They looked at the biker, lying face down and unresponsive. He had lost a lot of blood.
“Does that thing have straps? Strap him down.” Ozzy said with a little bit of panic in his eyes.
“I’ll help” the shirtless man jumped up and hurried across the room, holding open the door.
“Where’s the other guy, the painter that kid brought in?” Gunny asked as he wheeled him out into the corridor.
“He didn’t make it,” Stacy said, “He didn’t have a pulse or anything, so we laid him in the freezer.”
Gunny stopped and looked at her, disbelief evident on his face.
“He was dead,” she said defensively. “I didn’t know what to do and that was the only option I had for now.”
“It’s all good,” Gunny said. “I’ll check on him.” He turned a hard left out of the office and started to run, pushing the heavy examination table in front of him.
“Go down to the shop!” he yelled at the man running beside him and helping to steer the table. “Grab some ratchet straps, there’s a bunch in the side box of my wagon. It’s there in the 2nd bay.”
The man took off at a dead sprint. Gunny was a little impressed, the guy seemed unflappable. He had a good build. The muscles in his dark skin defined as he sprinted. Either he hadn’t been trucking very long, or he kept up an exercise regime. No stupid questions. No hesitation. He pegged him as a Marine. Maybe Infantry. Definitely military of some kind.
He stopped just short of the door to the gym and pulled it open then quickly got the front of the table in before it could close. He chose this place because it was as far away from the central area as possible and the doors had big handles that could be chained shut. He thought he could tie him to one of the machines but if they strapped him down, that probably wouldn’t be necessary.
The man came hustling back in by the time Gunny had the biker in the back of the room and they quickly wrapped the poor bastard in 3-inch-wide heavy-duty straps and tightened them down. Not too snug. But enough he wouldn’t be slipping out of them if he turned.
They looked at each other over the table, both still breathing a little hard. Gunny glanced down at the scratches on the man’s chest. They had started bleeding again, but it wasn’t bad, mostly from his nearly missing nipple.
“Yeah,” he said in acknowledgment of Gunny’s look at his chest. “I’ve got a very serious vested interest on how this all turns out.”
Gunny nodded. Stuck out his hand. “They call me Gunny,” he said as they headed out of the room.
“I’ve heard.” The man said. “I’m Hot Rod.”
“Vet?” Gunny asked
“No,” he said, and knew what Gunny was really asking. How are you so cool under pressure, not freaking out like most civilians would? “I race dirt track and stock cars. Wheel to wheel at a buck fifty. Done it for years.”
He smiled and held up his arm for Gunny to see. “Or at least I used to.” There was a long, wide scar going from the inside of his bicep all the way down to his wrist, ragged looking on his coffee brown skin. “Reflexes aren’t what they used to be. Now I truck.”
“I’m headed to check the freezer, you sterilize those scratches yet?”
“Raw alcohol.” Hot Rod replied.
Gunny grimaced
“Yeah, it stung a bit.” He deadpanned. “I’m going to smear some antibacterial in these now that they’ve mostly stopped bleeding.”
“Keep an eye on Billy,” Gunny said. “Ozzy too. You saw how fast they turn if they die.” Then he took off at a jog to the big walk-in freezer. As he passed back by the Radio Shop, he saw a dozen drivers in there, crowded around Wire Bender's counter and his computer, Scratch and Cobb among them. He opened the door and yelled for Scratch who still had the M-4. Cobb came too, seeing more than ordinary concern on Gunny’s face.
“Sit Rep.” he barked
Gunny spit it out as fast as he could “If the wounded in Doc’s office die, they’ll turn into one of those things. I saw it happen in the parking lot. Twice.” Before he could say anything else, Cobb had already pointed Scratch in that direction. “Make sure no one else gets mangled,” he told him and Scratch was double timing instantly. Gunny barely believed it. Ol’ Cobb hadn’t even batted an eye. Just took it for gospel.
“Next.”
Gunny was caught up short for a second, he had intended to send Scratch down there himself because he had the M-4 and now had to get his train of thought back. So much was happening all at once.
