by David Achord
“Let’s get the gas and move along.”
I agreed, retrieved my jury rigged siphon, and made quick work of siphoning the gas out of the Escalade. Rowdy helped me feed the hose directly into the truck’s fuel tank while Fred kept watch. When we finished, I gestured at the Escalade.
“Almost fifteen gallons worth, not bad at all,” I finished up by pouring a plastic bottle of HEET into the tank of our truck.
“What’s that for, Zach?” Rowdy asked.
“It’s an isopropyl alcohol mix,” I responded. Rowdy looked at me perplexed. “Okay, think of it this way. All of the fuel out here is old now. Moisture has gotten into it, which will cause engine problems, and can even freeze up the fuel lines in extremely cold weather. Isopropyl alcohol is miscible in water, that is, it can mix with water and form a chemical bond. The result is, the water won’t freeze up as easily and the boiling point is lowered, which allows it to be burned off easier.”
Rowdy stared at me and grinned. “That was a whole lot of words to tell me it’ll make the gas better,” he chuckled and slapped me on the back. “I swear, Zach, you’re a walking encyclopedia. I’m glad I know you.”
I didn’t respond, but I couldn’t help but think if I was so smart, then I should have been able to keep Macie and Howard from getting killed. I pushed those dismal thoughts to the deep recesses of my brain. It wasn’t going to do any good to be miserable all day.
Rowdy was still grinning when he gestured excitedly at the side of the building. “Hey, this’ll be a good place to paint your rules. It faces the street, and anyone riding or walking by can see them.”
I nodded in agreement. “I want to put the FEMA symbol on the entrance too.” I got a can of spray paint while Rowdy and Fred set the bodies on fire.
“Alright,” Fred said when we’d gotten back in the truck, “are we sticking to our plan?”
“We can, if you want. Is there anywhere or anything in particular you’re looking for, Fred?” I asked. After a moment, he shook his head.
“No, not really, I only wanted to get away for a while. I’ve never said as much, but I like scavenging. It’s like you’re hunting for treasure,” he said with a small grin. “Besides, it’s getting too crowded in our neck of the woods. I needed to get away for a while.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. Rowdy chuckled in agreement.
“Well, since we told the gang our route, we’d better stick with it,” Fred said.
“What’s our plan, guys?” Rowdy asked. When we had finished breakfast earlier this morning, Fred and I had intended on getting out by ourselves and spend some pseudo father son time together, but Rowdy asked to go with us. I guess he needed some father son time as well. Remembering he wasn’t a Nashville native, I pulled out a map.
“Alright,” I said pointing, “this is Thompson Lane. As you can see, if we drive west, it’ll turn into Woodmont Boulevard, and then it turns into White Bridge Road. When you cross Charlotte Pike, it is called Robertson for a small stretch and then turns into Briley Parkway. Briley makes a broad loop around the city, and back to Thompson Lane. It’s all the same road, but as you can see, it changes names several times. We’re going to drive this loop, have a look around, and do some scavenging. How’s it sound?”
“Sounds good,” Rowdy said. “Let’s get going.”
We got as far as Woodmont and Harding Road when Rowdy held up a hand and pointed at a street sign.
“Wait a minute,” he exclaimed. “This street is named Harding. Is it the same Harding that runs off of Nolensville?”
“Nope, they’re two different streets,” I replied. Rowdy shook his head in confusion.
“The streets you people have around here are really screwed up,” he contended. I grinned. He was right, street names in Nashville could be quite confusing if you didn’t live here. We continued down White Bridge Road, and soon Rowdy insisted on stopping at a strip mall.
“Let’s check this one out,” he said, pointing at an Italian themed restaurant. Fred glanced over at me.
“It couldn’t hurt,” I said with a shrug.
We cleared the restaurant with ease. It had large plate glass windows in the front which let in plenty of sunlight. I put a bandanna around my face to lessen the effects of the various rotting smells and searched the kitchen. It was bereft of any canned food products, although I found several jars of spices and seasonings. I stuffed them into my knapsack, walked back out to the front where Fred was standing guard, and showed him what I found.
