Forget The Zombies (Book 2): Forget Texas

by Spears, R. J.

  When I hit the curve, I was able to see out of the periphery of my vision as refugees streamed out of the exit gate. Dozens made it out when out of nowhere a Humvee came up from behind the ones still clogged at the exit and slammed into the crowd. Bodies flew in every direction. The screams of the refugees filled the night. I nearly faltered in my sprint, but knew there was nothing I could do.

  I thought that was the worst of it, but then someone popped out of the top of the Humvee and fired an automatic weapon into the crowd. The panicked refugees scattered like wild dogs in every direction. One ran into the field blindly and across a landmine. The explosion tore him to pieces and send body parts in different directions. My jaw would have dropped to my chest, but it was pre-occupied with my breathing.

  A part of me considered going back to see what I could do, but if that Humvee made it through the scrum of people, it would be me with only a pistol to face it down. It wasn’t a winning proposition, so I continued on.

  Just as I redirected my full attention back to the truck I heard the muffled report of a gunshot and saw a splash of light, like a camera flash, fill the cab for the briefest of moments. The brake lights flashed on and the truck jerked to a complete stop.

  This wasn’t good.

  I maintained my pace, my head feeling light as I saw starbursts of multi-colored lights behind my eyes. My brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen as I had diverted all reserves of energy to my legs. Still, I pushed on.

  I could hear more gunfire behind me as I sprinted toward the back of the truck. Another flash and a gunshot came from the cab of the truck just as I made it to the back of the truck. I decided to avoid jumping in the back and kept running along the passenger side of the truck towards the cab even though it felt like my legs were about to collapse under me.

  I slowed at the last possible moment as I came up beside the cab and despite my pulse pounding in my ears, I heard someone grunting with exertion.

  “Come on, you big bastard, let go of the wheel or do I have to shoot you again?”

  In my oxygen deprived state, I didn’t recognize the voice, but I knew it meant trouble. I tried not to pant as I pulled my gun out of waistband and held it as firmly as I could, but my body trembled from the run.

  “Naaahhh,” someone said, but it was more like a grunt of protest. That was Mack.

  “We’re leaving that son of bitch behind, so let go of the wheel,” the voice said. It was Bill. The scene was easy to explain. I had let their son get killed therefore he was leaving me behind for the zombies.

  The screams behind me intensified and I took the quickest of peeks back just in time to see the Humvee burst through the crowd as whomever was on top fired back at anyone who tried to cling onto it. Bodies rolled off it like human barrels, spinning off into the low scrub on the side of the road. None of them got back up. We were going to have company soon.

  I collected myself as best I could and jumped onto the running board and aimed my gun into the cab. Bill was attempting to push Mack away from the steering wheel, but Mack held it in a death grip. There was blood all over Mack’s face. Bill had a pistol in his hand and started to aim it at Mack.

  “Drop it, Bill!” I shouted.

  He jerked around in my direction, his face seething with hatred. He tried to whip his aim in my direction, but the close quarters of the cab restricted his range of motion, slowing him down.

  I wasn’t sure what was going on and there was no time for a blue ribbon fact finding committee to do an investigation.

  In the U.S. Marshall Service, we went through mandatory gun handling and shooting every week. All that ingrained training kicked in and I shot Bill, aiming directly into the mass of his body. He grunted, expelling a burst of air and fell back against Mack, dropping the gun to the floor of the cab.

  I ripped the door open and jumped inside.

  “What the hell were you doing, Bill?” I asked, pulling his limp body off of Mack. Bill wasn’t moving or breathing.

  Joni poked her head through the canvas and took the scene in with a look of shock. It took a couple seconds, but she finally said, “He went sort of crazy once you jumped off the truck. He grabbed a gun and tried to get Mack to drive away without you.”

  “Oh my God,” a voice came from behind Joni. It was Bill’s wife, Freda. “Bill, Bill, Bill!” she said and with each time she said his name, her voice increased in pitch and volume.”

