Sheriff Houser awoke to the squelching broadcast. From the comfort of his cushy bed to the front of the command post, the radio’s frequency began to fade back to static. “Hey, are you there? This is Sheriff Houser… who is this?”
Making his way back around the large, red tow-truck to the drivers’ seat, Mark picked up the microphone. “This is Mark—over!”
“Are you okay? You in trouble? Where you at?” Sheriff Houser asked as he took the safety off his pistol, placing it in its holster at his side.
“I’m fine! You all might need to worry… I ran into Joe. He has a gang. They are armed and they tried to kill me.”
“You sure you’re okay? Do you need me to come get you?” the Sheriff asked, thinking over the situation.
Mark quickly keyed up on the mic, saying, “No, I’m fine.”
“How big is Joe’s gang?” Mark’s forehead began to bunch up. “All I saw was five, with Joe making six. From what I could tell they were all dressed in black and gold, some with gold color bandanas.”
“Sounds like their sporting the Outlaws’ colors. I’ve dealt with them around these parts for years. I bet if I was able to pull up Joe’s rap sheet it would confirm his gang affiliation,” Sheriff Houser said.
“There could be more… but that’s the least of our worries. When I fought Joe—I could tell that something was really different about him. He was stronger and faster. Aside from catching me off guard—he more than held his own against me. I think whatever affect the Anti-virus had on me, has somehow changed him. Plus, the fact that they have acquired some M-16s.”
“Damn!” the Sheriff said, pounding his fist on the console of the command post.
“You need to get a few people to the roof as lookouts. And also guard the entrances somehow. At least till morning. I have a strong feeling that Joe’s going to try and come back for some revenge.”
“We’ll be waiting!” Sheriff Houser said, beginning to formulate a plan.
“I believe I found our tow-truck,” Mark said, almost hopping around in the cushy seat.
The Sheriff put his shoes on. “Do you need to swing by here and pick one of us up to ride along?”
“No! That’s not necessary. I should be okay.”
“Alright! We’ll hold the fort down. Just make sure you make it back safely,” Sheriff Houser said, signing off. “Over!”
“Over and out,” Mark said putting the mike down.
Later that night, the mini-mall had been on high-alert. Hours had passed since Mark’s dire warning to form a guard duty. Jake watched and listened—keeping an eye out for the gang—keeping his M-16 trained off into the lot below ready for a fight. A few survivors, including Larry Williams made continuous rounds throughout the plaza. Anyone left not on official guard duty, continued to gather supplies and anything of use, loading anything of importance up onto pallets to pick up near one of the stores back loading docks.
“Glad to see you’re back.” Sheriff Houser said as he patted Mark on the shoulder.
“Thanks, I’m just glad to be back. Joe’s gang just about killed me. I swear I got hit from behind with a crowbar so hard I thought I wasn’t going to be able to stand back up. Right when I was making my escape—they unloaded about two-hundred rounds at me,” Mark said, feeling a little enraged and sore as he wearily showed off his badly bruised ribcage.
Sheriff Houser’s eye lids narrowed; he began trying to figure up a schedule for departure. “Once we get that truck with a trailer, we’ll load these supplies and head on up to the mountain. We want have to worry about Joe anymore.”
“It’s inevitable. I’m going to have to take Joe down. I’ve got to stop him. He has way too much power. Imagine all of my gifts—but with his psychopathic mind. All of those explosions throughout town we’ve been hearing the past few nights… I believe it’s Joe and his gang. I don’t feel any survivor left in town is safe with him around.”
Sheriff Houser began looking through an old phonebook for an address. “We’ll eventually put a stop to him, but now we need to figure out where to get us a good trailer,” the Sheriff said. “You have any idea?”
“I’ll find one. And I should have us one by morning. I don’t think Joe recognized me because of my ninja hood, I still feel he might be back. Just be careful and keep a good lookout for anything suspicious,” Mark said, hoping to prepare the Sheriff for an inevitable conflict to come.
