Forget The Zombies (Book 2): Forget Texas

by Spears, R. J.

  “I guess I see your point.”

  “Why are you headed for my house?” the man asked.

  “We’re looking for some means of transport. As you can see, I have a small group of people. We’re trying to get out of the state, but the elderly woman and kids with us are exhausted.”

  “I don’t know if they’re going to let you out of the state,” the man said.

  “Who are they?”

  “First, whoever’s in Oklahoma. Second, the feds. There’s no second chance if this things spread.”

  “Well, we’ll take our chances if we can just get some wheels,” I said.

  “I can’t help you there,” he said.

  “But do you know of a place where I can get some, don’t you.”

  The man stood silent for several seconds then swayed slightly. “If you head west down this street, then take third right after the road bends to the south a bit and head out of town, you’ll come to the last house past Hanson Road. It’s painted yellow. Next to it is a large shed. In it is an old tractor. It has a wagon attached to it. It should be big enough to carry you and your people.”

  “How do I get it started?”

  “At the back of the shed is an old metal soda sign on the wall. Lift it up a little and you’ll find a set of keys on a peg. Those will start it.”

  I wanted to ask how he knew this, but it was just enough that he did and let me know.

  “I don’t know what to say, other than thanks.”

  “That’s enough,” he said.

  “You know, you could come with us.”

  “Me and my people have been in this town for a 150 years. We know it and we’ll survive anything that the world throws at us. Besides, I’m ready and I have enough of what I need here,” he said.

  “Have you seen these things?” I asked.

  “On TV,”

  “They’re very different face-to-face,” I said. “And there’s a whole hell of a lot of them.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “My advice then is to be quiet. If they come in large numbers, let them pass. They aren’t too smart, but are as patient as a painting. They can hang out for days waiting to get at you. We were at the Alamo in San Antonio.”

  “Wait,” he said, the sound of recognition in his voice, “I know you. You were on TV. You’re the Fuck the Alamo guy.”

  I cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot. That was me.”

  “Well, I guess you know your way around these things, so I’ll take your advice.”

  “You’re sure, you don’t want to come with us?”

  “I’m sure.” He backed up a step and it was if he evaporated. Like a ghost he was gone.

  I went back and retrieved our people and we started out of town. Randell asked me a lot of questions about my interactions with the man, but I really didn’t have much to say. The exchange was so brief and surreal; a part of me wondered if it had even happened. When we went by the house again, I saw no sign of the man and all the lights were off in the house. The whole area was a quiet as a graveyard.

  We made it to the shed the man told me about without incident. The tractor and the keys were there just like he said. The thing looked like it had been manufactured around the time of the World War. The first one. It took a few minutes to get the thing started, but it finally choked and sputtered to life after several loud backfires. While some of our group was less than happy about our mode of transportation, Martin and Jessica were somewhat excited. Martin said it was like a hayride. All I could think of was that we could be very well be on a hayride to Hell.

  Within fifteen minutes we were chugging along and heading north. Joni, as always, was at the wheel. How she could drive any vehicle that we came across astounded me. It was like she was a savant or something when it came to driving, only without any other deficits. I wasn’t sure if we came across a 747 jet that she wouldn’t be able to get it off the ground and flying.

  Something in me told me to stay off the highway, so we took the road that paralleled it by a good enough distance. The view back to the highway was bleak. Cars were stacked up, some on the road, but most off. There were more than a few cars on fire. There was sporadic gunfire. People streamed up the road, skirting the burning clusters of car.

  Despite the chaos and carnage on the road, a small group of people noticed us and surge off the highway in the tall grass, shouting at us and waving their arms frantically. They reached a low fence topped with barbed wire and that slowed their progress towards us.

  “Joni,” I said, “take the side road coming and head west.”

  “But those people…” she said, a noticeable ache in voice.

  “We’ve only got so much carrying power and space. If too many come, we’ll be overwhelmed.”

  She just nodded her head, slowing the tractor down, and then took the turn at the next intersection and heading west. While the panicked screams faded away in the distance, I was sure they would haunt me for a long time — if I lived that a long.

  We weren’t going all that fast, but a slight wind blew across us as we moved westward, cooling us down some. I was worried that we were moving too far away from the bridge, but going back the way we had just come from wasn’t an option. With the people there and the zombies coming up fast, that was a non-starter.

  I pulled out the map and popped on a flashlight. After about a minute of studying it, I told Joni to take the next right. The frantic firing to the south kept up for a few minutes, then slowly diminished. After a couple more minutes, it stopped entirely. The roar of the helicopters came northward. They followed the highway and then flew over the mess of cars and disappeared to the north.

  We hit the next turn and Joni took it, heading east. It made me nervous to head back toward the highway, but the bridge was in that direction. We passed a large a series of large oil tanks that reminded me of overlarge child’s blocks.

  “We’re coming up on another road,” Joni said. “What do I do?”

  “Head north,” I said.

  The highway came back into view, but I thought we’d be far enough away to proceed without being seen. At least, I hoped so. We did have the advantage of some spotty tree cover between our road and the highway. I made Joni turn off the lights just in case. There was just enough moonlight for her to navigate. Railroad tracks paralleled our country road catching the light from above and gleaming slightly, like dull moonbeams.

