by JJ Zep
Magnified by the concrete walls of the overpass, the motorcycles rumbling behind me sounded like caged and angry beasts. I wondered if Babs had factored in the possibility of the bikers splitting up and suddenly realized that he had a virtually impossible task, trying to take all three.
Even given the element of surprise, if he took out the leader, then at least one of the other two would be racing down the highway before he had a chance to finish them. If he took out the other two first, the leader could swing the rifle I knew he had slung over his back and open up on me.
I did some guess work and figured Babs would go for the two behind first, and leave me to deal with the guy in front of me. It made perfect sense, but then I had absolutely zero experience of springing an ambush, so I knew I could be totally wrong. And if I was, I was very likely to take a bullet.
The guy in front of me had long blond hair, partially covered with a red bandana. He wore a pair of aviator’s goggles and a leather jacket with a filthy denim cut-off, covered in patches.
“Mister, you some kind of retard?” he said, “Standing in the middle of the fucking road like that. Who the fuck you think you are, Eric Estrada?”
Behind me one of the other bikers laughed and revved his Harley. “I say we skin him, Pete. Barbeque his ass.”
“I’m talking to you, hoss,” Pete said, “What you doin’ on our…”
I heard the R-5 bark twice and reached for the .38 stuck into the back of my waistband. I felt it snag, heard the lead biker say, “What the fuck,” and saw him start to swing his rifle around.
Then I heard the R-5 speak again, and the biker was thrown from his Harley.
Almost immediately, he started screaming, “Oh Christ, oh God, oh fuck, I been hit. Oh fuck that hurts, oh Jessssuuss, that hurts!”
I heard Babs scrambling down the embankment. He walked over to where the biker lay, and knocked him cold with the butt of the rifle.
thirteen
We hid the motorcycles in some brush and dragged the dead bikers from the road and covered them with branches. Then Babs tied the third biker’s hands and we half-dragged, half carried him back to where I’d camped the previous evening.
We’d almost reached the campsite when the biker regained consciousness and started squealing like a kid with a skinned knee. Babs whispered something in his ear and he shut up right away.
Babs sat the biker down with his back resting against a tree. Then he lit up a smoke, took a deep drag and said, ”Your name’s, Pete, right!”
“Fuck you,” Pete spat. “You’re a dead man, mister.”
“Fair enough” Babs said. “But I made peace with my maker. And right now, I figure I got a few years on you.”
“Do you know who you’re fucking with?” Pete said.
“Pete, I think you said, didn’t catch the last name.”
“I’m not talking ‘bout me, nigger. I’m talking ‘bout Virgil Pratt.”
“Ah man,” Babs said with a mock pained expression on his face, “Why’d you have to go and use the ‘N’ word? “ He placed the heel of his shoe on Pete’s wound and pushed down.
“Ahhhgggrr Jeeesssuss!” Pete screamed.
“Hurts like a son of a bitch don’t it?”
“Ahhhh, you fuccckker,” Pete shouted. He took in and let out rapid breaths between clenched teeth, and I was sure he was going to throw up, pass out, or both.
Babs waited for Pete to settle, then said. “Looks like we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s try again.” He offered his pack of Marlboros to Pete. “Smoke?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Pete said. Babs lit up the cigarette and held it for Pete to take a drag.
“Now that we’re on more civil terms, I have a few questions for you.”
“I ain’t tellin’ you nothing,” Pete said.
“No?” Babs said, then held up a finger in a ‘wait a moment’ gesture. To me he said, “Chris, you got a cleaning kit for that AK.”
“Sure.”
“Bring it here would you?”
I brought it to him and he flipped it open, took out a coiled, epoxy-coated cable.
“You know what this is, Pete?” Babs asked. “This is a pull-through, sometimes also called a bore snake. You push it down the barrel of a rifle, to keep it nice and clean, scrapes off rust spots and the like.
“Sometimes you attach a nice soft cloth to the end, and at other times you attach one of these.” He produced one of the bore brushes from the kit. “There’s a couple of these in here, a metal one and a plastic one. Either way, they’re down right abrasive little suckers.
“How much would you wager that I could shove this bore snake up your ass and pull it out your mouth?”
“You wouldn’t,” Pete spluttered.
“Wouldn’t I?” Babs said, and something in his tone told Pete he wasn’t kidding.
After a moment’s thought Pete said sulkily, “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with an easy one,” Babs said, producing a photograph from his pocket, “Have you seen this girl?”
Pete took a look at the photograph and said immediately, “I never touched her.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Babs said, “Where’s she being held?”
“I told you I ain’t…”
“Humor me on this,” Babs cut in. “If you had her, where would she be?”
“At the ranch,” Pete said, as though the answer was obvious.
“And where is this ranch?”
“Can I get another drag on that smoke?” Pete said.
Babs held it for him and he drew deeply, then stared off into the distance.
“The ranch?” Babs prompted him.
“Up the road maybe 20 miles,” Pete said. ”Just after the grove of cedar trees you make a right, there’s a tarred road for maybe a mile. Then it turns to dirt. You go maybe five miles on and you can’t miss it.
