“The hell they are!” Major Dobson shouted back. “They are the cause!”
“What the hell does that mean?” Fish said as he started to climb back into Big Red’s cab. The major limped after him.
The four of us didn’t bother pushing the zombies back with our spears. There was nowhere to push them to. They were crammed so tightly together that it would be like trying to push a cinderblock wall back.
A minute after they entered the cab, I heard Fish get on the radio.
“Stallion, this is Alpha. We are about to do something stupid. Wish us luck.”
“What does that mean?” Campbell asked.
Fish briefly told him about three more survivors trapped in the cigar shop and that it was ‘imperative’ that we rescue them. Fish didn’t go into detail and Campbell didn’t ask. I think the Captain knew Fish was smart enough to make those types of decisions.
Those of us on the spine of Big Red heard the exchange and we each swapped dreadful looks.
“This is stupid,” Gardner said. “They are as good as dead. We’re going to be dead-head food if we try to go in there.”
“No shit,” Chad agreed.
“You gringos are locos,” Enrique exclaimed.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t too scared. Whenever I made runs into the city with Fish, he tended to amplify my courage. I knew he would come up with the sanest plan possible. Boy was I wrong.
Minutes ticked by before Fish and Major Dobson appeared from the cab.
“Alright,” Fish snarled as he approached us. “Here’s the plan.”
My heart was beating faster and faster as Fish went over his insane plan to rescue the three people in the cigar shop. It was the type of plan that would easily work minus five thousand or so zombies. He recited the plan into his radio so that Bravo and Charlie teams knew their parts, though they were small in comparison to what we were about to do.
The whole plan depended on if the major accurately saw his three companions make it into a back room, and if our Intel from our friends in Maine was accurate.
“Alright, everyone know their jobs?” Fish asked.
Gardner and I nodded like good soldiers, but Chad had something to say.
“Fish, man, this is locos, like the Mexican says.”
“Si,” Enrique agreed.
“You and Pablo are welcome to leave if you don’t like it!” Fish growled back, waving his hand toward the mass of zombies below the fire engine.
“Why are they questioning you, First Sergeant?” the Major said angrily.
Fish ignored him, and continued to stare at Chad and Enrique. The two clamped their jaws shut and nodded in submission.
The plan was ‘locos’, but I sucked in my gut and accepted it as it was. I could hear Boomer barking in the back of Big Red’s cab.
“Boomer!” I called. Boomer climbed out of the cab and cautiously stepped onto the back of Big Red.
“You better hold onto him,” Fish whispered to me.
I nodded and grabbed the pole connected to the truck with one hand and Boomer with the other.
Rain started to lightly fall around us. I wasn’t sure how that was going to affect one of the major parts of the plan.
Fish grabbed the crates full of Molotov cocktails and handed them Dobson.
“I still think I should go in with you guys,” the major stated, grabbing one of the crates.
“Too bad, Major. I go in with the guys I know. Besides, you’re worthless with that ankle. Just do your part.” Dobson seemed about to protest again, but Fish quickly tossed him the .45 and grabbed an M4 Assault Rifle.
Dobson reached into his pocket and pulled out a Zippo lighter. “This better work.”
“DJ,” Fish said into his radio, ignoring the Major, “We’re ready!”
Immediately, Big Red came back to life. The fire engine heaved as it lurched forward into the packed zombie hoard. Groans and moans were snuffed out as Big Red either knocked them to the side or crushed them under its immense weight.
DJ moved the truck so that the rear was facing the front of the cigar shop.
“Hold on!” DJ’s voice roared over the radio.
He threw the fire engine in reverse, and we jetted backwards over the zombies blocking our path.
We didn’t have a brush guard on the back of Big Red. The zombies were all mushed and smashed as the fire engine’s massive tires and weight turned them into goo. I didn’t think the smell could get worse until that happened.
The front of the cigar shop was fast approaching and Big Red slammed into the curb, sending everyone airborne and back to the metal surface of the fire truck. I groaned from the impact, but it was short lived as the rear of the truck smashed through the front of the cigar shop.
