Z-Risen (Book 2): Outcasts

by Long, Timothy W.

  The pair of grenades on the fence went off at about the same time. One tore the post away, but the blast must have nudged the other grenade, because it rolled away before exploding. I covered my head and hoped a piece of metal didn’t find it. Then I was back on my feet and staggering toward the car.

  The chunk of fence was still in place, but was sheered away on one side. If the car missed, and hit one of posts on the left, the car wouldn’t go anywhere after that.

  Joel looked at me, but it was Sails who broke and ran to my side.

  I got to my feet and hooked my arm over her shoulder for support.

  “Creed, ya big dummy. What did you do?”

  “What had to be done,” was all I could think to say. Real heroic, right?

  I might have been mistaken but I swear she turned her help into a halfhearted hug.

  I crawled into the back right next to Christy and tried to shoot her and Roz a grin, but I was rattled. In the last fifteen minutes we’d gone from having a cozy home to driving off marauders, to facing almost certain death.

  Sails hopped in the Chevy, and instead of ramming the fence she ripped the car to the right and did a one eighty.

  “Down, you ox,” she said.

  I dropped lower and Sails, eyes intent, punched it.

  We raced backwards until the Chevy hit the curb. The car bounced up and I almost went with it. Roz got her hand up, and Christy reached for me and managed to grab my arm. She hugged me tight. Before I could think to catch my breath, we hit the remains of the fence and it slammed to the side. The rear of the car crunched, but we were free. Hitting the other parking lot was just as hectic, and this time I was bounced into the top of the car.

  Sails yanked the car around and then shot between a pair of abandoned cars. She found her way out of the parking lot, and, instead of dealing with side streets, she made a beeline for the freeway, which lay over an expanse of dying grass and weeds.

  “You okay, dude?” I asked Christy.

  “I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.” She held onto me like I was going to fall out of the car.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “What happened?” Joel turned to ask.

  I gave them a quick account of the scariest two minutes of my life. Joel looked at me for a few seconds after I’d finished the story before cracking a smile.

  “Goddamn Jackson Fucking Creed. I knew I’d make a Marine out of you. A couple of big ass transports hit, and that means a lot of gas. A lot of gas means a bigger explosion. Way to use your head, squid.”

  “Oh yeah. Totally planned that.”

  “What about…” Roz trailed off.

  “Donny bought it while he was still behind the fifty cal. Markus came out shooting, but they got him. He didn’t even look surprised.”

  Sails struck the dash a couple of times.

  “I tried, Sails, really,” I said.

  “It’s not that. Those guys were assholes, but they deserved better. Everything’s gone. The HUMVEE, our ammo, guns, food, water.” She trailed off, frowning.

  “We have stuff in the trunk. Enough to get us by for a few days. I say we keep trying to make it to Los Angeles,” Joel said.

  I nodded, then looked through the rear window.

  We weren’t clear yet; the cars and motorcycles were finding a way around the hotel and heading toward us.

  Entry #14 - Overdrive

  13:50 hours approximate

  Location: Clairemont, CA - Undead Central

  We ran for our lives.

  The Chevy was a busted up mess. The hood was creased and we were leaking some kind of fluid. The bumper held on for dear life. At least one tire was losing air, and we were overloaded, so the car took forever to get up to speed. Then, just as we got some momentum, Sails would have to slam on the brakes and maneuver around an abandoned bunch of cars.

  Joel Kelly cursed. I cursed. Sails cursed. Roz was the only one who kept her cool, looking over her shoulder at the mob of pissed off civilians behind the car.

  The Chevy was running in the red. We’d hit empty. If the car was like most, that meant we had maybe a gallon of gas. Two if the car’s manufacturer planned for idiotic moments.

  The other vehicles closed in on us.

  I motioned for Christy to move closer to Roz and lowered the armrest. I had to lean all the way over but managed to work my arm into the trunk. I shifted stuff around until I got my hands on some bottles. Coca-Cola, a diet Sprite, and a Snapple. I handed them around, reached back in, and snagged water. Joel took the tea and practically drained the whole bottle in a couple of huge swallows. We might be minutes from death, but at least we’d die hydrated.