“It’s not really a ranch,” he added helpfully, “it was a old prison that some rich weirdo converted to a house back in the fifties. Still got the cells and everything,“
“Is it guarded?”
“Oh yeah,” Pete said proudly, “Virgil’s got it buttoned up tighter than a duck’s behind. You thinking what I think you’re thinking mister, you better go there with an army.”
“An army? Really? How many men you got up there?
“Enough for the likes of you.”
“Thanks, Pete,” You’ve been very helpful,” Babs said, then suddenly produced a small hand gun and shot Pete above the right eyebrow.
Babs pushed the gun back up into his sleeve then said, “Let’s go.”
He was already walking, and again I had to catch up. When I did, he said, “They’ll be sending out a patrol to look for these boys, and for this.” He pulled a vial from his inside pocket, containing a bluish liquid.
“What is it?”
“What these boys came into town to pickup. Look, we got to hustle, pick up a couple of those Harleys and get up the road a ways before they come looking. You ride?”
“Not in a while.”
“Pillion with me then, but no grabbin’ my ass, you hear.”
We manhandled one of the Harleys back onto the road, and Babs went back and shot out the tires on the other two.
Babs mounted the Harley and kicked it and the engine roared into life. Then over the roar of the engine he said to me. “This ain’t your fight, Chris. You heard what Pete said back there. Go find that little girl of yours.”
I was about to protest when he throttled the bike and took off. I stood in the road and watched him ride away. He was probably right. I had no business going off on some suicide mission when I had Ruby to think of.
Besides, even if I wanted to follow Babs, the ranch was twenty miles away. By the time I’d hiked that distance he’d either have rescued whoever he was looking for, or he’d be dead. Probably the latter.
I walked under the overpass fully intending to take a left, skirt around Tulsa and be on my way. But then m
y conscience started gnawing at me and like Tom had said back in Kentucky, once it got going it was hard to shut it out.
Babs needed help and although my head told me to head west my feet kept walking in a straight line. After a while I started jogging. I needed to find a vehicle. Fast.
fourteen
Finding a vehicle was not a problem. There were cars standing bumper to bumper on just about any major thoroughfare in just about every major city in America, most of them with the keys sitting in the ignition.
The problem was finding one that would start. And after three years standing, the chances of that were less than zero. I’m no expert on cars, didn’t even own one for most of my life, but I’d learned that if you could find a vehicle that had been protected from the elements, like one kept in a parking garage or on an auto lot, and pop in a new battery, you could usually get it going.
A couple of miles in, I came across a Dodge / Chrysler dealership with a Dodge Ram on the lot that looked like it would do the business.
I located the keys on a board in the sales office and was heading back out to see if she would start when I saw my first Z’s of the day, four of them, crossing the lot, weaving between the cars - a scrawny, sandy-haired guy who looked like he’d walked away from a car wreck, a woman with a badly burned face, and a little girl with long plaits, wearing a filthy pink dress.
The forth zombie wore a security guard uniform and I was reminded of Brad, my former neighbor back in New York, and the man who had killed my wife. I had an almost overwhelming urge to go out there and blow out the security guard’s brains but I fought it back. Drawing attention to myself was not part of the plan.
After the Zs had moved on, I made my way back to the Ram, got in behind the wheel, inserted the key and gave her a twist. I’d expected a half-hearted attempt at the engine turning over, but got instead a faint click.
I popped the hood and had a look inside like so many drivers before me who don’t have a clue what they’re looking for.
Then I headed for the Spares department located next to the showroom and picked out an Everstart Max battery.
I got back to the Ram, put the battery on the ground and then realized that I was going to need a spanner to loosen the terminals. It was then that I noticed the black Hummer parked at the end of the row my Dodge was in. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see in but I was pretty sure, certain actually, that it hadn’t been there before.
My first instinct was to run, but I realized that I’d left the AK leaning against the side of the Dodge and I wasn’t leaving without it.
Instead I pretended I hadn’t noticed the Hummer, made a big deal of looking for the toolkit, then moved to the side of the Dodge picked up the AK and started weaving between the vehicles, putting some distance between me and them.
I knew I had to cross the lanes at some point, and I knew that when I did they’d see me, so I braced myself and made a run for it. The minute I did, I heard the Hummer rev up and in my peripheral vision I saw it lurch forward like a leashed attack dog.
I cut between the cars ducking low and running until I hit the street. As I did, I could the see the Hummer racing towards to end of the row, and making a sharp turn, sliding and swiping a vehicle as it did. The driver reversed, straightened and then floored it, and the Hummer hurtled towards the road.
I’d gained a few vital seconds and decided to go left, sprinting down the center of the road and hoping there was an intersection or an alleyway I could duck into. Behind me I heard the Hummer’s tires squeal as it exited the lot and made a left turn. Then I heard the engine revving as it raced down the road towards me like a runaway train.
At the last moment I flung myself to the right, hit the tarmac rolling, and came up with the AK in a firing position.
