After about seven miles, Mikki slowed down as they approached the Imperial Highway intersection. Floyd dryly commented, “Of course! Same shit, different day.”
A big sign over the freeway said, “Quarantine Area, prepare to stop.” That explained why there were so many cars on the road. For the past several miles, there had been a solid wall of cars in each lane, crammed bumper to bumper. They weren’t wrecked, but nearly every one of them seemed filled with creepers banging on the windows as Mikki drove easily by on the empty shoulder.
“They musta been bringing family and friends to get help, and turned while they were waiting in their cars,” Floyd observed. In front of it all were two big trailer trucks parked across the highway, angled to allow only one car at a time to enter. A couple of large National Guard trucks were in behind the big rigs and hundreds of bodies littered the area. No doubt, some people got impatient waiting. Floyd also noticed they were near a couple of residential areas, as well as a 10-story hospital.
Hospitals were the worst. First, because they were where everyone brought people who were sick, usually just before they turned. Second, because they all had to be wheelchair accessible and there were no doors on most of the wards. It was real easy for shamblers to wander up and down gently sloping ramps throughout the building, biting and infecting everyone else. Finally, even the non-thinking undead could make it in or out of the buildings through the automatic sliding doors. In the event of a power loss, the doors were set to open automatically or had push bars that even a zombie could trigger, so no one could be trapped inside. It was like a giant magnet for pulling the infected in, and then spitting zombies out. Add to this California’s proclivity for earthquakes, and you had hundreds of buildings and thousands of houses with collapsed walls or doors, freeing the loathsome creatures from their prisons.
“Hey, Floyd, you feel like a little off-roading?”
“Whatever gets us through.”
The elevated freeway had made its way back down to ground level, so Mikki drove off the road and through a grassy area around to the back of the roadblock. They were within a chain link fenced area and a crowd of creepers was pressed against opposite side of the wire.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“You took the words right outta my mouth. And can you do somethin’ with that stupid cat? It’s goin’ crazy in that bag, and I’m sure that’s what called all those brain-eaters down on us in Barstow!”
Mikki pulled the bag off the back hook and tossed it onto the boxes in back of the cab. Then she threw a bedroll on top of it to muffle the noise. “Better?” she asked. Floyd just grunted.
Mikki hit the gas and climbed up a small mound, jumping onto another part of the highway and steering back towards the roadblock from below. “You’re goin’ the wrong way,” Floyd warned.
“The hell I am!” said Mikki, with a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye.
Floyd knew that smile. He knew that gleam. He knew they were about to get into some seriously big trouble.
“Mikki, whatever the hell you’re thinkin’ of…don’t, OK?”
“Oh, relax Floyd! I know what I’m doin’.”
“Don’t tell me to relax! Every time you tell me to relax, we get stuck in the middle of some serious shit!”
“Fine!” Mikki said, reaching for her helmet. “Don’t relax! You just stay here in the car like a good little boy, all nice and safe. Mama’s goin’ shoppin’!” Before he could respond, Mikki had donned her helmet and slammed the truck door behind her.
“Shit!” Floyd cursed.
He pulled on his helmet, grabbed Clyde and an Uzi, and exited the truck. He knew at once where Mikki was going. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was headed for the nearest National Guard truck. Its big ass was pointed right at them and the doors were wide open.
“Yeehaw!”
Even with their mics turned off, Floyd could hear Mikki screaming through her helmet.
“Jackpot, Floyd!”
She turned around holding a huge box of grenades. She cracked open the lid and it was full. “They got a ton of MREs in there, too Floyd. And a ton of ammo, but nothin’ that’ll fit what we got.” Mikki headed back to the truck as Floyd grabbed a case of MREs. The area seemed clear at the moment, but he still hurried.
He wanted to grab another case before they headed out, if possible. Theoretically, they wouldn’t need any of this, being so close to New California Haven. Theoretically, they would be safe and secure in a zombie-free zone within a few short hours. Theoretically. Floyd had learned to love and trust that word over the years. Never was a word so appropriate for so many situations that suddenly turned to shit without warning.