“Next,” Cobb said a little louder.
“Um, the biker is strapped down in the weight room. He’s bad off and he’ll probably turn.”
“Secure?” Cobb asked
“Yeah,” Gunny said. “Ratchet straps off my truck.”
“Next.” Cobb barked again
“Stacy put that painter guy from the gas pumps in the freezer, said he was dead.”
“That’s bad,” he said and started running. Gunny had to hustle to keep up. They went the back way into the kitchen area, and both breathed a sigh of relief to see the freezer door still closed. There was no way to lock someone in. It was a safety feature that all you had to do was push against the big release bar inside to spring the door wide open.
Cookie was still at the grill on the other side of the room. “Really?” he said over his shoulder. “You’re putting bodies in my freezer?”
“It might not be a body,” Gunny replied and drew his gun as he approached the door. He looked at Cobb. “Where’s your pea-shooter?” he asked
“Gave it to Tommy, got a few of ‘em checking the fence behind the shop, make sure there ain’t no holes in it. That’s the weak side of the building. I must’ve been down there when she told them to put the body in here.”
Cobb sighed. “I’m getting too old for this. But you guys did good out front.” He continued. “It’s about as secure as it can be. That was some fast thinking, son. You woulda made a good Marine.”
Gunny nodded, not knowing what to say. He’d never heard Cobb give out a compliment before. Maybe Hell had frozen over.
Cobb looked around the kitchen for a weapon he could use then opened the oven and grabbed one of the oversized racks out of it.
Gunny gave him a quizzical look. “I wasn’t planning on cooking him,” he said.
“If it’s come back from the dead, I don’t want you splattering brains all over the freezer” Cobb growled “I’ll push him against the back wall and you can plug him. Don’t go shooting like some Air Force puke either. One shot. Don’t fill my freezer full of holes.”
“They're kind of strong,” Gunny said, looking at the old man out of the corner of his eye as he reached for the handle to open the door.
“You saying I’m not?” Cobb said, a menace in his growl as he held the oversize rack up in front of him like a shield.
“Nope. But they’re really freaking fast, too.”
“Open the door, ya panty wearing girl,” Cobb spat out and readied his heavy rack to slam into the creature if it came snarling out.
Gunny jerked the door wide and brought the Glock up in a two-handed grip to steady his aim as Cobb took half a step forward then stopped. It was there. Standing upright but moving in slow motion, frost and ice already hanging off of it in the sub-zero walk-in. It heard them and growled deep in its chest and they could see it straining to reach them. It overbalanced and toppled face first to the floor.
Gunny shut the door. “Well, that’s interesting,” he said. “At least we know they won’t be a problem in the winter.”
“That bastard was frozen solid,” Cobb said.
“We should still kill it,” Gunny said. “It’s still dangerous if it thaws out.”
“Of course we should” Cobb rasped out. “But now we don’t have to make a mess. We can wrap it in a tarp so we don’t blow its brains all over the ice cream.”
“Right,” Gunny said. “I’ll grab one from the store. But there’s no rush, I’ve got to get with Wire Bender. See if he’s h
eard anything from the Hams back home.”
Cobb nodded, told Cookie to watch his step if he went in there and said “Go on. I’ll get Pack Rat or one of the others to give me a hand. Prolly just shove a Ka-Bar through its melon. Quieter that way. I need to talk to the folks in the diner. Pass on what little info Billy could get from the radio.”
“What did he say? They sending some more deputies over here, try to figure this mess out? He tell them we needed an ambulance?”
Cobb looked at him for a minute, realizing that Gunny had just come in off the roof, hadn’t heard any of the radio chatter from Billy’s two-way. “No,” he said quietly, pulling a Lucky Strike from his pack and inhaling on it, unlit. “There ain’t nobody coming. Billy was in contact with the office, they had heard from Reno. Total FUBAR. Sheriff’s office sounded panicked. They quit responding after there was some gunfire heard over the channel. Most of Billy’s deputies either weren’t answering or were screaming for backup themselves. Last thing he heard from ‘em was a couple was holed up in the office making their way to the jail cells. Then nothing. Sounded like there was a scuffle. Don’t know if they made it or not, they aren’t answering the radio.”
