Thorton radioed back to the second truck. “Send two men up to see if we can get around this.” He was not happy, but he was practical. The road curved around a hill and Thorton wanted to see if the logjam was just here or if it extended beyond.
The two men moved forward and with a nervous glance back at the safety of the trucks, weaved their way into traffic. The cars were close together, with barely enough room to walk through. The panic had caused the motorists to drive four abreast on a three-lane road, using up most of the available room. The soldiers walked quickly past the occupied cars, fingernails claw at windows while dead faces pressed themselves against the glass, snapping at the food just out of reach.
As the men kept moving, they noticed that some of the vehicle’s occupants were dead, but not zombies. They were usually lying together, huddled into little balls. Bloody handprints covered the windows and it was not difficult to figure out that these families had been trapped in their vehicles, not able to get out and slowly dehydrated while the dead moaned and clawed at the windows. What sort of desperate last hours that must have been, slowly dying while ghouls leered and slavered for flesh just inches away? What kind of feeling of failure did parents feel when they helplessly watched their children die, crying for relief?
The men kept moving and they reached a point where the attacks on the occupants had become much more vicious, cars with broken glass and blood splattered everywhere. Body parts that had been ripped off were scattered about, a large number of them fingers and hands. Many cars had been abandoned as people ran from the attacks, further jamming the traffic. Here hands grasped the air as the men approached and hungry eyes followed their every move.
Looking for an alternative route, the men looked to the side of the road, but one glance over the side rail tossed that notion. The land dropped quickly and at the bottom of the hill was a crowd of around fifty zombies. They were simply milling about, drawn to the scent of death from the road, but when they saw the men looking down at them, they groaned their hunger and tried to scramble up the hill, but it was too steep.
One of the men realized that the zombies stuck in the cars couldn’t reach very far. Jumping up onto a hood, the soldier scrambled over the car, avoiding the rotting hands that grabbed at him as he passed. The other soldier realized he was being left behind and recognizing the value of the idea, quickly jumped up on another vehicle and proceeded to move forward.
Back in the first truck, Major Thorton was waiting impatiently, but smiled as he saw the men climb up on top of the vehicles. Gonna have to promote that little smarty, Thorton thought to himself. He adjusted his belt, which held his favorite firearm, a Smith & Wesson Model 629 in .44 magnum. It was a custom job in its previous life and had a three inch barrel, ported to help recoil. Thorton had relieved it from its previous owner, who had used the large handgun to turn his head into a bowl.
The men reached the corner and disappeared for a moment, reappearing again as they made their way back. They seemed to be moving faster than they had been heading out and Thorton was curious until he saw the large horde of zombies working their way through the cars in pursuit of the soldiers. It said something about the discipline Thorton utilized, as these men had not stayed and fought, but used their heads and ran from a fight they couldn’t win, saving their butts and their ammo.
The men made it back to the vehicles just in time for the major to order a turnaround of the vehicles. They drove quickly away from the advancing horde, but Thorton didn’t want to backtrack any further than he had to. So when the road leveled out, he ordered the trucks to head off the highway and off road it in the direction he wanted to go. He was unaware of the second horde that was at the bottom of the hill waiting for him as he moved his men closer to the slaughter.
The men who scouted and knew what they were getting into, screamed at Captain Tamikara to radio to Thorton, that they were headed to disaster. Tamikara relayed the information but received, “Thanks. Keep moving,” as a reply. Tamikara was sure Thorton was going to get them killed, but he had no choice but to follow. If he broke off and went his own way, he would be killed by Thorton if he lived and ever caught up to him again. The Captain shook his head and wondered for the millionth time why he ever hooked up with this lunatic.
For his part, Thorton finally saw the danger and realized he had made a bit of a mistake. But as he looked at the horde, he realized they were hanging around the hill and were away from the flatter part of the land. “Gun it.” Ken said to his driver and relayed the same message to the trucks behind. They bounced precariously over unseen obstacles, but managed to get past the majority of the horde before the zombies had the wit to turn and start after. Two of them were directly in front of the truck and were mowed down where they stood. The struck zombies smashed to pieces and gooey bits of ghoul stuck to the windshield. The driver never slowed and slewed the truck around a large group, sideswiping several of them and sending them flying in the opposite direction. The rest of the horde, which had begun chasing the trucks, groaned their frustration as the fresh meat quickly drove away.
Thorton smiled, noting the danger in the mirror. It was a close call to be sure, but as long as the vehicles kept moving and didn’t hit any obstacles and get stopped, they would pull through. The last vehicle, not keeping as close as they should have, wound up slamming into several zombies and running over several more. They bounced over the bodies and nearly lost control, but the driver kept his head and swerved around the growing horde. As they pulled away, several zombies spun along the ground and struggled to get up with broken legs and arms. Some didn’t get up at all.