Late into the night back at the lab, the team of doctors were furious. Upon the Major’s return to Fort Stewart, he was met with harsh criticism.
The team, behind Professor McClellan marched into the Major’s office demanding a reasonable explanation for such a delay in providing knowledge of the discovery of a working cure.
“What is the meaning of this?” Major Bradford shouted as a group of men in all white coats stormed his office.
Professor McClellan stepped to the forefront of the group, signaling for the rest of the team to stand down. “We received the E-mail stating that the vaccine as well as the Anti-virus is to remain top-secret till further notice. Why? We’re all in accordance with this, but we demand an explanation.”
The Major quickly rose to his feet in anger. “Remember where you’re at and just whom you’re talking to. I could have you locked away at any time if I wanted to for treason for such statements. I don’t have to discuss anything with you, any of you concerning the Army’s decisions—but I’m going to try and appease you all. I know that we’re all on the same page about the Anti-virus being too unstable. Well, our decision behind this new working vaccine is that giving it to other countries wouldn’t help America one bit. I know it don’t sound too humanitarian, but America is at its weakest in forty years.”
The Major sat back down and palm to palm, crossed his fingers slowly. “The virus originated here and has been present for a little more than two weeks. Due to the destruction and decimation that our forces have been taking trying to combat the outbreak, me and my superiors feel that holding out will sort of level the playing field. Right now, America is at its most vulnerable in over eighty-years. To prevent a takeover by another country, the order to hold out has been given. Just for how long… I’m not sure, but America will first try to fix our problems in and around home, stand firm and gladly offer support to other countries when the time is right.”
Professor McClellan nodded. “An order to hold out for fear of a takeover… the longer we wait there will be nothing left to takeover,” the Professor angrily stated as he and his fellow doctors exited out of the office.
Major Bradford clinched his fist, sitting calmly around in his office. He then began staring at a drab and dreary painting of a boat, stranded in turbulent waters hanging over his wastebasket. Major Bradford pressed his call button. Two soldiers quickly arrived.
“At ease,” Major Bradford said.
“Yes sir!” Each soldier readily shouted in unison.
Major Bradford looked at the two lanky soldiers, giving a sly but sinister smirk. “Our friend the Professor seems to not understand where his loyalties should be. I want you two to monitor his every movement—and by no means let him out of your sight.”
Back at Professor McClellan’s workstation, the Professor and a young doctor of high-intellect were discussing the outbreak. “The disregard being shown for human life is beyond me,” Professor McClellan said. “I’m an Epidemiologist first and Major Bradford’s patsy second.”
“What do you propose?” The young doctor asked.
“I have a friend overseas. He could do a lot with the information I’ve got. I need you to help me hack this computer system.”
“If we’re caught, it would be treason,” the young doctor said, beginning to type the encryption codes. “It’s a risk we have to take.”
Professor McClellan, having sent out the list of ingredients to produce the vaccine, stood up and began to get ready to close the lab down—covering his track. Immediately, the lab-door swung open and from behind the barrel of a silencer�
��the Major stepped in and menacingly shot the young doctor dead on the spot.
The dead body slumped over in its chair. Professor McClellan raised his hands as if to surrender when a barrage of silenced shots ended his life as well.
Chapter 27 way of the undead
After Joe finished gulping down his last large shot of high-proof-liquor, the bottle was tossed carelessly to the floor while he and his gang continued to recklessly party. The sound of glass shattering could faintly be heard under the loud thumping hip-hop music blaring throughout the dim bar. The bass on the gangs’ boom box shook pictures of the bar’s former owner, rattling them on their hook with every beat. The gang continued partying—turning up the music louder and with little disregard for whom or what could be listening. Since Joe’s escape from the Sheriff’s custody, he had cheated death, killed the former leader of the gang, and was now responsible for leading the ruthless gangs’ scourge around town.