Gunny was stunned. That fast? How did it all go from a few isolated fights or riots…or incidences... To complete meltdown so quickly?
“Is this shit airborne?” Gunny asked, panic starting to sound in his voice. “How did it spread so fast? It’s got to be some kind of attack. Is it all over or just here? Is there some sort of government chemical lab around here?”
“You gonna lose it on me too?” Cobb barked at him. His hard eyes fixed on Gunny’s. “Buckle up, Snowflake. We got work to do.”
Gunny stared at him for a minute, breathing quickly, processing what Cobb had just said then closed his eyes, taking it all in.
Cities have fallen in a matter of hours.
No way.
It’s impossible.
So are Zombies.
You just killed two of them.
Cities have fallen.
Thousands… no MILLIONS of these things were out there.
Right now.
Zombies.
What are you going to do?
What is most important right here, right now?
Prioritize.
Gunny reached his hand up to his forehead, stretched out his thumb to form a C with his fingers and in a slow, measured, fluid motion he raked his hand down his body. He closed his chakras. All of them. Completely. He would deal with all this later.
It was a trick he had learned in his mandatory counseling sessions to determine his mental stability before he was quietly handed his walking papers. He was told never to darken the door of any government institution again. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard, National Guard, Reserves... All ties severed.
Don’t call us, we’ll call you. He had asked if that included the IRS. They were not amused. He didn’t know if he really had chakras to close or if it was all just a mumbo jumbo new age calming device but either way, it worked. The one good thing that came out of those hour-long sessions twice a week was a way to close off his mind, to slow down the nightmares, to contain his rage before it got out of control. To shut off emotions for a while. To get his headspace and timing back in order.
He opened his eyes to Cobb still staring at him. “I’m good,” he said, breathing evenly. Calm again. “I’m going to go talk to Wire Bender then I’ll grab a tarp and take care of this. But I don’t have a good knife. You have keys to Switchblade’s shop?”
Cobb unhooked a big ring of keys from his belt loop, handing them to Gunny. “It’s marked. Switchblade doesn’t open till nine. I don’t think he’s gonna make it.” Gunny took them and started to turn away
“Get a good one,” Cobb said. “He keeps those in the glass cases. Ain’t got a key for them, you’ll have to snap the lock. Now I gotta go tell these people it ain’t just the Three Flags. The whole damn world is melting down.” Cobb sighed, seemed to sag and looked older than ever.
Gunny felt a bit sorry for him. It wasn’t a job he would have wanted. He looked out past Cookie, at a diner half full of people who didn’t have the experiences with hardship and death that most of the drivers here had been through. Most of them weren’t going to take it very well. He looked back at the haggard old man.
“Semper Fi, Top,” he said softly.
Cobb seemed to shake himself, harrumphed and spat out his Lucky. “Don’t you got some business to be attending to?” he growled but Gunny saw his shoulders straighten and his back became stiff again as the turned and stomped out of the kitchen.
Switchblade’s knife shop, The Cutting Edge, was near the main hall and carried a vast assortment of knives and swords and other less than lethal weapons. He had paper weights cleverly disguised as brass knuckles. He had props from every movie that ever had a sword or fancy knife in it, tons of cheap Chinese knives and, like Cobb had said, a small selection of quality knives locked away in display cases.
These weren’t his best sellers; why buy a two hundred dollar knife if you didn’t need it? You could buy a whole handful of twenty-dollar knives that looked cool and came in garish colors for the same money.
After he had let himself in, Gunny grabbed a sweet looking dagger with a stack of skulls for a handle and stuck it in the little lock to snap it off the showcase. It snapped at the hilt. So he grabbed a bright green knife that looked like a snake was curling around the grip.
It didn’t do much better, although the blade lasted longer than the plastic handle. Sighing, he looked behind the counter and saw a screwdriver. It snapped the little lock right off. Switchblade didn’t have many high-quality knives, only a few dozen, but they really were top shelf.
