by Mark Tufo
Pushing Raven through the open doors while staying close on his heels, Brook said to her brother, “This isn’t the time to be twelve-stepping. If we don’t get some wheels soon, I am going to need a drink.”
“Hurry up! They’re getting closer… and there are more coming from across the street!” Raven’s voice was much higher pitched than normal, the overwhelming stress evident in it.
After everyone was inside, Carl felt along the door’s edge, searching for the locking mechanism. To his dismay he found that there was no way to lock the doors without a special key. He groaned when he read the sign that stated, “These doors should always remain unlocked during normal business hours.”
“I can’t find the fucking lock!” Carl blurted out, the exasperation showing on his sweat-soaked face.
The undead were closing in. Two had arrived at the still unlocked doors. Brook poked her shotgun through the open crack and discharged it pointblank in the nearest ghoul’s face. It dropped to its knees and fell motionless, blocking the doors. Carl removed his belt and quickly wound it between the push-bars of each door. As a makeshift lock it might hold for a few minutes, scarcely enough time to search the expansive showroom and offices for the keys to a getaway vehicle. A lone walker impacted the security glass with a loud bang, discharge from its festering face painting a trail of gore everywhere it touched. The undead marched onto the lot, wending their way around the new Fords towards the treats in the indoor showroom.
“I’ll hold the doors while you look for keys,” Carl said as he observed the zombies slam dance with the doors.
“I tried the sales manager’s office… but the door is locked!”
“Where the hell is Raven?” Carl asked Brook, looking around frantically.
A loud earsplitting roar followed by a deep toned, idling engine momentarily deafened them in the enclosed showroom.
Carl and Brook nearly pissed their pants as they both visibly started.
“Found the keys!” Raven said, beaming from the driver’s seat of the bright orange Ford Raptor 4x4 pickup. “The keys were in it already. I hoped it would start.” With a mischievous grin she added, “I’m driving, right…?”
“Move over, squirt,” Carl said to the little heroine.
Brook threw herself into the passenger seat with her daughter wedged in the middle.
How did I not see this big orange monstrosity? Carl thought, shaking his head back and forth. He put the transmission in drive and marveled at the power and torque as he launched the truck at the large glass doors it was facing.
“Brace yourselves.”
Like an orange missile, the race bred off-road truck shattered the glass with a thunderous crash. They all held on as the truck easily mowed down the walkers in its path. Carl let out an adrenaline induced scream as he deftly maneuvered the Raptor through the maze of vehicles and walking dead clogging the lot. After making short work of a dozen undead, the Raptor leapt off of the curb nearly sideswiping a row of brand new Ford F-150 trucks. Good going Dale Jr., we’re trying to survive a pandemic and I nearly kill us all.
Carl took his eyes off of the road long enough to glance at the gas gauge to find that the tank was full. A bit of relief washed over him because he knew this should be enough to deliver them to the military base without the need to stop again. They headed for Fayetteville, thirty miles to the northeast. Brook made the observation first, that what little traffic there was, streamed from the other direction.
“Honey, that was a good thing you did back there, I am real proud of you. However do not leave my sight from this moment forward!”
“I’ll second that, little bird. When I couldn’t find you, I panicked thinking the worst,” Carl said, patting her softly on the head without removing his eyes from the road.
On the other side of the freeway many of the vehicles heading their way were military, mainly Humvee and deuce and a half troop transports. It appeared the people were finally leaving the big cities, against the President’s recommendation.
The big special purpose off-road production truck was race ready and proved it more than once. It rolled on massive wheels and tires and was sprung with eleven inches of travel. They effortlessly skirted around wrecks, humans trying to flag them down and the numerous walking dead they came across. Carl made a sport of driving over any of the bastards that got in his way; he wasn’t worried about the thirty-five inch off-road tires becoming punctured.
They passed through the cities of Nakina, Bladenboro and Tar Heel. All had a huge undead population and seemed to be void of living humans.
