“Well I am not a citizen,” I challenged him.
“No,” he replied, leaning forward. “You are a guest.”
I sat back and crossed my arms.
“As I was saying,” John continued. “Only armed patrols are allowed to carry weapons.”
“That's insane,” I interrupted. “So you are telling me that if a wild pack of zombies were to march through town, the people wouldn't be allowed to defend themselves? Why? Are you really that threatened they might question your authority?”
“First of all,” John managed through gritted teeth, the note of agitation no longer hidden in his usually honeyed voice, “there is no such thing as a zombie horde.”
“Yeah? Then what ran us out of Vandenberg?”
“Second,” John said calmly, ignoring my taunt. “The armed patrols of New Lompoc are more than equipped to handle the Unity Gang threat. Since we took over this territory, we haven't had a single attack—zom or human related. The people are happy again. Life is finally returning to some sort of normalcy. You'd see that if you weren't looking for some way to tear us down.”
“So it's simply share and share alike?”
“Pretty much,” John said. “I get the feeling that you don't trust me much. I can't say given what I hear you've been through that I blame you entirely. What is it going to take to win you over?”
“You could start by giving me back my blade,” I said without hesitation a second time. John laughed.
“All things in due time,” he replied, a knowing grin on his face. “In the meantime, I was hoping you'd be interested in sticking around and helping out a bit. Word has it you are both a fierce warrior and a loyal friend.”
I thought about Sam the minute he said it. God, I hope Benji didn't mention him.
“Actually, I have other plans if you don't mind,” I said derisively.
“You mean your brother in Hueneme?”
“That's right,” I answered back curtly. “If you really want to help me out you'll hook me up with a car and send me and Benji on our way.”
“You and Benji?”
“That's right.”
“You're not interested in taking the twins with you then?”
“That's up to them,” I replied frankly. “They were kind of a last minute addition, if you know what I mean.”
“I do indeed,” John said with a wink. “I'm sorry to say that I can't let you leave right now.”
“You can't or you won't?”
“It's not like that, Xander,” John sighed. “Things are rarely as simple as they seem.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“Our little slice of paradise is pretty hot right now,” John explained. He turned around and pointed to the map behind him. “The Unity Gang controls most of the west of what used to be Lompoc. We control most of the east. We control the northern entrance, to a degree. They still find ways to get around us. They control the southern exit, by and large.”
“So we'll go around them,” I suggested.
“It's not that easy,” John explained. “There are no side roads that led out, just a wasteland of trails and hills. If the bikers don't get you, the cannibals might. And let's not forget that the Unity Gang isn't all that concerned with killing zombies. The hills just south of here are crawling with them. Some say the bikers are like old fashioned hillbillies. They set up shacks in the woods and keep zombies tied to the front porch as pets or guard dogs.”
“I don't believe that,” I admitted.
“It's true,” John said in earnest. “Some even think they are good luck. Others fight them in pits or cages like wild animals, betting on who will win.”
“Money doesn't mean anything now,” I suggested. “What's the point of gambling?”
“They don't use money,” John said. “Out in the badlands people trade sexual favors, food, booze, bikes, and just about anything else they can get their hands on. I've even heard stories of bikers gambling away their kids as slave labor to other gang members.”
“But why?”
“Who knows,” John answered. “People with addictive personalities gotta find ways to keep feeding their disorder, end of the world or not. It's like a sickness.”
“We can't stay here forever, John,” I pointed out. “I know you want to convert me to your way of life, but I'm on a mission.”
“Am I being that obvious?”
“Yeah actually you are.”
“Well,” he said sheepishly, “can you blame me? You're very gifted for a young man your age. I hear you are good in a fight as well. That you stick up for your friends. That's brave. We could use good people like you. I'm fighting a war here. I'm trying to bring back a small piece of what we once had. You could be a big part of that. Then, when things calm down, when they are more under control, you can go on your way. What do you think?”
There was a twinkle in his eyes as he made his obviously contrived confession. He had all the makings of a cult leader. It was clear now why he was in charge. He was charismatic. Other guys might be bigger or stronger or better fighters, but in the end he was clearly the brains of the operation as far as New Lompoc was concerned.
“I'm sorry,” I replied. “This isn't my war. This isn't my town. I'm just passing through. I have to get to my brother. I can't afford to get caught up in your fight.”
“I understand,” John said, sounding disappointed.
“So you'll let us go then?”
“Of course,” John responded without hesitation, adding, “I'm not running a prison camp here.”
“And my sword?”
“You can have it back when you go,” John promised.
Something’s not adding up here, I thought. This just seems too easy all of a sudden.
“Well then,” I said standing up. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Good luck with New Lompoc. Now if you will just give us a car and my katana we'll be on our way.”
John smiled but didn't move.
“I told you,” he casually responded. “You can't leave right now. The Unity Gang controls the southern corridor. For the time being, you're stuck with us.”
Here we go, I thought.
“So I'm just supposed to stay here forever?”
“I'm working on a plan to take back the main highway,” John offered. “I was hoping to get some help from you, maybe change your status from civilian guest to patrol?”
“How do I know you're not just making all this up to try to trick me into staying?”
