“Wait!” I call out to him.
He stops and faces me with a big shit-eating grin.
“Excellent decision,” he says, while closing the gap between us.
I separate myself from the Humvee and walk toward the pervert.
In junior high school I saved up enough money to buy a nice stereo. I’ll never forget the weeks spent researching features and models. Three hundred dollars was a lot of money at the time and I wanted to be confident in my decision. Back then we didn’t call them data points, but that’s what I was gathering.
I’m getting ready to take a human life and I have almost no data points. This could be just a creepy vibe with an awkward initiation. He may be sincere in saying that once we’re inside, everything will be okay.
Regardless of the data or the possibility of goodness, my gut says we need to kill him. That’s probably the only survival skill that matters: trusting your gut when there is a life on the line.
“When you finish, we all go inside, right?” I ask, checking to be sure.
“Of course. Will you be doing the honors?” He raises a single eyebrow in the creepiest way possible.
“You didn’t say who it had to be, just that it had to be done,” I answer coolly.
“Well, it won’t be my first time; will it be yours?” the older man asks confidently.
“Yes.” I’m not interested in a conversation.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” the slimy bastard says. “Just relax your throat. I’m a little longer than most and I don’t want you puking on my shoes.” Senator Williams grins sadistically.
Slowly I drop to my knees. My eyes stare down at his polished wingtips and the idea of getting them dirty makes me smile a little.
My left hand reaches up and grabs his belt while my right pulls down on his zipper. The fly opens wide and I reach in with my fingers. I feel the soft cotton of his boxers and probe for the opening.
Behind the folds of fabric, his dick is easy to find. It’s already semi-hard. I’m shaking a little bit and it’s difficult to pull his member out through the hole.
“Easy, killer,” he says smugly. His velvet tongue cannot hide his anticipation.
Kneeling has my mouth level with his naval. Slouching back so that my ass rests on my heels positions my mouth at just the right level. My mouth is suddenly very dry and I lick my lips to try and get some moisture to spread around.
When my right hand is wrapped tightly around his cock, I lower my left to the ground and let it trail back along my leg. I straighten him out with my hand and move my mouth closer and closer to the tip of his penis.
From the corner of my eye I can see one of the machine guns drop slightly. The bodyguards are no longer watching my friends: they are waiting to see me violated.
The knife stuck in my wine box armor comes out cleanly. Using all the strength I have, I thrust my left hand upwards until the silver blade is buried in the area between the senator’s legs.
His screams are drowned out by the sound of two gunshots, and the bodyguards crumble to the ground. A few beats later the machine gun on top of the Humvee rumbles to life. Cupcake and Parker are no longer beside me, but I can’t get up off my knees.
A bullet whizzes past my ear and the Humvee starts with a whine. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I remember what I was supposed to do next?
On the ground in front of me, the senator is writhing in pain with my knife buried to its hilt between his legs. Another bullet hits the pavement in front of me and a bit of gravel flies up and scratches my cheek.
“Patrick, come on!” McLean screams at me from behind the driver’s door of the Humvee.
If we were trying to save these women, why are we running away?
I can’t move.
For the second day in a row I find myself in the middle of a gun battle. Yesterday I ran; today I am immobilized with fear. It is amazing how different my reaction is to similar situations. Even this contemplation is heavy for me, so what changed?
The blood trickling down my face is the only thing that makes me move. Was I shot? No, a mental check of my body reveals no significant injury. I get to my feet and run, stooped over, to the rear door of the Humvee.
When I climb inside, McLean is already seated behind the wheel and the engine is running. I can hear the occasional pop and ting of bullets hitting the truck. Mostly what I hear are the explosions from the heavy machine gun above me… and Terri screaming.
“That was a senator! You just fucking killed a senator of the United States! OH MY GOD what the hell were you thinking?!” The words stream from her mouth as a single string of syllables.
I don’t know what I was thinking. It was a bad scene and we had to do something. We’re trying to save the people he has imprisoned in the building. I think that’s what we are trying to do, but Terri wasn’t there for the conversation.
“He’s a monster and a rapist!” I scream at her, defending my actions with my assumptions.
The explosions above me stop and there is a brief moment of silence. Suddenly, hell breaks loose.
A steady hail of bullets rains down on our Humvee. Surprisingly nothing penetrates the windows or roof. I have to remind myself that this is a military vehicle prepared for war, not a civilian imitation designed for comfort.
We are being shot at by far more than the three people I saw around the building.
“FUCK!” comes down from the machine gun turret, followed by a steady stream of explosions. The tings and pops slow down but do not stop completely.
“This is why I don’t go outside!” Terri is crying, rocking herself from side to side.
“What are we supposed to do?” McLean asks loudly, but she is barely audible above the heavy machine gun fire.
“Get us the fuck out of here! Go! Go! Go!” I holler back at her.
“Terri, you need to tell me where to turn! Terri, I need you!” McLean screams at the top of her lungs.