  The view to the highway wasn’t reassuring. It was almost an exact duplicate of the last encounter, only exponentially worse. More cars burned and I saw the flashes of gunfire as people fought with each other for position on the road. The saw loads of shambling figures making their way north.

  To make matters worse, there was an intense amount of gunfire coming from the north. Flashes like lightning filled the sky in that direction, but we were too far away to see what it was. I only knew it probably wasn’t good news. The further we moved north the louder the gunfire. We passed by the last stand of trees on our right and had a clear view of the bridge, but it was still a ways off in the distance.

  “We’ll never get across that bridge,” Dave said.

  Through the woods near the base of bridge, we could see a firefight going on. Shots were being fired up the bridge. Return fire was coming down the bridge. The fighting was quite fierce. The soldiers had better weaponry, but the civilians had the numbers, plus the motivation to make it across the bridge.

  “We’re running out of pavement ahead,” Joni said with some alarm in tone. “What should I do?”

  “Slow down, we’re going off road,” I said, my eyes locked on what was happening at the bridge.

  The tractor bounced off the highway and I heard Rosalita scream as the trailer hit the rough ground. I felt like I was riding a lame horse, the way the tractor was shaking. We hit a particularly large rut and the trailer jumped a good foot off the ground. This time several people yelled. I think one of them was me.

  The battle to the north was intense with g
unfire lighting up the night like it was daytime. I could see civilians with weapons slowly advancing up the gradual slope of the bridge. Withering return fire came from what I could only assume was soldiers up the bridge. Trees obscured any good view up the bridge.

  When I looked back down the highway, I saw why the civilians were so desperate to move into the fire from the soldiers. Zombies were coming up the highway, drawn by the sounds of the battle. There were hundreds of them. Zombies tore into the people stacked up at the back the group. Their screams carried over the gunfire. The few people with weapons tried to take on the zombies, but there were just too many of the undead. Some of the people broke and ran into the backcountry while others ran for the bridge.

  “They’re killing them!” Dave shouted.

  “We’re running out of ground now,” Joni said.

  The ground got rougher as we approached a stand of trees that ran along the edge of the river.

  “Stop!” I yelled.

  Joni hit the brakes and I felt people slam into me from behind as they yelled in panic. The tractor slid about ten feet and came to a stop just a few feet away from a forested area with tall trees and scrub bushes.

  “What now?” Randell asked.

  That was the question of the hour. Behind us was horde of undead streaming up from the south. The bridge seemed to be the only way across the river unless we tried to swim across it. I didn’t like that idea with Jessica and Martin since it was probably running hard after the recent rain. Besides, I was a crappy swimmer and Jay couldn’t swim at all. Swimming would also mean leaving our weapons behind.

  “Do we try for the bridge?” Sammy asked.

  I had no answer.

  “Hey Grant, what do we do?” Randell asked.

  The fact that I was out of ideas didn’t seem to be a possibility for them. They relied on me and expected me to come up with something, but my well had run dry. Something flitted around at the back of my mind, but it flew away and disappeared into the cobwebs in there somewhere.

  “I don’t know,” I finally said.

  “You don’t know,” Dave said, his voice rising. “You don’t know. You drag me off the highway into the night on some wild race to nowhere.”

  “It’s not all about you, Dave.” Joni said, crossing her arms and fixing him in a stare. “Besides, I think you were being kicked to the curb anyway.”

  “I think we try for the bridge,” Randell said, stepping into the middle of the group.

  The rate of fire coming from the soldier’s side of the bridge intensified exponentially. It sounded like the soldiers had just opened up with everything they had. It was so intense that the bridged seemed to light up like a carnival ride. Civilians died at a dizzying rate as the soldiers let loose. Just as suddenly as the latest and deadly barrage from the soldiers started, it stopped, leaving a chilling quiet over the scene.

  It took a couple seconds, but the surviving civilians rallied and started to push their way up the long slope to the bridge and were met with no resistance.

  “I think the soldiers have retreated,” Sammy said.

  “That means we can go for the bridge,” Randell said. “Okay everybody, get what you can. We’re going to have to make a run for the bridge.” Our group started grabbing weapons and other supplies and walked into the open field.

  “Hold up,” I said, walking back further into the open field to get a better view of the bridge. The group followed me.

  “What?” Dave asked.

  “I said, wait,” I said.

  “Why?” Dave asked.

  “We can’t wait,” Randell said. “The zombies are coming and that bridge is going to be stuffed with people in no time.”

  “Just wait!” I said with some sharpness in my voice. A couple of our group stepped back from me.

  “I don’t understand…” Joni started when she was cut off by the first explosion.

  Collectively, we watched as multiple sets of charges went off on the bridge. If the gunfire had been like fireworks, then this was the grand finale. The charges flashed brilliantly in the night along the bridge, filling the air with sound and fury. It took a few seconds for the smoke to clear, but the bridge was just a tangled mass of metal and concrete, broken into pieces sticking out of the river with the smoke hanging like a thin veil over the carnage. There was no telling how many people had been lost to explosions or to the waters below.

