Wicked Series: Wicked [Novel]

by John Macallen Davis

  ** **

  “Zombies,” Raymond said. Scratching his head. “Never thought I'd live to see the day when zombies were a thing.”

  “I saw them with my own eyes,” Derick replied. “I dunno the hows or the whys, but this whole thing is for real.”

  “At least you brought back a sack filled with-” A.K. began.

  “About that.” Carlos replied. Pulling the sack close.

  “What the-”

  “I'm not too impressed with the leadership around here.”

  “Now I done told you-” Raymond began. Itching for his shotgun.

  “Yea, you did. You said we were all free to leave and I'm considering doing it. I might just make it a lot further out there with this sack of goodies than I would back here under the protection of a rent-a-cop, his sidekick with white hair and a limp and a couple of shaky revolvers.”

  “Would you listen to this. One trip out and this man thinks he's an expert now.” A.K. said with a laugh.

  “On cowardice, yea,” Carlos said. “I know a real man with a gun doesn't stay back at the fort while two unarmed men go and do his dirty work.”

  “You son of a-”

  “Whoa... gentlemen.” Raymond said. Hoisting his shotgun to the ready. He didn't care if they both left. But he'd have no fighting within the group. Not in his diner.

  “We either establish a clear-cut leader or I'm out the door.” Carlos said.

  “I'm not taking orders from a fucking convict!” A.K. yelled.

  “I don't want to lead. I don't want you leading either, chickenshit.”

  “Who then?” Raymond asked.

  “Derick.”

  “Me?” Derick asked.

  What the hell? Less than a day ago, he was delivering oxygen to nursing homes. He didn't know the first thing about survival.

  “You're the only one I trust here and you manned-up when no one else would. That's good enough for me.”

  “I don't have any experience with-”

  “That's OK, kid. There are plenty of zombies out there. You'll have your chance to get that experience. Instinct and character – you either have them or you don't.” Carlos said with a look of trust.

  Derick returned the look. His was respect.

  “Anyone opposed to this?” Raymond asked.

  “Na, the young little bastard might do OK with some guidance. Everybody has to learn.” Murphy said.

  “Fine by me.” A.K. managed to utter as if he'd just had his balls snipped off.

  He'd allow it... for now.

  “I guess you're it, then.” Raymond said.

  Zombie apocalypse be damned. Derick had officially gone from delivering oxygen to leading a pack of survivors against a world filled with flesh eating stiffs in the span of one day. It was a scary feeling, but he'd adjust.

  “Well,” Derick finally said with a deep breath. “Our first order of business is to leave the past in the past. Carlos brought the guns back, he deserves first pick-”

  “Like hell, I told you he doesn't get a gun!” A.K. yelled.

  “If you don't like it, the door's in the back. You're welcome to take it. But from what we just saw, you wanna stay in here. At this point, it's safe to assume that nothing up until now even matters. Lisa ran a bank,” he glanced at her and smiled. “Several banks, actually. That doesn't matter now. You being a prison guard; Carlos being incarcerated – none of it matters. It's us against them now. Whatever they are.”

  Almost tauntingly, Carlos knelt down and began digging in the large sack. Finally pulling a stiff black 9mm pistol out and checking its clip.

  “Plenty enough to go around. There are as many more as we can carry, up the highway a spell. But if you want more, you need to go get them yourself. We nearly got caught,” Carlos said. “And just to keep the peace I left the rifles for you folks.”

  A.K. was the next to dip in and he quickly brought a P90 machine gun out. He knew enough to understand that military had chosen the small, stout rifle for good reason. That alone was good enough for him.

  “Good pick,” Murphy said. “Just remember you've got 30 rounds to a clip and from the look of it, Carlos only brought a couple of clips back.”

  Certainly not by mistake, either. He'd chosen the 9mm for himself, knowing that it'd be easiest to find ammunition for in the hills of North Carolina. The P90 had flash and it was certainly menacing. But, when the ammunition ran dry, they'd be hard pressed to find any more for it. It would take finding another military checkpoint that had been overrun, as opposed to a local gun shop.

