Zombie Road (Book 1): Convoy of Carnage

by David A. Simpson

  He wasn’t a complete ingrate, he knew on some level that he was lucky to have fallen in with this crowd, but he just wasn’t used to having to deal with these kinds of people. They had rough hands and rough manners. They didn’t respect him at all. If he yelled at one of them that his coffee was too hot, they would probably toss it in his face.

  He knew he should be trying to make friends, not alienate everyone, but he couldn’t help himself sometimes. In his mind, he had lost so much more than all of them had. They hadn’t lost a twelve bedroom house overlooking the ocean. They hadn’t lost millions of dollars. They hadn’t lost the ability to sleep with a different wannabe starlet every night.

  Griz turned to look at him, but of course the guy wouldn’t make eye contact and was busying himself acting like he was doing something important.

  “Forget it,” Gunny said, and they went back to the maps, determining the best route into and out of Firecracker’s house on the western part of town.

  They had been there about an hour and were making their final cleanup and checks to take off again when Shakey hollered out from the rear where he had been standing guard. “We’ve got incoming! I can see some on the road!”

  The people who had been riding in the tour bus dropped everything and ran for the doors to get back in, leaving Martha and Kim the only ones left packing away the dishes. Griz didn’t even look up. “How many and how far?” he asked nonchalantly as the crowd at the bus tried not to push and shove and were barely able to contain themselves.

  “They’re about a mile off,” Shakey said. “But there are quite a few of them.”

  When they realized the danger wasn’t imminent, a few of the men looked chagrined and stepped aside to let the ladies and the children go in first. Richard Bastille was already in his seat, looking out of the barred window. The vets continued to clean their plates, feigning extreme indifference. Scratch stretched and yawned loudly. Cadillac Jack pulled out his tobacco and slowly rolled himself a smoke. Lars pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned back on the tire he was resting against. It was a little game they all played, had played their whole military careers.

  We are not afraid.

  We do not run.

  We do not hide.

  The Jarhead Marines were trying to outdo the Dogface Army guys in their uncaring attitudes. The Army guys going overboard to show the Jarheads they were even MORE unconcerned. But if you watched closely, you saw their eyes dart to their weapons, knowing exactly where they were and where their hands would fall on them even if they were looking in the opposite direction. Saw them casually brush their pockets, double checking the number of magazines they had, mentally weighing the pull of each one, ensuring themselves each was fully loaded. Stabby watched all this unfold and sat back down, smiling to himself, feeling safe with these bunch of Yankee showoffs.

  The mechanics from Tommy’s shop had never seen G.I.s in action out in the field and they were a little confused as they watched the guys just lay around when there were zombies coming. The rest of the people on the bus were as confused and concerned as they were. Peanut Butter just shook her head. She’d been around these kind of men long enough to know it was only an act. She winked at Buttercup, told her under her breath not to worry. Believe it or not, it was all under control.

  Gunny wasn’t immune to the game and he ambled slowly to where Shakey was standing at the back of the convoy, stopping by Jack to bum a smoke. Shakey handed him the binoculars when he walked up. They were about a half mile off now, running at full speed, stretched out as far as he could see. He wondered where they had come from. Surely these weren’t the same ones they had driven by miles ago. They couldn’t still be coming after them. They had passed the last exit with any kind of zombie activity some twenty miles back.

  “Scratch!” he yelled back to the soldiers. “Get your rig turned around and take these guys out!”

  The three boys who were all riding in the big Western Star were on their feet and running towards Scratch’s truck before he had even finished yelling. It was one of the few that didn’t have a trailer. Scratch couldn’t think of any reason to drag a whole load of squash with him. He was hoping to find a wagon full of exotic cars he could hook up to and take along. The zombies were untiring, running at full speed and a steady pace, whittling down the distance. They were mostly in single file so they would make easy targets for the big blade on the front of Scratch’s truck but they were disturbing in their single-minded intensity. Their unflagging efforts to get to fresh human flesh. This would be a serious problem if every single zombie they passed started chasing them and never gave up. They would have to send a truck back every time they stopped to do cleanup but that wouldn’t always be an option. If they got bogged down in the front and after a half hour hundreds came in from the rear….

