Six Feet From Hell: Unity: 6FFH Book #5

by Joseph Coley

  “Folks, listen. We are going to need some wheels if we plan to make it back to Virginia. Now, how many men do they have in the truck?” Jamie asked.

  Scott stepped forward. “Five. Two in the front and three in the back. The fellas in the back should be easy enough to take care of, but the driver and passenger will be a little more difficult. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’ve got another Claymore bomb, but I think it might be overkill,” Cornbread said.

  Jamie chuffed. “Yeah, that’s an overstatement.”

  “Hey, overkill is underrated.”

  “When they come back from a run, they usually make us unload the truck. If we could distract them while they’re outside, then you guys could take out all five of ‘em. If they make it back inside, then we are screwed. They will hole up and call for backup,” Scott said.

  Jamie opened his mouth to speak, and then thought of something. “What do they use for communications?”

  “An old CB radio in the shipping office. They usually keep it locked up, though. They don’t want us getting to it, not that it matters; there ain’t nobody listening on the other end except more Peacemakers,” Jim answered.

  “How far away is their backup?”

  “Lexington, we think. They’ve only called for ‘em once, about six weeks ago. It was a day or two after they took over here. They made a helluva racket comin’ in here and it attracted a horde of zombies. The backup got here in about an hour and a half or so, and there were plenty of ’em, lemme tell ya. They sent about two dozen men in four vehicles, that’s when they left the deuce-and-a-half.” Scott looked away forlornly, recalling the events leading up to their current predicament.

  Jamie held his hands out, trying to calm the crow, as well as soothe his own nerves. “Well as long as we don’t let ‘em get to that CB, then we should be fine. Get everybody back inside and just keep business as usual for you guys. If they suspect anything, the gig is up. I don’t know how to explain our truck and the huge fucking hole in the road…” He trailed off, slowly turning to Cornbread.

  “Sorry, dude. Shit hit the fan a little too quickly and I had to do something.”

  Jamie scratched his chin slowly. “Maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

  “How’s that? As soon as they see the truck and the hole, they are gonna stop…”

  “And check out what happened,” Jamie finished Cornbread’s sentence. “If there’s only five guys, then we can take out at least two or three before the others know what is happening. Let’s take the place of the two guards – we look enough like them to pull it off – and when they stop to ask what happened, we pop ‘em.”

  Cornbread had already trotted off to the wrecked car. Jamie turned to address Jim and continued his spiel. “I don’t want any of you guys in the line of fire, so just go back inside. We will come in and get you if all goes to plan, but you have to trust us. We will do our best to kill these sons of bitches.”

  There was a look of hope among the tattered, dirty refugees of Camp Brown. Faces lit up, a few smiles were seen, and a positive vibe spread throughout the people present. It was a definite welcome sign, not only to the residents, but to Jamie as well. He felt like he was finally justified in making the trek all the way to Kentucky. There was a vindication that he felt, a certain sense of immutable good that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since his early days of working EMS had he felt a sense of true positivity. The group slowly followed Jim back into the building, away from the line of fire.

  Cornbread came back over, toting three weapons. An AK-47 was slung across his chest and a handgun in each hand. Both the handguns were revolvers, and looked to be a few years past their best days, but a gun was a gun.

  “AK’s got about eight or ten rounds in it, and both the revolvers are full, but they are just little .38 specials. Not much, but we don’t need much. The other AK is toast, the barrel is bent all to shit. I say we give two of ‘em inside the revolvers, in case shit hits the fan, and we give one out here the AK to take out the Peacemakers if need be.”

  Scott spoke up. “I’ll take the AK and hide in your busted ride across the road. As soon as they stop the truck to investigate, I’ll pop whoever comes out.”

  Jamie smiled. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  CHAPTER 19

  April 18, 2022 – 1704 Hours

  The mood among the loose group of survivors at the Tazewell County Jail was one of muted anticipation. The men that had the overwhelming task of clearing out the town sat quietly, poring over their respective equipment and preparing for the next day’s mission. Magazines were loaded and ready, protective equipment was divvied up, and sleep was a foregone conclusion. No one was going to get any rest tonight, and that did not bode well for the impromptu “seek and destroy” team.