Mikki was ecstatic as she set down the heavy box of grenades to inspect her prize. There were 10 stuffed into each Styrofoam layer and there were four layers. She would ditch the box later after she painted their logo on each of them and gave some to Floyd.
Throwing open the back door to the cab, she bent down, grabbed the box, and lifted with her legs, quickly throwing the box up and over on top of the other boxes. She heard a brief, terrified, loud, and mercifully short, “Meo—!!!”
Mikki froze. She looked at the hook where Munch’s bag usually hung. It wasn’t there. Then she remembered she had thrown it on top of the other boxes earlier.
She lifted the edge of the grenade box and saw the bedroll. She lifted the bedroll to see the bag, flat as a pancake. She pulled the bag out, opened it, looked inside, and closed it right away, tying the drawstring tight.
“Oh, shit!” she mumbled to herself.
Just then Floyd came up behind her and dropped his case of MREs on the ground by the truck. He saw the look on her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Well,” Mikki began. “I kinda sorta…maybe mighta…squished the cat.”
“Say what now?”
She held up the flat bag and Floyd’s eyes opened wide. “I forgot I put her in the back seat, and when I threw in the grenade box, it kinda…squished her…flat!”
Floyd burst out laughing uncontrollably. He literally fell over and sat on the box of MREs, leaning his back against the truck. Several times he tried to speak, but couldn’t stop laughing long enough to form any words. Eventually, he managed to squeak out, “You mean, you munched Munch?” Then he erupted into another fit of howling laughter, doubling over and pounding his fist onto his knee repeatedly.
Mikki was not amused. She looked at the bag one last time, then tossed it away. She opened the grenade box, pulled out a tray of 10 grenades, jumped into the passenger seat and began painting her logo on them with red nail polish. She did her best to ignore Floyd and forget what she had just done.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Floyd had never been a big believer in prayer before, but that all changed. It wasn’t so much that Mikki had prayed for grenades and then found a big box of them. They were bound to run into a stash somewhere along the line. It was more because of Munch. Floyd had seriously prayed asking God to get rid of that damned cat in some way that Floyd couldn’t be blamed. As far as Floyd was concerned, God had come through.
Unlike the case of his fiancée. He had prayed that they would be happy together for the rest of their lives, that he would be a good husband, and she would be a loving, faithful wife. Well, he would have been a good husband, but she was certainly not faithful. He had held a grudge against God and women ever since. Now Floyd prayed they would just get to New California Haven soon and see what was there. With his luck, the whole damn place would be hit by an earthquake and slide into the sea just as he and Mikki arrived. Or Mikki would find a way to blow it up.
Fortunately, they were in no danger at the moment. He put another two cases of 24 MREs each into the bed of the truck. They pulled two from the engine and ate as they decided their next move. The 710 South was a parking lot from here. They might be able to go around, but while some of the freeway was bordered by a chain link fence, most of it had cement barriers or tall brick sound
walls that prevented them from getting on or off.
Floyd pondered his maps while Mikki finished painting all the grenades. When they were dry, she took six for herself and gave six to Floyd. That should last them a while, even with Mikki’s explosive behavior. She kept the rest in the Styrofoam lined trays and ditched the large grenade box.
Floyd was clearly frustrated. They were so close, and yet so far. If the mass of wrecked cars was this bad now, it had to be worse the father south they traveled. Driving down neighborhood streets was likely to be just as bad. Not as many cars, but smaller streets were more likely to be blocked with wreckage. Not to mention the number of brain-eaters that would be wandering around. Sure, they were slow and stupid, but when agitated in sufficient numbers, they could tear a person apart. Floyd preferred to avoid that, if possible.
When they got back in the truck, it was Floyd’s turn to drive. He drove through a dirt area next to the freeway for a few minutes. Seeing what looked like an opening, he smashed through the chain link fence to get back on the highway. He didn’t get far. Even driving on the shoulder, he had to plow away more than a few smashed cars.