  “He shot Mack,” Joni said.

  It was all coming so fast, but so was the Humvee. There was no time for a Law and Order investigation right then.

  “Sammy, Huck, whoever, get some guns ready, there’s a Humvee with some bad people coming up our ass in just a few seconds,” I said. “Be ready for them, but don’t shoot unless you have to. Everybody else, get down, now! Joni, check on Mack.”

  I couldn’t see into the back because of the canvas cover, but I heard movement and felt the truck sway. With some effort, Joni pulled herself into the cab.

  I leaned out the passenger door and saw the Humvee coming up the road at top speed. I jumped down from the truck and ran around the front of it. When I made it there, I peeked around the front fender and saw the Humvee quickly approaching, kicking up a dust cloud in its wake. Their shooter still stood out the top of the vehicle and he still had his rifle at the ready.

  I tensed myself, getting ready for anything as the Humvee approached.

  It turned out to be, at least for us, much ado about nothing. The Humvee sped up the road and whizzed by us without a second glance. Still, I never took my aim off the man with the rifle but he barely looked our way.

  I would imagine he was much more concerned about what was behind him and what was ahead rather than the blip on the radar that was our truck. I watched as they disappeared into the distance. In fact, I was so distracted that I didn’t see the first zombie until I turned around to get back in the truck.

  It was a burly looking male just a few feet away from me. It was doing its zombie shuffle, a broken back and forth wobble, as it came at me. It was a ragged looking thing that barely had on any clothes, and while that made me witness things I never wanted to see, it didn’t make it any less deadly despite its indecent appearance. I shot it in the head and it sprawled across the dirt road, knocking up a small cloud of dust.

  I stared into the blackness of the land around the camp and saw more silhouettes shambling in the darkness in our direction and also towards the camp. While the zombies weren’t military strategists, it wasn’t beyond the pale that some would come up from the south and passed by the camp, then heard the commotion and turned back in our direction. I only hoped it wasn’t an overwhelming number.

  “Grant!” Joni shouted into the night. There was both a sense of pain and urgency in her voice.

  I jerked my head back in the direction of the truck and saw her waving her arm at me from the cab. I bounded to her, climbed up on the running board to find her cradling Mack in her arms. Her hands were red with blood and he looked as pale as a sheet. Bill’s lifeless body lay against the passenger door, his eyes open, staring into the nothingness of what was beyond.

  I didn’t know what to say. We were less than a mile away from the camp and we were on the verge of losing our second person. To make matters worse, one was dead by my own hands.

  “He thought you were the reason his boy was killed,” Mack said, his voice barely a whisper. “Wanted to leave you behind. Didn’t let him.”

  “Yeah, you did good,” I said.

  “I couldn’t leave you,” he said. ”At least, not without a fight.” His eyes closed for a moment and his breathing came in fitful gasps.

  Rosalita stuck her head through the canvas, looked at Mac, and placed a hand to her mouth. It took her a moment to recover, “Is there anything I can do? I know a little about nursing.”

  Joni just shook her head. It didn’t take a medical degree to know that Mack was dying.

  I reached out and patted Mack’s hand, “You did good, Mack. You did good
.”

  His body shuddered for a couple seconds, he smiled with his eyes closed and then he died.

  Joni looked to me, her expression imploring me to do something, but it was past anything I could do.

  I thought it was over when we came to the camp — all the death and dying. We were stuck there, yes, waiting for the wheels to turn for us to get processed and allowed to move on. It was everyone’s expectation that we’d only be there a few days, but the excuses kept coming from the authorities both inside and outside the camp. I think we all knew that deep down that things were spiraling down around us, but convinced ourselves that everything would work out, that we’d be home any day now.

  In any normal situation (if you called any of what we had just gone through normal), we’d be allowed to take care of our dead. We’d take time mourn them. We would have to time to celebrate their lives, to reflect, and even cry. But there was no time for tears in the zombie apocalypse as survival demanded we abandon any sentimentality.

