Tommy’s kids, Kim-Li and Daniel, had played and worked there ever since they were born. Kimmy helping in the kitchen, Danny washing trucks and following the mechanics around. Daniel was in the Marines now, still in his training rotations. Unlike his dad, he’d eagerly jumped in with both feet and had been selected for Force Recon. Fourth generation Marine and an officer to boot.
Gunny bet ol’ Cobb couldn’t wait to hang his honor box up on the wall behind the Missing Man table. He was just waiting for him to get some more ribbons or medals so there would be something to display.
He cut a few lengths of rope off of the spool with the Gerber strapped to his leg then headed back to the Doc’s office. There was quite a commotion going on in the weight room as he passed, all of the drivers’ were standing near the middle of the room, staring at the thrashing man strapped to the examination table.
Gunny sighed. He knew that biker was going to turn. He hurried on down to Doc’s, the thing on the table wasn’t going anywhere and maybe someone would take care of it, put it out of its misery. He rushed in and without preamble, just started tying Ozzy's’ feet in a tight hobble. He would still be able to walk, albeit short steps, but if he tried to run he would fall on his face.
“Toss him one of those,” Scratch said, indicating Hot Rod.
Gunny did and Hot Rod started to hobble his own feet, leaving a little more room to walk than Gunny had given Ozzy. “I want to be able to get away from these guys,” he said in his defense, when he noticed Scratch giving him a hard look. “They look like shit, Man. I’m scared but I ain’t feeling anything. Nothing like them.”
“He has a point,” Gunny said, and Scratch relented. A little.
The girls weren’t paying much attention to them, they were fussing over Billy with cold cloths, trying to get his fever down. Ozzy had a wet towel over his forehead also. The biker girl kept glancing back at Ozzy and then looked up to Gunny from where she was kneeling by the couch. “Maybe you should tie his hands, too,” she said as she held hers out for a piece of the rope to secure Billy’s legs. “They’re both fading fast. That must be some seriously virulent saliva.”
Hot Rod looked scared, his brown skin was ashen as he sat there in the borrowed shirt, texting on his phone. Maybe his last goodbye to someone back home. He caught Gunny staring at him and kind of half grimaced, half smiled. “I wanted to apologize for running out on you out there in the parking lot, Man. I lost it. I was scared to death. When that dude came at you…” he trailed off. “I shoulda stayed to help.” He finished quietly.
Gunny shook his head. Poor guy. Making his peace with the world.
“I probably would have run too. Don’t worry about it. You getting the fever yet?”
“No.,” he said. “I didn’t get bit, just scratched. I’m feeling okay, all things considered.”
“He’s not showing any of the signs these two did.” The biker girl said, finishing the knots on Billy’s hands and feet. Stacy stood up from the Deputy and walked over to Hot Rod, placing the back of her hand against his forehead. She wasn’t quite a nurse yet but she had started her last year of school so she was the closest thing they had to a medical professional. Working at Doc’s little clinic allowed her the time she needed to study during the day because business was usually pretty slow. “A little warm, but not bad.” She declared. “I’m starting to think that only the saliva is the carrier for this virus or bacteria or whatever it is.”
“You don’t think it’s airborne?” Gunny asked
“I kind of doubt it. No one seems to have any symptoms other than bite victims. I’m getting a clearer picture now of what we’re dealing with after talking to these guys and seeing the reactions. Have you checked the other biker out lately?” Stacy asked
“His name is Brian,” the leather clad girl said. She looked at Gunny, waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her. “He’s, umm…changed. He’s like the ones in the parking lot.”
She nodded. “These two are going to change also,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Normally I would say we need to secure them somewhere until help arrives but let’s face it. Help isn’t coming. I heard that policeman’s radio. They were screaming and crying and dying. All of them. I’ve accepted it, and now someone has a job to do. I guess it’s just like in the movies, right? It has to be a headshot?”
