“Right. Ellie, there’s a sharpshooter on South Front. Take the paintball gun and the antihistamine balls. Those’ll work better than bullets.
“Gordon, grab everything you can and head to the accident. If they have to fall back, direct them away from the evacuation area. Spud, lay down a defensive line that repels them away.”
Gordon glanced at the exit and pointed. “Spud, if you can cut it between that blue Toyota and the red Challenger, we might be able to funnel them in. Then we can take stations on the cars there—” he pointed “—and there and pick them off like ducks in a pond.”
“Good,” Neeta agreed. “Make it happen. Nasir, take all the napalm grenades. Once they breech the fence, and as soon as you think the others are clear, blanket the trees.”
“Right,” Nasir said grimly.
Spud looked over the area Gordon pointed out. “N-neeta, what do I use? We d-d-don’t have enough for that.”
“See the B to Z truck? Empty it if you need to.”
“Ca-can we put people in it and drive them out after that?”
Neeta blinked. “Spud, you genius. Yes, do that. Roscoe, join Katie—“
“Katie?” Roscoe squealed. “She’s here?”
“She brought the truck. Join her. Let her know the plan and protect those people, and take her a suit and sword from my van. You’re the last line of defense.”
Roscoe gave a smart salute with his own sword. “You can depend on me.”
“Those people have to depend on you both. Tell her that. In the meantime—” She looked toward the truck and saw two of the cameramen unloading some equipment.
“What are they doing?”
Gordon snarled. “Drone cams. Dave insisted. Stood in front of the truck until we agreed. I wanted to run him down, but...” He shrugged.
“They’re remotely run,” Spud said. “They p-promised to launch them and get out of the way.”
“Those things had better get out of the way,” Neeta declared, “or I’m going to—”
Gunshots cut off her vow of cameraman mayhem.
“Neeta!” LaCenta’s panicked cry came over the intercom.
Neeta jumped onto her perch just in time to see the fence toppling under the weight of the zombies.
“Pull back. Just run!” she yelled. “Nasir!”
“I’m going!”
Before she could say anything more, her team was running toward their assigned stations. She made one last glance at their fleeing defense before jumping off the box and dashing to her van.
Time to get to work.
* * * *
Spud sprinted to the B to Z truck. He waved his arms as he approached the still-moving vehicle.
It stopped and a burly black man in a lime green B to Z shirt and a name tag that said “Denzel, Level One Defensucator” on the front leaned out. “LaCenta said for us to park it—”
“New plan,” Spud panted. “We have t-to evacuate the living.” He jumped onto the running board, grabbing the rear-view mirror for support, and told the driver to head back to the spot Gordon had indicated.
“Can you get in the back?” he asked Denzel.
“Sure.” He looked confused.
“Start dumping things out when I tell you. W-we’re going to make a d-diagonal line across the road to where they are.” He pointed to where Neeta was running for her van. “Just dump the bottles. I’ll b-b-break them. When you get to the end, shovel out whatever you can. Empty the truck, then go to fill it up with as many p-people as you can and get out. G-got it?”
The two men traded looks, gulped and nodded in unison.
“You’ve got to save those people. Go!”
Denzel slid through the window to the back as his partner, “Guy, Level One Defensucator,” reached the starting point and spun the truck around. Spud hopped off. As Denzel started tossing out bottles, he hacked them open with his sword and kicked them to spread the contents.
“Faster,” he yelled when he noticed they were keeping pace with him. “Don’t worry about me.”
But Denzel opened a bottle of Force One kitchen cleaner and, leaning over the tailgate, doused him with it. “Use the Force, Spud. The Force will protect you,” he said. He dashed to the back and told Guy to accelerate.
Soon they had left Spud behind with a row of unopened bottles for him to smash. He swung his sword like a pendulum, its razor-sharp edge slicing neatly through the environmentally-friendly thin plastic.
Boy, he hoped he was doing the smart thing.
He really hoped his mom wasn’t watching.
It might be nice if Lacey was.
