“Reloading!” Russell yelled.
John continued firing, but slowed his rate while Russell reloaded. As soon as Russell stood up to fire, he crouched down to reload. He looked to Morgan, who was standing in the bed of the truck, aiming over the cab. Morgan fired off a shot, but missed the can.
John popped back up and started firing again, dropping two more men. Four riders were still in the fight, while two were seen riding back to the west, one of them being Rome. John was not surprised, as that man was never a fighter as much as he was a talker. How he had become President was anyone’s guess.
“Down to my last mag!” Russell said. He sat down with his back against the car.
John kept firing until his magazine was empty. “Last one!”
Rounds fired by The Crush kept piercing the air above them and slamming into the metal of the cars. John didn’t know how much ammo The Crush had, but he was assuming it was enough to stay in the fight.
Morgan fired once more, this time finding his mark.
A loud explosion filled the air as the five-gallon gas can exploded next to the remaining riders, enveloping them and the area around them in flames. The riders screamed and cars nearby caught on fire, creating a wall of dark gray smoke.
John heard an intermittent slapping sound coming from behind them. He turned and saw the zombies all running toward the explosion, yelling and screaming, their bloodshot eyes and bloody teeth exposed.
“We gotta move!” John stood up with Russell and they both took off toward the edge of the overpass, with Morgan running towards them.
“Russell, take the infected!” John yelled.
Russell turned to his right and fired as he ran to the side, trying to shoot as many as he could, with Morgan doing the same. John kept his fire toward The Crush.
John reached the edge and heard the remaining riders leaving. He looked over the side and saw that it was a good thirty-foot drop onto pavement below. They were over a service road and there were small grassy hills on each side. The infected were too close to go to the east, and the wall of flames and smoke was to the west. The onramp was one hundred yards to the west of them, and if they could somehow make it off the overpass, they’d be able to run to the Scout, hidden underneath the freeway. But they had to survive jumping off the freeway first.
“Follow me!” Morgan ran toward the flames, taking his shirt off as he did so. He let the AR-15 hang from the sling across his torso and used the shirt to cover his face. John and Russell did the same. They ran through a wall of dark and toxic smoke. Several cars were now engulfed in flames.
John squinted and looked around but didn’t see The Crush anywhere. He assumed they were either waiting to the west or were making their way down the onramp.
“Should we keep going west?” Russell asked.
“No!” And with that, Morgan bailed over the side, landing fifteen feet onto a soft grassy hill, softening his impact.
The sounds of the infected were getting closer. Russell followed Morgan. Then John jumped over the side, and, as he did so, he caught a glimpse of an infected man reaching out to grab him. He landed with a soft thud and rolled to his feet.
“Everyone okay?” He got nods in return as Russell and Morgan took up position. He looked up in time to see the infected man falling over the side, his body half-burned. He jumped to the side as the man landed head first, causing his skull to explode, sending blood in all directions.
“What the…?” Morgan looked down at the bent and broken man, half charred, his body still moving as he tried to crawl his way toward them. “Persistent little shit, ain’t he?” Morgan walked over and used the butt of his rifle to finish the man off.
Several more thuds were heard as other zombies followed the first one over the side in an attempt to get to them, coming with more frequency.
“Time to move.” John led the group west as they cut through the greenbelt area separating the freeway from the main road. They could hear the remaining Crush members riding around trying to find each other, no doubt keeping an eye out for John.
“Ammo check?” John took his magazine and shook it in his hand. “I’m about half full, one magazine left.”
“I’ve got a couple of rounds, if that,” Russell said.
“About the same for me.”
“Okay. I can hear them riding around, so we’re going to have to be careful. I don’t know what they have, firearms-wise, but I’m assuming they have more than us right now.”
“We have to kill them or we won’t ever be rid of them,” Morgan said.
“Do they know where you live?” Russell asked.
John shook his head. “No, but North Bend isn’t that big. I’m sure they can find out.”
“Mind telling me why they want to kill you so bad?”
John stared at Russell and pondered how much he should know. He realized that keeping secrets would prove difficult and trust had to work both ways, if they were going to survive. “I used to be a member. I left the group and they weren’t too happy about it.”
“That is why they want to kill you?”
“Well, that and he put three of them in the hospital when they tried to jump him. Put a bounty on his head as well,” Morgan said.
Russell stared at John, then said, “How much?”
“How much what?”
“The bounty. How much was the bounty?”
“Fifty grand.”
Russell started laughing. “That’s almost an insult.”
John nodded. “My sentiments exactly. I caught our Vice President at the time, Rome, the black-haired guy you saw?” Russell nodded, so John continued, “I caught him raping a thirteen-year-old girl. I put a beating on him, letting him know that I thought that wasn’t okay.” John spread his hands. “So arrest me for it.”
Russell shook his head. “Don’t have anywhere to take you.”
“That good enough?”
Russell nodded. “Not like I have a choice. I have a teenage daughter as well, so, as a father, I get it. As a cop, I still kind of get it.”