  Outside the jail, the sun was nearly ready to set and take away what little light was left. The steady drizzle earlier in the day had ceased, but the ominous overcast sky hadn’t left. The undead hadn’t left yet, either. Ideas were thrown around for a short while about luring the dead away from the town, but it was agreed on that it would be more work than their current task. The dead shuffled around outside the impenetrable walls of the jail, oblivious to their doomed fate the next day. Some of the zombies bumped into the doors of the jail, unaware that their prey slept behind the doors.

  But the prey would soon become the hunters.

  Joe sat in one of the jail’s supervisor office. Lit by several candles, the lighting was far from adequate, but where the office was located, it could have been noon outside and no one would see the light of day. He laid out all the gear he would need for tomorrow’s excursion. Twelve magazines loaded with thirty rounds each, a fixed-blade infantry fighting knife, and his tried and true tomahawk were all spread out in front of him. A fresh pair of MultiCam pants and a combat shirt, straight out of the box with the tags still on it, completed his getup. A black ProMask gas mask sat beside it, but he opted not to wear it. He had given Larry, Kody, and Reggie one each, due to the fact they had not been vaccinated, to keep their faces covered and safe. There was a set of kneepads and elbow pads, as well. Every protective measure that he could think of and was available was being used.

  Over two hundred undead stalked the walled-in borders of Tazewell. There were nearly thirty zombies to every member of Joe’s team. Between himself, Rick, Reggie, Curtis, Balboa, Boyd, Larry, Kody, and Captain White, Joe prayed that they had enough ammo and support to go around. It was a monumental – nearly impossible – task. Every building, street, nook and cranny would have to be cleared.

  He was lost in his thoughts so much that he didn’t see Angel come into the doorway. She stood for a few seconds before he slowly looked up and grinned slightly.

  “Sorry. Just trying to get everything together for tomorrow.” Joe leaned back slightly in his chair. “I just hope we have enough to get the job done. I’d hate to let these people down again.”

  Angel approached the desk. “Honey, you haven’t let anyone down. You saved almost half the town! God only knows what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

  “Yeah, but we still didn’t get as many as we should have. There were too many of us gone off doing whatever we wanted and we left the town horribly unprotected. I blame myself,” Joe said.

  “You were only doing what you thought was best for us. From what I’ve overheard, this Wyatt fellow sounds like bad news and we do need to prepare ourselves for the worst-case scenario.”

  “Worse than this?”

  “I don’t know. I’d say that a man that takes hostages, kills innocent people, and takes a shot at my handsome fella deserves to be taken seriously.”

  Joe winced. “You heard about that, huh? He is bad news, and as much as I’d like to think that he’s forgotten about me, I sure as hell haven’t forgotten about him; sonofabitch nearly killed me all those years ago in Alabama.”

  “Sounds like you had more than him b
othering you from all those years ago. Care to talk about it?”

  Joe looked away, ashamed. Throughout his recent newfound relationship with Angel, he had failed to mention that he had been married before and, essentially, still was. Not that it mattered to his de facto ex-wife, but it mattered to him. They simply grew apart over the course of their fated trip to Alabama, each one needing their respective freedoms. Joe turned back to Angel, a depressed look on his face.

  “I was married once. We went our separate ways once we left Alabama and the USNS Mercy. We haven’t spoken since then, but she said we should consider ourselves divorced. I don’t really know what to make of it, but it still bothers me.”

  Angel stepped around the desk and sat on Joe’s lap. She hugged his neck and he could feel the warmth and love in her. She was as head-over-heels for him as he was for her, and it showed. She leaned back and smiled.

  “I know you were married. You had Rick didn’t you? I know you never really said it, but I got the idea. I didn’t want to ask about it; I was afraid that she had died or you had lost her to the undead, but the more I have gotten to know you, the more I felt like it was something else. I was right, wasn’t I?”