Driving away from the zombies, Thorton’s driver had his hands full finding a route suitable for a truck that wouldn’t damage the undercarriage. After a particularly nasty bump, the Major growled, “We need to find a road.”
The driver nodded and pulled to a stop in a small open area. The highway could be seen to the north and Grand Junction just beyond. The driver pulled out a map and quickly scanned where he was and where they wanted to be. “Sir, we can get on Route 50 and take that around Denver, where we should see less of what we just went through,” he said.
Thorton glanced at the map. “How soon?” he asked.
The driver looked at the map, checked his bearings and said, pointing East. “Five miles that way.”
“Go.” Thorton knew the horde behind them would be catching up if they stayed much longer and they had no idea what they were going to meet in the country. If Grand Junction was infested and it was likely as hell that Denver was, then there was probably hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies roaming the countryside in search of something to chew on.
The convoy moved slowly through the country, passing small ranches and homes, each one abandoned and desolate. Thorton idly considered spending the night in one of the homes, but they were too close to the towns for comfort and he knew the sound of the engines would draw out many more zombies than were currently here. Sound carried far in the open country and he could already see stirrings on the horizon and near the dark draws. It was past noon and they were going to have to find a defendable place to spend the night.
In a short time, they came across a road, which after a brief check of the map took them north to an intersection. At the intersection, the driver stopped for a second, then turned right. His faith was rewarded by a bullet-marked sign labeled Route 50. Thorton looked over at his driver and said, “Well done.” The driver beamed.
The radio crackled to life. “Sir?”
Thorton picked up the receiver. “Go ahead.”
“I just checked the map and if we stay on 50 we’ll be able to take it all the way across country and avoid most cities. There’s a bunch of towns, though.” Tamikara’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about supplies then, will we? Thorton out.” Ken put the radio down and looked over at his driver. “Very well done,” he said. “Congratulations, you’re a corporal now.”
Route 50 was fairly deserted, despite being a well-maintained road. They passed several cars, but they were empty and had nothing of value or interest. One had a zombie teenage girl tied up in the back seat, duct tape across its mouth, an indication that a family just couldn’t let go of their loved one, even though they knew how deadly it was. The zombie just eyed the trucks as they rolled past, impotent in its bonds.
The first town they approached of any size was Gunnison, but as they rolled through, it was clear the town had been abandoned. No attempt had been made for defense and the stores had been looted. They stopped briefly at the gas station and were rewarded with several gallons of gas from the underground tanks. A summative scouting of the town revealed nothing of value and Thorton did not want to spend the night in a defenseless place. There were no suitable buildings for keeping the zombies out and ammo was to be used for emergencies, not just popping the odd undead.
After Gunnison, the convoy reached Solida, which needed to be skirted. The town was ringed with a tall chain-link fence, but there were hundreds of zombies roaming the streets. Thorton guessed that they managed to keep the infection out, but didn’t know they had it within until it was too late.
Lincoln Park, Pueblo and La Junta were pretty much the same story and the men of the convoy began to wonder if there was any area of the country which had successfully resisted the zombie hordes.
As the sun began to dip lower, the convoy approached a town with the name of Lomar. The population sign said there were supposed to be eight thousand people living in the town, but given the level of activity that could be seen, there were far fewer. But it was a live town, which made it very special in this part of the country.
Thorton grabbed the radio. “We need to be straight military. Pass the word.” He then opened the back window which gave him access to the back of the truck. “We’re approaching a live town. Act like real military and this will be easy.”
Ken adjusted his belt and holster and made sure his uniform was in place. He brushed off his medal bars and checked his look in the visor mirror. Should be good enough to get in, at least. he thought. After that it was all up to the town.
The town was a sprawling affair and as they moved in, they could see that the area had been hit. Dozens of small homes had been destroyed and every one of them had a dirty white flag hanging limply from the mailbox. The center road was fairly open and the trucks only had to go around a few vehicles. There were zombies in the homes, but since they seemed to be contained, there was little danger.
Things got interesting as they approached the northern end of the town. A barrier, which from a distance Thorton thought was brush, turned out to be piles and piles and piles of furniture. Every house that could have been looted of its furniture seemed to have summarily done so and it had been unceremoniously dumped to build this barrier. Chairs, tables, dressers, china hutches, entertainment consoles, everything that could be used was. The convoy drove along this interesting obstacle and the Major had to smile at the ingenuity of the people. Use what you have until you don’t have it anymore. People in Western states were like that. They were practical to a fault.
Following the pile of stuff, the convoy turned in to another area and moved along the road at a quicker pace. This area had been cleared out and several of the homes had gardens planted in what used to be their front lawns. The obvious signs of life encouraged the men in the trucks.
The trucks moved along the road and stopped at an earthen barrier which encircled this part of the town. An old box truck served as a gate and two semi truck trailers were upended to make guard towers. As the convoy approached, Thorton saw increased activity as the town became aware of the trucks. He was acutely aware of the men in the towers who held high-powered scoped rifles at the ready. If trouble came, they would have to be first.