* * * *
Gordon roared the battle cry of his old division as he dashed toward the zombie horde. Adrenalin coursed through his veins, making a kind of angelic hum in his ears that almost drowned out the panicked cries of the officers and instructions of LaCenta and that pyromaniac cameraman. He could just make out zombies between the low trees, clambering over the fence and each other. The chemical defense line they’d laid hadn’t worked—when the first ones stalled, the others pushed them down and walked over them.
Gordon could have told Neeta something like that would happen here. Now her brave exterminators and the LAPD were on the run.
Let them. He’d cover their retreat until Nasir had the place blazing. Oh, yeah! He was meant for this.
As the first cop sped past him, calling, “They’re coming, you idiot. Run!” Gordon planted his feet on the asphalt, relishing the crackle of the glass breaking under his boots, and fired up the chainsaw.
“I want a piece of you,” he shouted at the zombies and then started singing the Marine Corps Hymn in a strong bass.
He heard a squeal and turned to see LaCenta tumble and fall on her hands. Her flamethrower went flying. She twisted, cussing but somehow missing the broken glass as she struggled to rise. One zombie, faster than the rest, was heading her way.
Without thinking, Gordon switched off the chainsaw and ran toward her, grabbing his squirt gun. He sprayed her first and then turned the spray on the undead reaching for her. It squalled and clawed at its face.
“Get up,” he shouted.
“Don’t need to tell me twice,” she snapped as she rose and pulled out her sword. She swung, neatly decapitating the zombie and scoring the first re-kill.
Damn, but at least she was alive—and that was due to him.
Later, over a beer, he would think, “And about a half gallon of TidyToidy. Figures.”
* * * *
Nasir looked over the scrubby barrier between the road and the mattress factory. There was not enough napalm in their little grenades to blanket the area. He needed to make a bottleneck, along the lines of Gordon’s plan.
The zombies were already storming through the trees where they’d torn down the fence. He set the napalm grenades for maximum dispersal and lobbed two. They struck about where he wanted, and he was rewarded with a FWOOM! and a blast of heat as the trees near him caught and flamed. This side was easy, but that was the limit of his throwing capability. If he didn’t get some fire on the other side of that bottleneck fast, he’d just drive them toward Interstate Five.
He had to get to the other side, but that meant going past the swarm of zombies already starting to reach the road.
Nasir took a breath to calm his nerves and turned away from the scene at the factory to find the motorcycle cop.
He jerked back, almost striking the metal road barrier as he came nose to nose with the camera drone.
At first, he was going to yell, but then a wonderful idea hit him. He grabbed the drone in both hands.
“Hey,” the technician’s surprised voice sounded over his headset. “Leggo!”
“Listen to me, cameraman. I need this drone and at least one more. We must deliver the napalm to the trees by the lower side of the exit ramp.”
“Hey, how come you speak English so good?”
He howled in frustration. “Never mind that. I’m going to strap napalm grenades to the win
gs, and you are going to crash these drones into the trees. Do you understand, or should I explain in smaller words?”
“Uh, that would destroy the drones, wouldn’t it?”
“So?”
“I’ll get in trouble with Dave.”
Neeta cut in. “Dave’s wrath or mine. Pick now.” The roar of her chainsaw firing up emphasized her point.
“Um…yeah…uh, second drone coming your way.”
“Thank you.” Nasir huffed and looked for the policeman. “I need tape—“
Rooney was already running up from where he’d been digging in the saddlebags of his bike, a roll of duct tape in his hands.
* * * *
Neeta dashed to her van and drove it toward the zombies, zigzagging through the maze of cars until she came to the dressing truck and broken glass blew out all four of her tires. Cussing in all the languages she knew, she scrambled into the back, grabbed as many items as she could carry and flung the back doors open. She jumped out, squirt gun in hand, chainsaw at the ready by her side.
She heard a roar over the groaning and sirens and looked up, hoping to see the air drop. Her heart leaped for a moment when she saw two choppers heading their way—until she noted the iNews and CNN logos on the side. Figured.
A policeman ran full tilt into her and clung to her.
“It got me,” he blubbered. “Oh, God, please, I don’t want to die and come back.”