  Joe just grinned sheepishly.

  Angel returned his smile. “I thought so. Listen, you and your boys take care of business tomorrow, and after that, we will discuss our relationship. I have faith in you guys.”

  Joe shrugged. “A couple of ex-paramedics, a pair of teenagers, and a traitorous ex-Marine; not exactly the stuff of legends.”

  Angel leaned forward and kissed Joe lightly on the forehead.

  “The best legends are always about the common man that is thrown into leadership and flung into a situation that he doesn’t want to be in; you sound like the perfect candidate for having your own legend.”

  Joe smiled and hugged her tightly.

  “I just don’t want my legend to be an epic tragedy.”

  * * *

  There was blood everywhere. Disembodied heads, intestines, legs and arms splattered everywhere. Entrails, blood, shit, and sinew littered the middle of the road. The smell would make the average person vomit violently, but the two men that took on the task were more than well versed in the ways of bodily functions. Of course, they were used to working on living people with medical problems, but seeing the gore laid out before them did not phase either one of them.

  “Jesus H. tap-dancing Christ this shit reeks!” Cornbread complained.

  Maybe it bothered one of them just a little bit.

  “I know, but the dead fuckers seem to like smelly shit, like catfish. The more it stinks, the better they like it,” Jamie said, slathering more coagulated blood on the disarticulated leg in front of him.

  “Well whatever you’re doing, make it quick. I don’t know how much longer we have before the Peacemakers show back up,” Scott commented, scanning the area and keeping a look out for the truck or the telltale sound of a diesel engine. He held the worn AK at low ready, prepared to use it if necessary. “If they see us holdin’ our dicks in the middle of the road with a couple of their friends chopped up, they aren’t likely to be too happy about it.”

  “I ain’t real happy about their chopped-up friends, either. These motherfuckers smell like they’ve been dead for weeks.”

  Scott backpedaled and addressed both men. “We need to hurry. They won’t stay out after dark. They know better.”

  They had come up with a less-than-pleasing idea. It was a trap, a foul-smelling one at that. Jamie had proposed that they cut up the bodies of the two Peacemakers and use it for bait – not for the other Peacemakers, but for the undead. They needed some distraction from the obvious smoking hole that Cornbread had left in the middle of the street, as well as the now derelict semi-truck stuck to the rock wall across the road. Their hopes were the undead would be attracted to the horrid smell and provide a much-needed few seconds of distraction. It wouldn’t be much, but hopefully just enough to throw off the oncoming Peacemakers.

  But the undead weren’t hungry.

  “You know, in order for this to work, we are gonna need some zombies over here. It just looks like an all-you-can-eat buffet at Hannibal Lecter’s house.” Cornbread said, wiping his hands off on his pants leg.

  Jamie stood up, wiping his hands, attempting to clean himself off as well. “Go fuckin’ figure. The one time we actually want them to show up, nothing. Nada. Zip.”

  “Maybe we could fire off a couple shots.”

  Jamie shook his head. “No. If the Peacemakers are close and hear the shots, then the gig is up. We want to keep the element of surprise as much as possible.”

  Cornbread threw his shotgun over his shoulder and gazed around. “Well we need some zombies, and quick.”

  Just when both men were ready to give up on their blood-soaked, smelly endeavor, a lone shuffling corpse appeared through a copse of trees next to the UPS building that made up Camp Brown. The lone zombie was walking slowly, his arms at his sides. Even from a distance, both men could tell the walker was hungry. Its face was horribly sunken and the circles around its eyes could have mistaken it for raccoon eyes. Pale, gray skin, a few stringy gray hairs, and teeth so yellow and disgusting that would have made a dentist faint made up the zombie’s face. It was a ghastly sight.