Big Red was taller than the overhang that was providing cover for the front of the shop, and the small roof split in half as the fire engine rammed into the building. The truck violently shook, jostling all aboard.
“Now, Major!” Fish yelled to Dobson.
Major Dobson, after recovering from the impact, lit the first of the Molotov cocktails. Once the cloth wick was on fire, he threw it off the side, near the rear of Big Red. Seconds later, he threw another one on the opposite side.
Fish, Gardner, Chad, Enrique, and I gathered toward the back end of Big Red. Chad and Enrique had AR-15s slung in front of them and were wielding spears in their hands. Gardner and I had our rifles at the ready.
“Go, DJ!” Fish barked into the radio.
Big Red heaved forward and stopped after five feet.
“Move!” Fish ordered us.
On either side of Big Red, the Molotov cocktails had created pools of fire at least ten feet in diameter. The building wasn’t on fire, though.
The zombies were not trying to cross through it, but rather hung around the edge. The ones that were caught in the initial bursts of flame were trying to scatter, futilely attempting to escape the fire that was starting to consume them.
Fish was first, and leapt down off the back of Big Red into a pile of corpses. I saw one legless zombie reach toward his boot.
“Fish, watch out!” I yelled as I started to climb down.
Fish grabbed his small sledge and smacked the creature on side of the head. I heard a dull crack over the moans of the dead.
“Watch your feet as you move in!” Fish snarled.
Conserving his ammo, he marched into the cigar shop with his M4 rifle dangling on a single point sling. Any zombie movement was met with a hard and swift swipe of his small sledge.
I helped Boomer down and the rest of our team got off the truck.
We sloshed through the blood and body parts that littered the small safe zone Big Red and the two pools of flame created. Fish was already in the cigar shop, pushing over a tall display case.
“Get movin’!” Fish barked. We made it into the store and helped create obstacles by knocking anything not affixed to the ground over.
Two more splashes were heard behind me, as Dobson dropped more Molotov cocktail down to ward off the dead.
In just one minute, we had created a funnel for the zombies to walk down, just in case they braved the fire. They could still climb over the various pieces of furniture that created the passage, but it would slow them down immensely.
“Get in position!” Fish ordered as he moved to the back room. There were two doors. One that went out back to the alley and the other was off to the side and likely led to a back office or bathroom.
Chad and Enrique lined up on the outer edges of our line of defense, spears in hand. Gardner and I stood between them, at the end of the funnel. The plan was for Chad and Enrique to push the zombies over while Gardner and I split the lane of fire. That was only if the fire caused by the Molotov cocktails didn’t work. So far, though, the zombies were not crossing into the flame.
I heard Fish banging on a door behind me, but didn’t let it distract me from my job.
Nature, it would seem, didn’t like us too much. Just seconds a
fter we lined up, the light drizzle outside turned into a torrential downpour. I could see Dobson struggling to light another cocktail and the pools of flame, though not dying out completely, were struggling to stay alive.
“They’re comin’ in!” Gardner shouted.
Zombies, mostly from the left side, started to make their way through disruptions in the fire. At first, it was just a few, but as the zombies crowded over the flames, they began to smoother the small fires. In moments, they started pushing on each other, shoving their undead brethren through the flames and to us.
Some of the zombies caught fire, but they were also soaking wet, and the flames didn’t spread too far and quickly died down.
Gardner fired first and I quickly joined in shooting the closest zombie on the left side, while Gardner kept to the right. None had made it in the funnel yet, and the others started to stumble and fall over the zombies we were putting down.
Boomer was at my side, growling and barking at the incoming dead hoard.
I hit my mark two out of three times, which was pretty damn good for a moving target eight inches wide.
They were getting closer though, and Chad and Enrique were doing their best to push them back and over the obstructions.