  “We don’t have much time,” Joel said.

  “We can make it to an exit, maybe find a way to ditch them. Find an open garage and hide. If we move fast, we can get the door shut,” Sails said.

  I ripped through one bottle of water, then drained another.

  Anna slowed once again and had to hit the shoulder to get around a pair of cars. The sports car must have been in a hurry, because it had hit a Fiesta so hard that the front looked like an accordion. It had flipped over onto its side. A car like that probably ran in the six-figure range. Like being stuck in the apocalypse wasn’t bad enough, this guy had wrecked his pride and joy.

  No one moved in either wrecked vehicle.

  “I don’t like it. Means we have to take a chance on finding the right neighborhood. We might make it a half mile off the road and run into a road block we can’t get around. Or we do make it around and then run out of gas. Those guys are going to be able to spot five people on the run. Bet on it,” Joel said.

  I couldn’t argue.

  “What if we jump out and let the car keep rolling? We can get to the other side of the freeway and find a new ride. Look at all those cars. Hell, there’s a Suburban that’s just ripe for the taking. Big and black.”

  I grinned at Joel and waited for him to shoot me a one-liner, but I guess the stress had gotten to his sense of humor and shut that shit down.

  “That’s good,” Roz said. “Beats the hell out of getting caught in the open.”

  Sails got up to almost twenty miles an hour by driving over all the white reflective turtles and swerving between a bunch of wrecks, then she slammed on the brakes so she could cut to the left and find a way onto the shoulder. She had to get around a dozen-car pileup that would have been big news a few weeks ago. Now it was just a bunch of scrap metal that no one cared about.

  The road behind us was a river of cars under a dull grey sky. Rain was coming. If we got stuck somewhere, we’d be cold and wet AND on the damn run.

  The car sputtered and then caught, but our valiant steed managed to puff up another few hits of gasoline and carry us onward.

  I didn’t know the first thing about horses, valiant or otherwise, but I bet they didn’t run out of gas unless you didn’t feed them.

  “Shoulda got horses,” I said under my breath.

  “Do you know how to ride?” Roz asked.

  “Not a clue.”

  “They wouldn’t be much use. Can’t exactly outrun a motorcycle.”

  “I was just thinking out loud. Hell – horse, helicopter, gunship, big-ass tank, something other than this piece of shit car that’s running on fumes.”

  “This car’s been a champ,” Sails said, glancing in the rearview mirror to catch my eye.

  “I have a stupid idea,” I said after another few seconds of silence.

  “Yeah?” Joel glanced at me.

  I told them what I had in mind. Sails looked at me like I was bat-shit insane, but, after meeting my eyes once again, she nodded.

  ###

  14:00 hours approximate

  Location: Clairemont, CA - Undead Central

  The eighteen-wheeler took up most of the road. The driver must have really slammed on the brakes; the trailer had come to a stop at a thirty-degree angle. Sails hit the shoulder, then spun her wheel to the right and slammed the car to a hal
t the second we were obscured from view. Joel was already moving, grabbing his rifle and backpack. Roz jumped out with Christy in tow.

  “Later dude,” I said and waved at Christy.

  She tried to say something but her words were lost as the door shut.

  “Don’t do anything fucking stupid out there,” Joel said as he kicked his door open.

  “Fucking stupid is his middle name,” Sails said, cutting me off.

  Joel reached over the seat and gripped my hand in his.

  “Just stick to the plan.”

  “You too, motherfucker. Don’t make me come find you and piss on your corpse.”

  Joel was out the door and we were zipping away. Any longer and the gang on our ass would have caught on. This was a terrible idea. A horrible idea. I was hurt, could barely walk, but if Joel didn’t go with Roz, how would they get Christy away from the approaching shitstorm? I’d do just about anything to protect her.