The Hummer burned rubber skidding to a halt and then reversed towards me as I got off a burst from the AK, the bullets bouncing off the protected glass of the vehicle.
I rolled away at the last minute and this time was running as I got up. The road was narrow and the Hummer had to do a three-point maneuver to turn itself around.
Up ahead there was a curve and I rounded it and sprinted along the sidewalk. This road had mainly sidewalk cafes, restaurants and small businesses, some with their shutters pulled down.
I heard the screech of the Hummer’s tires as it rounded the curve at speed. At the same instant I felt my feet tangle with something, and I pitched forward and hit the ground hard, removing a layer of skin from my palm.
There was a waist-high wooden panel that separated the cafes from the street, and I crawled closer to that, knowing it would hide me as long as the occupants of the Hummer chose to stay in their vehicle.
If they decided to take up the search on foot, they’d find me and I’d have no choice but to shoot it out with them.
I heard the Hummer race past and then the sound of its engine fading in the distance.
I lay perfectly still, the coppery taste of adrenalin in my mouth and a dull throbbing pain in my hand. I inspected the wound and saw beads of blood seeping through.
At that moment a shaft of sunlight cut through the overhanging cloud. It seemed to shine directly down on me, its rays dissipated by the leaves of the trees that lined the road.
I imagined that in a different time this must have been a good place to enjoy a meal with someone you love. I though again of Rosie and this time there was no anger, just a brief and immense and bottomless sadness.
It had been a while since I’d heard the Hummer and I knew I had to move. How long would it be before they swung back and decided to give this place a closer look?
I rolled onto my side and looked towards the storefronts. The one directly opposite me had a picture of a pizza and an Italian flag. Above the picture was stenciled, “Giuseppe’s Pizzeria”, and I remember wondering crazily why pizza places were always, “Luigi’s” or “Giuseppe’s”, as though only men with those names were entitled to operate one.
Then, in the window, I saw the reflection of the Hummer, its ignition turned off, rolling slowly backwards. A moment later I heard the engine start up and the screech of tires as the vehicle did a u-turn and drove away.
I got slowly onto my knees and peered over the wooden partition. The road was clear and I was trying to decide whether it was safe to loop round and head back to the lot and have another try at starting the Dodge. But then I heard the roar of the Hummer engine again and I figured that a safer option might be to lay low for a while.
I crossed the couple of feet towards Giuseppe’s and entered quickly, crouching as I did. Immediately I became aware of the stench. The rank smell of vomit and sewage and gone-off meat that I’d come to call eau d’ Z.
The restaurant was dark inside, but I could make out a counter, two pizza ovens and a few cubicles. Not much place to hide but they were here alright, and by the stench, a lot of them.
I was about to back out when a movement startled me. My grip on the door slipped, and it shut with an audible click.
Crouched in the patch of light at the front of the restaurant, I looked into the gloomy interior. In the dark back there I sensed movement and a door slowly started to creak open. I thought I could make out the reflection of an eye, then another and another, as though some giant spider nested there waiting to devour me.
Then came the growling, low pitched and hungry and the sound of claws scratching on tile.
I cradled the AK into my shoulder and curled my finger around the trigger. If they charged me in such a confined space I was done for. My best chance was to fire a pre-emptive blast into the darkness and then shoot out the plate glass at the front and make my escape that way. Of course, that would give away my position to the men in the Hummer.
I heard another low growl from the shadows and started to tighten my finger on the trigger when a dog trotted out from the darkness. He was a big guy, with a fox-like face and a brindle colored coat with a white patch on his chest. His tail curled tightly over his back.
The dog suddenly became alert and I saw the hackles rise on his back. A low growl began to vibrate in his throat. I heard it too then, scratching from above.
I lifted my eyes slowly towards the ceiling where some of the panels had collapsed, exposing the floorboards from the apartment upstairs.
Thin slivers of light crept through between the boards and I could see something moving around up there. A slight shift attracted my attention and I saw a bloodshot eye peering through a knot-hole in the floorboard.
For a second I held its insane gaze and then I heard sniffing, like a dog scenting a trail and knew they had picked out the smell of my bloodied hand. I heard an angry snap, and what sounded like words spoken in some guttural tongue. Something collided hard with the floorboard and I heard it crack. Debris loosened from the damaged ceiling and crashed down into the restaurant.
All of this happened in a split second and then I was heading towards the back of the restaurant. I figured there had to be a way out into an alley or something, and if I could use that I might be able to avoid the Hummer crew.
Behind me I heard another loud crack, and the dog barking. I reached the back door and it was locked. The barking was more insistent now, and then it changed to high-pitched yelps.
I looked back to see the restaurant filling with dust. Then the first of the things dropped through the hole in the ceiling and landed in a crouch. I could see the dog cowering down and then the Zombie moved towards it with improbable speed.
I leveled to AK and fired, felt it kick, saw the Zombie go down. As I turned towards the door I fired two shots at the lock then applied my boot to it. It flew open and I slipped through, half turning as I did to see more of the things dropping into the restaurant.