As Joe partied, consuming very large quantities of liquor, he began to get more and more ill-tempered. The drunker he got the more invincible he felt. Having almost downed a second full bottle of whiskey, a pistol was pulled out and fired into the ceiling. The gang cheered as the shot hit the roof causing plaster to fall to the floor below. The gang was eight strong, and fighting through the zombie outbreak. As the room began to fill up with cigar smoke—Joe grabbed a lantern and took his new girlfriend by the wrist into the next room.
The female named Jocelyn, was actually married to the former gang leader, the man Joe killed before taking the mantle of power. Jocelyn could care less who she was with, or even if it was the man that just killed her husband. Just like Joe, she craved power, and as long as she was with the most dominate in the gang, she was going to be along for the ride. The gang waited in the dark, smoke-filled bar, turning down the music, just a little as they gathered around the table to play some poker. Joe’s right hand man, Vince, shuffled the deck—then quickly dealt the first round. Vince was the main reason Joe was still alive, having saved his life after a twenty-four hour fight with a nasty infected bite wound on his forearm.
Having escaped the mini-mall, Joe fought his way through the zombie infested streets. By use of his crowbar he relentlessly smashed—and beat at any zombie that got too close. At one point as fatigue and intense cold set in, the overwhelming hordes got the better of him as a zombie appeared out of the dark delivering the almost fatal bite. Gathering his composure, Joe continued to fight his way to the gangs’ safe-house where he collapsed. As Vince carried his longtime friend into the house, it was obvious that the festering bite wound on Joe’s forearm was what ailed him. Having come across a downed unit of National Guardsmen earlier in the week, the gang had finished them off and looted all sorts of the fallen soldiers weapons, supplies, and gear. Vince and the gang, behind their former leader realized that Joe could be spared death with the use of a single injectable vile. Vince quickly administered the Anti-virus in secret, then hid Joe away till he started to come around.
Vince, along with the other gang members continued making small, but periodic runs into town causing havoc in search of supplies. Then one day, upon the gangs return home, Joe was in wait with his crowbar in hand. Any pain Joe had felt was now gone. The thought of overthrowing the gang leader had crossed his mind plenty of times: with all of the abuse, mistreatment, discouraging remarks, and disagreements with the way the gang was being run. Alone in the dark—an inexplicable power could be felt coursing through his veins. Joe knew that the time for a takeover was at hand, feeling more than capable in fending off any possible retaliatory action from the rest of the gang. Joe then waited as his predecessor returned from scouring for goods. And with his arrival, Joe had stepped out onto the front porch, waiting with his crowbar hidden behind his back, waiting to declare his dominance.
Upon reaching the steps—a powerful swing of the crowbar crushed the former gang leader’s skull. Before anyone in the gang could react—Joe punched a few of the gangsters in the eye—further declaring his dominance. As each member fell to the ground in disbelief, his actions later went untested and un-retaliated against; furthermore, Joe didn’t even have to speak, his actions spoke volumes, and with the use of intimidation he took over. Standing over the dead former gang leader, there was no doubt that there was a new voice to answer to, one far crazier and psychotic than ever before.
As the sun came up, everyone at the mini-mall waited for Mark to finally return. Breakfast was prepared.
Sheriff Houser pulled up a chair at the table. “Should we be worrying about Mark?” He asked. “I mean with this Joe guy and his gang out there.”
“Mark will be fine. He’s just a little late,” Tyler insisted.
Crates and pallets of stock, and supplies were waiting at the back dock. Near the back stock room, another crate of supplies was wheeled neatly into place next to other pallets. Jake dislodged the squeaky pallet jack wheel from underneath. The survivors continued to patiently wait.
Gathering around, anticipation grew, around the pharmacy’s loading dock, a loud rumbling was heard. The force of the noise began to rattle the metal garage door. Mark backed the big-rig up through the small alleyway behind the mini-mall—laying down on the gas—crushing any zombie unlucky enough to be blocking his path.