  I watched them fade against the side of the trailer, then take cover behind the wheels. Joel poked his head out and motioned. Roz and Christy kept low and rolled into the little gully that separated the two sides of the freeway.

  I wondered if I’d ever see Joel Kelly again.

  When I’d presented the plan, my great plan, the others had looked at me like I was crazy. Then Joel had nodded and pronounced it sound. Sails said she’d drive because she already felt like a chauffeur.

  “I’ll go it alone,” I’d said.

  “Don’t even think about it. You can barely walk.”

  “It’s okay. I’m fast. I’ll just pull off the road and then disappear into an apartment complex or mall.”

  “That’s your big play? Just disappear? I never figured you for the hero type,” Sails said.

  “I have my moments.”

  “He does. Like taking out those trucks at the hotel. Fucking brilliant.” Joel backed me up with a wink.

  “I’m going with you, so let’s just jump to the part of the conversation where you stop saying no.”

  “Oh, Sails. I’d never say no to you.”

  She’d shot me an unreadable look in the rear view mirror.

  Sails pushed the pedal to the floor; we burned out before the rear tires caught. Thirty seconds later, she had to slow down. Christ. We were back to the slowest cat and mouse freeway chase of all time.

  We drew a quarter-mile away, then a half-mile. I waited, breath held, for the first of the jackwads to find Joel and company. If the Marine and the girls stuck to the plan, they would be pressed against the side of the gully, waiting until the road was clear.

  My first order of business, as Joel had taught me, was to count rounds and weapons. We didn’t have a lot, thanks to losing the HUMVEE, but we had a couple of handguns and I still sported the Mossberg shotgun.

  I counted out shells and found enough to reload the Mossberg and fill the rails.

  I’d used all of the frag grenades.

  I still had my Colt M45, but I was low on ammo.

  “How you set for weapons, Sails?”

  “Not great. I’ve got about twenty rounds for my three-fifty-seven. Joel left another gun. I think it’s a nine. Some kind of Sig. Cute little piece.”

  “Sexy.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just an inside joke between me and Joel. We picked up the gun last week. It’s a long story.”

  “Tell me later,” she said, but I couldn’t read her tone.

  “Any rounds for the nine?” I asked.

  “A spare mag, and I think we have a couple of boxes in the trunk. Keep digging.”

  I did, but Sails had to yank the car to the left and right a couple of times and I nearly ended up on the floor. I reached into the trunk again and felt around until I found my backpack, then dragged it through the tiny opening. I pulled out my giant wrench and placed it on the seat next to me. There wasn’t much else in here. I’d had a small stash of food but that was gone. I still had the logbook, and I had a bag of weed I’d completely forgotten about, the brown bag that Joel and I had found during one of our missions, back when we’d been safe and sound inside of Fortress Mark I.

  I glanced outside.

  The jackwads were closing in at an impressive rate. One of the pickups was pushing through smaller wrecks to make a path. A couple of high-end motorcycles zipped around, but they seemed hesitant to close on us.

  I went back to scrounging and finally located some shells. 9MM. The next box turned out to be a heavy one, packed with 5.56 shells. I put those in my backpack under the assumption that I’d be seeing Joel in the near future.

  I wanted to keep feeling around but we were running out of road. Ahead of us lay a huge pile up of cars and trucks – so big that there was no way we’d be able to get around them.

  I focused on the eighteen-wheeler we’d left far behind and was gratified to find that the jackwads, my new name for the assholes in pursuit, hadn’t stopped. That meant that Joel and the girls had managed to evade detection.

  Part one of the mission accomplished.

  Part two was going to be a bitch.

  ###

  14:10 hours approximate

  Location: Clairemont, CA - Undead Central

  “We’re out of time, Creed,” Sails said.

  “What about there?” I pointed just ahead.

  The off-ramp was jammed with cars. Rotting bodies lumbered between the abandoned vehicles. I marked the exit on my internal map, then reached for my log book and quickly jotted it on the back.