  He would worry about that later. The rest of the guys had come up to see, some of them grabbing the deer rifles from the pawn shop haul out of their trucks. They watched as Scratch aimed straight at them, slamming fifteen tons of heavy metal fronted with a wicked sharp plow into the line of undead at fifty miles an hour.

  Bodies exploded and parts went flying. At those speeds, he didn’t have to worry about anything getting tangled up under his truck. They watched him until he was around a bend and out of sight, the sound of the big Detroit Diesel engine finally fading from earshot. After a few minutes and he wasn’t coming back, Gunny walked up to Griz’s truck.

  He had a Big Radio with a linear and he grabbed the mic and hailed the boys. They came back faint, but he could make out that they were still on a killing spree, the line of stragglers went on as far as they could see. “That’s enough,” Gunny said. “Get back here ASAP. We’re rolling out.” He heard their acknowledgment and circled his hand in the air to everyone watching. “Mount up!” he hollered. “We’re rolling as soon as they get back.”

  The General wanted a check-in every evening and Gunny thought this single-minded determination the infected exhibited would be worth mentioning to him. They needed all the survivors to know that even if they think they escaped, the zombies will chase them for a long, long time.

  Sara took off on her CBR again as soon as she saw the blood and gore splattered truck come up over the rise. The rest of the trucks pulled out and ran up through the gears as the convoy spread out over nearly a mile. The next few hours of the trip were uneventful, not even a wrecked car to skirt around. “I guess nobody had a Hajji Sausage sandwich through here.” Gunny quipped when Deputy Collins had commented on it.

  “There’s a big Mosque in Salt Lake,” she said, her hands involuntarily clenching into fists. “I guess we’re supposed to avoid it. No payback allowed?”

  “Right,” Gunny said. “Let them decommission all the nukes. After that, it’s open season. Of course, if the survival numbers I’ve heard from Cheyenne Mountain are true, they outnumber us probably ten to one if all the Mosques are full of them.”

  “A lot of them will be women and children,” she said. “They’ll be easier to kill.”

  Gunny cut his eyes over to her, trying to see if she was joking. She was so intense, it was hard to tell but he didn’t think she was. As the sun went down behind them, the scenic turnout where they were going to camp out was coming up and Gunny grabbed the mic to let the rest of the convoy know. He was glad for the diversion because he didn’t know what to say to the Deputy.

  He wanted to right the wrong the Jihadis had done, but her cold logic was a little disturbing. He’d never killed a woman or a child. Not a living human one, anyway. Must be the Kentucky Gentleman in him coming out, never hit a woman or a kid. Or execute one. Her hatred ran deep and he wondered if there was more to it than just the death of most of the world and the destruction of her country.

  Nah. That was more than enough, he supposed.

  Once they got set up, Scratch turned his truck around, waiting for the inevitable followers to start showing up. Some of the trucks were getting a little low on fuel, the bus critically s
o.

  There was a truck stop on the outskirts of town but it was agreed that it would be best to hit it in the morning after they came back with Firecracker’s family. Then they could take off and put another five hundred miles behind them, hopefully getting near Denver. There was no need to fight zombies all night coming at them from both ends and the run into town should only take an hour or so.

  Griz and Cadillac Jack were prowling through the food provisions, examining different sized plastic bottles much to the annoyance of Martha. As Gunny came back from getting rear guards set up, he noticed Martha with her hands on her hips giving them the evil eye. They were checking to see which bottles would fit snuggly on the end of the gun barrels. “Making suppressors?” Gunny asked

  “Yeah,” Griz answered and the crowd that had been gathered around the small campfire, mostly ignoring them, perked up and started to pay attention.