The trailer gently nudged the back dock. Mark cut the engine and pulled out one of his pistols. Hanging off the side of the transfer truck, halfway out the driver-side-door—one shot after another laid waste to a group of slow-moving zombies coming at him from down the alleyway. The shots were perfectly placed—killing each zombie instantly with only a single bullet to the head. Mark’s skill and precision with a gun was more formidable than even the world’s top marksman. After about fifteen shots, the sight of any new zombies began to dwindle.
Given a few more shots, the garage door began to lift. Mark felt a thump on the side of the trailer as a long metal ramp deployed out from the loading dock to the back. Any zombie rounding the corner quickly was dropped. Mark hadn’t missed a single target; any zombie stepping across the sight of his pistol met a quick demise. Even as zombies began to trip and stumble over other zombies, Mark precisely judged—hitting each moving target as they bobbed or weaved. With the pallets being placed within the long trailer, behind Mark’s pistol, the entire length of the shady alleyway was covered.
Mark stepped off the side of the side of the truck and walked around to see how the loading was coming along. With all pallets in place, the trailer door was pulled back down to its locked position.
“I’ll go ahead and pull her around back to Luigi’s,” Mark said loudly—rushing on back over to his driver-side-door.
“Be careful,” Jake said.
Around back, Private Samples quickly climbed over the hood of the command post, keeping a cautious eye out for any more zombies. The young soldier crouched down as he walked over to the military cargo truck unhitched from the wrecker that Mark had left parked nearby, sneaking over to the driver-side-door. The young soldier placed his M-16 in the passenger seat just before climbing on in and starting the engine up.
Antonio took one last sad look at his brothers kitchen before closing the door to Luigi’s behind. Each survivor squeezed uncomfortably onto the command post as Sheriff Houser started the engine.
Mark’s big-rig began to press forward—pushing zombies out of the way. With the transfer truck clearing the way, Private Samples in the militarized cargo truck began to follow close. Sheriff Houser in the command post geared up to give chase.
Making its way down the crowded streets, the power-packed transfer truck began smashing through junk and debris in an attempt to clear a path. Road signs and lamp posts were knocked down as the big-rig cut corners, making wide-turns.
Charred remains of over a dozen cars now blocked the road on up. Mark took a brief minute to look around and clear his thoughts, enjoying the beauty of the ice-cold-creek just beyond the bent guard-rail. A large outcropping of cedar trees brought back found memorie
s of his youth. Mark, behind the wheel of the big-rig floored it—making way for everyone to follow.
On up the mountain, small country shops and stores appeared abandoned: each window boarded up.
Traveling up the mountain road, as the group pressed forward, an increasing number of zombies were hit. “This is gravity,” Mark said. “Imagine how crowded town will be once all of these zombies find their way down off this mountain.”
Sheriff Houser keyed up on the command post’s microphone. “Yeah it’s easier walking down hill then up I bet.”
Approaching a small gravel rest area, occupants of a raggedy old motorhome appeared to be in distress. “You see that?” Mark asked. “Follow my lead.”
The caravan pulled in as zombies surrounded the distressed vehicle. Atop of the motorhome, one of the survivors cried out for help, flailing his arms and holding up a cardboard sign asking for assistance.
Mark’s big-rig skidded to a halt. Mark exited the vehicle, jumping out firing off a few shots.
Mark, wielding duel handguns continued blasting away at the zombies as they began to turn their attention. Quickly the zombie horde was spread thin by a barrage of gunfire. Mark quickly pulled out his katana—finishing off the rest. Mark left the zombie corpses at his feet, signaling for the scared motorists to step on out.
The door to the motorhome slowly began to open. “Hey thanks… we’re the Henderson’s,” a voice called out, from behind a screened door.
“No problem! I’m Deputy Mark Smith. Come on out here,” Mark insisted.
“Me and the family loaded up and was going to try and hightail it out to the brother and law’s house, but found that all routes at the bottom of the mountain were blocked. But least of all we found that there wasn’t anywhere to fuel up. That’s when we ran out of gas, having to come all the way back up the mountain,” Mr. Henderson said, with his three children peeking curiously out of the motorhome window.
Way of the Undead Page 22