Morgan, taking the lead, stopped and held his fist up and took a knee. “The Scout is twenty yards ahead.” They all stopped and took a knee, checking to their left and right. “Down, down, down!”
All three men put their bellies to the dirt while the rumble of motorcycles came from their left. Three members of The Crush were cruising along, looking around, handguns held at their side while they steered with one hand. Fortunately, none of them saw the Scout hidden in the copse of trees under the overpass, nor did they see the three men.
As soon as they heard the bikes leave, they took off toward the Scout, quickly and quietly. Morgan got into the driver’s seat, Russell took the back and John jumped into the passenger seat, cradling the AR-15. He handed the rifle back to Russell.
“We ready?” John asked.
Morgan started the Scout and let it idle. He handed Russell his final AR-15 magazine. Russell emptied all three magazines and loaded the rounds into one.
If they were to come across The Crush, they would be at a disadvantage, as they had a less-maneuverable vehicle compared to four or more motorcycles. Plus, Morgan was driving, which would technically give them one less gun.
John had no intention of trying to avoid them just so they could get home without a fight.
That was not in his blood.
Morgan put the Scout in gear and accelerated. “Great! Let’s go Crush hunting.”
Russell racked his AR-15, stood up and brought the gun up at the ready.
Chapter 31
Morgan took the Scout onto North Bend Way, as there was no other option. North Bend Way was an east-to-west road that emptied onto the freeway on the west end and the main part of town on the east end.
“What’s our count?” John craned his head towards Russell, who was standing up and scanning.
“Nine rounds, all loaded.”
“Well, shit. I think there’s three of them left.” John angled his body to the side and looked in the
back of the Scout, rummaging around in the backpacks and gear they had in hopes there was a gun they had forgotten about.
No such luck.
“We can just run them over. They have handguns, so it’s not like they’re a big threat.” Morgan looked at John and continued, “Why didn’t you just kill them when you had the chance? I understand kicking the shit out of them, but I think the message would have been better served having put them in the ground, no?”
“That was easier said than done. Putting them in the hospital served a better purpose. I wanted them to remember.”
They had entered the main part of town. John saw a gravel parking lot to the right next to an old theatre. “Morgan, turn in here and stop for a second.” Morgan did. To Russell, he said, “Are you sure you can shoot them if you have to?” John saw Russell about to complain, so he held his hands up in surrender and continued, “I’m not questioning your manhood. I’m just wondering if you’re comfortable shooting while moving is all. We have nine rounds against three men. We need all of them to count.”
Russell stared at John, then sat back down. “I’m fine with it, but this seems like it’s your battle.” He held the gun out to John, who took it and opened the door. He switched positions with Russell.
John put the sling around himself and stood up. He wanted to finish off Rome and the other two riders and be done with it. A dark chapter in his life could finally close. “Okay, Morgan, let’s go.”
After one minute they came to a T-intersection with North Bend Way to their right and a school parking lot on the left. A large park with baseball fields, a picnic area, and a playground was ahead of them. John tried to think of the layout of North Bend and if there was a way they could go that would be difficult for street cycles to navigate. Aside from the Scout being outnumbered, motorcycles had much more maneuverability when it came to tight corners and narrow access ways. However, there was an advantage to the Scout. It was able to go over different terrain and have better maneuverability than a motorcycle would.
Off road, of course.
“Morgan, take it through the park. We can parallel the road and still make it back.”
“Roger that.” Morgan accelerated and took the Scout over the curb. “Take cover.”
John lowered himself and Morgan drove through a chain-link fence which went up and over them as the Scout barreled into the park. He accelerated, and dirt and grass kicked up as he drove through the center field and towards a baseball diamond, hitting the dirt and creating a dust cloud.
“Well, so much for stealth,” Russell said.
The four baseball fields all backed up to each other, creating a four-leaf clover shape. Morgan turned left and brought them to the parking lot of the park, where he abruptly slammed on his brakes.
“Contact front!” he yelled.
John looked up and over the roll bar and saw Rome and the other two Crush members sitting in the parking lot, their bikes backed up to the curb. The noise of the Scout barreling through the fields had gotten their attention.
They brought their handguns up, ready to fire.
John didn’t hesitate. He aimed the AR-15 at the closest rider and fired a round, hitting him in the leg. He toppled off his bike and grabbed at his blue jeans, which immediately turned crimson. John figured he’d hit his femoral artery and counted him out.
Morgan accelerated over the curb and bounced into the parking lot. He made a beeline toward The Crush. Unfortunately, Rome and the other rider were quicker and had their bikes moving before the Scout reached them.
No such luck for the rider that John had shot. Morgan accelerated and a faint scream was heard as the vehicle rode over the man, then his bike, causing the sickening sound of crunching bones and metal.
John looked behind and saw Rome and the other man turn around and accelerate after them. He placed his knee on the seat and rested the gun over the seatback, taking aim. He put the other rider in his crosshairs and pulled the trigger, but the rider anticipated this and cut to the left, then corrected himself.
John ducked as Rome fired off a shot from his semi-automatic handgun, the round hitting the back of the Scout with a loud pang.