On the outskirts of the farming community Tar Heel, Brook had to once again put the blinders on her daughter. The undead had gotten into an enclosure filled with a substantial herd of cows. While the bovines were still alive, the blood soaked monsters burrowed into their bellies to get at their entrails. The mournful sound of the dying cows caused the hair on Brook’s arms to stand on end.
Their greatest obstacle, Fayetteville, North Carolina, loomed twenty-four miles ahead and was undoubtedly teeming with infected. The traffic was almost at a standstill coming towards them and many more undead attacks were happening on the other side of the median among the slowed line of vehicles. In order to escape the chaos, cars and SUVs started to navigate across the grass separating the eastbound and westbound lanes.
“Are we going to go through Fayetteville proper?” Brook asked.
“What do you think, sis?”
Before Brook could answer, an oncoming Suburban engaged them in a game of chicken. At the last moment Carl wrenched the steering wheel to the right, grass and mud erupting in a geyser from the Raptor’s knobby tires as they were forced onto the shoulder. After the near miss, Brook took a minute to calm down enough to answer Carl’s question.
“I think it would be safer if we were to double back and go around the city. The traffic is only going to get worse and the amount of undead seems to be increasing.”
Carl was very cautious after the near miss. He slowed the Raptor to a crawl, left the paved road and followed the Suburban in the direction they had just come from.
A dull throb in his lower lumbar caused Carl to squirm in his seat; the deep scratch marks on his back started to itch and seep blood. Ignoring the discomfort and the possibility the ghoul may have signed his death warrant, Carl focused on avoiding the sporadic oncoming traffic.
Chapter 159
Day 3 - Outskirts of Boise, Idaho
Cade smelled the undead long before he saw them. They were locked up in a horse trailer secreted inside of the tree line. He was very careful to give a wide enough berth so they wouldn’t start their god-awful moaning and give him away.
He had been stalking the four men for twenty minutes and watched them as they reached the top of the hill, lingering longer than necessary. This slip up confirmed that they had little or no military training. Any soldier would know how to use the “military crest” of a hill to mask their movement and limit silhouetting themselves.
He wondered where these amateurs had stolen their desert ACUs. Using the binoculars he determined they were wearing authentic U.S. uniforms with insignia, name and rank. It appeared they were AWOL Idaho National Guardsmen. His sixth sense was really telling him something different. These definitely were not United States trained soldiers. He was stalking imposters.
The four men crossed the westbound lanes and headed straight for the foothills in the distance. They moved slowly because they were loaded down with all they had looted from the attack.
Cade was going to follow the murderous brigands to their staging grounds and lay dog and observe until he had a firm grasp of how many he would be killing.
The terrain was perfect for tracking. It was high desert and dusty and there were lots of small to medium juniper and other hardy scrub brush to conceal a pursuer. Not only were the men oblivious to noise discipline, they were leaving MRE food wrappers in their wake as they ascended the hill.
The camp was on a large pie
ce of land a short hike from the interstate. On one end of the grassy plot was a giant mound of gravel. Parked nearby were three Idaho Department of Transportation sanding trucks. On the other end of the land was a broad expanse of grass where the biker horde had set up camp. Four fifth-wheel trailers were arranged in a semicircle on the back side of a small hill. One of the pickups was detached from its trailer; the other three were still connected.
To his amazement he noticed two military Humvees, painted in desert camouflage, partially hidden behind the trailers. One of the Hummers was a gun truck with a Dillon minigun mounted in the bed. Cade and his team had used similar ones in the sandbox. The vehicles were positioned for a quick getaway where they couldn’t be seen from the interstate.
There were numerous brightly colored tents of all different shapes and sizes dotting the clearing. The grass was trampled everywhere he looked. Judging by the many old campfire pits and the trash strewn about, he knew there would be scores of people returning to spend the night.
