The Zombie Road Omnibus: The Road Kill Collection

by David A. Simpson

  “Me, too,” Lacy said. “Is there any way to get down to the parking garage? Phil, I need to get out of here, I need to get to the school to get my kid.”

  He shook his head. “No way. The garage is open to the street, it’s probably full of those things. Mizz Lacy, you haven’t been out there among them. They are faster than us. They are stronger than us. They’re nearly invincible. You couldn’t pay me any amount of money to go back down there. Not until the police or the Army get things cleaned up.”

  Mr. Sato, the CEO of the American division of Satoshiri Electronics, came bustling back into the room with his satellite phone in his hand and announced that he had made contact with someone in the Governor’s office. They had assured him that the Army would be out soon to get things back under control. And yes, of course, they would be evacuating personnel from the rooftops with helicopters. There was a quiet cheer as the small crowd greeted the news.

  “Did they say when?” someone asked.

  “Do we need to get up there right now?” another added, fear evident in his quavering voice.

  “How will we get past those things in the hall?”

  Mr. Sato looked at a loss as all the questions came flying at him, the people talking over one another. As Lacy handed him a cup of coffee, Phil raised his hands and made shushing motions. “Settle down, people. I don’t think we need to leave here just yet, we have a clear view of the city. When we see the Army or the National Guard clearing the streets, or we see the choppers start coming in, then we can head to the roof. The elevators will take us almost all the way. I have the keys to the access door, so we’re only five minutes away when we need to be.”

  There was an audible sigh of relief from the harried office workers. Just ten minutes before they had been out in the hallways and stairwells and had seen half of their number killed or bitten, drug down and savagely attacked with claws and teeth. They had no desire to go back out there.

  Just then, Lacy’s phone sounded off with a toot toot of a big truck’s air horn. The text tone from Johnny. It was like a minor miracle. A message had gotten through on the collapsing, overused, digital network. “I got a text!” she announced and reached for her phone. Everyone else caught on quickly and pulled theirs out and instead of trying to place voice calls, they started to text message, hoping theirs would make it through the overworked system.

  7

  Realization

  As Gunny came down the ladder off the catwalk and into the back of the kitchen, Tiny was there, waiting to go up. He had the Garand slung over his shoulder, a box of shells in his jacket pocket, and a two-way radio clipped to his belt. Gunny raised his eyebrows, questioningly.

  “Cobb wants a watch, can’t see much out of any of the windows now,” Tiny said.

  Gunny nodded then asked, “Billy okay? Gumball and Ozzy make it in here?”

  “Ozzy did. Ain’t seen Gumball. He get bit in that scuffle?”

  “Yeah. Him and a couple of other guys I don’t know. They back at Doc’s?” asked Gunny.

  “Yeah,” Tiny said. “This is some crazy shit, man. You ought to go see Cobb. He’s down there with them.” The big man was subdued. Saddened, as he turned toward the ladder.

  Gunny laid a hand on his arm, “You get a hold of Tanya?” he asked. Tiny just shook his head and mounted the ladder, heading up to take first watch. Gunny cut through the back way into the kitchen, through the store rooms and out into the back of the main building.

  He knew what Tiny was going through. Tanya, his wife, worked in downtown Birmingham. Gunny’s wife worked in Atlanta. Both bad situations, if this were everywhere.

  He needed to see Wire Bender, see if there was news from the internet, or any of the Ham operators near home. Gunny knew this route through the maze of store rooms because he had helped Cobb carry in some produce that had “fallen off a truck” more than once through these doors.

  Many of the drivers would give Martha anything extra they had, and when dealing with fruits and vegetables, there was always something extra. Receivers would reject whole cases if there was even one bad orange spotted. Melons, if they were a day late arriving at the docks. Boxes of steaks if the thermometer readings weren’t right on just one sample.

  Martha passed the savings on to her customers. She and Cookie would always whip up something from whatever she was given, and it was the daily special. Many of the tourists couldn’t believe they could get a slice of peach cobbler for fifty cents, or a five dollar steak.

  Gunny had to pass Doc’s little office before he got to the CB shop and looked in as he walked by. Wire Bender seemed to know what they were facing, and had said everything was under control, so he wasn’t worried about anyone else turning. He figured they had been isolated or something.

  What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Apparently, no one else DID know what they were facing. The biker girl was grim-faced and stoic, finished with crying, putting the finishing wraps on Deputy Travaho’s arm as he sat gray-faced in one of the waiting room chairs.

  Doc’s assistant, Stacy, was there. She was a night school nursing student who worked for him during the week. She had Ozzy laying on the reception counter, his pants cut off to above the knee, and was trying to clean and flush the nasty looking bite wound on his leg. Billy held his radio with his free hand, but there was no chatter on it.

  He looked for any of the other men who had been bitten from the brawl in the parking lot. The guy who had been scratched was sitting in one of the other chairs, holding a towel across his chest. He glanced around for the other biker or the painter. They both got it pretty bad. These guys all seemed okay. They weren’t going to die or anything.

  “Where’s the other biker?” he asked. “Gumball?”

  “Gumball took off. So did a bunch of other guys,” Ozzy grimaced through the pain.

  “The biker is on the table in the back,” Stacy replied. “We did what we could with what we have. He needs to get to town, to the hospital.”

  “Not sure if that’s going to happen anytime soon,” Gunny said. “If it’s as bad in Reno as here, there won’t be any ambulances free to run up this way.”

  He walked past the desk and into the examination room. The biker was laying on his stomach, a big gauze pad that was starting to seep red taped to the back of his neck. His face was a mess from where he had it crammed into the asphalt. He had his eyes closed. There was a long strip of his scalp and hair missing that they had also bandaged.

  Gunny shook him a little then stepped back. “Hey, you awake?’ he asked, one hand firmly on his gun.

  “Hmmm?” the guy said.

  “Just hang on, buddy. I’m going to wheel you to the other room,” he said. He didn’t like this. He had seen how fast the guy in the parking lot had turned. Moaning in pain one minute, ripping out throats the next.

  This guy was barely coherent, and he knew he wasn’t doped up because Doc didn’t keep meds in here. This was just a place where truckers could pay their sixty bucks and get their medical card stamped for another two years. Or pay a little more, if there was a little something wrong with them, and still get it stamped for two years. He was kind of surprised they even had bandages, but he supposed the board of health checked up on these places from time to time, so they had to at least look official.

  He released the locking wheels of the exam table and started to roll him out into the waiting room, and the corridor beyond.

  Stacy looked up from Ozzy’s leg she was irrigating. “Are you taking him to the hospital?” she asked.

  “To the weight room,” Gunny replied, “It’ll be safer in there.”

  “Wait!” she cried out. “It’s filthy in there. There’s infection to think about.”

  “Yes, there is…” Gunny thought. He looked at Ozzy and the shirtless man. The only other two people who had seen someone go from human to dead to monster, in a matter of seconds.

  They looked at the biker, lying face down and unresponsive. He had lost a lot of blood.

&nb
sp; “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,” he 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 heard anything from the Hams back home.”

  Cobb nodded, told Cookie to watch h
is 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?” he 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?”