by R. J. Spears
The coast was as clear as it ever was. We only had to loop around the shed and head for the dump truck. It was about a hundred feet away. That hundred feet looked like a mile because I knew once we stepped outside the shed, we’d be out in the open and exposed.
There was no place to go but forward. Brother Ed didn’t hesitate and followed right behind me. We made it the first fifty feet, and it felt like my arms were about to fall off, but stopping to rest wasn’t an option. I gritted my teeth and just kept moving.
I was huffing and puffing by the time we made it beside the truck. Brother Ed was too, but his breathing seemed disciplined and under control, while I was close to gasping for air.
“Look where to fuel this damn thing,” I said between gasps.
“Up here,” he said moving toward the front of the truck. “Behind the cab.” He waddled back and forth as he moved forward, reminding me of a duck. I kept that to myself.
He set down his containers, uncapped the fuel port, and unwrapped the hose from his waist. He took the cap off one of his containers, jammed the hose down into it and put the other end in the fuel port. I wouldn’t have thought of that and would have been sloshing much of the fuel onto the ground. Brother Ed was proving to be more resourceful than I would have given him credit. He hoisted his container off the ground, and the fuel made a ‘glug-glugging’ sound as it traveled down the hose and into the fuel tank on the truck.
A voice boomed off the trees and I nearly jumped out of my skin, “Stay where you are with your hands on your head. If you attempt to run or take any offensive actions, we will be forced to shoot you.” I was sure we were cooked, but when I wheeled about no helicopters were visible. “Get down on your knees,” the voice said again. The sound bounced off the trees and came back towards us from the front of the buildings, which meant that the choppers were still in that area.
Unflappable or oblivious, Brother Ed finished with his first container, and started on the second one. I took the caps off both of mine to be ready when I needed to be, but once again, I felt like a time clock was ticking down on us.
Brother Ed finished with his second container and I moved in with my first. The fuel felt like it was moving like molasses down the hose, but I kept the can elevated and waited it out.
The tone of the helicopter blades changed in pitch and volume. My can finished emptying out just as the sound of the helicopter came closer. Brother Ed grabbed my shoulder and pushed me to the ground. “Roll under, so they can’t see us.”
I did as I was told and, a second after I slipped under, Brother Ed came in behind me.
The helicopter burst from around the corner of the building and came our way. The wind from its blades kicked up dust and grass from the field and blew them like a wind tunnel under the truck, forcing us to close our eyes.
“I hope they don’t see the gas cans,” Brother Ed said loudly.
While we couldn’t see the chopper from where were under the truck, I could sense it hovering nearby. These sensations seemed to go on forever, then the roar of the engine increased in intensity and the wind from its blades moved over and past us. Three seconds later, its gun sounded and, when I looked across the field, I saw a small group of zombies jitterbugging from the impact of the rounds, and they literally shook apart, with pieces going in every direction. Even for zombies, it wasn’t a pretty sight.
The helicopter drifted sideways fifty feet off the tree line, presumably searching for more undead. After about thirty seconds, it ascended and disappeared from view. There were no commands coming from the front of the complex, but the roar of the other helicopter resounded our way.
Just to be safe, we stayed under the truck for another minute. When I felt like I couldn’t stay under the truck any longer, I slid out, and Brother Ed followed. We quickly drained the other can into the tank of the truck.
I set the can down and said, “Get in. I’ll drive you back to the building.”
Getting in the truck was a leap of faith. While running left us exposed and vulnerable, there was the possibility of stealth. Once this truck started moving, there was no hiding. Ancient rusted out dump trucks were not known as being stealthy. Not in a million years.
As soon as I slid behind the steering wheel and looked out the window, I knew we were in trouble. “Oh shit,” I said.
“What?” Brother Ed said with some alarm in his voice.
“Look at the hill,” I said.
The Humvees and other military vehicles were on the move and coming down the road toward the complex. Their caravan looked to be around twelve vehicles, mostly Humvees, some with roof-mounted machine guns and some not. There were two larger trucks and some sort of armored vehicle with over-sized wheels at the end of the line. This one was at the back of the line and brought a sense of dread out in me because it looked like the same Stryker mobile cannon that the soldiers who attacked the church used. Oh joy, just what we needed.
“I’m going to wait until they get completely off that hill before moving,” I said. “We’ll stick out like a sore thumb if we make a run for it now.” Once they made it onto the field in front of the complex, the buildings would essentially shield us from view. That was, until we started moving and then all bets were off.
I felt completely conspicuous sitting out in the open like we were, but there was nothing to do about it. They had seen the dump truck sitting behind the complex before, and it was still there. My only hope was that they would think it was just parked there permanently.
Before the end of the world, sitting and waiting in silence was a virtual hell on Earth for me. I would have rather had a root canal than sit and wait in silence. I had two rules in life then; 1) never go anywhere without a book because you don’t know how long you’re going to be there and how boring it’s going to be and, 2) don’t go anywhere without food because you don’t know how long you’re going to be there and how hungry you’re going to get. The zombie apocalypse cured me of my aversion to sitting in silence. Silence was good. Unless you were waiting for highly dangerous helicopters to spot you or a military convoy to roll up beside you and start blasting.
