“You know what you’re doing?” I asked.
“Yes, I know what the hell I’m doing. It’s simple. I use the blasting caps and the bridge goes boom.”
There was no more time for debate. I wasn’t so stupid or prideful to know that the smart play was for me to go with the group and let him blow up the bridge, but giving up that sort of control was hard for me. The zombie apocalypse had taken away a lot of my choices, so I held on fiercely to the few choice I had left. This was one of those times I had to go with it.
“Dave,” I said, “I’ll tell her what you did. I’ll tell them all.”
“I’m not a hero,” he said. “Far from--”
“Duck!” I yelled. It took him a second, but he got it and went to one knee. I brought up my gun and fired off two quick shots, dropping a speedy zombie coming our way. Speedy was a misnomer, but it was out in front of the crowd that was getting closer by the minute.
“We need to get these charges placed,” I said.
“No, that’s not the plan,” Dave said. “You need to go.”
“It’s not as easy as you think,” I replied. “Those charges needed spread out if we’re going to take down the bridge. You’ll never get those them down before they’re on you. So, you’re stuck with me.”
“But you’re getting the hell out of here before I blow the bridge.”
A tall, gangly zombie, missing an arm, shambled our way. I aimed at its head and pulled the trigger. The back of the zombie’s head blew out, painting the roadway with a blackish-red gore. One down and a hundred to go.
“That’s the plan,” I said. “I’ll keep them off you. Now, get going.”
Dave bent over Chuck’s duffle bag and started pulling out the blocks of C4. I went to work killing zombies. This was going to be tight because the horde was a lot closer than I would have liked. A group of six tottered toward us, only twenty feet away, in the lead of the rest of the pack.
I made a mental count of my bullets and knew I’d come up short if we didn’t get this bridge down in a the next few minutes.
“Dave, we need to speed this up a bit,” I yelled as I blasted away two zombies at the front of the group. Fortunately, when they fell, they tripped up two more, buying us a little time.
Dave placed the first charge, stepped over a few feet, and placed the second charge. I took down another zombie, but had to reload. A loud long scream filtered up the bridge from the south. I whipped around in time to see Jane being taken down by two zombies. She shrieked loudly as she struggled to get free. Jay danced around her with his rifle pointed down at the zombies clutching at her, but it was obvious that he was afraid to take the shot for fear of hitting Jane. Randell had his hands full with three zombies closing on him quickly.
They were far too far away for me to do anything useful. The best I could do was hope and pray.
Joni jumped away from Jessica and Martin with her pistol in hand and onto the back of a zombie, placing the muzzle her gun against the back of the zombie’s skull. A muffled pop sounded and the zombie flopped onto road. Jane bucked her body and the zombie rolled off her. Jay was on it in a second, blasting it in the face with three quick shots.
Jane popped up and immediately started on the rest of the zombies. Atta, girl. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to blasting my own zombies.
Dave planted the next two charges, leading a wire from each one of them to the next one. I kept shooting zombies. I had to make each shot count as my ammunition supply dwindled. The rain picked up, driving rain drops into my face making aiming even more challenging.
More shots rang out from behind us and I took a quick peek. The crew heading south was making great progress, although rain had picked up so much that it was hard to make out any details other than shapes as they moved down the bridge.
Dave moved to place the last charge and I targeted another zombies when I pulled the trigger and the gun when click. I was out of ammunition, but the zombies didn’t seemed to care. I did though. A great deal.
A lone zombie had slipped around my flank and closed on Dave as he put down the next to last charge. He was so focused that he didn’t even look up as it moved in on him. I ran toward him and the zombie as fast as I could, but knew there was no way I’d make in time.
With no more bullets, I decided the improvise and flipped the gun around my hand, grasping it by the barrel. The barrel was quite warm from all the shots I had just fired, but I ignored that as I ran forward. I bought the gun back over my head like it was a tomahawk, the barrel slick from the rain, and just as the zombie was about to glide into its final descent and onto Dave, I bought my arm forward, whipping the gun away.
This was one of the one-in-a-million gambits. The chances of the gun flying past the zombie’s head and into the ocean certainly outweighed any chance of it striking the zombies, but God decided to shine his benevolence upon us at that very moment and the gun struck the zombie directly in the forehead. The impact was quite striking as the zombie’s head whipped backward and its feet went out from under it on the slick pavement. Between the twin impacts of the gun hitting it and its head smacking the hard pavement as it fell to the roadway, the zombie went down for the count.
I kept running and came up beside Dave.
“You know guns were meant to be fired and not thrown,” he said as he looked at the zombie sprawled out on the pavement in front of him.
“Yeah, they work best when they have bullets in them, too,” I said as I reached down and picked up my gun.
We both looked down the road and saw the sad fact that we had run out of time. There was no chance of us getting down the last charge before the swarm of zombies overran us.
“What if we blow the bridge now?” he asked.
“A part of it could still stand. We need it all down.”
“We may not have the option.”
The rain picked up a notch or two more and drove like small pellets into my face. I desperately tried to find a way to buy us some more time when my eyes fell upon Chuck’s duffel bag lying in the road twenty feet away.