Terri is lost in her flask. This can’t be the original; I wonder how many she brought? The bottom is pointing to the sky and her eyes are pressed tight. Her mouth is wide open and I can see a steady stream of amber liquid flowing into her mouth.
“Backward through the gate! We have to get out of this compound!” I scream, so loud it scratches my throat.
Human-on-human violence and chaos in the middle of a zombie hell; maybe we don’t deserve to live.
McLean
Chapter 6
It always happens this way. The thing I was waiting for happens right after I’ve given up on it.
A woman is running from the building and she is holding up a small child, but we are already rolling in reverse.
Amidst the gun fire and the screaming I can focus only on her face. Her lips are clear and the words she’s saying are easy to see.
“Please take my baby!” The woman screams.
Her chest explodes and the baby falls and tumbles along the pavement. Neither the woman nor the little ragdoll object make any movement.
The truck comes to an abrupt stop and my head slams back against the seat. Apparently reversing at full speed without looking or trying to steer results in an accident. I’m sure the guys will make all kinds of woman driver jokes.
“You have to put her out of your mind,” Patrick says, speaking into my ear. He’s so close I can feel his warm breath.
I shove the gearshift into drive and pull forward. It’s hard to put her out of my mind when I can’t stop staring at her body.
“Wrong way!” Todd screams from the turret.
The brakes are applied and the gear is shifted back to reverse, and still I can’t look away from the body of the woman in the parking lot. She is my age but I can’t even imagine how she ended up with a baby in this building, with these people.
While I stare, I can see her head lift off the pavement. I can’t see her eyes from this distance, but something tells me they are cloudy and white. Her hand moves next and she is clawing her way forward, toward the body of her
baby.
My brain has enough control to know that I don’t want to see what I expect is about to happen. Averting my eyes to the side mirror, I stomp on the gas pedal.
The delay between my action and the car’s reaction worries me. Did I break it when I crashed into the security hut? When the power finally arrives at the rear wheels, we rocket backwards. I have to steer frantically to direct the large vehicle through the gap between the fence and the guardhouse that is mangled but still obstructing my path.
The driver’s side caroms off the tiny brick building and I notice that Todd is no longer firing the machine gun. He’s probably holding on for dear life.
There is a line of cars behind me on my left. A quick glance to my right reveals open road, the way we came in. I guess some choices will be made for me.
“Terri, I need you!” I scream at her again while throwing the car back in drive.
“Terri! … Terri!” Patrick screams.
I’m afraid that I might push the gas pedal through the floor. The Humvee does not accelerate quickly but soon it is traveling at a good clip and I realize I have to control the momentum.
“Do I go back the way we came?” I ask no one and everyone at the same time.
The guys in the back are helpless. With the exception of Todd they cannot even shoot at our enemies. I can’t even hear Parker, Tucker or Cupcake. Patrick and I are responsible for all of them.
Pops and tings are less frequent but they are definitely still shooting at us.
“No, that takes us back around the building. They set this up on purpose; they want us to try and go that way,” Patrick says, finally answering my question.
“Then what?” I ask.
Patrick leans forward between the two front seats. His mouth hangs wide open while he sucks in breath. I can’t see his eyes but I let myself believe they are searching for an answer, a way out.
“There.” He points to a car on the side of the street.
The car he’s identified is older and green. There is space in front of it and behind it but not enough for the Humvee to fit through. It looks kind of sporty to me but I can’t even imagine what he wants me to do with it.
“Go through it?” I am confused.
“No, you can’t smash through things. Pull up to the front. We’re going to make room to get through,” he explains.
“What!?” He can’t seriously be planning to get out of the Humvee.
Patrick is no longer between the seats. I don’t know how he’ll be able to move a car without using our truck.
“Todd! We need a little covering fire. Parker, we’re going out your door. We need to get in the green car, put it in neutral and roll it backwards. Are you ready?” Patrick is speaking loudly enough to make sure the guys hear him.
Before the Humvee is at a full stop, the machine gun roars back to life and the rear passenger door is thrown open.
Out on the street Parker runs to the front of the green car and Patrick hurries to the driver’s window. The tire iron that Cupcake used to smash zombies now destroys the glass. With the window gone, Patrick is able to open the door and climb inside.
Parker starts straining against the front fender before Patrick is back on the street. The two of them start the car rolling and the space between cars grows wider by the second.
“Terri. We all need you. You can climb into a bottle later when we are somewhere safe, but right now you need to give me directions out of here,” I say. I try to speak calmly, but it’s not really close.
“I can’t! I don’t do outside,” she screams in a shrill voice.
“I don’t know what the fuck that means but you have to help us right now. We need your map and you need to tell me what’s on it.” My attempt at calm has turned into stern insistence.
“I haven’t left my apartment in over three years! Open spaces, outside, terrifies me. I thought I could do it, but I can’t I just want to go back to my apartment!” She’s wailing like a baby.
“GO!” Patrick screams before Parker can even get the door closed.
There is no road in front of us, just the green grass of a small park and a few trees. I can’t floor it like I did back in the street. We roll forward slowly and I can hear the sound of metal scraping against metal so I stop.
