Zombie D.O.A.

by JJ Zep

  “Good idea. We should be…”

  “Forty two,” Yonder said.

  But the headcount turned up only forty. “One of those is Cal,” I said, “who’s the other?”

  “Nate,” Yonder said, and she was right, Nate wasn’t with us. I’d last seen him running from behind the grocery store, looping round to lay out the tire spikes for any escaping bikers. I’d heard the collision and shots being fired. Had Nate been shot? I doubted it. The riders would have hit those spikes at speed and being thrown from their bikes, Nate would have had surprise on his side. The shots that were fired would likely have been Nate finishing them off, not the other way around.

  “Yonder, get everyone through to the other side.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going back for Nate.”

  “Are you crazy?” Yonder said. “There’s got to be hundreds of them down there!”

  “I’m coming with you,” Hooley said.

  “No,” I said, “I need you to stay with these folks. No point both of us getting killed on a fool’s errand.”

  “If it’s a fools errand you’re on then I’m your man,” Hooley grinned.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I heard Alice say in the darkness.

  We followed Yonder’s group to the first junction, where they split off towards track two. We continued on and took the next split, which brought us out on the west face, then we skirted round until we could see Cal crouching in the brush.

  “Cal,” I whispered.

  “Sheet, hoss!” Cal said, spinning around. “You scared the bejesus out of me, right there. Why didn’t you give me a holler on the walkie-talkie?”

  “Sorry Cal, left it back at the town hall.”

  “Okay then. Scoot down on your behind along that path through the brush.”

  We did as Cal said and joined him in a natural hide created by three boulders, sheltered by overhanging bushes to the front and back.

  “Right cozy,” Hooley said.

  “Some interesting comings and goings, downtown,” Cal said, “Take a look.”

  He passed me his rifle and I looked through the scope. The Dead Men seemed to have made their headquarters at the Kimberly saloon, and their bikes lined both sides of the street from the crater in front of the town hall, up towards the church at the end of the road. I figured there had to be at least 200 bikes down there. Cal was right, this was an army.

  “They rounded up Ray’s folk, got them under guard in the church. The man himself has been hauled down to the saloon.”

  “What about Nate?” I said, “You seen him.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cal said, “He’s holed up in that house at the corner of B and C.”

  I scanned the rifle in that direction and saw the house Cal was talking about, a dilapidated bungalow with an overgrown yard. I could make out the two spike chains, now pushed to the side of the road. To one side a Harley lay on its side and there were a couple of leather-clad bodies.

  “How do you know he’s in there?”

  “Seen him go in, ain’t seen him come out. Figure he’s waitin’ for nightfall to make his move.”

  “Let me get a look,” Hooley said, and I was about to hand him the rifle when Cal stopped me.

  “Something else you oughta see,” he said, “Something that don’t seem right. See them fellers hanging around outside the saloon, zoom in on them, get a better look.”

  I put my eye to the scope again, found the two bikers Cal was talking about and zoomed in. As their faces came into focus I pulled back from the scope.

  “What is it?” Hooley insisted, “Lemme see.”

  I passed the rifle to him and he brought it up to his shoulder and looked through the scope, “Jesus Crockett!” Hooley said. “Those are zombies!”

  seventeen

  “Told you it didn’t seem right,” Cal said. “Whoever saw a Z walking around like normal folk, let alone riding a Harley? You got any clue, Chris? Wait a minute, you do, don’t ya?”

  “Blueberry Hill,” I said.

  “Blueberry what?”

  “You mean like the song? Fats Domino?” Hooley said.

  “It’s an experimental drug,” I said, “Something developed by an outfit called the Pendragon Corporation.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Well, it’s supposed to be some kind of antidote for the Z virus and as you can see it works – to a degree.”

  “You seen this shit in action before?” Hooley asked.

  “Back in Tulsa.”

  “And it turns Z’s back into normal folk?”