I counted the vehicles as they came down the hill and passed out of view behind the complex. This little truck went down the hill. This little Humvee followed. This little Stryker came up the rear, and so on, wee-wee-wee all the way home. I waited ten seconds after the Stryker disappeared from sight, placed my hand on the ignition key, and said a silent prayer for the beast to start.
I turned the key and initially nothing happened, but after about three seconds the fuel must have started moving through the system. The engine shuddered to life and roared, chugging for a few seconds before it sent a backfire through the tailpipe that sounded like a cannon shot.
That was not good.
“Skip taking me to the building,” Ed said. “They might have heard that.”
“But that will have you walking back,” I said.
“So be it. You need to get to Kara,” he said.
For a guy who had annoyed the shit out of me for as long as I had known him, he was a lot smarter than I thought. And braver.
I slammed the transmission into gear and eased on the gas pedal, hoping to avoid another backfire. The truck lurched forward, jerking us back in our seats, and we were off. I steered us away from the complex in a direct path, using the building to block our escape.
There were only the mildest of squishes as we ran over what was left of the zombies. I kept an eye on my side view mirror, watching for the other helicopter and the military vehicles, but didn’t see any. I figured if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me. Of course, that would only work until that helicopter decided to pop-up into the sky and go on patrol. Then we would stick out like a sore thumb.
From where we started to where we had to go, it was less than a half mile to the tree line, but it seemed remote given our situation. There was a dirt road off the back woods that would take us to the old farm which was south of our complex. We just h
ad to get to that road and under the cover of the trees to be safe.
Somehow, some way, we made it almost to the tree line when the sound of helicopter blades came from over the trees and directly at us.
“The helicopter’s coming back,” Brother Ed said as he craned his head out the window to look.
“Yeah, I hear it,” I replied. “This is going to be close.”
The tree line and our escape seemed miles away.
Chapter 40
Boots on the Ground
Russell watched as the convoy rolled over the bodies and body parts of the zombies. Like the others, he had dreamed of the day when the military would arrive and rescue him, but there was a sense of dread in his subconscious, like a long, bad violin note being played.
“What do we do?” he asked, looking to the others
“I don’t think hiding will work,” Jo said. “So, let’s go greet them.” She took Tommy by the hand and they started down the hallway. The others hesitated, but followed.
They entered a dark stairwell and carefully made their way down to the first floor. Their footfalls were loud as they echoed down the stairs, but still, they heard the rumble of the vehicles outside along with the helicopters. They came out into a familiar hallway and Jo led them to an exterior door. None of them spoke as they walked.
Jo put a hand on the door handle, paused a moment, sucked in a deep breath, and opened the door. The light coming in from the outside was blinding. All of them put up their hands to fend it off and blinked as their eyes watered. They stepped out into the sun and stood just outside the door, waiting for what was going to happen next.
It took the soldiers all of three seconds to notice the door and the people standing outside it. It sounded like fifty weapons snapped their safeties off at once. Several of the soldiers started shouting and the commands were variations on a theme.
“Put down your weapons!”
“Get your hands in the air!
“Don’t try anything!”
And so on. Jo and Russell complied instantly, and Jo pushed Tommy behind her waist.
Where I had been babying the truck before, I jammed down the accelerator. The truck protested the rough treatment for a couple seconds, by jerking and shuddering, but then fell into compliance. The ride was pretty rough as we ran over downed zombies and ruts made in the grass. At the rate we were moving, we bounced around inside the cab like Mexican jumping beans.
I could tell it was going to be tight. The truck was doing forty whereas, I’m sure, the helicopter was doubling or tripling that. And we weren’t sure that we still wouldn’t be spotted, even if we made it under the cover of the trees in time. There was also the issue of turning the truck onto the dirt road. The entrance to the road wasn’t a straight path from the woods. You had to turn into a little meadow and then start onto the road. It wasn’t a hairpin turn, but it was fairly abrupt.
There was also the issue of the width of the dump truck. The road was very narrow and the dump truck was not very slim and trim, but it was our only ride, so I stayed the course.
The sound of the helicopter increased in intensity. The meadow was just ahead. I slammed the brakes, tearing copious amounts of grass, and cut the wheel, putting us into a skid. Brother Ed gasped and Jason reached out to brace himself on the dashboard, but that was it. If I had been a passenger, I would have probably soiled myself about then.
The trees on our right were coming up scarily fast as the truck slid across the meadow. At the last possible moment, I pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the rear tires fought for some purchase. It took about three seconds and they got some traction. I aimed for the dirt road which was just ahead.
The helicopter sounded like it was right on top of us. The entrance into the woods seemed narrower and smaller than I remembered, with large limbs reaching across it like gnarled hands. There was little I could do, but pray. When I took a quick glance over at Brother Ed that’s exactly what he was doing, his lips moved soundlessly and his eyes went wide as his hand gripped the door handle like he was on a white knuckled rollercoaster ride. Jason didn’t pray, but he looked ready to ascend to heaven at any moment.