Gunny was again caught off guard. He had seen it up close and personal, had fought and killed those things and this gal, just from hearing a radio transmission, was having an easier time accepting it than he did. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That rapper guy shot one at least 12 times and it kept coming. I put a bullet in its head, and it dropped instantly.”
“So the one we put in the freezer, has anyone checked on him?” she asked.
“It’s back alive but frozen solid. I need to take care of him. Just haven’t yet.” Gunny said.
This chick must have ice water running through her veins he was thinking.
“Sara is an EMT in Reno.” Scratch chimed in, seeing the questioning look on Gunny’s face. “She’s probably used to blood and guts and stuff.”
The girl half smiled. “Yep. But we didn’t usually have people reanimating after they died.”
Chapter 8
Gunny grabbed a couple of blue tarps and a roll of duct tape off of the shelf in the main C-store. He could hear voices raised in the diner, the sounds of arguments. Cobb must have told them what was happening. He headed back to the weight room that was really just a hodgepodge of home built lifting contrivances.
Cobb wasn’t about to pay for professional gym equipment and the truckers that worked out didn’t need fancy spa machines, just steel bars in blocks of concrete to lift, old engine blocks hooked on pulleys to lift, heavy cranks cleaned up and used as dumbbells to lift… really just anything heavy to work with. The small group of truckers was still gathered around the thrashing form of the biker strapped firmly to the exam table.
He was still face down but his head was turned and he was gnashing at the men who were staying well out of his reach. His eyes were solid black, the pupils fully dilated. His whole body was spasming and straining, trying to sink teeth into anyone or anything.
The vinyl of the table was ripped and some of the stuffing was falling out. They looked at Gunny standing there with the tarp and tape and knew what had to be done. He looked at them. Packrat, Griz, Squeak, Shakey and a few others. “Any takers?” he asked, holding out the knife to them.
“Be easier to just shoot it.” Packrat said “But I guess I see your point. Do it quiet like.”
“I’ve never killed a man with a knife,” Griz said. “We used bullets in the sandbox. If it came down to a knife fight, you already screwed up.” He paused, then added. “But if you can’t, I will.”
Gunny saw that no one wanted to do what had to be done so he set the tarps down and walked over to the keening, thrashing form. Before he could think about it too long and lose his nerve, he grabbed a handful of hair to hold it still and swung the knife down to drive it into the back of its head.
The blade slid off the hard bone and down the side of the creature’s face, leaving a deep furrow and ripping its ear off as a large piece of scalp flapped over, revealing the yellowish bone of the skull.
“Oh that’s sick,” someone said as the snarling, flailing thing snapped at Gunny’s wrist. He hurriedly slammed the knife down the second time and again it careened off of the skull, not driving in like it was supposed to but grooving down the other side of its head.
Gunny was trying to hold the head still with his hand gripping a shank of hair but the way it was jerking around, it was scalping itself. The hair ripped free from the skull and Gunny let go, jumping back with a look of disgust. The flap of hair was over its face and it was biting and chewing on it, pulling more off, more of its bloody yellow skull being exposed.
One of the drivers ran out of the door, they could hear him retching in the hallway. Gunny stood back, watching in
horror as the thing ate itself, ripping its own face off in a frenzy with its incessantly biting teeth. “Fuck this,” he said, pulled out his Glock and fired once, sending brain splatter all over the back wall. There was silence as they all stared, grossed out but unable to look away.
“You should have rammed it up into the skull at the base of the spine, it’s softer there than…” Packrat trailed off as Gunny turned and glared at him, a hard look on his face, nostrils flared and a twitch under his right eye.
The smoking gun was still in his hand and Griz and Shakey stepped away from the old know-it-all. “But a shot with the pistol, now that was good. Yes sir, sure was. Here, let me help you with those tarps,” he said, hurriedly reaching for them before Gunny decided to shoot him too.
“Gunny” Griz intoned. “You are one hard son of a bitch.” Then he grabbed the other tarp to help the old man wrap the corpse.