  The civilians on the highway seemed to wail in unison as their only means of escape just went up in smoke. The zombies just continued their ravenous onslaught oblivious to any explosion.

  “Oh man, I can’t believe this,” Dave said. “We are so screwed now.”

  “Dave!” Joni said, looking from him to the kids. Martin’s eyes were getting wider by the second.

  “How did you know they were going to blow the bridge?” Rosalita asked as she genuflected.

  “I didn’t,” I said. “They lay on the fire, then were quiet. They were pulling back. It was to give them time to get the soldiers off the bridge before they blew it.”

  “That’s in the past,” Dave said, moving into my face. “What do we do now, Hotshot?”

  That idea that flitted away in my mind, flew back, and I caught a glimpse of it again. Two shining lines leading off into black. What did it mean?

  “I said, do you have any bright ideas?” Dave was inched from my face now.

  “My first idea would be to punch you in the face,” I said taking a step forward and Dave fell back, nearly stumbling. “My second idea would be to follow those train tracks to the river and see if the soldiers haven’t blown the train bridge that has to cross the river.” I pointed off to my left in the direction of the train tracks that had paralleled the road we had been on.

  We were off and moving at a slow jog in less than thirty seconds. We had a quarter mile of open ground and then we’d be entering a fully forested area that ran along the river.

  We were barely half the distance when I felt the ground shaking beneath my feet. “Anyone else feel that?” I asked.

  “Feel what?” Sammy asked.

  “The ground shaking.”

  “Now that you mention it, I do feel something.” Joni said.

  “I feel it, too,” Randell said and we all slowed.

  “Is it an earthquake?” Joni asked.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, while having an inkling of what was coming and looked over my shoulder to confirm it. There they were. “Oh shit.”

  “Zombies?” Randell asked.

  “No,” I said. “Stampede. Everyone, run!”

  Coming out of the woods just a quarter mile back was a whole herd of cattle, all running at full speed in our direction. Each one of their hooves pounded the ground like sledge hammers, kicking up dirt and mud. I could see hundreds of steers coming as they spread out for what seemed like a mile.

  I dropped my rifle and snatched up Martin in my arms. He probably weighed around sixty pounds. With the adrenaline pumping, he felt more like ten.

  Jay and Jane didn’t need any more urging and were off and running. Randell was right behind them. Dave and Joni grabbed Jessica’s hand and pulled her along at a run.

  “Rosalita” Sammy shouted, jogging up to her. “Jump on my back.”

  “No, I can’t do it,” she shouted as the thunder of the cattle’s hooves got closer by the second.

  “You have to,” Sammy cried out and backed up to her. “You don’t climb on, then we both stay here and die.”

  "Ay, caramba!" Rosalita said and climbed on board.

  An angry bull can top out at seventeen miles per hour. A scared shitless bull could probably do twenty. It was going to be close.

  The ground shook like there really was an earthquake and I swear I could feel the cattle’s hot breath on my neck as I approached the first set of trees. Martin clung to me in a vice, gripping with both hands. “Don’t look back, big guy,” I said through breaths. The trees were coming up fast, but I feared the cattle were coming up faste
r.

  I decided to it put in high gear and gave it all I got, heading on a collision course toward a large pine tree.

  Boom, boom, boom, went the hooves right behind me.

  A pine tree was just ahead of me when I deviated from my course slightly, let go of Martin with one arm and shot out the other arm to catch the tree. My hand clutched on to the scratchy pine bark and I jerked us into the tree in a whip-like motion. My face slammed against the tree and I saw stars for a second. Martin cried out on impact.

  Still woozy, I watched as two large bulls ran past us into the dark cover of the woods. I looked past another small group of cattle running full tilt across the field and saw Sammy, with Rosalita on his back, dodging left and right, barely missing the cattle passing him on both sides. It was as if he had the hand of God guided him as he dodged back forth while the cattle rumbled by. Then God’s hand slipped. A large bull clipped him in the side with a horn and sent Sammy stumbling along out of control. He was only fifteen feet from a large tree, but it could have been miles.

  Sammy’s arm pin wheeled in the air for balance. Rosalita held on for dear life. Sammy gained five more feet when another bull hit him on the hip and he flew into the air. Rosalita lost her grip and separated from Sammy, spilling across the ground toward the trees.

  Out nowhere, Joni shot out from beside a tree and grabbed Rosalita by the arms and started pulling her back. My head had nearly cleared and I dropped Martin against the tree and started out.

  It was hard to see Sammy at all in the chaos of speeding fur and hooves. The sound of their hoof beats was almost deafening. Sammy popped up among three beasts, staggering along, but one hit him right in the center of his back and he went down hard disappearing in a plume of dust.

  A hand grabbed my belt and pulled me back. I tugged against it, but it pulled even harder. I turned and saw Randell reaching around the tree with one arm and holding fast to me the other.

  “He’s gone!” He shouted.

  “He’s not!” I yelled back and tried to pull free again, but he held even tighter, his face straining from the effort. Cattle poured past us, one brushed by me, knocking me back against the tree.