The truck passed into the woods just as we heard the loud whoosh of the helicopter pass overhead. Our world went from brightness to dark as we were consumed within a canopy of trees covering the road. Limbs cracked off as the truck battered them out of the way as we rocketed down the road. A dangerously tight turn lay just a quarter of a mile into the woods and I cut our speed down to less than five miles an hour to make sure we didn’t wipe out. After I made the turn, I brought the truck to a stop. Ahead of us was a large break in the trees with tall grass and wildflowers. On any other (normal) day, the spray of light sunlight reflecting brightly off the grass and flowers might look idyllic. You might wait for a delicate fawn to step into view and nibble at the grass. But we were in a freaking zombie apocalypse so I was watching for a zombie to walk into view at any moment.
“Why are we stopping?” Brother Ed asked.
“Because we need to make sure that we didn’t get spotted,” I said. “I don’t want to lead these goons to Kara and the others. Besides, there’s too much open space ahead. I don’t want that helicopter flying back and spotting us.”
He didn’t say anything, just nodded. We sat quietly as the truck idled. It didn’t purr quietly, but instead growled like a large mechanical dog. And that was the problem. The damn thing wasn’t very quiet.
As always, making less noise was standard operating procedure. More noise meant that there was a likelihood that they would hear. ‘They’ were zombies and, of course, ‘they’ heard the rumble from our old dinosaur of a vehicle. That seemed to be given.
They came out of the trees in front of the truck and behind us. It wasn’t a horde, but it was enough. I didn’t think there were so many that they could clog up our escape route, but the thought did cross my mind. An overlarge shirtless male zombie led the pack in front. He waddled his way toward the grill of the truck, swaying back and forth, making me think of a gorilla. I checked the side view mirror and saw another pack making its way up the road toward us.
The lyrics of a ‘70s song came to mind. “Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.” I fought back a smile when I looked to Brother Ed, but said nothing. Jason missed the interchange.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Here we are with zombies all around us and you’re smiling like a...a...a...whatever.”
“You know, Brother Ed, God has blessed, or cursed me with the strangest sense of humor. I’d like to say it’s a blessing, but…” I rose my hand in the air and waved it back and forth, “not everyone agrees with my assessment.”
He was not in the agreement camp. Jason did let a small smile slip out which made me feel somewhat validated.
While I felt the truck had the clearance and brute strength to batter its way through the zombies in front of us, I decided not to take any chances and put the truck into reverse. This, of course, meant the ones behind us were about to get a face-full of dump truck, but that was their problem, not mine. As usual, they had no concerns at all, other than getting another mouthful of flesh. They went down like dominos as the truck ran over them, clocking most of them in the head and pulping the ones who went under the tires.
We were about to the curve when I hit the brakes. Ahead of us on the road was a swath of undead in various states of destruction and dismemberment as a result of us rolling over them. Some still flailed hands in the air after their legs had been crushed, but most were considerable thinner than they had been a few seconds ago. My morbid sense of humor nearly broke through again, but I took the mature and high road and kept my mouth shut.
The soldiers moved in cautiously, their weapons up, and fingers on their triggers.
Jo and Russell had already laid their weapons on the ground and had their hands in the air. Jo only had one hand in the air. The other was wrapped around Tommy, who she had
pulled tightly against her.
Looking at all those dark circles at the end of all those weapons made Russell’s legs feel rubbery. One wrong move and it would be over. He willed himself to maintain calm and steadiness.
As they got closer, the soldiers fanned out, encircling Jo, Russell, and Tommy. Once the circle was complete the soldiers stopped and held their positions with no one speaking.
Russell thought that this scene seemed so surreal. The weather was nearly perfect, with a vibrant blue sky above, birds chirped their pleasant little songs in the trees, and a gentle breeze came at them out of the west carrying the scent of wild flowers, but they found themselves surrounded by soldiers with guns. Of course, that scent of wild flowers was overpowered by the stench of the dead.
The tableau held for several seconds until a deep and resonant voice gave the command to make a path. Russell caught a motion outside the circle and the soldiers gave way, leaving a narrow corridor from the outside of the circle leading to Jo, Russell, and Tommy.
When the last soldiers stepped out of the way, Russell spotted Aaron and Maggie at the edge of the circle. Aaron had a trail of blood coming down his brow from what looked like a fresh wound on his forehead, but he had an angry look of defiance in his eyes. Aaron was big, but the soldier standing behind him was taller and broader, looking like a human version of Bigfoot. This soldier gave Aaron and Maggie a shove forward and continued to nudge them along. Another person was behind the soldier, but Russell couldn’t see who it was.
The soldiers moved out of the way like the Red Sea parting and let Aaron, Maggie, and the soldier pass. When they got to Russell and Jo, the soldier put catcher’s mitt sized hands on Aaron and Maggie’s shoulders and separated them. Both Aaron and Maggie had their arms pulled back behind their backs.
It was then that Russell saw the man behind the soldier. This man wore a dark blue uniform and a commander's hat with a brim so finely polished that the sun gleamed off it. His ‘costume’ was completed with dark green aviator sunglasses. His posture was rigid, his movements economical and measured. Everything about this man spoke of command and control. His buzz cut displayed a little gray at the temples.