Suddenly a large man with a flowing black beard walked out of the brush to the left of the circled trailers. He wore the same desert fatigues as the men Cade had tracked; a floppy boonie hat was pulled down low over his eyes. His head was constantly moving, scanning his surroundings. Cade could tell at once that this man was nothing like the others; he walked with confidence and purpose, he moved like an operator. Cade recognized the Barrett M-82 sniper rifle the man carried by its distinct outline and large wedge shaped muzzle brake. It was fitted with a high powered scope and could deliver a hefty .50 caliber bullet out to 5,900 feet. Cade had a feeling he was looking at the man who had killed Rawley.
A second man emerged from the brush. He was in civilian clothes and didn’t seem as confident as the first man. He carried a very large spotting scope and slung over his shoulder was an AR-15.
The sniper went inside the unhooked trailer and slammed the door behind him. In response to the loud noise, a man in fatigues poked his head out of another trailer and emerged, appearing to guard the camp. Shortly thereafter the other three men that Cade had tracked to the camp filed out of the same trailer, beer bottles in hand.
The bearded man reemerged into the clearing and although they were out of Cade’s earshot, it looked like he was calling the men over for a group meeting. He was definitely in charge. Cade could tell by the body language of the other men.
The youngest of the group produced a bag with the food and supplies pillaged from the ambush; the big man poured it out on the ground and divided the contents. The kid also handed over the SKS assault rifle and after a cursory inspection the bearded leader handed it back to him.
Cade keyed the Motorola and hailed Harry. Holding the radio so that both he and Duncan could hear, he answered, “This is Harry. Duncan is listening in.”
“I’m laying dog and watching a large camp with at least twenty tents but so far I’ve only seen six personnel, all armed. I’m a mile and a half northwest of your position. It looks like most of the people that were here are out and about, so stay alert. Cade out.”
“OK, roger that,” Harry replied.
Cade watched the camp through his binoculars. The five men arranged folding camp chairs and sat in a semicircle drinking long neck Buds, which they replenished from a big silver cooler.
For thirty minutes they drank and carried on a very animated conversation. He took note; the youngest amongst them was nursing his beer. Judging by the amount of empties, the other men were on at least beer number three.
The door to one of the trailers flew open with a bang. The bearded sniper emerged with a petite woman in tow. She was naked and appeared bruised and battered; her long red hair was wrapped around his ham sized fist. She looked mentally broken, her eyes locked on the ground.
Cade put down the binoculars and retrieved his sniper rifle; through the scope he watched as another man violently took hold of the woman’s wrist and walked her away from the camp towards the woods. Cade recognized him as the same man that had been spotting for the sniper. This mutt needs to die. He kept the crosshairs trained on the skinny man’s neck. If he took the shot while they were moving then it would unnecessarily put the redheaded woman in danger, plus he didn’t want to alert the bad guys to his presence just yet.
The two were nearly at the tree line. A metallic whirring sound carried on the light breeze from the clearing below; Cade recognized it for what it was the instant he heard it. He still had the man and woman scoped and he watched them disappear in an explosion of flesh, organs, bone and pink-misted blood. The bearded leader had covertly made his way to the Humvee and was now manning the 7.62 mm Dillon minigun mounted to the gun truck. He released a 300 round burst, leaving the pile of human remains seeping into the dirt.
Shifting his aim to just below and behind the man’s left eye, Cade adjusted for elevation and windage. He relaxed his breathing. This one’s for you, Rawley, he thought as he gently caressed the trigger. The suppressed rifle coughed once. It was a perfect head shot, and the waste of skin fell atop the minigun, the top half of his head nonexistent, leaving only his bushy black beard and jawbone still attached at the neck.
The four other men fell to the ground, desperately looking in all directions for the shooter. Cade smirked as the fat man hid behind his green canvas camp chair. Peek-a-boo asshole, this one’s for Leo. The .338 Lapua round went through the makeshift fabric shield and shattered the man’s sternum before lodging in his heart, killing him instantly.
