The Reckoning - 02

by D. A. Roberts

  As we passed the burnt-out wreckage that had been two of our Humvees, I saw a large crowd of zombies milling around the parking lot of the grocery store. Something must have attracted them here, since they hadn’t been here the last time we came through this way. Just as I was about to point them out to Spec-4, a chorus of Shriekers let loose with their blood-curdling wail. The crowd turned as one and surged forward. It was almost completely made up of Sprinters.

  Spec-4 didn’t wait for an invitation and opened fire on them, cutting the ones in the front to ribbons. I punched the accelerator and headed across the intersection. It was going to be close. Just as we shot through, the leaders of the crowd impacted with the side of the Humvee. Usually, one or two Sprinters had little or no effect when they hit a moving vehicle. This time was different. Close to twenty struck the passenger side and I almost lost control. It caused me to swerve and sideswipe a parked car, but I managed to keep it under control and moving.

  “Holy crap!” yelled Spec-4. “I thought they were coming up here with me.”

  “I did too,” I replied. “You’d better get inside. We’re going to have to lose them. I just hope we led the others far enough away from the Underground.”

  Spec-4 dove back inside and secured the hatch. Matthews was in the backseat and leaning into the rear storage compartment, looking for something. Spec-4 slid into the front passenger seat, looking a little worried.

  “I don’t like the way they hit us,” she said. “It almost seemed like they timed it that way.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “There were just so many of them. They were bound to hit in large numbers. Let’s not start thinking we’re dealing with smart zombies.”

  “Let’s hope they’re not getting smarter,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Find anything useful back there?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “Not really,” he replied. “Bottled water, some MRE’s, more ammo, gas cans and a big-assed roll of concertina wire.”

  “Concertina wire?” I asked, thinking. “That gives me an idea.”

  “What’s that?” asked Matthews. “You planning on redecorating the Humvee?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Have you ever seen that stuff used?”

  “No, but I heard it will cut you to ribbons,” he replied.

  “It will, but that’s not what I’m thinking about,” I said. “Put some gloves on and get it up here.”

  “Ok,” said Matthews.

  Moments later, he was laying the roll of wire on the center console.

  “Now, open the turret and set it on the roof,” I instructed. “We’re going to break our pursuit.”

  “How’s that going to work?” he asked, opening the hatch.

  “Lay it on the roof and cut the binding straps holding it rolled up,” I explained. “Then once they’re all cut, toss it off the back of the Humvee.”

  Spec-4 had to help him get it up onto the roof, but once it was there he had no trouble cutting the bindings.

  “Here goes nothing,” he yelled.

  He lifted the roll and threw it well clear of the back of the Humvee. When it hit, the roll of wire seemed to explode all over the road. Loops of razor wire flew all over the place. Close to a hundred Sprinters ran right into the wire and instantly became completely tangled up in it. It wasn’t killing them but it was causing them to fall and not be able to rise. More and more of them ran into it, only to be tripped by the flailing mob that was already entangled in the razor sharp wire.

  “Whoo Hoo!” shouted Matthews. “That was fucking awesome!”

  We shot into the next intersection beside a Stop ‘n’ Rob and it looked like we were home free. Then I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head in time to see one of the Freemen jingle trucks bearing down on us at a high rate of speed. I slammed on the brakes, but there was no avoiding the speeding vehicle. It broadsided us at over sixty miles per hour.

  I was knocked senseless and had the sensation of being upside down. When I cleared my head, I could see that we were lying on the roof of the Humvee. Spec-4 was unconscious and Matthews was nowhere to be seen. Then I remembered he was in the turret when we were hit. Looking out the windshield, I could see the jingle truck hadn’t fared any better than we had. It was fifty or so feet away and looked completely demolished.

  Opening my door, I managed to crawl out onto the road. I saw Matthews lying in a pool of blood on the other side of the road. He looked like he’d been thrown clear of the crash only to break most of the bones in his body when he hit the ground. I got shakily to my feet and looked around. There were still hundreds of zombies coming towards us, but they were several blocks away and still trying to get free of the razor wire.

  I was moving slowly and felt sluggish. I was worried that I might have a concussion, since my head was killing me. There was blood dripping off of my forehead and into my eyes. Wiping the blood away with the back of my hand, I gently probed the area with my fingers. There was a laceration on my forehead about six inches long and I was pretty sure that my nose was broken.

  I pulled the big Army Colt from my hip and slowly headed for the wreckage of the jingle truck. I was unsteady on my feet as I tried to keep my weapon trained on them. There were two men inside and they were both mangled beyond recognition. The truck was leaking fuel and I didn’t want to stay close to it for very long. Falling back to the Humvee, I reached inside and pulled Spec-4 out. She groaned, but didn’t wake up. Then I saw the blood covering the right side of her face.

  As I was checking the wound, I heard the sound of screeching tires. Before I could stand, two armed Freemen came around each side of the Humvee. I started to raise the pistol, but froze when I saw that they all had automatic weapons trained on me.

  “Drop the gun,” demanded one of them.