“I’m checking Chuck’s bag for anything I can use,” I said. “If they’re about to get on you, blow the bridge.”
He gave me a stare that communicated that he would go down with the bridge and most likely I would, too. It was these sorts of moments that warmed my heart.
I broke the shared stare and ran for the bag, hoping that the rest of crew had left me just a couple Chuck’s goodies. I slid in next to the bag, ripping it open. In the driving rain and darkness brought on by the storm, the bag looked empty, but I stuck my hand in and started rummaging around inside until my hand fell upon something sharp and pointy. I drew back my hand, but reached back in and pulled out a Ninja Sai. While it was impressive, it wasn’t all that useful, so I tossed it aside and continued searching. I pulled out an extra clip for my gun and wanted to kiss it, but decided to continue looking for something that might pack a little more punch. That’s when I found two useful items shaped like miniature metal pineapples. I gripped them both in each hand and drew them out. Grenades. Now, that’s what the doctor ordered.
I looked up and saw that Dave was getting the last charge set and was ready to head back to the detonator. The problem was that the frontline of the zombies were about to get in the way. They say the secret of comedy is timing, but I say it’s finding two grenades just when you need them.
Dave stood up and started for the detonator and I shouted, “Dave, watch out!”
He stopped mid-stride and nearly slipped on the wet pavement, but caught himself with his arms flailing around for balance.
“I need to connect to detonator,” he shouted back at me.
“You’re not getting through them,” I said pointing at the pack of zombies closing on the detonator.
“They’re not here yet,’ he shouted. “I can make it.”
“No, you can’t and if you don’t then the bridge doesn’t fall and the others are dead.”
“Wh
at do you propose - taking them on hand-to-hand?” he asked.
“No,” I said standing and hold up the two grenades, “I plan on using these.”
“Where’d you find those?” he asked.
“Another gift from the great Chuck,” I said running to him. When I got beside him, I said, “I’m going to pull the pins and when they get close enough, I’m it tossing into their pack.”
“Why don’t you let me do it and you get the hell out of here?” he asked.
“Because it might not get them all and I need to stick back to make sure you have enough leeway to set off the final charges.”
I could tell he didn’t like it, but he conceded.
“When are you throwing them?” he asked.
I turned my attention back to the oncoming zombies and made my calculation that they’d be in position in about twenty seconds. “Just about any time now.” I started moving toward the welcome wagon of death while pulling the pins on both of the grenades. The rain swept across the bridge in sheets, making it hard to see, but the shuffling zombie forms were unmistakable. Fortunately, the wind covered up most of their incessant moanings.
Step-by-shuffling-step, they came on while I closed the gap between us in a determined stride. I estimated that there were twenty of them, give or take a couple. I was hoping the twin blasts of the grenade would take them all out, but I had no guarantee.
I stopped walking and waited. They saw me and while they couldn’t really run, they quickened their stumbling gait looking a little more eager to get at me.
I had set another mental mark on the bridge for them to hit. Call it their dramatic entrance, if you will. When they hit it, I drew back my right arm and tossed the first grenade into the right side of the contingent. I switched the other grenade from my left to my right hand and quickly threw into the left side of their on coming pack, but my hand was slick from the rain and instead of hitting in their crowd it landed well in front of them and bounced in among their feet.
“Nice throw,” Dave shouted as if this were a friendly horseshoe throwing contest and not our live on the line.
There’s always a critic around when you don’t need them, I guess.
I spun quickly and started back to him, yelling, “Get down.”
He didn’t heed my warning and stood stock still watching over my shoulder as I ran back to him in a half-crouch. As soon as I made it to him, I grabbed him by the waist in a half tackle and pulled him down with me to the road as gently as I could, but being tossed to the hard asphalt is never really all that gentle. A millisecond later, the first explosion went off and a second later, the next one followed.
Sharp pieces of asphalt and other debris pelted the back of my legs and back. Something heavy, yet feeling padded hit me in the shoulder and bounced off the side of my head. When I turned to look at it, I saw a severed human hand lying on the road, the fingers still twitching.
“Gross,” Dave said.
“You said, it, brother,” I said pushing off the ground and rising to my feet. I heard Dave start to get up as I turned to look back up the road.
“You took me down pretty hard,” he said, rubbing at a couple scrapes on his body.
“You wanted some shrapnel in your face, maybe?” I asked.
Smoke swirled around in the disjointed mound of bloodied and broken zombie bodies. The rain drove the smoke down to the pavement where it hung like a morning mist, clinging to the bodies like new layer of clothing. A smattering of bodies parts stuck up and out of the mist, broken bones with flesh hanging off the bones, gruesome reminders of the explosion. Beyond the bodies down the road was a new and seemingly unending line of zombies plodding towards us, unfazed by the fate of their undead brethren in the road. Nothing seemed to bother them. Ever. We could have killed a million of them right then and there and they wouldn’t blink an eye. I could have dressed up in a clown suit, complete with white make-up, a big red clown nose, and a rainbow colored wig and danced a jig in the road and they still would have seen me as nothing more than meat. The next item on their takeout menu.