“I am so glad you asked that,” he replied, standing up. “I've been dying to show you around. Let's take a ride.”
We walked back downstairs. I called out to Benji to come with us. John looked pensive for a minute, like he wasn't sure it was a good idea, but he didn't say anything.
“Why do you have a Nintendo Wii?”
“It's for first person shooters,” John grinned. “You know, to train up new recruits? We can't afford to waste real ammunition rounds training in the field so we do most of them here. Only Benji wasn't interested in that so he found the one game not suitable for training at all. He's been at it for hours now.”
We both laughed. John opened the door and walked out. I followed after him, turning my head from the living room where Benji was saving his game play and crashing into a solid wall of muscle. Looking up, I saw a heavily tattooed man with rippling muscles in a torn Gold's Gym t-shirt. He had a gun belt on with two firearms showing and a large sword on his back, my katana.
“If it isn't Sleeping Beauty herself,” he said, flashing a crooked smile down at me.
Anger flooded through me, robbing me of all reason as I lashed out at him.
“Give it back to me now!” I pounded both fists into his chest but he didn't budge an inch.
“Someone sure is grumpy first thing in the morning,” the man sang. “After all the sleep you got I assumed you'd be in better spirits.”
I stared at him in shock. John stepped in to keep the peace.
“This is Tank,
” he said. “You met him last night. He is my first in command. The other man in the truck was Bruiser.” John motioned off to the side where an almost equally large man stood smiling at us behind dark sunglasses.
“Give me my sword,” I said in a threatening voice to Tank. He chuckled.
“Nice to meet you too,” he replied, sticking out his hand. I slapped it away. My hand stung from the blow. It was like slapping a block of iron. He chuckled again, casting a glance around at the others who were shaking their heads in disbelief at my gall.
“I told you he had a lot of fire,” John bragged.
“Chill now for a minute,” Tank back peddled. “I'm just holding on to it until John says you can have it back. We share weapons here, like everything else. I saw this beauty sitting there and I knew it was important. I didn't want anyone else to get a hold of it and damage the blade. Last thing you need is some commando using it to chop wood or pop open locked doors. A masterpiece like this needs to be handled delicately, like a lady.”
“I appreciate your concern,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Now hand it over.”
“I've got an idea,” Tank began. “Why don't we spar for it? You win, you get it back with no questions asked. If I win, I will keep holding on to it for a while. Deal?” Tank looked over to John to see if he would object, but he nodded his assent. I didn't know what Benji had told them but it must have been good. They were all eager to see what kinds of tricks I had up my sleeves.
“Fine by me,” I agreed stepping back and cracking my knuckles. Tank looked surprised by my response.
I'm probably the first guy to ever challenge him head on, I thought. If not the first, at least the smallest and youngest . . . and maybe the stupidest.
I walked out onto the lawn and began to stretch. Tank took off his gun belt and set it gingerly on the ground before handing my sword to John to hold. He twisted his neck to the side and it gave a loud pop. I took up my first pose and let him walk toward me, like a moving brick wall made out of human muscle. For a split second I thought about how terrifying a zombie he would make.
“You want me to go easy on ya?” Tank asked, looking around to make sure everyone was watching as he popped his knuckles, mocking me.
The words were barely out of his mouth when my left heel connected with his jaw. When I saw his head turning, taking his focus off of me, I'd stepped forward with my right foot and planted it firmly in the grass. Then I'd twisted my body as I brought my left leg around as fast as I could, bending at the waist and pivoting to let the loose leg swing freely toward my target—his fat head. I'd seen plenty of big guys taken down by kicks like these in MMA matches, but I wasn't harboring any fantasies of a first round K.O. I didn't have the kind of power needed in my legs to pull off a stunt like that, especially against an opponent his size. As my foot came within striking range of his face, I'd tensed up and let the heel smack him good and hard to get his attention. It was, for lack of a better term, a smashing success.
I heard a loud crack as I followed through, spinning back into standing position, followed by a round of gasps from our onlookers. Tank's head twisted to the side but he didn't go down. He turned back toward me with an entirely different kind of smile, one I was certain his enemies knew only too well just before they died.
“Okay ya little bastard,” he spat blood on the grass. “You wanna play like a big boy. Just don't cry when ya get hurt.”
He advanced toward me, eager to land his first blow with those meaty paws. I tried to sweep his leg but it didn't budge. Instead, I was knocked off balance and he shoved me over onto the grass. He attempted to bring his weight down on my elbow first, maybe catch me in the head or the back of my shoulders, but I rolled out of the way and he landed on his ass. I didn't move fast enough though and he was able to pin me with his upper body and keep me from wriggling loose. I punched out feebly at him with my left hand but he caught it in his mitt-sized hand and squeezed until shivers of raw pain shot down my arm. The more I pulled to free myself, the worse the agony was. A plan formed in the back of my mind. If I could roll over in his direction maybe I could flip my body around and knock him over with both feet.
Yeah, I thought. And maybe you'll dislocate your shoulder in the process.
But I wasn't ready to admit defeat. I wasn't leaving without my blade!