Neeta couldn’t even swear. “Where?”
“Legs,” he sobbed. “We were running, and as we went through some debris, I felt someone tear at my legs. I’m cut. I’m infected.”
Checking quickly to see they were safe for the moment, she knelt and pushed away the torn fabric of his uniform to examine his wounds. Over the headset, Nasir argued with the cameraman about using the drones.
She sighed in relief. “You scraped on something. Debris, some kind of metal.”
“Please, kill me first.”
She didn’t have time for this. She stood, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “You’re not infected. It wasn’t a zombie.”
“No? You’re…you’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Now get out of here so I can do my job. No, wait!” She shoved him toward the van. “Grab any supplies you think you officers can use and hand them out. You’ll run out of bullets soon enough.”
“I am out.”
“Then load up. I’ve got to get to work.” Because she thought he needed the image, she grabbed the chainsaw and fired it up.
On the mike, the cameraman was still arguing with Nasir.
Neeta swore, then said over the mike, “Dave’s wrath or mine. Pick now.”
Then she stormed toward the nearest group of undead.
* * * *
Roscoe held the legs of the jumpsuit while Katie stepped into them.
Katie hissed, “Roscoe, this is crazy. I took the money and left. I’m not cut out for this.” She was shaking, all the confidence she’d been showing the frightened people around her eroded by the sight of a rubber hazmat suit and a zombie hacker.
“Girlfriend, you’re more qualified than anybody else in this group, present company excepted, of course. If the others fail, we’re all these people got.”
Behind them, Katie had organized the living, with children and wounded as far to the back as possible, parents next, then the rest, with the volunteers closest to the front. She’d armed as many as she could with B to Z bottles, and everyone was damp from getting sprayed with B to Z “All Color Laundry Bleach—with Oxy!” They watched the road with fearful eyes, sometimes turning their gaze to Katie and Roscoe as if hoping they could make a miracle.
“You’re right. You’re right.” She fumbled with the sleeves, and he zipped the suit closed for her and helped her with the helmet. She did a quick comms check.
“Good to have you on the team,” Neeta said. They heard her chainsaw and splattering in the background.
“Thanks,” Katie squeaked. Her face was scrunched up, and she held the sword in a death grip.
Roscoe grabbed her shoulders. “Deep breaths, girl. We just got to stand guard. Come on. Open your eyes.”
She obeyed, looking first at his roguish smile he’d plastered on just for her, then past him to the accident scene. “What are they doing with the B to Z?”
“Making a barrier to corral the zombies away from us. Then the truck is coming here. You load it with as many living as you can, get in, and get out of here, ‘k?”
Katie’s eyes widened as if realizing something. She grabbed his elbows. “Roscoe, you, too! You never meant to seriously become an exterminator. You’re really just a contestant.”
He laughed. “Oh, honey—this is the Final Challenge. You think I’m going to turn tail when that witch LaCenta is out there swinging her sword like she thinks she’s got a chance at the million? Oh, no. I can’t let her show me up. I’m seeing this through.”
Behind them, they heard the wailing siren of an ambulance heading their way.
“Now, go meet the ambulance and tell them our plan. Then make sure the kids and wounded are ready to jump in that truck. Pack in tight—they only need to go a couple of miles, so weight is no problem. I’ll stay here and send the truck back.”
She nodded and turned to the crowd. “Don’t worry. Help is on the way!” she cheered, than ran to the back.
Roscoe smiled, bemused. What a lady. She even made the suit look good. ‘Course it didn’t hurt that her waist was smaller than Neeta’s while her bust was somewhat bigger.
He banished such thoughts and turned back toward the front, striking a hero’s “at rest” pose, feet slightly spread, sword pointed down and away, body loose but ready to spring into action. Posing he could do.
And if it comes to a zombie fight, I can do that, too.
Realization struck him, and he swallowed hard.
I’ve gone crazy, he thought. I’ve gone insane. I’ve gone native.
But for the first time in a long time, he felt he’d gone real.