  “Well I wouldn’t exactly say that. Most of the time I seen it used it doesn’t seem to work at all, but I heard of cases in Phoenix and Denver where they reckon they’ve had some positive results. I’ve also seen a Z back in Tulsa, a lady Z named Zelda who looked like a centerfold, but would eat you for breakfast.”

  “So you reckon these Z’s have been doped up with this Blueberry Hill stuff?” Cal asked.

  “Only explanation I can think of. Tell me, you seen anyone down there dressed like a cowboy? White Stetson? Tied down six-shooter?”

  “Oh yeah,” Cal said, “Short little shit, dressed up like Roy Rodgers. Looks like he’s the boss man of this outfit.”

  “Virgil Pratt.”

  “Virgil Pratt? Didn’t you tell Nate he was dead?”

  “These days,” I said, “Who can tell?”

  Hooley was still looking through the scope, “I believe I see your man now,” he said, passing the rifle to me.

  I peered through the scope and there was Virgil, wearing his familiar fringed white shirt, white Stetson and cowboy boots, his silver six-shooter strapped to his thigh. He walked with a slight limp but other than that he looked no worse off than when I’d last seen him in Tulsa. That is if you could look past the slightly bluish tinge to his complexion.

  There was another man standing next to Virgil and I recognized him immediately too, Stanley Tucci, a.k.a. Stan Ritz.

  Tucci looked none the worse for wear, and it looked like he was the one calling the shots. He stood on the porch of the Kimberly barking orders, and bikers started pouring out of the saloon. Tucci got them mustered in three ranks of about eighty men each. Now three men exited the saloon carrying trays of what looked like shot glasses containing a bluish fluid.

  “Looks like its doping time at the OK Corral,” I said.

  The men holding the trays started moving between the rows, pausing as each of the bikers took a glass and downed its contents. The men carrying the trays had to return to the saloon to refill three times before everyone had had their shot.

  About twenty bikers lounged off to the side, leaning on their bikes and smoking.

  “What about them fellers over there?” Cal asked

  I zoomed in on them with the lens, “Those aren’t Z’s” I said, “just your run of the mill, garden variety, scumbags.”

  Tucci now shouted out more orders and the bikers scattered in all directions, some of them started clearing the bodies and wrecked bikes and tossing them into the blast crater. Others started entering the buildings across from the saloon, others moving towards B Street and to the east and west boundaries of the town.

  “Shit,” Cal said, “Looks like they’re doing a house-to-house search. If Nate’s going to make his move it had better be now.”

  I scanned the rifle over to the house where Nate was hiding out and saw no movement other than the weeds stirring slightly in the breeze. Scanning left I saw the bikers working their way up B Street searching each house in turn. They were about three houses away from Nate’s hideout.

  “What’s happening?” Hooley said, “Do you see him?”

  “No, I don’t, but if he’s in that house he’d better get out pretty much right now.”

  The searchers had arrived at the corner of B and C and were crossing the dusty road towards Nate’s hideout. Another biker on a Harley pulled up and they got into conversation. A flash of movement caught my eye and I saw
Nate dropping from a window and crawling into the brush.

  The bikers had now finished talking and resumed their search. Four of them entered the house and were lost from sight. I could clearly see Nate’s blue shirt as he lay in the brush and I knew that if he held his nerve and stayed undercover they probably wouldn’t find him. But then Nate did something really stupid and decided to make a run for it.

  I saw him start to crawl through the undergrowth towards the weathered corral fence that separated the house from the brush beyond. There was a patch of bare earth and he reached that now and broke cover, sprinting towards the fence and vaulting it.

  In the next moment the four bikers came pouring out of the house. Three of them set off in pursuit, while the other ran into B Street. He seemed to be shouting something and three Harleys came racing towards him, kicking up dust as they braked. The man pointed in the direction Nate had run. Then he hoisted himself onto the back of one of the bikes and the three of them raced off.