He had welded the plow on with sturdy metal, but Floyd had to wonder how much of this it could take before it fell off. Smashing through soft zombie tissue and brittle bones was one thing, but smashing through metal hulks was another. The Ford F-175 was as rugged as they come, but the frame wasn’t built to win a demolition derby, event with the modifications and reinforcements Floyd had made.
Without Freedom, Floyd and Mikki would have to walk to New California Haven (about 10 miles from their current location). If they stuck to the freeway, they probably wouldn’t run into too many brain-eaters that weren’t stuck in cars. Probably. But if there was a break in the side fencing or an off ramp led to a populated area, the place could be crawling with shamblers. Floyd backed up the truck until he could find a place to spin it around, then headed back out the hole in the fence he had made.
Unfortunately, the soft dirt shifted under the truck and he started sliding down the hill. He had no choice but to turn the wheel to head straight down or risk flipping the truck on its side. He hit the brakes but kept sliding down the soft earth. Eventually he came to the bottom of the hill and bounced up onto some asphalt, but not before smashing through another chain link fence. The same fence the shamblers had been behind farther back.
He headed down a road to the left but it was a dead end, so he backed up, turned around and headed the other way. As he feared, the appreciative crowd he had seen before was already on the move, no doubt drawn by the sound of the truck’s engine.
“Floyd, we got company.”
“I see ‘em.”
Floyd was desperately scanning the area for any place that might be safe. He started plowing through or over more and more of the abominations. At one point a body got stuck in the wheel well of the truck and jammed the tire. Floyd hit the gas, but the truck just spun in a circle. He finally managed to dislodge it by throwing the car into reverse and punching the gas pedal. A rather large bump or two later, he was able to put it into drive again, but by then a couple dozen of the unfortunate creep’s relatives were banging on the truck windows.
They passed by a little wedding chapel and Mikki said, “I wonder if these are friends of the bride or friends of the groom.”
“Friends of the groom.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Bride would make sure people dressed better for the wedding.”
“You ain’t never seen the bridesmaid dresses at my aunt’s wedding. These look better.”
Somehow, they ended up in an alley between rows of houses. Floyd hit the gas and made it through to a side street. He had no idea where he was, and no map would help him now. He turned right and headed down a street that led to a large parking lot. A large building that seemed to be covered in dark glass loomed ahead of them. At the top was the logo of a winged staff with two intertwined snakes. The medical logo.
“Oh, crap! This is the damn hospital!”
He wheeled around as brain-eaters seemed to come from everywhere. They were moaning and screeching and just generally pissed off. They poured out of the hospital and in from the surrounding neighborhoods. Floyd turned around to get out of the parking lot and bounced up over and embankment, landing hard on the asphalt of a side street. There was a loud bang.
“What was that noise, Floyd? That sounded like a bad noise!”
Floyd hit the gas, but the tachometer raced while the truck barely inched forward. He shifted the automatic transmission down to 1 and managed to keep going, but only at about 10 miles an hour. Fast enough to outrun a zombie, but not enough to plow through a wall of them. And that’s exactly what was headed their way. They were already pouring down the embankment behind the truck and filling the street ahead. Mikki began hanging grenades from every outer pocket, then unzipped her jacket and began stuffing grenades between her boobs—anywhere they would fit.
“Get us next to that ambulance, Floyd!”
The truck managed to limp up and over the embankment back to the rear hospital parking lot. Mikki reached back and grabbed the metal case with the extra belt for the 50-cal. It was too heavy, so she told Floyd to hand it up to her when she got out. She filled her backpack with every ammo clip she could reach, grabbed Bonnie, an Uzi and her sniper rifle. As soon as Floyd pulled up next to the ambulance, she jumped out the door and up onto Freedom’s roof.
Floyd grabbed a similar arsenal and joined her. Then he pulled himself up on top of the ambulance with as many grenades in his jacket as he could carry. He began tossing grenades strategically around them, aiming for concentrated areas where he could take out the most walking undead at a time.