* * * *
“I love when reality TV gets real,” Ted shouted as he let loose with another barrage of flame from his girl. Behind him three officers kept a steady rain of gunfire.
They’d retreated to just behind the first line of cars, some of which had sped past the twisted wreck of a truck and were now being swarmed by zombies. Most continued on toward the living, but several undead had stopped at an antique ’57 Chevy and were leaning under its open hood and grunting. To the left, one knelt by a Toyota with a leaking fuel tank and was sniffing so hard, its head slumped back with each breath.
“Heads and neck,” the female officer, Angelina, called out. “Body shots just tick them off.”
As if to demonstrate, she fired straight into an approaching zombie’s neck. Her high-caliber bullet tore a hole in its throat on entry and tore through its spine on exit. The zombie twitched once and crumpled.
“Woooo,” Ted cheered. “I want to have your babies.”
Angelina laughed. “Have to buy me a drink first.”
“Deal.”
“Enough chatter.” Neeta’s annoyed voice sounded over the headset.
“Got it, Master.”
“Fall back to the next line of cars. I’ve got a looky-loo I need to drive off.”
“Yes, boss. You heard the lady.” Ted roared a rebel yell and let loose a wide spray of flame to cover their retreat. He twisted toward the sniffer.
“No,” Angelina yelled. “Run!”
As the officers turned and sprinted away, the spilled gasoline caught fire. Even the sniffing zombie had the sense to back away.
“Oh—” Ted started. He backpedaled quickly.
The fire crept up the side of the car and ignited the tank.
A huge spout of flame billowed out of the tank.
“Oh,” Ted shouted. He smacked his helmet with one hand.
Pushed by the small breeze, the flames set fire to a group of zombies shambling in their direction.
&
nbsp; “Oh! Oh,” Ted cheered. He pumped his flamethrower in the air victoriously.
“Ted, fire discipline!” Neeta scolded.
“Oh,” he moaned and got back to work.
* * * *
Neeta growled over the mike, but inside, she was laughing. Ted was a loon, but he had good instincts, even when he didn’t realize it. That car fire has taken out five zombies that she could see and was driving them further into their second bottleneck.
She should be there, as the next bottleneck, but she’d spotted a red Lexus driving the wrong way up the exit ramp. Idiot must have made a heckuva U-turn.
At first, she’d entertained the unlikely thought the person was some kind of visiting exterminator coming to help, but all the gwahl had done was pull out his cell phone and start taking pictures.
And now, his shiny fancy car had attracted the attention of a group of zombies.
She couldn’t run fast enough to get to him in time. No one was closer. The damn fool was talking on the phone now, head down while he wrote notes, oblivious to the danger approaching. Even Ted’s fireball didn’t earn his notice.
Think, Neeta! She started toward the car, looking about her for something to get his attention. She saw a glint of metal coming from the BMW that was half-under an H5 on her right, and realized some people had left the keys in their cars. Maybe…
She jumped up and yanked open the door of the H5. The tricked out model had more dashboard controls than a fighter jet, but what she needed to find was still dangling from the steering column. Bingo.
Oh, this would be fun!
* * * *
From her vantage point atop a ’29 Mustang, LaCenta could see the spray of fire emit from the burning car and strike the zombies. “The man’s a menace,” she complained between pants. She saw movement to her right, fired a shot of 409 from her squirt gun and was rewarded by a zombie shriek.
On her left, Gordon fired at another. “Getting the job done. This is war, Dane.”
“Don’t ‘Dane’ me. If that maniac don’t save us, he’s gonna kill us all, that’s all I’m saying.”
Gordon didn’t contradict her. “We’ve got to get down from this car before they totally surround us. Ready to switch to swords?”
Despite the lightness of the nanoblade Hollerman loaned her for the original final challenge, her arms were achy from all the swinging. When Gordon had seen her tiring, he’d told her to climb to the top of the car and switch to guns. The squirt gun was heavier, but at least she wasn’t swinging, and it did get lighter with each use. She didn’t want to think about when it emptied, other than to toss it away and lighten her load when she ran. She had no doubt that at some point, she’d have to run, that they all would.
Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator Page 23