I started to twist toward him but he must have sensed my plan. He moved so fast it blew my mind. I hadn't imagined a guy his size could be so agile! He spun around and locked my arm up, crushing my head into the grass with one of his gigantic legs at the same time. Leaning back he held me in an arm bar. The pain was beyond anything I can describe. He was literally ripping my arm off! I thrashed in pure agony, screaming at the top of my lungs and beating the ground. All the air seemed to go out of my body and for a moment I thought I was going to pass out. Flashes of light began to pop behind my eyes.
“Say Uncle,” Tank teased.
“No!” I managed. He leaned back again and the pain returned like a wave of sickness. “UNCLE!” I screamed at the top of my lungs while I slapped at the soft grass. Instantly, he let up and jumped to his feet. Extending his hand, he offered to help me up. My first instinct was to try to slap it away again, but I felt dizzy. I reached out to grab his hand, trying to keep the world from spinning.
“Whoa there,” John cautioned stepping forward to help. “Easy.”
I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. Pain was still tingling through my arm and shoulder but the humiliation was far worse than anything. Sure he was bigger than me, but that wasn't the point. Fighting isn't about size. It's about smarts. I'd seen small wiry monks easily defeat muscle bound madmen because they were smarter, faster, and most of all, more controlled. I'd been none of those things.
If Moto could see me now he would be disappointed, I thought.
I opened my eyes and stood up. Tank rubbed his jaw with one hand and held me up with the other.
“Nice kick,” he admitted, “even if it was kind of a cheap shot.”
“Thanks,” I countered. “Can I have my sword back now?”
“Sorry, but where I come from a deal is a deal,” he said with a bloody smile. “Better luck next time.”
Tank let me go and grabbed his guns from the ground, lacing on the belt again. John handed him my sword and he slipped it back over his shoulder.
“Well that was exciting,” John said. “Now, if there aren't any further objections, let's go for that ride.” He turned and walked over to the white truck from the night before.
Pride is your real enemy, I thought as I massaged my arm and shoulder. What was done was done. I'd have to make the best of it. Being hostile to John and his buddies wasn't going to get me anywhere. For now I'd have to play along. I swallowed my pride and walked over to the truck, climbing in the back.
“That's the spirit,” John sang. “Hang on now, and keep low. We're heading into enemy territory.”
He started the truck, the engine roaring to life, and began to back out. Benji got into a Jeep with Tank and Bruiser and followed us. I didn't have the strength or the will to argue any more. I was glad to be in the back, away from John's prying stare. The cool breeze did wonders to help chill my embarrassment and dry the tears of shame that ran freely down my face in defeat.
Chapter Eight
Things were pretty much normal for the first part of the drive. We crossed over Ocean and went into another neighborhood that looked almost identical to the one we'd just left. Aside from the lack of traffic and the armed guards patrolling the streets on foot, it was just like any other day prior to the zombie apocalypse. Tank followed us, grinning at me as he drove.
Keep smiling you big idiot, I thought. This ain't over yet. How's that jaw feel?
We stopped in front of a random house and parked. Tank got out of the car and went to the door, knocking on it and yelling out in a booming voice. A minute later Joel and Tom came out dressed in camouflage from head to toe. They both seemed to be in good spirits. I was sudd
enly glad that Joel hadn't seen me lose to Tank. That seemed like more than I could handle at the moment.
“Hop up in the front,” John hollered. I rolled out of the back and got into the front passenger side. Joel and Tom got into the back of the truck. Tank got back into his Jeep. “Believe it or not, you're going to want to buckle up. We're heading to the border of New Lompoc. Never know when things are going to get bumpy.”
I sighed. Reaching back, I grabbed the safety buckle and dragged it across my chest, snapping it into place at my side.
“Happy?” I was still more than a little agitated about how things had turned out this morning and I didn't care if he knew it. After all, none of this would have happened if he hadn't taken my sword from me in the first place.
“You're a hard guy to win over,” John said. “I thought for sure the bacon would do the trick. Oh well. Here we go.”
John cranked the ignition. The truck roared to life. He screeched off. Obviously this wasn't how he saw things going either.
We pulled through a cul-de-sac and back onto Ocean, heading west. John had a long range walkie with him that kept going off with coded reports that made no sense to me. It was annoying to hear all the chatter.
“You got a radio station in New Lompoc yet?” I asked, reaching for the radio. He stopped me.
“We had one the first week,” he said. “But it went down quickly. Drew in Unity Gang members like moths to a flame. They surrounded it and burned it to the ground.” John looked upset.
“You lose a lot of good vinyl that day?” I said, trying to be funny. “Some Three Dog Night and Saturday Night Fever? Abba?”
“I lost my brother that day,” John said, staring straight ahead. “They locked him in and burned the place to the ground. Aaron never had a chance.”
“Sorry,” I apologized, making eye contact with him for a brief second to let him know I truly was remorseful. I hadn't intended on stirring up bad memories. Seemed like nothing was going like I thought it would anymore.
“I appreciate that,” John replied in a reverent tone, letting me off the hook. “Nothing to do about it now. I got a Metallica cassette in the tape deck, but now's not a great time to play it.”
Zombie Attack! Rise of the Horde Page 7