Shocked and in total disbelief, Jerrod slowly commando crawled under the nearest trailer. He didn’t want to be the next victim of the unseen shooter. Shaking off the little buzz the beer had given him, he shimmied out from under cover and quickly snared the SKS by the sling and launched himself into the underbrush, then patiently crawled away from the slaughter.
Cade chambered another round and watched the remaining three men low crawl, attempting to take cover near the Humvee’s front bumper. Cade saw the terror evident on the man’s face magnified through the scope. The bullet impacted above his upper lip and proceeded upward into his nasal cavity. The velocity of the round peeled his face away from the skull, rendering him unrecognizable. The man cowering near him was showered with human detritus. “One shot one kill” is the sniper’s motto, and so far Cade was living up to it. It almost wasn’t fair. The grown man was visibly sobbing, his body heaved up and down as he struggled for air. The balding spot on the crown of the man’s head was where the cross hairs rested. Cade mouthed the words, “And this one’s for you, Sheila,” as he sent the man to Hell.
The youngest of the four men that had been drinking beers around the cooler was the only one left. Cade had no idea where he had gone, but he knew he wouldn’t stray far.
Ever so slowly he backed down from the slight berm he had set up his over watch behind. The sagebrush concealed him from any eyes below as he patiently disassembled the sniper rifle, first folding the stock and then removing the suppressor. It was a hunch, but he had a strong feeling that the kid would fall back and hide out, waiting for his friends to return.
What have I gotten myself into now? Jerrod thought as he slowly tried to flank the shooter. His best guess was that the sniper must have been on the hill facing the circle of trailers. There was no way the headshot that took out Trask could have come from the trees behind them.
There was a shuffling sound, followed by the sharp snap of a twig. Cade bent to one knee and swept his M4 towards the sound. Slowly scanning his surroundings, he perceived movement at his eleven o’clock. The young man crept into view; he was a rookie and didn’t use any of the available cover to his advantage. Suddenly he went to ground and low crawled through some underbrush. He is pretty brave or just plain stupid trying to out sneak a sniper. He let the kid get comfortable and then silently approached from behind with the M4 at the ready. Rawley’s SKS was in the kid’s possession; this was going to have to be handled quietly, up close and personal.
Jerrod was hyperventilating, just li
ke he did when he played paintball with his buddies back at the compound. This was for real and he tried to calm down but he couldn’t, he could hear his blood rushing in his head and his heartbeat pounding in his chest. It was like this the first time he had sex a couple of days ago. He didn’t want to, but everyone else had raped her already and it happened to be his turn. The other guys heckled and cajoled. It didn’t take much though. She looked at him with those dead eyes, silently pleading to get it over with and leave. Jerrod unbuckled his pants and found he was ready. It lasted fifteen seconds, but he stayed in the trailer for another ten minutes lying next to the redheaded woman, not ashamed at what he had done but at how quick it was. The last time, earlier today before the ambush, was better because he lasted a little longer and actually got it in before he ejaculated; she gave him a smart ass smile that made him lose it. He punched and kicked her until somebody came in and pulled him away. He had beaten her badly. Bitch had it coming, too. Deep in thought with a dull throbbing in his groin was how he died, the ten inch Gerber carving him ear to ear, severing his carotid artery and slicing through his trachea and vertebrae, nearly severing his head. Cade stabbed the dagger in the dirt, stared deep into the dying man’s eyes and watched the life ebb from him. Cade cleaned his knife on the kid’s fatigues and repossessed Rawley’s prized SKS before descending on the quiet camp.
The Humvees bore markings of the Oregon National Guard and had bullet holes pockmarking the Kevlar bodies. It was evident that the bandits had overtaken a military convoy or checkpoint somewhere and stolen the vehicles, uniforms, weapons and explosives. The latter they had been using to make their roadside bombs. Cade found three pounds of C4 plastic explosives as well as the radio frequency detonators and remotes needed to set off the charges. The Guardsmen may have been engineers sent to drop the bridges on the border and possibly set up a checkpoint. If that were the case, then drastic measures were being undertaken to slow the pathogen’s rapid spread.