  “Here.” A.K. said. Handing his revolver over to Lamar.

  “Never shot a gun before.”

  “Lovely,” A.K. replied. Shaking his head with shame. “Not a lot to know about it really. Revolvers are safe. If you drop it – it won't fire. You either pull the hammer back, which means the trigger takes very little pressure to fire or you skip the hammer altogether and pull the trigger with a little grit. Either way, just point it in the direction of whatever is trying to kill you and shoot. It's plenty powerful enough.”

  Lamar nodded.

  Plenty powerful enough? A.K. said it was, but he couldn't get rid of the damn thing fast enough.

  One by one, rifles were pulled from the bag and the weapons they'd coveted only moments before were passed around like worn hand me downs. People who knew nothing about guns ended up with revolvers. Those who knew a bit more, found themselves holding something military-issued.

  “They're the safest weapons by far.” Murphy said.

  Lamar kept hearing that. By why did he have a revolver ponied on him? Lisa had gotten the other one and he wondered if she even knew which side was the grip and which side was the barrel. Hell, even Pam ended up with a 9mm!

  “Military radio, two combat blades, a military radio that's broken and a flashlight.” Derick said with thought.

  “I didn't know the radio was broken. Otherwise, I wouldn't have dug through a dead man's vest inside of that Humvee to get it. The flashlight is just in case we get caught outside and it gets dark.” Carlos replied.

  “Leaves us with an extra M4 carbine and two combat blades.” Lamar said. Watching as Carlos tucked the large metal flashlight into the top of his pants. He figured he'd at least hint around about the extra military rifle. He was willing to trade.

  “Put them back into the sack with some canned food. We'll hide it in the woods out back, just like Murphy suggested.” Derick replied.

  Seriously? Lamar looked stumped.

  “Good man.” Murphy smiled. Reliving his glory one moment at a time. He liked the idea of a solid M4 carbine as their backup plan. To hell with a revolver! The way the old man figured it, Lamar and the two women would be dead soon enough. And if he were a betting man, Pam would outlive the other two. At least she had spunk. A banker and a comic book collector – yea, if fate had a sense of humor, those two would be the first to go.

  Murphy planned on being here for a while. Looking over to Lamar for a moment, the old man smiled like a vindictive tax collector.

  Chapter 3

  Derick had never slept so well.

  It was likely due to complete exhaustion, still, his body relished in the fact that it was finally able to stop worrying for a few hours. Dead be damned, he needed sleep. But all of that was about to change.

  Raymond let loose a howl... and began screaming from the back of the restaurant, where he had been staying. Each of them had found a small patch of the diner and made it their own. As the owner, as well as the cook, Raymond had taken the back. Now all of the survivors woke from their deep sleep and huddled where they slept – gun in hand.

  “What-” Murphy began. He'd been the one pulling watch and he'd done a fine job of it. He'd not seen a damn thing on either stretch of the highway.

  Raymond screamed out once more, this time loud enough to wake the entire group. Carlos was the first to his feet, followed by A.K. The beam of a flashlight bounced around the interior of the restaurant.

  �
��Oh shit!” Murphy yelled.

  Taking aim, the old man fired a shot that barely cleared the heads of several survivors. A fact which was not taken kindly to.

  “Put that rifle away old man!” A.K. growled.

  Meanwhile, Carlos jumped onto the back of Raymond's attacker. Quickly eating into its neck with the blade of his knife. Pus drained from the gaping hole, but it was nothing compared to the shape he found Raymond in.

  “It gnawed off his face!”

  “What?” Derick asked – terrified. Just as they all were.

  “He's dead. Raymond is dead and so is the... whatever the fuck it is.” Carlos announced with a shudder.

  “Zombie.” Lamar quickly reminded.

  “Ain't no such thing, kid.” A.K. replied.

  “If it walks like a zombie, eats like a zombie and smells like death warmed over – it's a zombie!” Lamar shouted.