“We’ve got to get this show on the road,” I said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“But know, this is my show, not yours,” he said. “It’s your cue to exit stage right.”
We stood beside each other, watching the flow of zombies streaming our way.
“Remember what I said,” he reminded me. “Tell them.”
“Sure,” I responded. A more eloquent or thoughtful man might have been able to say something more profound or reassuring, but I was all out of words.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” I asked.
“What is there to know? I set off the charges and boom, the bridge goes down. I know enough to do that.”
He sounded both confident and resigned. The problem was that he didn’t really know what he was doing. None of us did. How could we? We were just people living our lives with the world turned upside down. Some of us were better equipped than others, but not one of us was ready for a world filled with zombies.
I turned and started at a fast walk down the bridge. I should have run.
I took a quick glance over my shoulder and saw Dave walking toward the detonator, his head down, moving along like a man on death row. The rain drove across the bridge in sheets, pelting my face and body. I looked away, not wanting to see what was about to go down.
I picked up my speed, moving into a slow jog, but it wasn’t fast enough. Dave got to the detonator quicker than I thought he could, and he had been right. Setting off the explosives was easy. Too easy. He must have pressed the button as soon as got there.
I felt the effects of that innocuous little act quite quickly. First, came the sound wave which immediately got my attention. The explosions went off in quick succession, each blast barely distinguishable from the other one, but I heard each one, the concussion nearly bursting my eardrums. The bombastic symphony was followed by an incredible supernova as I was enveloped in a blinding white light, forcing me to close my eyes tightly to keep from being blinded.
The temperature shot up around me just as the light hit me and it felt like a giant hand had lifted me off the ground and propelled me down the bridge. I wondered if my feet were even still on the ground as I flew through the air. My wondering ended as I fell forward and slid for about fifteen feet, rolling onto my side and spinning down the bridge barely knowing where I was as the power of the explosion took on a new reality for me. One that was bright, loud, and violent.
Somehow I maintained consciousness, but just barely. Debris from the blast peppered my back. Some of the pieces were hot and singed my neck and shoulders, but I barely felt it in my half-stupor. The world changed dramatically in seconds, shifting from chaos and catastrophe to calmness and near silence with only the soft sound of the waves and the pitter-patter of rain.
Reality ebbed and flowed as my world dimmed and brightened, but I barely noticed it as I was face down experiencing the road surface in an intimate fashion. As the world got brighter, I realized where and when I was and found myself splayed on the road, arms stretched out in front of me facing down the highway. Some pesky idea of danger flitted around in the back of my mind, but I ignored it as I studied patterns in the asphalt. Water sluiced in little channels on the road and I found it utterly fascinating despite this nagging sense of alarm sounding deep in the recesses of my consciousness.
I’d never studied road surfaces before. At least, never so up-close and personal. Maybe I’d make a career of it? It was only when that surface started to tilt that the alarm broke through my stupor, but the world was still somewhat hazy. I did muster the strength to turn my head to look back down the bridge and what I saw rose the alarm from a gently ringing to a full-out fire house clanging.
The bridge behind me was, for all intents and purposes, gone, replaced by smoke, fire, and broken pieces of concrete. Zombies stood on the distant broken section looking forlorn and disappointed that they no longer had easy access t
o a our human smorgasbord. A few of their undead colleagues bobbed in the ocean below and were quickly taken under the waves.
The explosives had worked, but all too well. It turned out that the section of the bridge I was on was compromised and the tilting that I thought was in my imagination was all too real.
Any escape to La-La Land was no longer practical or beneficial. I needed to embrace reality again -- and fast. This reality wasn’t all that enticing, but undeniable. Foundational support structures in the road broke with a resounding crash below me and the tilt became more pronounced. I began to slip from my precarious position into a gentle slide downwards toward the open ocean.
Above me was a clean break in the road, brought about when the support pilings gave way beneath the bridge as a result of the explosion. My section of bridge was breaking away and tilting downward like on a giant hinge. Beneath my feet was broken roadway that extended about ten feet with jagged pieces of concrete and snapped rebar jutting from the battered bottom end. Beneath that was nothing but angry and churning waves about fifty feet below. In my current half-addled state, there was little doubt that the waves would take me down and I would become one with the sea if I slipped off the bridge. Add the fact that I was a weak swimmer and I was sure goner if I ended up in the water.
I desperately tried to break through my mental haze and shot out both my arms, reaching for any traction on the road. My right hand found a slight purchase on a broken piece of concrete, but my left flailed uselessly unable to grab onto anything but air. Between the slickness of the roadway from the rain and the damage from the explosion, my grip was precarious, at best. The road continued to tilt downward and I could hear massive cracking sounds above me as the island of road I was on started to break away from the mainland of road still left intact.
I dug my feet into the roadway, but the rain slicked pavement gave me little traction. My feet moved against the titling roadway like I was on a treadmill, not taking me anywhere.
My right hand throbbed from the tension of holding my entire body weight. My left hand searched for anything to latch onto, but found nothing, so I dug my fingers into the pavement with only bad results.
Forget The Zombies (Book 3): Forget America Page 17