  The screams, shouts, and sound of gunfire coming from the camp intensified by a factor of ten. When I looked back in that direction, I saw refugees spilling out the gate. I also watched the zombies, caught in the lights of the camp, as they swarmed over those still trapped inside like a horde of angry predator insects descending on their prey, tearing into them and devouring them.

  A few of the people must have grabbed weapons left behind because I could hear the report of guns being fired and could see the muzzle flashes. It was too little, too late, though. The zombies overwhelmed anyone still caught inside. Those outside the gate had a fighting chance, though. At least to survive the night. If we didn’t start moving soon, we might not.

  I didn’t think I could hate the zombies any worse than I had before, but I did. It didn’t matter because they didn’t care if I hated them. They only cared about their hunger.

  “Joni, we’ve got to go,” I said.

  “But, Mack…,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “And Bill.” Again she trailed off.

  “There’s no time,” I said. “They’ll be on us if we don’t move.”

  She wasn’t the only one crying. Through the canvas, I could hear Freda’s sobs.

  Then I heard three gunshots which trumped the crying. The shots came from the back of the truck. When I looked behind us, I saw two zombies lying in the road. More were coming.

  “Grant, there’s more,” Sammy shouted from the back of the truck.

  I did what I had to do, opening the door, and as gently as I could, I pulled Mack out of the cab, and collapsed in the road as the full weight of his body overwhelmed me. Still, I did everything I could prevent any further insult to his body. It took some effort, but I was able to climb out from under him and dragged his body to the side of the road. It was a shitty thing to do, leaving him beside the road like that, but there was no time for anything else. I looked up into the sky and saw the twinkling of the stars above and cursed the heavens for not letting Mack live and for letting the zombies kill so many people. There was no response so I sulked back to truck.

  When I climbed back up to look into through the open driver’s door, I saw Joni, wiping away her tears. She looked to me and asked, “What about Bill?”

  “Push him out the door,” I said.

  “I can’t do that,” she said.

  “He killed Mack.”

  “I know, but he was still upset about Eric.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He still killed Mack.”

  I leapt off the truck and stormed around the front of the truck and ripped the passenger side door open. Bill’s body fell out the door unceremoniously and I did nothing to stop its fall. It thudded against the ground, bringing up a small cloud of dust. In my anger, I pulled back a foot, preparing to kick him, but caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.

  A dark figure came down the side of the truck, holding on to it for balance. I reached for my gun, but when the figure came out of the shadows and I saw that it was Carla, Bill’s daughter.

  “Daddy,” she said and ran and fell by his side.

  Any anger I had experienced quickly dissolved and if I could have felt any worse, I didn’t know how.

  Joni climbed from the cab and knelt down by the girl, putting a comforting arm around her. Carla rocked back and forth over the body of her father. I wanted to turn away, but didn’t feel like I deserved the right since I had just killed him and watched the scene as my heart sank.

  “Carla,” Joni said, “I’m so, so sorry. Your father…he was troubled. He couldn’t get over losing Eric.”

  “I know, I know,” Carla said, her voice thick with emotion.

  “Grant had to do something,” Joni said. “Your father shot Mack.”

  “I know. He never forgave Grant.” The girl looked up to me. “I know you did everything you could to save Eric, but he couldn’t see it.”

  She was trying to get me off the hook, but I just couldn’t seem to let go.

  “Carla!” A voice came from the direction of the back of the truck.

  I looked back and saw Freda coming towards us. Her face was locked in a grimace so fierce that it hurt me to look at it.

  “Get away from that man,” she said staring directly at me. “Getting Eric killed wasn’t enough? You had to kill Bill, too?”

  “Mom, Dad shot Mack,” Carla said.

  “Why are you defending him?” Freda screamed. Hate can be that way, blinding people, but I knew I would probably hate the person who shot and killed my spouse, too. The reality was that Bill and Freda’s hate started when soldiers had gunned down their son after he proved to be infected. Why they blamed me, no one could tell, but grief had driven them out of their minds. I had just become the outlet for it and the grief had turned itself inside out and turned to hate.

