Riders of the Apocalypse (Book 2): Burning Rubber

by Alex Westmore

  Roper, who was facing a boarded up house with peeling blue paint that had probably been that way since Katrina or Sandy. “They’re in serious moan mode, Roper. Wonder how many they have in there.”

  Roper looked up at the third story window and saw a flag. “Third floor. Let’s clean these out and see what we’ve got.”

  “After you.”

  Roper killed the first five zombies she came to with only five swings of her bat. None of the man eaters even looked at her or Churchill as they decapitated and smashed skulls.

  One minute later, when all the undead were finally truly dead, Roper pounded on the front door.

  Nothing.

  Churchill yelled, “Open the door!”

  Someone yelled down, “We can’t, we’re barricaded in!”

  Churchill looked to Roper, who shrugged. “Easiest way in is through that window.” He shook his head. “I’m not getting cut to shreds for anyone.”

  Suddenly, they heard an upper window slide open. “Don’t leave us! We’re here. Up here!” It was a woman’s voice, but she was too far away for Roper to tell how old she was. “I think we can move everything out of our way, just don’t leave!”

  “How many of you?” Roper called up.

  “Three, with one injured. We can’t move her, though, without help.”

  “Remove the barricades and we’ll come up. How badly injured?”

  “We think she has a broken arm. It’s hard to tell.”

  Churchill and Roper stepped back from the door to dispatch four more zombies who’d heard the yelling and came to investigate.

  When the front door finally opened, Roper realized the woman was in her late forties or early fifties, had a large gash across her forehead, and dark, tired eyes that said she lacked sleep.

  “Bless you for coming to help us,” she said, ironing out the wrinkles in her dress with her dirty hands.

  “We’re gathering survivors, ma’am. If you and your people are willing to go to fight these creatures, you may come with us. If not, I’m afraid we need to be on our way.”

  “Fight? You mean…like a war?” The woman reminded Roper of a spinsterly librarian, afraid of her own shadow.

  “War, battle, fight. We think it’s time to fight back.”

  “Oh my. Well. Dear. You’ll have to ask my husband. He’s upstairs.”

  When the woman started up the stairs, Roper grabbed Churchill’s arm and shook her head. “Do you smell that?”

  He nodded, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like bathroom freshener.”

  Roper waited.

  His eyes registered understanding. “Eww. To hide decay.”

  “What do you think she is she trying to cover up?”

  “I don’t know, but these people need our help.” As Churchill turned, the woman came back down the stairs.

  “Please. We’ve been without food and water for three days. I tried leaving yesterday, but those things surrounded the house. Please. Help us.”

  Roper shook her head and started backing out the door. Something wasn’t right. Something was definitely off, and she turned to leave when she realized Churchill was already following the woman up the stairs.

  “Damn it, Churchill, get back here.” Roper followed him and barely got a glimpse of him as he disappeared around the corner into the room at the top of the stairs.

  “Churchill!”

  That was when she heard a loud cracking noise like the sound her bat made when she crushed in a man eater’s head, followed by the thump of a body dropping heavily to the floor.

  Pulling out her Smith and Wesson, Roper took the stairs two at a time, nearly stepping on Churchill’s crumpled body as it lay in the doorway, a thin line of blood on his forehead.

  “What the fuck?” Roper barely managed to duck just as a cast iron skillet flew by her head and crashed into the wall opposite the thrower.

  Roper whirled around, raised the magnum, and shot the thrower in the arm. As the man staggered back holding his bloody arm, Roper went after the woman who was backing away from her and reaching for a fireplace poker.

  “You fucking mother fucker!” Roper roared, smashing the woman in the temple with the butt of her revolver. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  The woman sagged to the floor, holding her head.

  That was when Roper saw dead people in every state of decomposition leaning against the walls, scattered about the floors, and stashed in corners. Half a dozen at least.

  That explained what they were covering up.