  “You can make a silencer with a mustard bottle?” Tina asked somewhat aghast.

  Deputy Collins followed the proceedings with a slight frown on her face, looking like she was trying to remember the exact code and subsection of the law that expressly forbade the manufacture, use or possession of such items. But she was wise enough to know it no longer applied. Old habits die hard.

  Gunny wondered if she knew about the buckets of cocaine Sara and Stacy had commandeered from Lars. Or that Stabby was slightly buzzing on it most of the time.

  “I saw that on the telly,” Stabby said. “It really works?”

  “It’ll work until we can raid a good gun store and find some real ones,” Griz replied. “It’s better than nothing for now, though.” Then he threw the frowning deputy a wink, grinning at her in his boyish way.

  Cobb came back into the group after setting up the forward outpost, saw what they were doing and told them to get the weapons out to the guards as soon as they finished cobbling them together. They didn’t know if the infected would chase after a gunshot like they would a truck engine but anything they could do to cut the chance of it, the better off they would be.

  Later that evening, after dinner had been eaten and everything had been stowed away in case they needed to make an emergency departure, they gathered around a small fire and the talk turned to what they could expect when they reached the reservoir in Oklahoma. Other than the four on guard duty, this was the first time they had all sat around and discussed where they were going and what could be expected.

  The disaster and the days leading up to their departure had been chaotic and everyone had been busy. Now, bellies full of Martha and Cookie’s spaghetti dinner, a relative feeling of safety with the guards keeping an eye on things and the quiet night seeming to be void of danger, they finally talked about the future. Some of the drivers had been in the area although no one could actually remember delivering to the little town itself. They described a rich land with streams and a huge, clear lake with plenty of fish and wildlife in the area.

  According to General Carson, the soil was good and most crops would grow there. Bastille wanted to know what type of society it would be, comparing it to middle ages England with peasants toiling the land while the high and mighty did nothing.

  Cobb voiced an opinion that if you don’t pull your weight and do your fair share, then you don’t have any rights to take anything from the group.

  “This we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat.” Preacher Bible quoted, then said that if they raided the food warehouses from the cities, they would have more than enough canned and dry goods to last for years. Maybe even enough to last until the infected had finally withered away and died for good. Surely long enough for them to start growing their own crops again.

  Shakey was worried about medical care and wondered if the hospital generators would still be up and running. Hot Rod said he knew a few tricks for gathering plenty of fish from the lake and he and Jack got into a discussion of the best bait. Griz and Gunny kicked around ideas for making the area defensible. Maybe even having their encampment on an island in one of the big lakes. Maybe build some cabins on it.

  It was a good evening, a good first day on the road and everyone was optimistic for the rest of the trip. Even their resident naysayer, Richard Bastille had actually said a few things that weren’t completely negative. The Cowboys had brought out their instruments and had a good laugh as Stabby updated their country songs in his death metal style. On his way back to his truck, Gunny was cornered by the SS sisters and in her usual blunt way, Stacy said quietly “You know Shakey has diabetes?”

  “No, he never mentioned it.”

  “Why would he? He’d lose his job. Why do you think he came to the Three Flags for his DOT exam?”

  “Well, everybody knows Doc would let things slide. What’s the big deal?”

  They looked at each other then looked back at him and he got the distinct impression he was being dense about something. She was looking at him like he was an idiot again. “He takes insulin shots, Gunny. Every day. Four times a day.”

  He was starting to see the picture now. “So we need to raid a drug store or something? To get him more? We can do that. We’ll find one tomorrow.”

  Stacy looked exasperated. Sara asked, “You’ve never known anyone with Type 1 have you?”

  “No.” Was his simple reply.

  “It has to be kept refrigerated. You can’t just walk into a drug store and grab some off the shelf. Once it gets hot, it starts to break down.”