Three more…he thought, heading back to the Doc’s office. Three more and I’m done. I’m going to get a long, hot shower, get in my truck and get the hell out of here. He went through the door quickly, still reeling from the botched mercy euthanasia he had tried. Man that was disgusting.
The old man was right, though, he thought. Base of the skull, right at the spine. No bone there. How had he forgotten that? He wanted to tie Ozzy and Billy up TIGHT! Just hobbled, he realized now, they were still dangerous and there would be no way to take them out with a knife without getting chewed up in the process. Maybe gags, he thought.
The biker girl was just standing up from the couch, using a paper towel to wipe off a long metal letter opener in her hand. Billy looked at peace now.
“Why did you shoot?” she asked staring straight at Gunny. “I thought you were going to do it quietly.”
“I tried,” he said. “The knife kept bouncing off.”
She gave him a look that made him feel like an idiot. “Come here,” she said. “Watch.” She walked over to Ozzy, whose breathing was shallow and quick. She turned his head to one side and placed the letter opener right at the base of his neck where the cervical vertebra was held to the skull with only a thin layer of muscle and skin.
“You’re not going to wait until he’s dead?” Scratch asked
“He’s already dead,” she said “He was dead the second the bacteria from the bite was carried to his brain. There is nothing I can do. There is probably nothing anyone can do or they would already be doing it, not dying by the millions to these things. You want to wait until he starts thrashing around?” she asked. “Maybe bites you while you try to hold him still?” She held the letter opener out to him.
Scratch looked at her, at Ozzy struggling for each shallow, hitching breath that he took, and shook his head.
Stacy took it from her outstretched hand. “You did Billy. I got this.” She moved fast, just a quick thrust and wiggle and she was pulling it back out, wiping it off on the paper towel then composing Ozzy’s hands on his chest.
She looked over at Hot Rod.
He held his hands up to start to protest.
“I think you’re good,” she said. “You aren’t showing any signs. Sara, you concur?”
She did, but they all agreed that Hot Rod needed to remain visible, stay in the dining room and everyone was going to be keeping an eye on him. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, maybe scratches were slow acting whereas bites were a much faster way to death.
Hot Rod agreed quickly, eyeing the cold-blooded women. One in a doctor’s lab coat and one in leather, thinking he had just dodged a bullet.
Scratch went after more tarps and tape and Gunny went to talk to Tommy. After a quick discussion, they decided to bury the wrapped bodies at the back of the junkyard. The soil would be soft and no one really wanted them stacked up in the freezer. Griz grabbed a tire cart and easily stacked all three corpses on it and took off towards the back with a handful of drivers carrying shovels. Packrat followed along telling them all the best way to dig a grave. “We’ll have one more in a minute,” Gunny called after them
“I’ll be back,” Griz said in his best Terminator voice.
Gunny chuffed and shook his head. Even in the middle of a zombie apocalypse these guys still hadn’t lost their sense of humor. Probably because as bad as this was, most of them had seen worse. War is an ugly and brutal business and something about it pulls the survivors together in an unexplainable way.
There are no bonds of brotherhood that are stronger than those of men who have fought together, killed together and watched friends die together. All were glad when it was over and hated it when it was happening. But there was a small part of them that craved the intensity of battle. After you had experienced it, every other sensation in life paled when compared to it.
They were almost like junkies, dreading the war but thriving on the adrenaline rush. Hello Darkness, my old friend.
As Gunny was headed towards the C-store to get yet another tarp, hopefully the last one he would have to use, the biker girl and Stacy came out of the little clinic and fell in beside him.
“I’m Sara,” the leather clad girl said. “The fellow with the prosthetic, you call him Scratch? He told you I’m an EMT, right?”
“Yeah,” Gunny said. Not sure where this was going.
“Before you euthanize this guy in the freezer, we want to run a few tests.”
Stacy picked up the conversation at Gunny’s puzzled look “If he’s frozen, he won’t be able to move around much. We need to find out a few things. Like check for heartbeat and blood pressure, see if his pupils react to light.”