Major Thorton motioned his driver to stop and he got out of the truck. He signaled for Tamikara to join him and the little Captain hopped out of the second truck. He waited for Tamikara to catch up and together they walked up to the barricade. At twenty feet from the gate, they stopped and hailed the men in the towers. Thorton kept his hands behind him, somewhere he had heard military men do that sort of thing. It had the effect of accenting his shoulders and neck, making him look even more imposing than he already was.
In a matter of minutes, the box truck rolled aside and a group of four men walked out to meet the visitors. They were stereotypical western men: thin, sharp-eyed and rough. These were men who had seen bad winters and cruel summers. They were used to accepting what life had to throw at them and rolled with the punches.
“Afternoon. My name’s Brent Rowdan. Who might you be?” Brent’s eyes roamed over Thorton’s uniform, halting briefly on the medals and the sidearm.
Thorton was aware of the scrutiny. He shifted and placed his hands near his sides. “Major Ken Thorton, United States Army, at your service. We’re glad to see you folks alive after the mess.”
Brent shrugged. “Given the choices, wasn’t much we could do. We lost a good portion of the town, though.” He pointed to a large pit off in the distance.
“How many of you are left?” Thorton asked, looking over the onlookers.
“’Bout a hundred, give or take. I ain’t counted recently, you understand.” Brent said.
“I’ll get to the point. We’re on a reconnaissance mission to determine whether or not there are usable assets in a given area, specifically any military personnel who may have left post or are defending an area. Tamikara remained silent next to him.
“We would like to spend the night here, if we may, then push on in the morning,” Ken continued.
Brent cocked his head. “Not meanin’ no offense, but how many men are we talkin’ about?”
“Is there a problem?” Thorton asked, his suspicious nature rising quickly.
“Not at all major,” said Rowdan. “Just thinking about supplies and trying to feed all of you.”
Major Thorton smiled and used his winningest smile. “Don’t worry yourself. We will have everything we need.” The look in Thorton’s eyes would have any sane man reaching for a gun.
But Brent just shrugged and signaled for the truck to be moved back and the three military trucks rumbled through the entrance.
Brent’s eyed drifted back to his assembled men and one of them, an older gent, just shook his head. Brent wandered over to the old man and after several heated moments of furious discussion, Brent’s shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. He had just let a viper in his home, now he had to get rid of it.
Inside the perimeter, the trucks moved to the center of the town, where a neat square could be found. The trucks stopped outside the town hall and the men spilled out of the trucks. They stood in squads and their NCO’s issued quiet orders. Safeties were quietly clicked off and magazines covertly checked. Major Thorton and Captain Tamikara huddled together for an instant, then broke apart as Brent Rowdan and about twenty armed men approached the convoy. The men on both sides eyed each other warily as their leaders met again.
Brent was brief. “You all can camp here, there’s still water in the wells for whatever you need. When will you be moving on?”
Thorton looked at Brent a full minute before replying. “All things considered, Mr. Rowdan, I am probably the last ranking officer in the military, which gives me the authority of the United States Government. Technically, this town falls under my authority.”
Brent didn’t look convinced. “Ordinarily, you’d be right. But since your authority comes from the U.S. Government, which don’t rightly exist anymore, leastaways not that we’ve heard of lately, your authority applies just
to military personnel.
“We got nothing against you men, long as you’re peaceful, but if you’re otherwise, I’d say you need to move on.”
Thorton looked at Tamikara, who looked at his men. “I understand your concerns, Mr. Rowdan. I really do. But you wouldn’t turn out a group of men who just need a place to sleep for the night, would you?”
Rowdan looked ashamed. “I didn’t mean to send you out now, but I do not agree with your authority over this town. I think you might know why.”
Major Thorton narrowed his eyes and looked down at the smaller man. “Why would that be?” He was not used to being resisted and it rankled.
“You ain’t military,” said an older gent carrying a pump shotgun. “No officer I ever saw carried a revolver like that,” he pointed to the magnum at Thorton’s hip. “And your medals don’t make sense. You got a Navy Cross and a Vietnam Pin, but you ain’t Navy and too young to be in Vietnam.”
Thorton chuckled. “Well, well. It was bound to happen sometime.” He casually drew his revolver and fired it into the chest of the older gent who pointed out the flaws in the ruse. The heavy slug threw the older man back, dead before he hit the ground.
While the rest of the townsmen were shocked for a second at the unprovoked violence, the fake soldiers opened up with their weapons.
It was a slaughter. The townsmen had no chance to react and were cut down mercilessly. Tamikara dispatched three men to deal with the men in the towers and spread the rest out to sweep the town and get rid of any resistance.
“Round them all up and bring them here.” Thorton ordered, standing over the dying bodies of the town’s defenders. “If they fight, kill them.”
America the Dead Page 9