  “There is a newer version available but he’s so damn stubborn, he wouldn’t change to it. It’s much better, but no matter what, it’s going to be touchy unless we can get to the right testing equipment.” Stacy said in frustration.

  Gunny was starting to see why they were so concerned. This would explain some of Shakey’s questions asking about the hospital generators still running and the general consensus had been most likely not. They only had a few hundred gallon fuel tank for them at most.

  “How much does he have left?” Gunny asked.

  “Not much,” Stacy said. “He was supposed to get his script from Doc when all this went down. He doesn’t know I know, he’s kept it hush-hush for years now. But I would guess what he has in the fridge of his truck is his last little bit.”

  “We can raid a pharmacy if we get a chance, the weather isn’t too hateful,” Sara said. “Even if it’s gotten hot, it’s better than nothing. It’s still useful. So just keep that in mind, let’s try to hit one up soon.”

  Lacy

  Preparation

  Day 5

  Most of them woke up to the smell of coffee. Lacy and Carla had a small blaze going using clients’ files and remnants of the bookcase they had sacrificed for yesterday’s fire. They had raided the cupboards in the lawyer’s kitchen area and were boiling up a pot of cowboy coffee using a sauce pan. As the rest of the crew gathered around, Phil and Robert pried open one of the other elevator doors and shined a flashlight into the gloom.

  “There it is.” Phil used his Mag Light to point at the metal rungs mounted in a channel along the back wall. “It runs from the top of the building all the way to the sub-basement.”

  “Wow.” said Carla. “I thought it would be up front or maybe on the side. How do you even get to it?”

  Phil shined the light down the shaft. Twelve stories to the basement. About a hundred and eighty feet. His light was strong and bright but it didn’t begin to cut into the darkness that far below.

  The ladder was a good eight feet away. “You could probably jump and make it,” Robert said. “Maybe.”

  Alex snorted, nearly shooting coffee through his nose.

  “Yeah. If you were James Bond.” Carla said dismissively. “Me, I’d probably pull my arms out of their sockets even if I did make it past the cables running down the middle of the shaft.”

  Lacy walked back over to the coffee, giving it a stir, making sure it didn’t burn. Nothing worse in the morning than burnt coffee. “We can make rope out of some cable, make a grappling hook
or something,” she said.

  They had a fairly decent breakfast of oatmeal, granola and coffee. The secretaries working for Williams and Williams must have had to pull some early morning shifts on occasion from what they found in the kitchen. Afterward, they stacked up a few small bookcases on top of a secretary’s desk and started pulling data cables out of the drop ceiling.

  They were the easiest cables to get to, having been added by contractors after the building was finished and held in place with just the occasional zip tie. As soon as the guys had enough pulled, Carla and Lacy set up a station on one of the desks and started stretching it all out, determining exactly what they had to work with. It took Lacy a few tries to remember how it went but once she got started, the muscle memory in her fingers took over and she showed Carla a new way to braid.

  “I had to learn this when Johnny wanted a paracord sling for one his guns,” Lacy said and then demonstrated to her how to intertwine the six cables together into one that was extremely strong.

  “I told him I would get him one for Christmas, not realizing how much those things cost.” She continued as they worked the wires swiftly, making two ropes.

  “Needless to say, I went to the Army-Navy store and bought some paracord and made it myself. What a major pain. Then he liked it so much he wanted more for the rest of his guns.”

  Carla laughed softly, her fingers flying now that she was in the groove. “What did you tell him?”

  “Handed him the rest of the paracord and told him to have fun.” She smiled. “One was enough. It probably took me seven or eight hours to learn how to do it and get it right.”

  “How many guns does he have?” Phil interrupted. “He’s ex-army isn’t he?”

  Lacy looked up from her work and said “Yes, he is and I don’t know exactly, Phil. He doesn’t like to open the safe when I’m around and I leave it alone. I know of five or six that I’ve caught him trying to sneak in, telling me some nonsense about trading something for them, getting a good deal.”