  Slowly, I lowered the old pistol to the ground and sat it down gently. I didn’t want to damage it. As I started to rise back up, they moved in. Before I could react, one of them drove the butt of their weapon into my face. I had the sensation of falling, and then the world went black.

  The thought struck me as the blackness took me, “We’re in big trouble.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Bread and Circuses

  "Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity."

  - Sean O'Casey

  24 April

  I felt myself coming awake. Through the fog in my brain, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was. I could feel a gentle rocking motion and for just a moment, I thought I was back on the boat where I had awoken the last time. I wasn’t. Then I felt the burning pain in my arms and wrists. My head also felt like it was about twenty pounds heavier. I could hardly lift it.

  I tried to open my eyes and found that only one of them would respond. My left eye was either stuck or swollen shut. I was nauseous and the gentle swaying was now making my stomach heave. As my eye began to focus, I could see daylight. It lanced into my skull like a white hot needle. I wanted to close my eye and fade back into unconsciousness, but then I remembered Spec-4.

  Forcing myself to stay awake and to keep my eye open, I raised my head. The world spun and I puked. It was mostly bile, since it had been a while since I’d eaten last. As the spasms that wracked my stomach subsided, once again I tried to look around. Things wouldn’t come into focus if they were more than a few feet away, so I started simple. I looked up.

  I was stripped naked to the waist. The only thing I was wearing was my pants and boots. I could see that my wrists were bound heavily with what looked like electrical cords. I was hanging from a wooden frame that was in turn hanging from the boom of a tow truck. My arms were spread apart and above my head and my feet were dangling loose. I’d lost all feeling in my hands and arms. I tried flexing my fingers, with only mixed results.

  Then my brain registered a shuffling noise and the sounds of movement. I looked down and saw that I was suspended above a pit that was square and about twenty feet
to a side. It seemed to be close to fifteen feet deep and there were six zombies in the bottom of it. They were scrambling around and knocking each other over trying to reach me. I was easily three feet above them, but if I managed to get loose from my bindings I had nowhere to go but down.

  My vision continued to clear and I could start making out more details. Wherever we were, we were outdoors. I could see trees around us. There were vehicles parked in the distance and two houses stood close by. There were dozens of the Freemen moving around the area. I quickly counted twenty tents and two large sheds or barns. I was in a full fledged compound. It appeared to be well stocked and manned.

  “Aw, shit,” I managed to croak, through swollen lips.

  “He’s awake,” I heard someone behind me say.

  “Then go get the boss,” said another voice.

  I could hear someone moving away towards one of the houses. I doubted that the “Boss” wanted to discuss leadership strategies with me. At the moment, I was sure of two things. One, there was no way that anyone from the Underground was going to be able to find us. And two, I was in big trouble.

  I didn’t have to wait long for the boss to arrive. What I didn’t expect was that the boss was a woman. She wasn’t even remotely attractive and was built like a linebacker. She looked like a female version of Mike Ditka, only the moustache was thicker. Her moustache, that is. She also had arms that were covered with prison tattoos and rippling with muscle, but she had a large belly that shook when she walked.

  Most of the ink was the usual Aryan, white-supremacist stuff I’d seen so many times before. I could imagine that she spent all of her time in prison lifting weights and getting inked. Judging by the moustache, I was guessing she’d done a few cycles of steroids, too.

  “Well lookee what we got here,” she said, grinning a predatory smile. “The high and mighty Sheriff, himself.”

  I considered telling her that I was just a CO, but I doubted that would have won me any points with her, either. In fact, I doubt she had any love for corrections officers, at all. She didn’t look like she had a soft spot for much of anything. I briefly considered trying to reason with her, but knew I’d be wasting my breath. Instead, I decided to get right to the point.

  “Where’s Wilder?” I demanded in the harshest tone I could muster.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said, leeringly.

  I could see that most of her teeth were rotten. Either from drug use or neglect, I couldn’t be certain. She was wearing a military issue flak jacket that was unfastened over a black sport bra. Her entire stomach and chest was covered with ink. Not that that is a bad thing, if done right. Hell, I’ve got several tattoos, myself. Hers all looked like they’d been drawn by an untalented third grader with a dull crayon.

  “My people will come for us,” I snarled, knowing full well it was an empty threat.

  She knew it too.

  “Your people don’t have a clue where this compound is,” she replied. “Even if they did, they’re outnumbered. They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “What do you want from us?” I snapped, gritting my teeth.

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” said another voice.

  This one was a male and sounded older than her. I turned my head that direction and sent spasms of pain up both arms. I almost cried out, but managed to hold it in. As my vision focused again, I could see a man in his late forties wearing military fatigue pants, boots and a black polo shirt walking towards me. He had salt and pepper hair with a matching beard. His beard and moustache were perfectly trimmed and his hair was combed back without a single strand out of place. I was wrong, this was the boss.

  “Lower him down over here,” he said, gesturing in front of him.

  Two of the men did as instructed and the she-gorilla took up a protective position just to the right and slightly behind the boss. She was a bodyguard. I filed that one away for future use. They swung me around and lowered me almost to the ground. My toes just barely scraped the dirt, but not enough for me to take any weight off of my savaged arms and wrists. They weren’t taking any chances.