“Changing mags!” Gardner shouted. I switched from my side to his, shooting the closest zombie. Seconds seemed like minutes as I covered the entire room while he changed magazines. By the time he was done, my AR-15 was empty.
“I’m out!” I yelled as Gardner took over. I pressed the release and the magazine fell to the floor. My other hand brought up a new magazine and I hit the bolt release, chambering another bullet.
“I’m good!” I screamed over the moans of the zombies.
Gardner acknowledged and I took back over my zone. Chad was doing a good job on my left, keeping the few that were climbing over the barriers back. In one quick motion, he leaned over and picked up my empty magazine. Fish had ingrained into our heads that, if at all possible, we should retrieve our empty magazines.
“Bravo, move to pick us up in the alleyway,” Fish called through the radio. “DJ, stay put until we’re safely outside.”
“Roger,” DJ acknowledged.
“On our way,” Cecil responded.
A few moments passed and Fish jumped back onto the radio. “Cecil, ETA?”
“We’re having problems,” Cecil replied. “We slid into a car. Damn thing has us hooked.”
“How the hell did that happen?” DJ asked in frustration.
“Between the rain and Zombie guts everywhere, the tires couldn’t keep hold,” an irritated Cecil replied. “We’re caught on the back of a pickup truck. Stupid thing is dragging behind us and now we’re stuck in the middle of the road.”
“Damn it!” Fish swore. “Alright, DJ, you’re going to have to circle around back. We’ll just have to hold the line until you get into the alley.”
DJ spoke over the airways, “If I move, Fish, you’re going to have about a thousand dead-heads breathing down your neck! Go out into the alley way first.”
“And we could be running into another thousand out back. This way you can clear the road with Big Red.” Fish came up next to me and shot two zombies that were getting close to the funnel.
“I have a plan,” a new voice chimed in over the radio. It was Gonzales.
“You keep Charlie in place, Gonzo,” Fish ordered.
“Sorry Sarge, already moving. Give me two minutes,” Gonzales shot back.
“I gave you an order, damn it,” Fish cursed, but there was no response.
Just then, three zombies made their way over the barricade in front of me and Chad.
“Cover me!” I yelled to Gardner, and he took over the middle, shooting any zombie that made it to the mouth of the funnel. Fish joined in and together they kept the lanes clear.
Dobson, who had given up trying to light the Molotov cocktails, was firing Fish’s .45 at the zombies entering the store.
Chad surged forward, spearing a female zombie in the throat and pushing her back.
I shot one of the other ones while Boomer leapt forward and grabbed the ankle of the third. He pulled back, causing the zombie to fall backwards onto its butt. Chad quickly retrieved his small sledge and smacked it three times in the head. I shot another zombie crawling over the barricade as Chad and Boomer retreated back to the line.
“Damn it,” Fish swore, coming up behind me.
He shot an additional four zombies with his M4, not missing his mark once.
I stole a glance back and saw three tired and weary figures emerging from the back room. There was a woman and two men.
The woman had long, messy and tangled black hair, mixed with slivers of grey. Her face was dirty, as was all of theirs. She carried some sort of submachine gun that I didn’t recognize. The uncomfortable way she held it told me she wasn’t experienced with firearms.
Behind her, one man was assisting another one who seemed barely able to walk. The one helping had sandy blond hair, a grimy face and wore a pair of glasses with one of the lenses smashed. He too was covered in filth and unarmed.
The sickly looking man had dark brown skin. He was wearing a similar uniform to Major Dobson and it was in the same condition. He was about my height, but broad and in shape. A beard covered a wide jawline, and his neck was twice the size of an average man. The nametag read Pitman, and he was coughing and wheezing.
“Is he infected?” Gardner asked Fish as he shot at a pair of zombies coming down the funnel.
“The woman says no, but we’ll sort that out once we get out of this mess. Hold the line.” Fish turned around and checked the back door.
I continued to cover my lane, changing mags two more times before the radio came alive with Gonzales’ voice.