Morgan took the Scout to the end of the parking lot and yelled, “Turning hard right!”
John held on as the movement of the Scout threw him to the driver’s side. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t going to be able to get off any good shots with the way Morgan had to drive.
Morgan then drove down a narrow alleyway in between two rows of ramshackle houses. John anticipated the hard left Morgan was about to take and braced himself for it.
Rome and the other rider were able to keep up with the Scout. Their riding experience and the versatility of movement the bikes had meant they weren’t going to lose them.
Seven rounds left.
John aimed out the back of the Scout, but not at the riders. He would let them ride into his crosshairs instead of making the crosshairs go to them. Morgan took the turn and John saw the bikes do the same, though with more ease. The second rider was in front with Rome bringing up the rear. Morgan brought the Scout right into the middle of the road, and, as anticipated, the second rider took the center, deciding to ride directly behind the Scout.
Through the scope, the scraggly head of the lead man come into view, his long red beard and hair surrounding the crosshairs. John pulled the trigger, but didn’t anticipate the pothole that Morgan ran over. He fired and his shot went downwards, striking the man’s headlight, shattering it.
“Shit!” Six rounds left.
Rome and the other rider were now one car length behind. “Get down!” John yelled. Both Rome and the other man started firing shots at the Scout, most hitting the hard steel of the tailgate. John heard glass shatter.
Once the firing from the bikes paused, John stood up and fired off two more shots, missing each man. The shots forced the riders to separate and that gave him an idea.
He shouted, “Morgan, take Mount Si Road, then take the paved trail!”
Morgan talked towards the back of the vehicle while keeping his eye on the road. “The trail? Are you crazy? We won’t be able to maneuver!”
“Just do it! Trust me!” John yelled over the noise.
The two riders had regrouped and were gaining on them.
John felt Morgan take the left, the tires screeching as he corrected his turn. The Crush had to slow to make the turn, but were able to accelerate and gain on them.
As John had predicted, Rome and the other rider were forced to ride one in front of the other, with the red-haired man taking the front. Both riders accelerated. John aimed and fired two shots, missing the man in front each time. “Damn it!”
He looked down at the AR-15 and saw the problem. The scope had been nudged somehow and had taken his aim off. With two rounds left, he thought their situation would get worse. It was then that he saw the solution, staring at him from the floor of the Scout.
* * *
Frankie carried the two empty buckets past John’s house and down to the river. With the situation deteriorating, they didn’t trust the water supply to give them drinkable water. Of course, even if the water were drinkable, it didn’t matter because the pipes weren’t working. They had to resort to doing it the old-fashioned way: carrying water to and from the river, then boiling it, then letting it cool, then using it. It didn’t matter too much to Frankie, as it allowed him to get outside and get some exercise.
Boogie and Sims had just gotten back from installing the gate at the bridge and had offered to take over for Frankie, but he nixed the idea, as he enjoyed doing this. While they had decided to help the others with the gardening and food prep for dinner, Frankie had grabbed the buckets and walked to the river to get more water.
At the bank of the river, he put the buckets down and stretched a bit, working out the kinks and feeling the effects of the lingering pain that had bothered him since Vietnam. He took a joint out of his pocket, lit it, and sat down on a barren log.
>
He took a hit and closed his eyes and tried to relax, absorbing the sounds of nature and its serenity. Only something was off.
A loud rumbling could be heard, coming from the west. It grew in volume the longer it went on and it seemed intermittent. Frankie stood up and looked, shielding his eyes from the sun, but didn’t see anything.
The sound became louder and he could hear small arms fire mixed in with it, a shot ringing out every once in a while. There was no mistaking it now. The melodic and tinny sound of motorcycles was unmistakable to Frankie, having lived next to Henry and John all these years and their association with those outlaw bikers.
He walked back to hide a bit behind the trees when he saw a Scout…his Scout…come barreling down the road, followed by two bikers, who were shooting at the car.
“Ah, Christ, they’re in trouble!” Frankie said to no one.
He threw the joint in the river and took off at a painful run, leaving the buckets on the bank. No time. He just hoped he could get everyone together, get armed and over there in time to save them. He’d be damned if he would let John and Morgan fight alone.
* * *
John picked up a gas can, hoping to god it was the one with the unleaded gasoline, and threw it over the back. It bounced and rolled, carried by the momentum. He had to be quick about this. He brought the gun up and aimed at the can. The motorcycle riders saw what he was doing and tried to stop as fast as possible, but were too late. John fired two quick rounds, exploding the can. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he thought he heard a scream, then saw the front rider aflame, veering off into the brush and into a tree, the flames spreading up. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief but then saw Rome ride right through the flames and accelerate toward them.
Rome brought his handgun up and tried to aim it at John. John ducked, but didn’t see or hear a round hit anything. He glanced back up over the seat and saw Rome dry-firing the gun.
It was empty.
“We’re coming to the end!” Morgan yelled.
John looked to the front and saw the trailhead coming up to the point where it ended at North Bend Way. He looked back and watched as Rome rode closer, hatred in his eyes and baring his teeth.
Inception_The Bern Project Page 24