“No more bland food for a while,” I offered.
“The women will be pleased,” he said. Rowdy emerged a moment later, holding something in his hand and sporting a large grin.
“Jackpot, men!” he exclaimed, holding up a bottle of liquor. “The liquor stores are going to be looted, but restaurants like these always have bars.”
I rolled my eyes. Rowdy slapped me on the back and took a swallow.
“May I?” Fred said, holding his hand out.
“Why sure,” he said as he handed the bottle over. “Hoss, that there is a fine bottle of Don Julio tequila. It’s like a Latina woman, smooth, but with a fiery disposition.”
Fred took the bottle, looked at it a moment, and then threw it in the air. As it reached the top of its trajectory, he drew his pistol with his left hand this time, and scored a bull’s eye. Fragments of glass and tequila fell to the parking lot.
Rowdy’s mouth dropped open for a moment as he realized what Fred did. After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Zach, make a note, it would seem Fred doesn’t care too much for tequila.”
Our laughter was cut short by the sudden appearance of four dogs surrounding us.
Chapter 5 – Konya
“Easy men,” Fred cautioned, as I pointed my assault rifle toward the lead dog. They had run to within twenty feet before suddenly stopping. Now, they stood there, panting, tails up, and staring at us quietly.
“I don’t believe those are feral dogs,” he said evenly, “they’re too clean and healthy looking.” He had one of his pistols out and ready, but was holding it with the barrel pointed downward. “There’s something more going on here.”
I eyed the dogs closely. They weren’t purebreds, mostly a mixture of shepherd and – something. They were muscular, not gaunt, had healthy coats of fur, and they even looked freshly brushed.
“I think you’re right, Fred, but I’ve no idea what to think of them,” I said. Suddenly, their ears perked up and they ran off as quickly as they first appeared. As we watched the last one disappear behind a building, an older man walked out. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a revolver in a holster on his waist. He started walking toward us with the dogs following obediently behind.
“I think we’re about to meet someone very interesting,” I murmured.
“Yep,” Fred responded.
The stranger walked to within twenty feet, the same distance his dogs did a minute ago, and stopped, eyeing us curiously. He was older, maybe in his mid-fifties, a touch under six feet, and dressed in a dark brown duster and hiking boots. His gray hair was tied back in a ponytail and he had a beard, which appeared as though he hadn’t shaved since the plague. I could see some stray dog hairs mixed in his whiskers. His gray eyes, which were surrounded by deeply etched crow’s feet, looked us over without emotion.
“The name’s Konya,” he finally said.
“My name’s Fred and these are my friends, Zach and Rowdy,” Fred replied as he holstered his pistol. “We are pleased to meet you. If I offer to shake your hand, will those dogs take offense?” he asked.
“They’ll only take offense if they sense I’m in danger,” Konya replied. He turned toward his dogs and held his hand out with his palm down. They sat instantly.
“Their names are a bit complicated, so pay attention,” he pointed at the one on the far left. “This one is Number One, right next to him is Number Two, Number Three is beside him, and last but not least is Number Four. She
’s bitch, and as you would suspect, she’s the meanest of the lot.”
I looked at him curiously. “Are you about to claim we’re infringing on your territory, Mister Konya?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered flatly. I looked at his dogs. They were attentive, and watched us closely. He continued. “I was curious about the shooting though. Did y’all see one of those infected things wandering around?”
Fred shook his head slightly and gestured toward Rowdy. “My friend here thought we came out today in order to find liquor. I was merely correcting his frame of mind.”
Konya nodded in understanding as he looked at the shattered remains of the bottle lying in the parking lot. “These dogs have been my friends ever since the outbreak. I sometimes have to correct their frame of mind as well. Any of you have dogs?” he asked.
“I have a dog. He’s quite stupid, but I love him anyway,” I said.
“Never underestimate a dog, son. They may act stupid at times, but they’re smarter than you think, and if they love you, their loyalty is unwavering.”