  “Guys! Doesn't matter what these things are,” Derick did what he could to keep the peace. “You sure he's dead?”

  “Deader than an 80-year-old crotch.” Carlos confirmed.

  “Then we need to get the bodies outside before others come.”

  “No kidding. I'm sure they heard Mr. Lucky over here firing off his rifle.” A.K. said, staring hard at the old war veteran.

  It was a bad move on his part. Murphy knew it. But he wasn't about to apologize for snapping off his boom stick. Not when he was the only military trained man in the room.

  After several moments of silence, they finally mustered up the courage to grab hold of the flabby flesh of each body and drag them outside. It was a morbid sight, watching Raymond being drug from his own roadside diner. When he'd woken up and put on that white shirt with grease stains, he's had no idea it would be the same shirt he'd be buried in. Or, in this case, piled up near a rusted down ice machine. With ravenous zombies running about, that was as close to a proper burial as he'd ever see.

  “We've got company!” Murphy yelled.

  “What? How many?” Pam asked.

  “I don't count that high – a fucking lot!”

  He could see nearly a hundred staggering infected, perhaps even more. They wobbled with each step and began converging on the diner. It had served meals for plenty of road weary folks over the years. What's not for zombies to like?

  “We don't have the ammunition.” A.K. said.

  Derick nodded. Even if they did, a single gunshot had brought the horde their way. He could only imagine what a full-blown firefight of gunshots would do.

  “We need to run.” Derick said.

  “What?” Lisa asked. “What do you mean run?”

  “He means there are enough of them to bust through the barricades and get to us all. Unless we plan on joining Raymond, we need to run.” A.K. said. Joining the group in looking through the cracks at the window barricades.

  “Run where?” Lisa wanted to know.

  She demanded it, actually. The diner was bad enough. She'd no intentions of trudging through the woods like some kind of southern hobo. Lisa was used to the more luxurious side of things. White privilege, they called it. For most who'd been lucky enough to survive, humanity's new way of living would be harsh. For Lisa, it would become nearly unbearable. Yet her question went unanswered.

  “Lamar, Murphy, grab as much food as you can and stuff it into a sack,” Derick said. Kneeling over, he put on a brave face for the distraught woman. “Lisa, I need you to be ready to move.”

  “I don't want to go out there.” she protested.

  “None of us do. But it's our only option now. You stay next to me and we'll get out of this just fine. We'll look for something safer than this diner. I need you to do that. Can you do that... for me?”

  Tears wailed in her eyes, but she nodded.

  “Good,” he said with comfort. Helping the woman to her feet. “Pam, stay with us. Carlos, Lamar, you guys will lead us out of here. Murphy, A.K.-”

  “We've got this.” A.K. replied.

  Just then, Murphy opened up with one loud shot, followed by another. They planned to thin the heard and then join their friends in the woods when the time came. Which, from the looks of it wouldn't be long. Curious dead now stumbled from the woods like starving ants making their way to freshly spilled syrup.

  “When they get too close, you both haul ass,” Derick said. “We'll cover you from the woods.”

  “Just go, kid. We'll catch up.” Murphy said with a grin.

  For him, there was honor in killing those who came after him. A soldier is trained to fight and even die, if need be. What he'd not been trained to do was leave battle and rejoin society as just another face. The soldier within him had long faded to black and white, but it was still there. Thirsting for a fight.

  Semper Fidelis motherfuckers.

  ** **

  The group ran through the woods, mostly uphill. They could hear gunfire and as Derick looked back, he could see that Murphy and A.K. had been smart enough to follow the plan. They had stood outside of the diner near its front door. The plan was simple enough. Fire as much ammunition as they could spare, while slowing the horde down. When the zombies were too close for comfort, the two men would fall back into the diner and rush to its back door. Trapping the staggering dead in the process.