  Nate meanwhile was gaining on his pursuers. He looped right in a broad circle heading for deeper brush. But the area he was crossing now was mainly stunted scrub grass. One of the bikers stopped and lifted a rifle to his shoulder. I heard the rapport and saw Nate go down.

  “Goddamn!” Hooley said, “Gimme that rifle, I’ll show them sum bitches!”

  “We fire now and we’ll have them all over this hill in five minutes, so just hold your horses, Hooley. We need to box clever.”

  The bikers had now reached the spot where Nate had fallen and they hauled him to his feet. A crimson stain spread out from Nate’s right shoulder and he hung between them like a limp rag doll. One of the biker’s slapped him, but he showed no reaction. The Harleys had now reached the scene, and after some discussion they rode off, while two bikers between them dragged Nate back towards town.

  “You think he’s killed,” Hooley asked.

  “No,” I said, “They wouldn’t have taken him back into town unless he’s still alive.”

  We sat and watched the town until the sun started sinking below the horizon. After the house-to-house search had been completed, there’d been very little activity. The bikers had pretty much congregated around the Kimberly Saloon and the town hall. At one point there’d been screaming from the church and at another Virgil Pratt had wandered out into the dusty street and practiced his quick draw.

  Nate had been taken to the saloon and hadn’t been seen since. I thought I caught a glimpse of Giuseppe running through the brush on the outskirts of town, but through the scope it turned out to be a coyote. I wondered what had happened to the dog, who I hadn’t seen since just after our return from Whelan. I hoped he was okay and that he had the sense to stay out of town.

  eighteen

  “We going in or what?” Hooley said.

  “I’m going in,” I said, “Can’t ask you fellers to take the risk. Nate’s probably done for anyway.”

  “Fuck that for a start” Hooley said.

  “Yeah I’m coming too,” said Cal.

  “Cal? Your leg?”

  “Now how long you gonna hold that against me? I’ve known Nate Colman since kindergarten and if there’s anyone should be going in it should be me.”

  “Fair enough, glad to have you.”

  “Besides,” Cal said, “Maybe I’ve been playing things up just a tad to get some attention from that pretty doctor.” I could see him grinning in the dark.

  “Okay,” I said, “Anyone got any ideas on how we should approach this?”

  “You the man with the plan,” Cal said.

  “I say we go in blasting, see how she falls,” said Hooley.

  “Damn fool idea,” Cal said, “they got us two hundred to three.”

  “I’m with Cal on this one, Hooley. The odds are against us in a standup fight. What we need to do is improve those odds. Only way we’re going to do that is to split their forces.”

  “You got a plan or what?” Hooley said.

  “Yeah, I got a plan. We hit them from three sides. Cal you loop around to Nate’s place. He’s got that wood burning stove with a case of lighter fuel and lots of kindling. Get a fire going and spread it along as many houses as you can in that row. Just get them started, the houses are dried out old husks and they should go up like a bonfire. Then you track back through the brush to here.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Hooley, you and me are going to loop round to the church. They only have two guards up there, so we take them out. Then I need you up in the steeple with that Browning of yours. Fire straight down A Street, take out their as many of them as you can, but also make sure you focus on those Harleys.“

  “Now ya talkin’” Hooley said. “What you gonna be doing?”

  “I’m going to carry on round to the mine depot, go through the tunnel, and come up in the Kimberly Saloon. That’s where they’re holding Nate. I find him and bring him back down the tunnel, into the shaft and we’re outa here.”

  “What about timing? How are we gonna know when to kick her off?” Cal asked.

  “You get to Nate’s house, you get the fire started right away. That will distract attention from me and Hooley. And you Hooley, once you’re in the steeple, start working that Browning immediately. That gives me cover to track around to the Kimberly.”

  Hooley whistled through his teeth,” You got some deep waters, Chris Collins. You ex-military or something?”

  “Just your average Saturday night slugger. One other thing, the minute you’re done what you need to do, you haul ass through the mine to Yonder’s position. Cal you do the same once you hear Hooley stop firing. Wait there till sun up, then head for the bus. There’s sixty gallons of diesel fuel in the tank. That’ll get you back to Whelan.”