“I always thought so,” I replied with somewhat of a sad frown, “but I had one who ran away. The last time I saw him, he was running with a feral pack.”
Konya did not respond immediately. He produced a pipe from the breast pocket of his duster and took his time loading it with tobacco. He lit it and took a few puffs before speaking.
“Don’t blame the dog,” he said. I started to respond, but decided it was a moot point.
“Do you have people, Mister Konya?” Fred asked.
“No sir, they’re all dead,” he puffed a moment before continuing. “When everything broke loose, I gathered up my dogs and set up a hidey-hole in the middle of Percy Warner Park.”
“We have a group, over near the Nolensville area,” Fred replied.
Konya’s eyes flickered. “Are y’all with that group who talks on the radio every day?” he asked.
Rowdy grinned. “In the flesh, Hoss,” he exclaimed proudly. “How do you like my broadcasts?”
Konya puffed on his pipe and shrugged. “Oh, I like listening to you, but to be honest, I like listening to that country gal a lot more.”
I stifled a smile. “That would be Mac, she took over for Rowdy. She’s sweet as can be, but I’m not sure there is a man alive who could whip her ass.”
Konya’s lip twitched. “I hope she likes dogs.”
“I’m sure she’d like to meet you,” I said, and then winked at Rowdy mischievously. “I think she has the hots for Fred.” Rowdy guffawed and Fred glared at me. He was about to respond, but stopped when the dogs suddenly stood. They were sniffing the air and looking anxious.
“We have some visitors coming,” Konya said earnestly. “I’d say they’re zombies, but there are people out there who smell as bad, if not worse.”
He pointed at each dog, pointed a direction on the compass, and the dogs took off at a run. He then leaned against my truck puffing contentedly on his pipe. After a minute, one of them, Number Four I think, came running back and then stood facing toward the direction she came from. Konya reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those whistles which emit a high-pitched tone. He blew into it three times, and a moment later, the rest of the dogs returned.
“Looks like we got a few of them infected things coming toward us from down that way,” he pointed, and looked at Number Four a moment. “Alright, girl, what are they doing?”
Fred, Rowdy, and I looked at Number Four, but she merely sat there panting, the way all dogs pant. Konya stared at her a moment longer. “They’ve stopped and are hiding on the backside of the building over there, watching us. It’s mighty peculiar behavior, if you ask me.”
I glanced at Fred before I spoke. “They’re evolving.”
Konya looked at me with a hint of bemusement now.
“What do you mean, evolving?” he asked.
“Do you remember how they used to act? You know, they would aimlessly walk along with no sentient thoughts, following the path of least resistance. If they caught a whiff of something alive, they’d focus in on it and try to eat it, right?” I looked at Konya, who nodded slowly.
“Yeah, we saw this as well. They were also decomposing, which caused a lot of them to die off. I thought all of them would die off, but it isn’t happening. Some of them are continuing to live and they’re regaining some of their functions. They’re respiring, digesting food, and their bodies are rejuvenating themselves. Maybe not in a normal manner, but the decomposition process is reversing itself somehow.”
“Are you sure?” Konya asked. I nodded. He looked at Fred, who shrugged noncommittally. Our conversation was interrupted by a low growl from Number One. “They’re getting closer,” he said.
“Well, Fred, do you want to kill them or move on down the road?” I asked.
“The kids are saying there are only a few of them,” Konya said.
“Let’s draw them out,” Fred replied. “Cover me,” he began walking down the parking lot toward where Konya indicated they were hiding. Rowdy and I unslung our assault rifles and watched Fred, as I scanned the buildings on each side of the roadway. Konya relit his pipe and watched.
Fred was a block away when three of them emerged from between two buildings. Before I could react, Fred drew his revolver and fired three quick rounds. I caught Konya’s reaction out of the corner of my eye. Four more of them emerged, but this time Rowdy and I were ready. Fred reloaded as I ran down to him.
“A couple of them were moving pretty good. Did you notice?” he asked. I had indeed.