Genuine Ka-Bars, Gerbers, a few SOG Seal Team knives and H&Ks among others. Gunny just grabbed a Gerber because the sheath was right there with it and it looked as sturdy as any of the others. He slid it onto his belt then finally headed down to the CB shop to see if there was any news from the Atlanta area.
As he passed Doc’s office, he could see Scratch standing near the entrance door, talking to Hot Rod but he was a good distance from the others.
Gunny smiled to himself, remembering a quote from General “Mad Dog” Mattis: “Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everybody you meet.”
It looked like Scratch was doing just that. As he opened the door to the cluttered Radio shop, he could hear the sound of a dozen different voices over the CBs and Ham and shortwaves. They were vying to be heard over the televisions and internet feeds from around the world on all the monitors he had rigged up.
A visit to his den was always a headache-inducing endeavor if you didn’t like the sound of background static and roger beeps and distant voices over loudspeakers but now he had really cranked it up a few notches. Some of the guys noticed him as he came in and gave him nods.
“Cobb said those things are all over the place. That true?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the pandemonium coming from the speakers. He looked around at the multiple monitors and screens and saw the answer on their faces without being told.
Wire Bender finished talking to someone on one of the Ham radios, noticed Gunny, then hit a switch quieting the cacophony down so he wouldn’t have to yell to be heard.
“Saw what you did out there, man,” he said in his somewhat reedy voice, nodding towards the closed circuit video monitors on the back wall. The whole five minutes was on replay on one of the screens. It looped from the time the couple on the bikes left, to him and Pack Rat climbing up out of view towards the catwalk.
Gunny watched it for a minute, saw himself shoot the little Mexican kid in the face then turned away to see the rest of the men staring at him. Hard men with hard faces. Were they judging? Did they think they could have done it better? Were they Monday morning quarterbacking what he had to do?
Griz finally spoke up, saying, “I don’t know if I coulda done it, Bro. That was some pipe hittin’ shit.” Th
en held his massive fist up for Gunny to bump. The tension broke and there were a few pats on his back, and “It had to be done,” and “Thank God you didn’t get your ass bit,” comments. Then truckers, being who they were, somebody had to crack wise about Gunny’s bowlegged run. Then, they were chuckling over the Ferrari he had plowed into.
Gunny went to the counter and Wire Bender was sitting there surrounded by his electronics like an all-knowing oracle, like he had been waiting for this ever since Gunny had walked in the door.
“Atlanta?” he asked
“Not good.” Wire Bender said. “I got on the horn with some guys I know in that area about the time you were introducing Mr. Kenworth to Mr. Ferrari.”
He tucked a length of long gray hair behind his ear. “Only one of ‘em answered. He’s way out in the sticks. He hadn’t seen anything. As far as Atlanta proper … man, it’s the same as everywhere else. All hell broke loose about seven or eight o’clock, their time. I’ve been up since way early, watching this develop. It’s not just here, Gunny. While we were sleeping, most of Europe went through this. It’s like it’s following the path of the sun or something. People wake up and turn Zombie. I didn’t think it could happen here, though.”
Gunny watched the televisions, the internet channels. It was the same all over. Fire, mayhem, zombies, police in full riot gear.
“Some of the East Coast TV stations aren’t even broadcasting. Half the sites I go to for real news in Germany and France and England aren’t there anymore. I scan the radio dials and you don’t hear voices, just music. Playlists on repeat, probably.”
“But if it’s been going on around the world, maybe following the sun as you say, why haven’t we been warned? You know the military, the government has been watching all this!” one of the drivers said
“Maybe it was all too fast” another opined. “If it comes with the sun, by the time Washington realized it was happening here, it already had.”
“How can the sun make people turn into zombies?” Gunny asked, “there’s no way unless….” He thought for a minute. “Unless we’re already infected with something and the sun is the catalyst that sets it off?”
Zombie Road: Convoy of Carnage Page 8