  “No way we can get through that mess,” I muttered.

  I looked back again, but the eighteen-wheeler was too far in the distance to make out.

  The jackwads weren’t. They were closing, but they also had to pick their way around cars and wrecks the same way we’d had to. They had numbers on their side, though, and could take alternate paths where available. We had maybe a quarter-mile of breathing room, and I didn’t see how we could possibly stop the car and be effective on foot. My big play had been with the knowledge that my ankle and foot were a throbbing mess and that I’d be unable to run. I was hoping something would just pop up, some stroke of genius.

  Turned out, that was Sails’ department.

  “No. Look at where the railing is broken. Someone pushed over the curb.” She motioned to a part of the freeway a bit closer.

  She was right, but the opening led to a big drop. Even if we did manage to survive, we’d surely have broken bones, maybe a snapped neck or two to contend with. I could see it now: lying in a pool of blood while those asshole stood over us and laughed at our soon-to-be corpses. Maybe they’d be nice and give us a quick exits, bullets to our brains. More than likely, we’d have to face that McQuinn guy, his bald head gleaming in the morning sun while he pummeled us, laughing maniacally.

  “Are you crazy, Anna? That drop’ll kill us.”

  “We’re not going to be in the car, Jackson.”

  “So now that we’re on a first name basis and all, mind telling me how you plan to get the fuck out of a moving car?”

  “We’re going to dive out just before it hits the overpass and we’re going to be going fast. It has to look real, like we made a mistake.”

  “Are you crazy? That shit wouldn’t even work for Bruce Willis,” I groaned.

  “Just hear me out,” she said and then laid out the entire plan.

  “Alright, Sails. I got nothing better.”

  “Jackson, what’s wrong with using my first name? Too confusing?”

  “Yeah. I got a one track mind. Guys in the military use last names, but friends use first names - sometimes. There aren’t any rules.”

  “Call me whatever you want, Creed. Just don’t call me late for a three course meal at Sizzler.”

  “You didn’t use my first name that time. What, we aren’t friends?”

  “You have two last names. What’s your middle name? Oh…right.” She shot me a shit-eating grin in the rearview mirror.

  ###

  14:15 hours ap
proximate

  Location: Clairemont, CA - Undead Central

  I dug out some soda and stuffed a can in my front pocket. Anna popped the top of one and drained it while we maneuvered around a car that had bodies lying across its hood. As we roared away, one of the bodies twitched. A head covered in gore – one eye smashed in the socket, the other dangling by its nerve bundle – turned after us.

  A motorcycle closed to within fifteen feet, so I lifted Anna’s hand gun, aimed through what was left of the rear window, and fired three rounds at his bike. The last one hit the front tire, and then he was flying through the air.

  My ears rang like a bitch, but it was worth it. That would teach them to stay back.

  We neared the section of the road Sails had pointed out. It was just before the off-ramp and, with the exception of two vehicles, was clear of major debris. Now that we were away from the city, lines of trees were starting to form up on either side of the freeway. We would be smart to get lost in them if we survived the next few minutes.

  I moved to the right side of the car while she worked the case of soda around with her feet until she got it where she wanted it – right next to the gas. Stupid crap car didn’t even have cruise control, so we settled for something a little more permanent: a weight on the pedal.

  I put my backpack on, held onto the wrench with one hand and clutched the shotgun to my chest with the other. Sails holstered her gun and leaned across the long seat to pop open the passenger door.

  “After we hit, we move fast. Duck and cover. Got it?”

  I cracked open the door and eyed the ground as we sped over it.

  At ten or fifteen miles an hour, I knew it would probably hurt. That was logical. I didn’t, however, count on it feeling like I was being tossed against a brick wall by a professional wrestler.

  The asphalt met me with gruesome glee. I struck it with my elbow, rolled as I tried to bleed off some momentum, and ended up smacking the back of my head into the ground. I got a glimpse of a pair of clouds, but they disappeared as I tumbled on. It was like they were mocking me.