She held up a little medical flashlight and indicated her stethoscope. “When Billy died, when he stopped breathing, I had my scope to his chest when he opened his eyes. I didn’t detect a heartbeat, but Sara had the letter opener up into his brain almost instantly so I really couldn’t tell.”
Gunny didn’t see what it mattered, but he didn’t understand doctor things. Above his pay grade. But they were right, if the guy was frozen, they could check those things in relative safety. “Sure,” he said, grabbing a roll of tape along with one of the last blue tarps. “I’ll drag him out into the kitchen and you can test away.”
As they entered the kitchen through the back corridor, the argument in the dining room sounded even worse than before. A bunch of people were all shouting over each other trying to be heard. Gunny ignored them and laid out the tarp, opened the freezer door and dragged the frozen man out.
He set him on the plastic and then stepped back, letting the girls do whatever it was they wanted to do. They talked quietly, Sara jotting notes as Stacy quickly ran through a battery of tests she wanted to get done. Gunny waited while they poked and prodded and tested things and looked out over the order counter into the dining room.
The driver’s area was nearly empty, only a few guys still in there watching the argument in the main diner area. The black kid that had helped carry in the man the girls were running their tests on was sitting by himself, staring out of the window through the gap between the tractor and trailer. He was ignoring everyone and Gunny could see tear tracks on his face. He said he had known these guys.
They must have been close. A corpulent man in a salmon colored polo shirt was waving his finger at Cobb who was doing his best to be diplomatic and treat his guests with respect. Gunny figured that wouldn’t last much longer when he heard Martha’s voice jump into the mix. This was surprising because he didn’t think she was the type to get fired up and start yelling at customers. Cobb, sure. Cookie all the time. But she was always polite to her guests. He was paying attention now, trying to follow her angry, broken English as she waved a spoon in the fat man’s face.
“You scare ‘cause you hear gunshot? You mad?” she yelled at him “You think truck driver crazy with gun? What you think happen here we no have gun? You think zombie peoples not eat you?”
“They’re not zombies!” the man roared “They are just sick people! How many times do I have to tell you, there are no such thing as zombies!” He h
ad a woman half his age by his side. She was drop dead gorgeous and she just nodded her head at everything he said, agreeing sycophantically.
Martha was right back in his face, wagging the spoon “You think you know better than soldier? All these men who save you life, they soldier! They almost die to save all you and you want call cop to take them to jail for hitting you car?”
“It wasn’t just a car! It was a Ferrari!” he yelled right back.
Cobb reached up to take Martha’s arm, to calm her down, but she whirled on him. “You no say me calm down!” she yelled, her broken English getting worse in her anger. Cobb backed off. The petite little Asian grandmother was fired up, and she wasn’t about to take any more of this man talking bad about her boys, her soldiers, her truck drivers.
The men whose fast thinking and quick actions had saved all their lives and she didn’t understand how this fat fool couldn’t see that. How most of them in the dining room couldn’t see that. She went right back to telling him how lucky he was that he was here and not somewhere else where he would already be dead, half in English and half in her native tongue when she couldn’t find the right word.
“Damn,” Gunny said to Stacy as she stood, finished with what she came to do. “I’ve never seen Martha so pissed. Even Cobb looks a little scared of her.”
“He should be.” She replied. “You never heard the story about when she almost killed him?”
Gunny looked at her. “No. Really? How did that happen?”
Stacy pulled an antiseptic wipe out of her pocket and started cleaning her stethoscope and other tools she had.
“Well,” she said. “The way I heard it was that it wasn’t long after they first got married, Cobb came home drinking with loving on his mind. They got into an argument and he hit her. Gave her a pretty good shiner, Kim said. After he passed out, she sewed him up in the bed sheets good and tight. A couple of layers so he wouldn’t be able to break out.
Zombie Road (Book 1): Convoy of Carnage Page 10