  Dead babies had been cannibalized. Dead infants had been someone’s breakfast. Arms half eaten. It was the worst thing Roper had seen in a long time, and she was powerless to prevent the bile from rising in her throat.

  “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, stumbling back toward the door, her hand over her mouth. “You’re a bunch of goddamned cannibals!” Whirling around, she held her magnum out as the man tried to stem the bleeding on his arm. The woman crawled to the front of the closet door, where she stood up and leaned against it, head bleeding from where Roper had hit her.

  She wanted to shoot them both.

  “Don’t judge us. Don’t you dare judge us!”

  “Judge you, you crazy mother fucking cannibal? You intended on serving us up as the main course? I ought to kill you where you stand.” Keeping one eye on the woman and one on Churchill, Roper knelt down to check his pulse. He was alive.

  The woman slowly reached for the closet doorknob. “You should have done that when you had the chance.” Suddenly flinging the closet door open, the woman stepped aside while a frothing little zombie burst from the closet and right for Roper, its arms outstretched, its mouth open with that horrific moaning emanating from it.

  Then, just like that it stopped, tilted its head, and turned on the man, diving into him and tearing huge chunks of flesh from his forearms and swallowing them whole.

  “Elizabeth, no! Stop!”

  But it was far too late for that. The little girl zombie was already devouring the man, ripping chucks of flesh from his upper arm and shoulder. He could not fend her off with just one arm…an arm now infected.

  “Get her offa me!”

  Slowly, Roper raised her gun.

  “No!” The woman launched herself at Roper, trying to knock the magnum away. “Not my baby! Not my little girl!”

  Pushing her away with one hand, Roper quickly aimed and fired, blowing the top half of the little girl’s rotting head off. The eater collapsed to the ground on the man she‘d been eating,, brains leaking onto his already stained jeans.

  “Hate to break it to you, lady. Your little girl died a long time ago.”

  “No!” The woman dropped to her knees and cradled the truly dead zombie child in her arms. “Look what you’ve done! You’ve ruined everything!”

  Roper ignored her as she helped a woozy Churchill to sit up even as she held the magnum on the woman. “Hang in there, buddy. I’ll get us out of here in no time.”

  Two horn blasts came from the Fuchs.

  “You killed her! You shot my baby!”

  Roper ignored the woman as she struggled to get Churchill up. Sounds from downstairs made Roper lean back against the wall and aim her revolver at the top of the stairs. To her surprise, Stilts and Hole were taking the stairs three at a time, bats in hand.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Roper asked, not taking her eyes off the woman. The man was leaning against the wall, bleeding profusely from wounds on his shoulder and neck. Roper knew he wouldn’t make it, and if he did, he’d be moaning and limping soon enough.

  “Your friend said if we didn’t help you out of here, she’d leave us all in the middle of the street.”

  “Get Churchill to the Fuchs, and hurry. There’s not much time.”

  As the two players hoisted Churchill by the armpits and draped his thick arms around their shoulders, Roper backed out of the room and onto the landing. “I hope you rot in hell, lady.”

  The woman jumped to her feet like
a mad person and lunged at Roper, but the man, now turned zombie, immediately intercepted her, sank his teeth into her neck, and tore out a huge chunk. Blood spurted three feet in the air. The realization that it was all over for her quickly replaced the look of surprise on her face.

  “Help me!” the woman yelled, fighting off her zombie husband.

  Roper lowered her weapon and shook her head. “You know, I imagine that’s what all of those poor people said just before you fed them to your daughter. So forgive me if I don’t help.”

  Roper backed all the way down the stairs and then covered the two boys carrying Churchill. Once they were safely in the Fuchs, she told Dallas she’d be right back and went into the house.

  When the male zombie started down the stairs, his mouth rimmed in fresh blood, Roper put a bullet between his eyes, then she went up the stairs and did the same to the woman.

  When Roper got back into the Fuchs and the door was closed, she examined the big goose egg on Churchill’s head.

  “Thank God that’s all it was,” she murmured. “What in the hell got into you?”