“XO,” he said to DJ in a strained voice, “you have about twenty seconds to get that red piece of shit out of the way.” There was a loud noise in the background of the radio.
“What the hell do you… holy shit!” DJ cursed over the radio.
Big Red thundered forward and cut east out of view.
Seconds later, a large dump truck sideswiped the front of the cigar shop, turning every zombie in the general area into mush.
“Get moving!” Fish shouted and kicked the back door open.
Gardner and I covered everyone’s escape into the alleyway, shooting the few zombies that were still moving in the store.
I heard a loud screech and the roar of the dump truck as it circled around and did another pass, flattening another hundred zombies that were starting to move toward the cigar shop opening.
Gardner and I exited through the rear of the store and met up with everyone else.
Fish slammed the back door shut while Chad and Enrique pushed a large green dumpster to block it.
Twenty zombies were clambering around the alley. They were a welcome sign compared to the thousands on the other side of the cigar shop.
“Clear the area,” Fish ordered, and we went to work, putting the zombies down.
Enrique chose to use his vicious lawnmower blade sword, chopping four of the undead down. The rest of us used our rifles, cutting them down in seconds.
“Jenna,” Gonzales said over the radio, his voice hollow, “pick me up.”
“And that’s why I wanted Gonzo,” Fish whispered to me and then keyed his radio, “DJ, ETA?”
“Twenty seconds,” DJ responded and we heard the roar of Big Red’s engine as it rounded into the alley.
The door from the cigar shop started to open, the trash can scrapping on the pavement as it was pressed outward.
“Hold that door!” Fish ordered
Chad and I ran over and pushed bin hard against the backdoor, slamming it in place. The weight on the other side became too much, though, and we started to lose ground.
Big Red screeched to a halt, spraying puddled water over us. The big fire engine barely fit in the alleyway, and had already taken down a few cable lines that were strewn overhead.
; “I can’t believe we’re still alive,” Chad panted.
“Trust in Fish,” I grinned. My shoulders and legs were becoming heavy as the strain of holding the trash bin began to take its toll.
Boomer started to bark. I peered down the alleyway and saw a hoard of zombies following in Big Red’s wake. They were almost done loading everyone on to the fire engine when Fish called for us.
“Get your asses movin’!”
“You heard the man,” I said. “One, two, three!”
On the number three, we both bolted for Big Red. The back passenger door was wide open and we leapt in. By the time we had shut the door to the fire engine, the trash bin had been pushed wide enough for the first of the zombies to come out.
“We’re outta here!” DJ bellowed, and Big Red lurched forward.
I glanced around the cab as DJ drove the truck back onto the main road leading out of town. Gardner and Enrique were on the back of the truck with Major Dobson. The two men and one woman we had rescued were scrunched in the back seat with me and Chad. Fish was sitting in the front with DJ and Boomer.
“Alright,” Fish growled as he spun around to face us, “you three, climb out on the back. Christian, bring your mutt.”
The woman glared at Fish and put her arm around the sickly man whose nametag read ‘Pitman’. “Excuse me? It’s pouring rain out there and this man is sick!”
“Exactly,” Fish grinned. “Get his sick ass on the back of the truck before I drag him there.”
“What the hell’s going on?” DJ asked as he maneuvered the big truck.
“This guy might be infected,” Fish told him, gesturing to Pitman. “Keep Big Red slow and steady on the ride back.”
“I told you he’s not infected!” the woman declared. She had an icy tone when she spoke.
Pitman appeared to be in a daze. He partially opened up his eyelids, and I could see red veins etched across the whites of his eyes.
“Can it, broad. Open up that back hatch and get on the back of the truck.” Fish grabbed a 9mm pistol from DJ’s holster. “You mind?”
DJ shook his head no.
I glanced down at the submachine gun that the woman had previously been holding. It was lying on the floor of the cab.
The three of them made their way through the hatch that led to the back of Big Red. Fish followed behind them.
The Hunt Chronicles (Book 2): Revelation Page 19