  The non-irradiated zombies were decaying, but at a terribly slow pace. None of the irradiated undead had been seen since Jamie and the rest of the ZBRA team had been near Cincinnati, one of the unfortunate cities that had seem the nuclear hammer fall. Mostly, the team had stayed away from the known irradiated areas. There were only three cities within Virginia and West Virginia had seen the bombs fall. Richmond and Norfolk in Virginia, and a random drop in West Virginia were now off limits due to the radiation. The random area in West Virginia was halfway between Morgantown and Charleston, a last-second change of heart by the pilot had caused a fight in the cockpit, with the bomb being dropped over a non-populated area. The plan of the government’s last few hours was to take out the concentrated amounts of zombies in the major cities – it had failed massively. The radiation preserved the undead; stopping any bacterial decay that may have otherwise began to eat away at them.

  The lone shuffler soon let out a raspy call, a throaty, low growl that soon attracted two more zombies. The two zombies soon attracted two more, and within a few seconds, there were a half-dozen more shambling out of the small patch of trees.

  Jamie raised his chin at the small group of zombies. “Looks like we finally got company. Let’s get out of their line of sight. As soon as they see the body parts, they should go after ‘em, so let’s not distract ‘em.”

  Cornbread stared at the approaching group. “I’ll hide in the truck. As long as I stay out of sight, they shouldn’t come over to me, not as long as I keep my head down.”

  Jamie shook his head quickly. “No, we just get inside Camp Brown and get a perch up high.”

  “The spot you and Joe used overlooked just the truck yard. I don’t know if there is a perch on the front side of the building. It might just pay to get out of sight. We can line up shots from wherever we need to as long as we don’t overlap our fields of fire,” Scott said.

  “Overlap our fields of fire? You sound like ex-military, Scott,” Jamie asked.

  “Three years as cav scout with first cavalry, Fort Hood, Texas, but it’s been years since I’ve been in. Got out after my first tour in Iraq. Just wasn’t for me.”

  “We need to get into cover, now! Look!” Cornbread interrupted, his voice notching up a panic level or two.

  The half-dozen zombies they tried to summon had turned into nearly fifteen in the short time that they had been talking. The undead domino effect was in full force. One attracted two, two attracted four, and so on, often exponentially. It didn’t take long for a lone walker to conjure up reinforcements if need be. Zombies weren’t much on tactics, but what they lacked in intelligence, they more than made up for in numbers.

  “Shit. Scott, you get in the truck
. Cornbread and I will stand by the gate and impersonate the guards.”

  “OK, wait. What? Are you shitting me? We don’t look anything like the guards!” Cornbread blurted out.

  “No time! We hang back from the gate so the zeds don’t see us and we wait for the Peacemakers to show up.” Again, Jamie was burdened with another split-second decision, his capabilities being stretched to their breaking point. He wasn’t prepared to make a life-and-death decision on a moment’s notice again, and even if he was, it wasn’t necessarily going to be a good one or very well thought out. It was the best he could come up with at the moment. All they needed was the truck in one piece and the five Peacemakers that were driving it dead.

  Piece of cake.

  CHAPTER 20

  April 18, 2022 – 1717 Hours

  When the familiar rumble of the truck’s diesel engine was heard, there were nearly twenty zombies munching away at the improvised trap that lay in the middle of the road. Despite their dirty, bloody clothing, Jamie and Cornbread were largely ignored by the undead. A few zombies gave them a passing glance, but quickly headed towards the tasty meal in the road instead.

  The large two-and-a-half-ton truck made a right-hand turn onto the road in front of Camp Brown. It was over a quarter-mile away, but the engine was the only sound that could be heard over the growling and incessant chomping of the undead. The truck slowly made its way down the road, billowing large amounts of black smoke into the air as it shifted gears.

  Jamie kept his head down just enough to keep his face out of sight. If the truck saw them and realized they weren’t the guards that had been there when they left, then the plan would fall apart quickly. It was only a matter of time before the would have to shoot, but he preferred that they take the first shot, as opposed to returning fire from the Peacemakers.

  “Here goes nothing, Jamie. I hope these people are worth it, dude,” Cornbread said. He also kept his head down, save for one quick glance to Scott. Scott was nearly invisible in the low light and darkened cab of the truck, but Cornbread saw a slight movement. He kept an iron grip with his good hand on the shotgun. The truck crept closer.