  When the Fuchs came to a stop, Dallas was by her side. “What happened back there?”

  “We met up with the cannibal family. They more or less lured people to them, then captured them and used them to feed their little zombie daughter.” Roper shivered. “Crazy ass mother fuckers.”

  “More or less?” Dallas ran her hand over Roper’s head. “Which was it?”

  “More. But I left out the gory details. Some guy whacked Churchill with a frying pan, but I think he’ll be okay.” Roper turned to the five boys staring at her. “What?”

  “How…how did you do that?” Stilts asked.

  “What? Shoot the family? I’ve killed more undead than any ten living have.”

  “No. Kill all those zombies out front without one of them coming at you. How did you do that?”

  Roper shrugged. “It was nothing, really. I’m just super gay.”

  Dallas’s Log

  Besides the five basketball players, all of whom have a bizarre and slightly unhealthy attachment to Roper, we managed to secure an engineer, a florist, a day care provider, and a landscaper. None of them knew each other and most were not from the area. They had been migrating eastward to the military zone when they were forced into Madame Toussaud’s, of all creepy places. None were gay in that group, but I suspected we’d mined gold with the basketball players.

  Once the newbies got over the news that the CGIs were those of us who were born gay, we were able to outline our battle plan. For the most part, they loved it. I think enough time has gone by that we’re all tired of struggling to stay alive. We’re all tired of struggling, period.

  When the inevitable doubt about our gay theory cropped up, it was Stilts who chimed in and described what he had seen when Roper and Churchill took out the zombies around the house. He said she was like Wonder Woman, wielding a bat that crushed zombie heads like melons.

  “I kid you not—they were kicking ass and taking names, and yet, those things never even tried to attack. Ever. So, there’s something keeping those monsters from attacking them. Being gay is as good an explanation as any.”

  I had to chuckle. Most of us had struggled in some area of our lives with our homosexuality, so to know it was now a major bonus tickled me no end. To finally know it is genetic was a sort of relief as well, but left us wondering what that meant for our future.

  I’m not talking about progeny or bearing children. That’s easy enough. But what will it mean to our country for us to be in power? Did we have enough strength and courage to step up and retake a country that had historically turned its back on us? Were we willing to step up and fight, knowing that it was the only way we were ever going to recover our nation?

  One could only hope.

  We’ve decided to take one more trip into NOLA to see if we can gather a few more people. Roper, Churchill, and Hole will be going with me to see if we can bulk our numbers up one last time. Butcher, Luke, and Einstein will brief the others about our plan and take measure of who can do what, who has any sort of expertise, and who would volunteer to be fighters.

  Luke and I had gone round and round about ZB fighters. I have to smile every time I say ZB. Zombie Bait felt better than straights or breeders, but that’s what we’re talking about: non-gays. Einstein said abbreviations would be less exclusive, so we went with CGIs and ZBs. It was funny to care about the feelings of people who had spent the better part of a century denying us our rights, but that was water under. Einstein said there was no place for grudges any longer.

  I have to agree.

  That kid really is brilliant, and I don’t know what we’d have done without him this last year. He knows his zombie lore better than anyone. He is our greatest advisor, and I value his opinion on everything. After we return from NOLA, he’ll brief me about who can do what and give me his suggestions for how best to proceed. That Einstein is certainly deserving of his name, and as an advisor, he is second to none.

  Luke and the others spent a good portion of the day yesterday packing up our things, packing food, and getting a good idea of our ammo and weapons count.

  Ammo worries me. To kill thousands or tens of thousands of zombies will require a whole lot more ammo than we have. That was why we trained the CGIs to use machetes, bats, crowbars, anything that could crush the brains or decapitate. We can dispatch zombies now without using our precious ammo.

  Still, we need more ammo, more weapons, more offensive power. I will need to scour the city for more weapons, but that’s a tall order. Gun shops are the first stores plundered during these kinds of events.