Mikki was proud of him, but had no time to offer praise. She had her own issues to deal with. She unleashed holy hell on the approaching multitude with the 50-cal. She mowed down dozens of them, but more kept coming. She would lay them low, wait a minute, and then more would show up around every corner. The one thing in her favor was that the more bodies there were on the ground, the longer it took the newcomers to figure out how to step around or over them. Much of the time, they just fell over and began crawling their way in her direction. It significantly slowed their approach, but it didn’t stop them.
“Cover me, Floyd! Changing the belt!”
“Roger that!”
Floyd alternated between grenades, the Mini Uzi, and his pistols, depending on how many there were, and how close they were getting. He made judicious use of his ammo, which was already getting low. He was saving Clyde for last. He ditched his first two pistols after running through all the clips he had and used his last two pistols to bring down the nearest ones closing in on Mikki.
She slammed the new belt into place and opened fire once again. Firing in a semicircle around the truck, she wasted everything in sight. She fired hundreds of bullets using short spurts at a time, making every round count. All too soon, she was dry. She climbed up on top of the ambulance with Floyd. There was nothing left alive—or undead—for at least 300 feet, but a crowd of admirers was already on its way, stepping and tripping over their fallen comrades. They just kept coming and coming.
“Well this sucks,” she said.
“I’ve had better days,” Floyd agreed.
“Yeah, and we’ve had worse, too.”
“When?”
“OK, we ain’t never had worse, but that don’t mean I’m givin’ up.”
“Me neither. We’re still close enough to the hospital that we could climb up to the roof.”
“What good’ll that do?”
“It’ll get us the hell outta here.”
He loaded Clyde with a slug mag and aimed at an electrical pole not far away. Two shots later and the cables fell loose, landing about 20 feet away. He quickly switched out the slugs for his drum mag.
“Damn, Floyd! Them wires is live!”
“So don’t touch the sparky end!”
The two jump
ed down from the ambulance and quickly grabbed as much additional ammo and gear as they could carry from the truck, then hopped their way through the obstacle course of twitching bodies to the wires. As fast as possible, they were climbing up the thick cables.
Their weight swung them over to the side of the building. That made it a bit easier to get higher, as they could use their feet to scale the wall. Mikki made a crack about Batman but Floyd was in no mood for humor at the moment.
They were about halfway up the 10-story building when the electrical junction box on the roof gave way. They dropped about 15 feet, slamming to a halt in midair as the box lodged itself on the edge of the roof. It began sending a shower of sparks down on them. They weren’t getting up that way.
“Shit! Now what?” Mikki asked. Looking below, there was already a sea of creepers waiting below, reaching up for them.
“What the hell?” She got hit in the back with a rock. The creepers were picking up any trash they could find and hurling it in their direction, the same way they did to take out any overhead lights they encountered.
“Well, we can’t hang around here all day,” Floyd observed. He began climbing up, looking through the windows for a floor that wasn’t chock fulla zombies. He saw one that seemed to be pretty empty. He pointed to it and began kicking in the windows, but he couldn’t get enough leverage to finish the job
“We gotta crash in!” he called to Mikki. “Follow me!”
The two kicked away from the building as hard as they could. On the swing back, they held out their feet to crash through the window onto a seemingly empty floor. Fickle Fate had other ideas, however, and on the way back toward the building, the electrical box came loose again, dropping them down. They crashed through the window of the floor below.
Well, sort of. The window was made of dark-colored safety glass. It buckled, but didn’t break. They only smashed through part of it. Mikki got her foot stuck in a hole and Floyd’s part of the window buckled inward at the top corner. He managed to grab hold of the window sill through the opening, just as a huge panel from the electrical box crashed to the ground below them, missing them by inches. They immediately let go of the cables to prevent being yanked off the wall.
Floyd & Mikki (Book 1): Zombie Hunters (Love Should Be Explosive!) Page 26