  Carlos had suggested laying as much gasoline down on the diner floor as possible. The two men were to rush out of the back door, set the diner ablaze and then slam the door in its locked position. It wouldn't hold back forever, especially against a large horde; but perhaps it would hold just long enough for them all to get away in one piece. They'd hoped to kill as many of them as they could. And maybe even distract the rest long enough to get away in one piece.

  “See them yet?” Carlos asked.

  Kneeling down beside Derick, both men looked on and watched patiently. The diner was barely visible through the thick trees of the embankment. Still, they eyed the backdoor of the building with curious stares.

  “Nothing yet, but the gunfire-”

  Just then, the backdoor of the diner flung itself open and A.K. was the first one out. He appeared to be bitching at the old man – he was likely trying to hurry him along. Murphy was brave, there was no doubting it. But he was also infamous with the locals for being slower than stirring a pot of shit on an icy November morning. Every few seconds a shot burst out. Yellow flashed throughout the interior of the diner. Finally, Murphy made his way outside and knelt down to light the trail of spilled gasoline that would ultimately catch the diner ablaze. Grinning a bit as he did it.

  Both men waited for several moments, just to be sure. Then, as tongues of flame began to lick the walls of the diner's back room, Murphy reached his arm inside, locked the door and slammed it tight.

  Carlos blinked a small flashlight several times, alerting the men of their position. Then, much as a couple of Black Friday shoppers sprinting for price reduced electronics, both A.K. and Murphy hauled ass up the steep embankment. Quickly finding refuge within the cover of trees and breathing hard against the cold night air.

  “Take the group and go ahead. We'll catch up shortly.” Carlos said as the men finally reached them.

  Murphy's breathing was as labored as could be expected from an old war vet. He sucked in air and pushed it out nearly as fast. A.K. was in much better shape, but sweat fell from his brow and his eyes showed signs of shock.

  “A.K.-” Carlos began.

  “Yea, I'm OK.”

  Both A.K. and Murphy joined the group and began trudging deeper into the thick of forest. Meanwhile, Carlos and Derick watched while the diner, now fully consumed with flames, proved to be a final death for many of the howling dead.

  “Why are they still trying to go into the building?” Derick whispered.

  “Dunno,” Carlos replied. “My guess is they're either pretty hungry or flat out stupid. Either way, we need to let the group get ahead of us a bit and then tag along. That way we can be sure they're not being followed – just the way we planned it.”

  “Ye
a.” Derick replied.

  “Don't fire a gunshot unless it's the last resort,” Carlos said. “The last thing we need is to bring them to us.”

  He understood that any type of noise would draw the dead's attention from the bright fire of the diner. Right now, they had a blazing fire playing diversion and they planned on keeping it that way until they were long gone.

  “This may be a bad time,” Derick replied. Grinning with a bit of shame. “I'm not actually very good with guns.”

  Carlos looked him over for a moment. Realizing that while he had plenty of experience with weapons, most folks probably didn't.

  “It's fine. We'll work on it tomorrow. Ready?”

  “Yea.” Derick replied.

  Just as they'd discussed, both men quietly began following behind the larger group of survivors, using tree limbs and shadows to disguise themselves.

  “We don't have a plan.” Pam worried.

  “We'll be just fine.” A.K. countered.

  “No, she's right,” Lamar admitted. “We don't know how long we'll be out here. It could be six days – it could be six years. We don't have enough supplies for one week. The prepping magazines are big on the long-game, you know, seeds and all of that.”

  “Where do you propose we get all of this?” A.K. asked. Feeling as though he was being teamed up on in the conversation.

  “I don't know,” Lamar said. “I just know that we're in trouble. If we last a while out here, we need to learn how to grow our own food, or maybe even hunt. We need to find some sort of water supply. These bottles of water and cans of food aren't going to last forever. Eventually, we won't be able to scavenge what we need.”

  “Forgive me for not thinking about that when I was running away – zombies nipping at my heels like fucking beef jerky!” A.K. defended.

  “He's just trying to help.” Lisa said.

  “Short term, we need to head into Charlotte and find whatever we-” Carlos began.