  I’m a little worried about Butcher. She seems to be pushing Luke away, and he’s both hurt and confused. I need him to be focused, so I am going to talk to Butcher to see what’s going on. When we first got here, they were like lovebirds. I’d never seen her so happy, but lately, she’s just been so on edge…so distant.

  I think it’s a good thing we’re getting out of this place. Everyone seems ready to bust loose. Now, all we need to do is pack up and get the hell out of here.

  The swamp opened its arms to us when we first arrived, and I am grateful to it and all it has given us, but I’m quite confident this is the right move for us.

  One day, those foreign military guards sitting on the ships lining the borders waiting for us to die will land, giving us one more enemy to face. We need a stable base from which to fight, and I am pretty sure Angola State Prison is a good start.

  The four survivors headed back to NOLA in the Fuchs to do one final gathering of survivors before more intensive training began. Just before they got back to the city, Hole leaned forward and whispered, “Can I tell you guys something that will stay in this vehicle?”

  Roper and Dallas exchanged looks. “Uh…we can’t promise anything.”

  He thought about it. “Fair enough.”

  Roper faced him. “What’s on your mind?”

  Hole sighed loudly and painfully. “My guys don’t know, and I don’t want them to know. I don’t think…I don’t think they’d be cool with it, you know?” A blush slowly crept up his neck and to his cheeks.

  Roper did not look at Dallas, but could feel her gazing at her profile. They both knew where this was going. Churchill had had this conversation with them. He already knew. It was the reason why they had brought him on this final outing.

  “Tim, are you telling us you’re a CGI?” Dallas’s voice was soft.

  Roper looked at Dallas with admiration. It wasn’t easy helping someone out of the closet even during an apocalypse.

  “Well…I…um…” Hole looked down and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Churchill cleared his throat. “It’s okay, man. Your secret is safe with us. But, take my advice. It will be better for your friendships if they hear it from you instead of seeing it themselves or hearing it from others.”

  Hole’s head shot up. “Uh uh. No way. I’ve sat around parties and dinn
ers listening to these guys using words like faggot, fudge packer, salami sucker, and so on. If they know I’m…a CGI, they’ll never respect me again. They’ll never talk to me again. I’ll be alone, dude. All alone. I don’t want to be alone.”

  Churchill patted his shoulder. “No you won’t, but I know it feels that way. I get it. We all get it, but man, it’s a new world order, Hole. It’s now one where we no longer have to fear discrimination or ostracism. We’re no longer second-class citizens. We’re the only ones who can save this country. We matter.”

  Dallas nodded. “If ZBs aren’t careful, we may be the only class citizens. It truly is a different world, Hole, and you have to navigate it differently than you would have a year ago. As a CGI, you can protect them. Keep them safe. Maybe they would feel safer knowing that.”

  “And besides, we’d never let your buddies be assholes to you.”

  Hole blew out a sigh. “Thanks, man. It’s not easy being the jock everyone thinks nails all the chicks. You know how guys respect that guy. Well I’ve never really been that guy, but I sure have spent a lot of time pretending to be. It’s been exhausting.”

  “Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it,” Churchill offered.

  Hole stared at him. “Then I oughtta’ be pretty damn high, because I been fighting against the wind my whole life.”

  “Dude, it’s not easy just trying to stay alive. All that old school bullshit has no place here anymore. Hell, there’s so few of us left, we can’t afford to go around hating anyone. Your buddies are gonna have to work it out.” Churchill winked to Roper to let her know he had this.

  She smiled softly and turned her attention back to the road.

  “Church is a great addition,” Dallas said quietly. “I rely on him more every day.”

  “Yes he is. I’m surprised he felt good enough to come. That was quite a nasty bump he got on his head the other day.”

  “Butcher did an excellent job patching him up.”

  “Speaking of which, have you noticed––”

  “Hell, yes! She’s got such a short fuse these days, I’m afraid to say anything besides good morning to her.”

  “Actually, I said that to her yesterday and she said, ‘Yeah? What’s so good about it?’”