  As they approached me, I swung my legs back and tried to kick the boss right in the face with both feet. The gynoceros intercepted my legs and knocked them aside without much effort. Then she drove a meaty fist into my stomach for good measure. I coughed violently and puked again, only this time with blood in it.

  “That was stupid, Sheriff,” said the Boss, calmly, “however, not entirely unexpected. I’m impressed you can still manage the strength to try. Most men are begging for their lives, by now.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I managed to gasp. “Forgive me if I don’t grovel.”

  “Oh, you’ll beg before it’s over,” said the skank-o-potamus.

  “I doubt it,” I replied, trying to sound convincing.

  It must have worked, because she promptly drove another fist into my stomach. I spun backwards wildly and vomited down my chest. My head was spinning and I thought I was going to pass out. Then rough hands grabbed me by the arms and stopped me from spinning. I could see that Tat-squatch had my left arm and some other guy had my right. They brought me back around to face the “Boss” again.

  “Who are you?” I wheezed.

  “No one you’ve ever heard of, I can assure you,” he replied. “I’ve gone to great lengths to stay off the radar. I’ve been building this compound for years, a little at a time. We knew one day our time would come. We just never expected it would be like this.”

  Obviously, this guy had money and was educated. He probably never even got a speeding ticket. He was organized, well equipped and smart enough to plan ahead. I was beginning to realize that the Freemen were a much bigger threat than I ever imagined. This guy had been planning his moves for years. I think the only thing he hadn’t taken into account was the dead rising. That one kind of took us all by surprise.

  “Where’s Wilder?” I managed to croak.

  “You mean the woman?” he asked, innocently. “I’m afraid her injuries were extensive enough that interrogating her wouldn’t have proven productive. She’s recovering for now, but if you don’t tell us what we want to know, I’m certain that she will.”

  “What do you want to know?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

  “Everything,” he said, leeringly. “I want to know all about your little operation. We underestimated you, in the beginning. You managed to do us a considerable injury though, and that just won’t do. You cost me a big part of my weapons and food reserves, not to mention our captives. Now you’re going to help us get inside the Underground to replace what we’ve lost.”

  My thoughts ran to my wife and kids, to all of the people down there depending on us to protect them. I didn’t want to see Spec-4 get hurt, but I knew she’d die before she’d let them break her. She was a soldier, and a damned good one. She wouldn’t want me to let our people down just to save the two of us. Besides that, I held no illusions that they would keep us alive even if we talked.

  “Why don’t you go fuck yourself,” I snarled. “Or better yet, let bitch-zilla there do it for you.”

  She tried to hit me again, but I spun the frame that was holding me taking her and the other guy off balance. Then I planted my feet into the middle of her chest and shoved as hard as I could. I intended to knock her down, but she didn’t budge. Instead, I shot backwards and into the other guy. The force of the impact sent him staggering and he fell flailing wildly into the pit. I was still spinning when I heard the screaming begin.

  “One down, asshole,” I said, triumphantly.

  Then the Ogre was right there in my face. She grabbed me roughly by the throat and started to squeeze. I drew my foot back and kicked her right in the crotch as hard as I could. She let forth with a wheezing screech and doubled over holding her groin. I was still swinging around and tried to turn myself. I managed to spin just right and kicked her right in the face. I saw teeth and blood fly high into the air as she went over backw
ards. As I spun around again trying to get an angle on the Boss, he casually stepped back out of range and smiled.

  “Guards,” he said, barely raising his voice.

  As several men came charging in towards me, I could see the gleam in his eye.

  “Yes, Sheriff,” he said, cheerfully. “We definitely underestimated you. I am impressed.”

  Then one of the guards drove the stock of a rifle into the side of my head. As the world exploded into color in my skull, I felt the darkness rushing in on me again. Just before I went out, I could hear the Boss speaking. It seemed like he was talking from a great distance.

  “Cut him down,” he said. “It’s time to try something else.”

  Again I was in darkness. This time, I dreamed. It was the Viking dream, again. This time, there were only four of us. Hjalmar, Bjorgolf, myself and another warrior that I knew was called Skeld. We were on a ship at sea. It was a long ship with a dragon on the prow. In the center of the ship was a stone sarcophagus, bound in chains. It had been covered in runes by the Gothi of our village to keep the thing bound inside.

  I could remember the battle on the dock when we held the line against the dead, while our kindred escaped. Not only had we four survived, but the Gothi told us that we were chosen by the All-father to bear the source of this curse away from our lands where it would be bound for all eternity. We had fought and destroyed all of the dead, save one. No matter what we did to it, it would not die. It slew three of our kinsmen before we bore it to the ground and bound it in chains. We also secured its mouth with leather straps so that it could no longer bite.

  While the elders debated over what to do with it, the Gothi prepared the stone box. Guided by the wisdom of the Gods, he cast the runes and sang the songs. When he was finished, we placed it inside the box. The lid was fitted to it and sealed with pitch. We bound the box in chains, just to be sure. When it was done, the Gothi went to the Elders and told them what the Gods had commanded him to do.