“Two of them were not exactly running, but they were definitely moving quicker than a slow shamble,” Rowdy added.
“That was some impressive shooting, Fred.” Konya said when we rejoined them. “Did you ever shoot competitively?”
“Yes sir, a few years ago,” Fred replied.
“Yeah, I recognize you now,” Konya said with a nod. “I saw you compete once, about ten years ago. I seem to recall you held a few records.”
Fred nodded slightly. “It seems like a lifetime ago,” he said after a moment. Konya nodded in agreement. I looked at my watch.
“Mister Konya, our plan today was to take the Briley Parkway loop and do a general recon of the area. We might stop occasionally and do some scavenging, depending on the circumstances. You’re welcome to join us, strength in numbers and all that. Anything you find is yours.”
Konya looked his dogs over a moment before answering. “Sounds agreeable,” he replied. “I’ll get my van. I’ve got it hidden a block over.”
A minute later, he drove a full sized van around the building and met us on White Bridge Road. It used to be white, but he had taken spray paint cans of various earth colors and fashioned a crude camouflage pattern. He had also removed the taillights, blinkers, and anything shiny. I liked his way of thinking.
Our first stop was on the Centennial Boulevard overpass. There was a hole in the center of one of the off-ramps about a foot in diameter. Without human intervention, it would only get bigger. Our purpose of stopping was to get a visual of the fuel reservoir located below, on the west side of the bridge. We got out and scanned it with binoculars.
“It’s still intact,” Fred commented. I inhaled and pointed.
“There’s a fuel tanker parked over there,” I used the binoculars and focused on the diamond shaped hazmat placard.
“Bingo,” I said, “the number is 1202.”
“Which one is that?” Rowdy asked. “1202 is the designation for diesel fuel. The tanker back at the tower is 1203, regular gas.”
Rowdy grinned in understanding. “I see what you’re saying. We bring Mac back here, take this one home and then we’ll have a tanker for both types of gas,” he guffawed and slapped me on the back. “I can’t wait to tell Mac.”
Konya looked at us. “Do you fellas know how to work those controls to fill a tanker?”
“Zach does,” Rowdy responded. Konya scrutinized me even more now, as if to see if Rowd
y was bullshitting him. I didn’t bother explaining, thinking we’d bring him up to speed later, if needed. Instead, I looked around at the multiple factories and businesses in the area.
“There’re a lot of factories and commercial buildings out here, but we’d need the full crew to safely search them.”
“Do we want to check out the prisons?” Fred asked. He pointed. “There are three down the road, including Riverbend, the maximum security prison for the state.” Fred grimaced slightly. “I can only imagine what happened to the inmates when the plague spread throughout the facilities.”
“I’m sure there may be weapons and riot gear we could use. Perhaps even food, but I’ve no doubt there will be a heck of a lot of zombie convicts trapped in those buildings. We probably shouldn’t try it with only the four of us.”
Everyone agreed and we moved out. We’d drive until we found a place with a good view and then stop and scan the area. Occasionally, we saw tendrils of smoke, indicating the possibility of survivors.
We continued travelling the Briley Parkway loop and stopped at the bridge going across the Cumberland River.
“I think one or two of us should walk ahead and make sure there aren’t any surprises,” I said. “I’d sure hate for one of our vehicles to fall through.”
Rowdy and I walked the bridge while Fred and Konya slowly followed behind in the vehicles. Fortunately, other than an occasional pot hole, I saw nothing that would threaten the structure of the bridge. Once we crossed over, Rowdy pointed out Opry Mills.
“We ought to check out that big sporting goods store,” he said. “I mean, it might be buck assed empty, but we should still take a look-see.”
“You sure have a way of putting things,” Konya said. Rowdy grinned at the compliment. The four of us discussed it and quickly agreed. Fred drove right up front and parked in the fire lane. We waited a minute before exiting.
“We need to watch for both zombies and humans,” Fred said. “This would be a prime location for anyone else wanting to scavenge.”
The three of us checked our weapons and were about to make entry when Konya stopped us.
