by R. J. Spears
“You suck,” I said. There was nothing mature about my response. Not in the slightest. Inside, I burned with the rage of a thousand fires and wanted to let loose with a profane laced tirade, but the only thing holding me back at that moment was the fact that, if I enraged them, they might shoot us both. I didn’t care if I got killed, but Brother Ed didn’t need to pay for my stupidity twice. I had been epically stupid for trusting Hank and Jenelle’s gang and should have seen through their ruse.
It was so thin. Like, if their man was wounded, why didn’t they bring him to us? They wanted us to go in a separate vehicle from Brent. Transparent. Like I wanted to trust someone in this whole damned world, and they had sucked us in.
Jenelle backed up slowly away from Brother Ed and me, leaving us standing there while the others got back in the truck. She looked at me and mouthed a word, “Sorry.”
I think she meant it, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. She had screwed us over and taken someone from us. And when we were bent over, she screwed us again by forcing me to have to leave Linda and Chelsea behind. It was a no-win scenario. Stay and try to find Brent and risk Colonel Kilgore chasing us down. And what if we did find Brent? They were right. They had us outnumbered and probably outgunned. It was suicide, but a part of me welcomed the potential release from the bitter regret and embarrassment at being suckered in.
We stood and watched as they drove away, leaving a swirl of dust wafting over us like a cloud of shame.
Add to all of it was the fact that I was going to have to tell Linda that her husband had been taken.
Oh, happy day.
Chapter 29
Plan of Action
“I have this idea, and it’s going to sound a little crazy,” Henry said as they stood in front a bank of windows that provided a panoramic view of the parking lot. With him was his mother Ellen, Mrs. Hatcher (still scared out of her wits), an older man named Calvin (who was nursing a broken arm), and a teenage girl with a pale complexion and jet black hair named Molly. None of them knew why they had been called to the front foyer of the school, and none of them liked being there, but that was nothing new.
“Why can’t we just wait them out?” Mrs. Hatcher said.
“I think you’re the one who pointed out that we only have a couple days of food,” Henry replied.
“Don’t throw that in my face,” Mrs. Hatcher said, acting offended.
“We don’t have time for this,” Ellen said, her voice clearly showing her agitation.
“What’s your big plan, then?” Mrs. Hatcher asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Henry responded.
“You’re sounding a lot like Joel there,” Ellen said.
“Is that a bad thing?” Henry responded.
“Sometimes,” Ellen said. “The plan?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Henry moved closer to the bank of windows in front of them. These windows were the floor to ceiling type, made of double-paned reinforced glass. The type of glass that was resistant to teenage boys and their BB guns. So, it was strong enough to keep out the zombies, but there was something about being able to see them clearly only feet away that reduced any sense of security they provided.
“You see those busses out there?”
“Yeah,” Molly said, moving closer to the window for a better look. She was fifteen, but looked older. Her raven black hair hung over her eyes and porcelain cheeks. She was also sporting two black wristbands that matched her black t-shirt. Someone might say that she was trying on a proto-Goth look.
“If those busses have gas in their tanks, I think they can be our way out of here,” Henry said.
“Are you out of your mind?” Mrs. Hatcher said, her voice rising with each word. “You have to get past those...those things?”
“I think I have a way to do that,” Henry said. “And I’m not talking about getting past them. I’m talking about taking them out.”
“But how do you know if the busses have gas?” Calvin asked, with one eyebrow raised in that way old men do when they question the intellects of the young. “And if they do, how do you know if they’ll start? We have no idea how long they’ve been sitting there and if their batteries still work.”
“As for the gas, I have no idea,” Henry replied. “The batteries could be good. If it were a car, I’d write if off right now, but industrial batteries tend to last longer. If we have to, we could jump it.”
“But again, those things are out there,” Mrs. Hatcher said with both of her hands raised in the air and with some of the same hysteria as before.
“They sure as fuck are,” Molly said.
“Language, young lady,” Mrs. Hatcher said.
Molly turned, squared up on Mrs. Hatcher, and said, “It’s the fucking zombie apocalypse and there’s a good chance we’re going to die here. Do you think a little language’s going to break some etiquette rules?”
Mrs. Hatcher’s expression clearly said that she did.
“Ladies, we have more pressing matters,” Ellen said, and after a few seconds, Molly disengaged and returned to looking out the window, but she now did it with a sullen disdain.
“I guess I should have started with the first part of the plan,” Henry said. “Now, this won’t be a particularly pleasant association I’m about to make, but do you remember how terrorists used trucks to run down innocent people in Europe?” He looked to each one of them and waited for them to give some sort of affirmative indication. All of them nodded, except Molly, who sighed in that way that teenagers do.
Henry stepped closer to the window and pointed into the parking lot and said, “Well, we have a truck.” His finger indicated the two military transport trucks they had arrived in.
“So sonny, who’s driving?” Calvin asked, his eyebrows up again.
“Me,” Henry said.
“No, you are not,” Ellen said, this news obviously a surprise to her.
“Who else, then?” he asked, and it was his turn to be exasperated.
“Me,” she replied.
“You can’t do it,” he said.