  Something moved off in the brush behind Freda and I brought up my gun to track it.

  “Don’t shoot my mom,” Carla said jumping to her feet.

  The shadow came into the dim light and turned out to be a zombie shambling out of the bush. I tracked it for another second and shot it dead, as Freda cowered.

  “You see what I’m saying?” Freda bellowed. “He’s crazy and wants to kill us all.”

  “It was a zombie,” I said.

  Freda and Carla both looked and saw a female zombie in a blood stained white dress lying on the side of the road. All our commotion brought Sammy and several others out of the back of the truck. They cautiously moved toward us, unsure what was going on.

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Freda said. “You’re still a dangerous man.”

  “There’s no time for this,” I said. “We’ve got to get moving.” Refugees had spotted the truck and were headed in our direction. Zombies would not be far behind.

  “Well, we’re not going anywhere with him,” Freda said stalking over to Carla and clutching her tightly while holding me in a death stare. A part of me wished her stare could kill me. It would put me out of my misery. Of course, things don’t work that way.

  “What do you mean?” Rosalita asked. “Mr. Grant is a good man. He saved us.”

  “No, he’s not.” Freda shouted. “He’s a selfish bastard who got my boy killed and shot Bill.”

  “Bill shot and killed Mack,” Joni said to the group.

  “Dios mios,” Rosalita said.

  Most of the others had shocked looks.

  “Listen Freda, you’ve got to go with us,” Joni said. “It’s not safe.”

  Rosalita spoke up, “Yes, you must come with us. It is not good to stay here.

  “He’s not safe,” Freda said.

  “Mom,” Carla said, “we can’t stay here. There’s zombies coming. We don’t have a car or any other way to get away.”

  “Don’t you say another word,” Freda said to Carla. “We’re not leaving with him.”

  “We don’t want you to stay,” Sammy said.

  “You’ll die,” Joni said. “You both will die.”

  “Better to die on our o
wn than to have him get us killed like he did with Eric.”

  “Mom, he didn’t get Eric killed,” Carla said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “Eric was bit. The soldiers didn’t have a choice.”

  “There are always choices,” Freda shouted, spittle flying off her lips.

  “Freda, you’re not thinking right,” Joni said, slowly walking toward them with her hands out in front of her.

  “I’ve never thought more clearly in my life,” Freda said resolutely.

  “Mom, I’m not staying here,” Carla said trying to pull away from Freda, but Freda yanked her back.

  “You’re staying with me,” Freda said.

  Something in me broke from the dread and the guilt, and just got plain angry. It wasn’t a volcanic anger, but a slow burn. “We don’t have time for this. Stay. Go. I don’t care. If you haven’t seen, we have a horde of undead coming our way. Staying here is suicide.”

  “Freda, think of what you’re doing,” Joni said. “If you don’t want to go, let Carla go.”

  “No,” Freda said.

  “Mom, please, I don’t want to stay here.” Carla said, tears coming down her face. “Let’s go with them.”

  “No,” Freda said and this time she sounded petulant and not so much angry.

  Something must have snapped inside Joni. Before any of us could react, she had a pistol in her hand and was aiming it at Freda. “I lost my husband in the Outbreak. He was away from me and the kids when the shit hit the fan and was presumed lost. He’s got to be dead or else he’d be with us now. Grant did everything he could for your family. I’m sure the soldiers would have shot Bill had Grant not done what he did, but you just couldn’t see that. Eric was dead as soon as he was bitten. I’ve seen enough death. Freda, if you want to stay here I don’t have the time or the energy to debate you, but your daughter clearly wants to live, so let her go or I will shoot you.”

  “Joni…” I started to say.

  “Let her go, NOW!” Joni said and fired a shot past Freda’s head.

  Freda released her grip on Carla and stumbled backward and fell down into a sitting position in the road.