  “Where is this bus?” Cal asked.

  “Hooley knows, we stopped on the way down from Whelan to fill her up.”

  “We ain’t leavin’ you behind,” Hooley said.

  “Do it,” I said, “We got forty people to think of, including your wife and son. Besides, I’m not planning of staying behind in Pagan. If I don’t get to the bus on time, I’ll see you all back in Whelan. You can count on it. Anything else?”

  There were no more questions, so we set off down the east slope and made a wide circle through the brush, with Hooley cradling his beloved Browning and Cal and I carrying an ammo case each. We reached the outward facing houses and headed towards Nate’s. I was hoping Giuseppe might be there, but there was no sign of him.

  We said our goodbyes to Cal and he disappeared into the darkness. Hooley and I now jogged uphill, skirting around to come up behind the church. I was carrying both ammo cases, and by the time we reached the top of the incline my arms felt like they were on fire.

  The church stood before us and beyond it the town, in darkness except for the lights from the saloon. I could hear the faint tinkle of a piano, a ragtime tune that seemed strangely appropriate to the setting.

  At left I saw a lick of flame and a faint column of smoke, just starting to waft its way into the night sky.

  We made our way to the church and crept along the side of the building. I could see one of the guards standing out front facing the town, his back to us. Hooley produced a knife and started to creep forward, but I stopped him. We needed to know where the other guard was first.

  The fire had now started to spread, its flames clearly visible to our left. Something collapsed with a bang and a cascade of sparks was thrown into the air. The guard grunted and his companion came running over to see what going on. I could now hear the crackle of ancient timbers being devoured by the flames. Down at the saloon people were pouring into the street and I could hear Tucci’s voice shouting orders.

  There was another explosion, and this time I used the cover to put down both of the guards with single shots from the AK.

  The church doors were chained and padlocked but Hooley smashed a window and crept through. I heard screams from within and then Hooley saying, “Evening folks, Jed Hoolihan’s the name and
I’m here to save your sorry asses”.

  I passed the Browning and the ammo cases through to Hooley and then set off at a sprint towards the northern edge of the town. The fire had taken hold now and the night sky was alive with flame and sparks and crackles.

  As I reached the mine depot I heard Hooley start off on the Browning, a percussive addition to the evening’s entertainment, punctuated by the muffled explosions of the Harley’s fuel tanks rupturing.

  I dropped into the tunnel and worked my way through the darkness towards Silver Jim’s boudoir. I climbed the staircase towards the trapdoor and pushed upward. Nothing, the trapdoor wouldn’t budge. I took in a deep breath and tried again, using both hands this time and straining every sinew. The trap raised a couple of inches then slipped back into place. Quite obviously something had been placed on top of it. Something heavy. Still the fact that I’d managed to raise it at all gave me hope, so I climbed up two more steps and used my back and shoulders.

  I pushed and felt the trap began to shift and I pushed harder and moved up another step. Whatever was on the trapdoor began to shift and I heard a jingle, and then a crash as the trap suddenly flew upward.

  I said a quick prayer that no one had heard the ruckus, but I needn’t have worried. Outside there was chaos with shouts and muffled explosions and Hooley’s Browning continuing its deadly clatter.

  I stepped through the trapdoor and into the office, its interior thrown into bright light by the flaming buildings across the street.

  nineteen

  I moved quickly towards the door and tried the handle. It was locked and I was just about to step back and fire a burst at it when I noticed the boxes in the room. This was what had prevented the trapdoor from opening, but what attracted my attention was the label embossed on the plain brown cardboard, a dragon rising above the word PENCORP. There was another embossing too, this one less elaborate. It said simply BH – 17.

  I picked up one of the boxes, rattled it, and heard a faint jingle from within. I stripped back the security tape, removed one of the vials and held it up. The firelight gave it a slightly greenish tinge, but I knew exactly was it was – Blueberry Hill.