconsciously flips a switch that stops you mid-inhale when you try to fill your lungs, to keep you from causing more severe damage. But when you exert yourself even the slightest, it also flips another switch that tells you your body needs more oxygen to function by making your lungs feel like they're being crushed.
I held onto the fence, bent halfway over and inhaled till the switch was flipped then held it for a moment and braced myself for the pain. Then I slowly pushed out my stomach, filling my lungs from the bottom up, then lifted my chest till they were full all the way up to my throat. It hurt like the broken ends of my ribs were going to tear from the cartilage that held them loosely in place. Then another switch flipped that wouldn't let me exhale and I had to manually override that one as well, exhaling very slowly. I heard the engine of the truck clatter to a stop at the front gate and the air release from the brakes like a cymbal crash. I took one more long, slow, agonizing breath before looking up, through the fence and across the yard toward the front of the compound.
The truck was a more intimidating and fear-inspiring sight then a horde of a thousand undead and I dropped slowly to my knees to disappear into the high grass that impregnated the fence line. The first thing I noticed was the V-shaped dozer blade that was slightly wider and as high as the entire front of the truck which appeared to be an old Freightliner. It was longer than any truck I had seen in all the wreckage of the past, an extended frame with a sleeper as long as a fifth wheel camper trailer -and protected on the sides by rust colored steel plates. The front and side windows were also covered with two rows of narrow slots cut out of the plates to be able to see to drive. Two machine guns were mounted on top of the sleeper cab, one on the left and one in the right, with steel guards in front wide enough to protect the gunners from incoming rounds. It pulled a trailer, the bottom three or four feet of the entire length of it protected by more steel plates. There were slots cut into these as well, just large enough to stick weapons out at head level from the ground. Even the tires were protected at the sides by round steel plates made to be held on by the lug nuts.
It sat silently as the bikers surrounded it, weapons aimed. Looking down the side of his big revolver, held at arms length, Choppa walked slowly toward it, centering himself up with the steel blade like a bull ready to defend his herd. He stopped less than twenty feet short and studied it carefully like a calf looking at a new gate. After a long, tense silence, a hatch opened behind the machine gun on the left side with a metallic creak and latched into place, standing straight up, with a dull clank.
"Don't shoot!" A deep voice from inside called out with a black, Mississippi delta accent. "We here to help."
"To help yourself to what you please, I imagine." Choppa called back.
"We wanted to do that we could have already." He paused for a moment. "I'm gone climb up, you shoot first and we'll shoot last, I promise you."
Choppa put his pistol down by his side. "Alright, come on out."
The man climbed up slowly, putting just his head out, down to the eyes. His salt and pepper hair was standing out in a five inch Afro, parted down the left side like it had been split with a dull ax and his forehead was the color of charcoal.
"We don't need no help from no nigga." The Boss said and I cringed and waited to see then all gunned down.
"Well, it's good to know times haven't changed some people but since they've changed me, I'm gone pretend I didn't hear that." He replied and Choppa just stared, having no comeback of his own. "We passed a truck goin' the other way a few miles up the road being chased by some rough looking folks. You know anything about that?"
"I might. What's it worth to you?"
"Well see, ol' G.W. here, she mighty thirsty. If that tanker is full of diesel, it could be worth a lot."
"Yeah, everybody's thirsty and it's worth more than anything you got."
There was a long pause as the man talked with someone inside the truck then looked up again. "From the looks of things, you've got pl
enty of food but might be low on ammunition. We got lots of that."
"Why not just take it then? Isn't that what you people do?"
"We don't just take nothin' from nobody that's got a claim to it. Besides, we don't know where it's goin' and couldn't find a place to turn around quick enough."
"Well, I got a claim to that and we can find our own ammo."
"You might have a claim but you ain't got it now, do you?" He said and the boss clinched his fat fists. "If you know where it's goin', we'll help you get it back for half of what's in it."
I had seen Kara still hiding behind the stack of pallets and started making my way back around to the front. When she saw me, she must've felt it was safe and came out, herself.
"And I keep the truck?" Choppa knew he could get more fuel if he had something in which to haul it.
"Sure. I already got a truck."
"There's one other thing I might need your help with. Come on in and we'll discuss it over breakfast." He said with his self-impressed tone.
Thirty minutes later we were all inside except for four men guarding the busted front gate, eating a breakfast of alligator jerky and filtered water. They all sat at picnic tables in a break room full of empty vending machines covered in dust. Kara and I sat alone outside in a fenced area under a rusted, faded metal sign that read, 'SMOKING AREA'.
"Do you think your Dad will keep his end of the deal?" I asked her.
"With you or with the people in the truck?"
"Either but mostly, with me?"
"Nope." She said without hesitation.
Chapter 19: Kara’s Story
He's been a narcissistic asshole his whole life and that's not going to change now. He thinks everyone owes him something and he doesn't owe anyone anything. When he acts offended about you bleeding on 'his floor', he's not just being ironic. He's literally offended like, he thinks you did it on purpose to insult him or something. He's crazy.