“Yes, I can, and I will,” she said and put both of her hands on her hips. “You don’t know this, but before you were born, I used to drive a church bus. I know what I’m doing. And for the record, you don’t have your license.”
Henry’s cheeks went pink. He had been one of those teens not eager to drive and instead was one of the internet generation who preferred to make virtual connections, rather than real ones. It had driven his parents crazy, and Greg finally put his foot down. Greg had just started Henry’s driving lessons one month before the world spiraled and went down the drain.
“But…” he said.
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Not only am I not allowing it, but you are not qualified.”
“Then I’m going with you,” he replied.
“No, you’re not and that’s final.”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to make a clean sweep of all the undead, and some are out in the cornfields, anyway. If we’re doing this, we need to do it fast before they can get back into the parking lot. If the busses don’t start, we’ll have to jump them, and I’m best suited for that.”
“Someone else can do that,” Ellen said, and she looked to Calvin, but he pushed up the sling his arm was in. She moved onto Mrs. Hatcher and immediately decided to skip over her for obvious reasons. Finally, she landed on Molly.
“I’d go because it looks like so much fun, but I don’t know shit about cars,” she said.
“Well, I’ll do it myself,” Ellen said, digging in.
“You know you can’t,” Henry responded.
Wanting to avoid a protracted parent/child spat, Calvin stepped a few feet closer to them and said, “You both have good points, but it sounds like a two-man job.” He paused with that eyebrow back up again and added, “Don’t you think?”
Ellen knew when she had been stalemated but sure didn’t like it.
; “Speaking of plans,” Molly interjected. “What are we doing here? You didn’t call us into the room just to hear your evil plan, did you?”
Henry shook off some of his frustration and said, “Well, we need someone to draw the deaders away from the trucks, so you are the bait?”
Mrs. Hatcher’s face went white, and it was debatable that she might be about to piss her pants.
It wasn’t as bad as Henry had made it out to be. Yes, they would be bait, but they would be safely inside the school at the far end of the complex. Their role was simple enough. They had to make enough noise to draw the zombies out of the main parking lot and away from the trucks. Once that was done, Ellen and Henry would get to the truck and Death Race 2018 would begin.
At least that’s how it was supposed to go on paper, but everyone knows about the well-laid plans of mice and men. They rarely go as planned.
Chapter 30
Ambush
They were on their way back to their truck when they heard it. The sound of a vehicle’s engine. For Sergeant Jones, it was unmistakable. It was a military jeep. There was just something about them. A particular rumble, mixed in with a little rattle.
He recognized it the way he could recognize 5-0 cars when he was a kid, gang-banging on the streets of Chicago. You had to know them, or they would run you in. But those banging days were behind him. He took the only exit door to the military, swapping one set of killers for another. Just one of them was legal, and one wasn’t.
“Get off the road,” he said, keeping his voice low as he took long steps to get off the dirt road they were walking on.
Jo and Del immediately ran off the road, looking for any cover they could find. That turned out to be a broad oak tree. Jones settled in behind a pine tree just a few feet away.
“What is it?” Jo asked in a half-whisper.
“Jeep, I think,” Jones said, even though he knew it was a jeep.
“From the Manor?” she asked.
“Has to be,” he replied.
While they talked, Del craned his head around the trunk of the tree, trying to get his eyes on whatever seemed to be coming their way. Trees and foliage blocked his view, though. Whatever it was, it was coming slow, and he attributed that to the deeply rutted road. It was really barely a road. Maybe in the past, it had been a logging road or was used by farmers as a private cut-through between farms, but in the absence of man, nature had reclaimed the dusty patch of road.
“What should we do?” Del asked, still trying to get a look. “Let it pass?”
Jones mulled something over and then said, “No, we need to take it.”
“What?” Del said.
Jo didn’t say anything, but it was clear to see that she felt the same.
“This may be an opportunity for us to learn more about what’s going on,” Jones said.
“What if it’s loaded with soldiers?” Jo asked.
“Then we let it go, but if it’s one or two guys, let’s consider taking it.”
It was all happening so fast. Jo’s mind was whirling trying to get a grip on these fast acting events. Sure, the ultimate goal was to take out a helicopter, but information might help.
The question of what they could learn from these soldiers flitted through his mind. Intel was always good. Wasn’t it?
Knowing what they were going to do with these soldiers once they had them was a dilemma she wasn’t sure she wanted take on. Then again, she had no idea when they would have an opportunity like this. And the sooner they completed their mission, the sooner they could get back, and the sooner Henry and Ellen’s group could start moving again.
She took a few seconds to listen hard. The jeep or whatever vehicle it was was getting closer. She could tell that, but when she looked up, she still couldn’t see it. They had twenty to thirty seconds. Maybe.
“How would we do it?” she asked.
“We need to take them off-guard. Distract them.”
“How?” Del asked.
“Go lie in the road,” Jones said.
Things were moving fast.
“What?” Del asked.
“Go do it,” Jones said. “You’ll be our decoy. Jo and I will keep our guns on the soldiers.”
“I don’t know about this,” Del said.
“Do it now, or the chance passes us by,” Jones said.