“Don’t stop!” Patrick says, exasperated with me.
“I thought you said I couldn’t smash into the cars.” This is probably not a time for arguing but I don’t want to make a mistake with our most precious possession.
“You can’t smash things with the front end. It could damage the radiator and then we would be toast. A little rubbin’ and scrapin’ is fine. Now GO!” he yells back.
I accelerate again and we scrape between the cars. The opening between the trees is wider so I know that we will fit. I’m not a bad driver. I think that any normal person would struggle to drive perfectly with all this commotion.
Once we’re through the trees, there is open space in front of me. I jam on the gas and feel the back end fishtail a little as the tires tear up the turf.
“Where am I going?” I ask back to Patrick.
“Head for the Capitol and go around it. Hopefully we can get to the other side and be far enough away from those guys that they won’t be able to keep shooting at us,” he answers, bringing his volume down slightly.
“What if they follow us in their own Humvee?” I didn’t see any but it’s possible.
“Then we don’t stop, I guess. You guys are all smarter than me; why do you keep asking me what to do?” Patrick suddenly sounds exhausted.
He doesn’t give himself enough credit. His ideas, his actions, and his reactions are a big part of why we keep surviving. I wouldn’t be surprised if his intellect was the same as the rest of us, but his instincts are proving to be superior.
“It’s a good plan. I didn’t see any vehicles in their compound so I doubt they have the means to follow us,” Parker chimes in.
“Terri! Does this road lead us to the Capitol?” I ask her.
Instantly I know it’s a stupid question. Out the front window I can see the dome of the Capitol building rising into the sky. I don’t need directions. I can navigate by sight.
Patrick leans up and forcefully pries the tablet from Terri’s hands. She doesn’t fight him so much as just not letting go.
“I came here on a school field trip and they made us walk from the Lincoln memorial to the Capitol building. We called it a death march, but I can remember that the National Mall was wide open,” Patrick comments.
Ahead there is a sign that says “Library of Congress” and we will need to decide if we go left or right. I’m leaning toward right, but hopefully Patrick will give me map directions before I have to turn.
“I’m turning right up here,” I say. My statement is not confident: it’s actually a thinly veiled question.
“Whatever. I’m still trying to figure out where we are on this map,” Patrick replies
“We’re at the Library of Congress! Turning right onto Second Street. How hard can it be to find?” I shouldn’t be angry with him, but so far he’s not doing much better than Terri.
“Well the screen’s not refreshing very quickly and Terri had it on somewhere in fucking Tennessee. Give me a break, okay,” he hollers.
“Sorry,” I snap back at him.
I suppose I should be more surprised that we’ve been getting along so well than I am at our snippiness. We’re generally strangers in the midst of a terrifying ordeal. It would be more remarkable if we clicked perfectly and could finish each other’s sentences.
“Detour coming!” I yell.
There is a tank blocking the intersection ahead. I’m going too fast to stop so I have to swerve left onto the sidewalk to avoid it. Further ahead are more tanks and what look like armored cars. The street is blocked, forcing me to turn left.
We’re now heading directly at the United States Capitol building. I’ve slowed down some but I’m sure we’re technically speeding.
/> “Hey, there’s the Supreme Court,” Parker says, like we are on a sight-seeing tour.
“Tanks to your right. Go left.” Patrick is back to leaning between the two front seats.
When I turn he loses his balance and falls backwards into Parker’s legs.
“You okay?” I glance over my shoulder.
“Eyes on the… Holy shit.” Patrick pulls himself back between the seats.
Ahead of us the plaza in front of the Capitol is teaming with undead. It’s a combination of business suits and army fatigues. There are no bodies lying around, but I get the occasional glimpse of what I think are bones in small piles.
The pillars protecting the plaza are designed to keep a car bomber from attacking the Capitol. I’ve seen enough news reports to know this means we need to keep detouring.
Habits are hard to break and I instinctively check out my window for the street sign—“First Street.”
“We’re going back the way we came. Take your next right,” Patrick says. He’s climbed back between the seats.
We’re approaching another intersection and the Library of Congress is on my left. Making that first right turn was a bad decision: I should be careful with my criticisms of Patrick.
Independence Avenue is eerily quiet. There is no gunfire, no tanks, and the zombies appear content to mill about in the plaza.
I slow the truck to a more reasonable and manageable speed. We’re rolling along comfortably when the tremors strike. First my hands, then my legs, and soon my entire body is shaking.
Pat-O
Chapter 7
I’m ready to quit.
Let’s just leave the Humvee and go off for a nice quiet walk. When the undead attack, I’m not going to fight back. They can eat me; I just hope it’s quick.
Why is McLean stopping the Humvee?
Terri is still moaning and crying in her seat. I don’t understand what the hell is wrong with her but it’s not just woman shit. She is a totally messed-up individual and I’m not sure if she thinks she’s dealing with her issues, because she’s not, they’re dominating her.
MZS: D. C. (Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Book 4) Page 4