“What if they just shoot my ass?” Del asked.
“We’ll make sure they don’t. Now move.”
Like for Jo, things were moving too fast for Del. He knew this overall mission could be a suicide run, but he didn’t expect to be taking those types of risks at this point. Then the words of his grandfather echoed in his mind, “There’s no time like the present.” He never liked that grandpa much, and he was a bit of a mean bastard. Still, the man spoke the truth.
“Where?” he asked.
Jones pointed down the road past them where it curved a little. “Down there, just past the curve. Hurry, or they’ll be past us before we know it.”
The rumble was much closer now, but Del shot into action, sprinting through the trees and brush cover. More than once, a limb slapped him in the face, leaving an ugly stinging sensation. Thorn bushes tugged at his pants, with some of the thorns piercing through the fabric of his pants and tearing at his legs. He ignored all that because there was a good chance he might be shot in a minute.
He took a quick glance over his shoulder and spotted a vehicle bouncing up the rutted road in their direction. It was a little further back than he expected, and he was grateful to have those extra seconds.
He made it past the curve and stood back in the tree line for a couple seconds, knowing that the next move he made was either do or die. He’d prefer waiting this one out, but he also knew his son and girlfriend were trapped in God knows where, and until they did something about getting these damned choppers out of the air, they could be trapped there indefinitely.
That spurred him out of the trees. As he rushed out, he took another quick peek, and this time, he could barely see the jeep through the thick foliage along the side the road. He figured if he could barely see them, then they could probably barely see him or miss him entirely.
Still, he ducked as low as he could and pushed through knee-high grass until he made it to the ruts in the dirt that signified he was at the road. A moment of doubt passed over him, but he breathed in deeply, let it out, and said, “Fuck it,” under his breath. He decided on the best orientation, carefully placed his rifle just off to the side of where he lay down, but pulled out his revolver and gripped it tightly as he slowly knelt down. His descent was slow and deliberate, as he positioned himself in such a way that he could whip his gun hand and start shooting.
He finally laid down completely with the thought that they could miss him entirely with the thick ground cover and run him over. That almost got him to his feet, but he glanced up and the jeep was bouncing along, coming his way. Getting up would put him clearly in view and these might be the type of soldiers that shot first and asked questions later.
The die was cast, and he knew he had to wait. It just wasn’t that easy being the bait in a trap.
Jones slid in among the trees, moving quietly but with stealthy purpose, with Jo following closely behind. Every few seconds, Jones would glance over his shoulder, making an assessment of the jeep’s progress and then looking forward to where Del laid in the road.
“Have you done this before?” Jo asked, her voice a whisper.
“Yes, now be quiet and follow my lead,” Jones said. “This is going to happen fast.”
They moved by a dozen more trees before Jones positioned them behind a broad tree with rough and gnarly bark. As soon as they got there, he went to a knee, and Jo followed suit. His focus went to the jeep as it bounced down the heavily rutted road. He could tell, if they drove any faster, the passenger might just be bounced out of the jeep; the road was that bad.
They only waited twenty seconds before the jeep rumbled by them, the soldiers unaware of their pres
ence in the trees. Five seconds later, the driver hit the brakes, and they squeaked to a halt in the road.
Jones could tell the soldiers had stopped about twenty feet from Del. He watched the body language of the soldiers, and he could immediately sense the tension level rise between them.
Jones looked to Jo, put a finger to his lips, then started forward in a hunched over duck-walk, moving toward the back of the jeep, weaving through the trees and avoiding any dried leaves. Jo couldn’t help be impressed with how quietly Jones moved. For a big guy, he moved more like someone with ballet training rather than soldiering.
In just a few seconds, they were just fifteen feet off the side of the road, this time behind a thick trunked birch tree. The passenger was out of the jeep, taking a wide side steps, moving into the underbrush, his rifle aimed at Del. The driver had one leg out of the jeep and was aiming his rifle at Del, too.
“Is it a deader?” the driver asked.
“Can’t tell,” the passenger said. “If it is, it’s a fresh kill.”
The shadow of a large bird passed overhead, and the passenger looked up at it, squinting into the sun, causing his eyes to water. There was a long “screeing” noise, and a red tailed hawk flew off in the deep woods after some sort of prey. Jo wondered if the bird was an omen of good or bad. There was no way to tell.
“Should I shoot it again, just to make sure?” the passenger ask, obviously deferring to the driver who must have been of higher rank.
This sent a chill through Del’s body, starting at his toes and shivering its way up his legs, across his torso and ending at the top of his head. He opened his eyes a sliver and saw the jeep, with the driver halfway out the door, his rifle trained on Del’s body. He couldn’t see the other soldier because the jeep blocked his view.
“This was a dumb idea,” Del thought. “And I’m a monumental dumbass allowing myself to be talked into it.” He gripped the pistol that he held under his stomach, ready to roll over and start shooting. That is, if the soldiers didn’t take the first shot. He knew he was at a tremendous disadvantage. They had rifles. He only had a .38. He might surprise one of them, but he didn’t like his odds with two. He maintained his playing ‘possum act and waited for Jones and his brilliant plan and prayed that it was brilliant.
