Zombie Road (Book 1): Convoy of Carnage

by David A. Simpson

  She smiled again and shook her head. “He thinks he’s slick. I let him think he has secrets, but I’d bet my bottom dollar the gun safe is nearly full. He’s been beating around the bush, saying it might be a good idea to pick up another one if we catch a good sale.”

  “How many does it hold?” asked Mr. Sato. “How big is the safe?”

  “Biggest one they made,” Lacy replied. “About as big as a side by side refrigerator freezer.”

  They all just looked at her in disbelief. “That many? Really?” Carla asked. “What does he do with them all?”

  Lacy felt a little defensive. She knew Johnny didn’t need fifty guns, but they were something he enjoyed and he never let them go hungry or want for anything to feed his hobby so she didn’t see any harm in it.

  “Shoots them. Some of them, anyway. He goes to the three gun competitions,” she said. “But he’s got all kinds, some of them are antiques and old western guns. You know, collectors stuff.”

  They nodded their heads in understanding. People collecting stuff, even guns, they could understand. Everybody collected something. Anything from Pokémon to ceramic frogs. It didn’t get much more American than that.

  They went back to their work pulling and braiding and passing the morning away in quiet conversation, getting to know one another, bouncing ideas off of each other for their next step. Would they stay together or split up once they got vehicles out of the parking garage? What would they do if the parking levels were full of the undead? Did any of their family members survive? Should they all stick together and try to rescue them? Where was a safe place to go?

  By lunchtime, they were satisfied with what they had. Two long and very strong ropes with knotted hand holds every few feet. They planned on using one as a throw rope, grappling onto the ladder and the other as a safety, tied off to the person and something unmoving in the office just in case. The plastic ropes were solid but kind of slick. It would be easy to lose your grip if you weren’t careful when swinging out across the abyss to the ladder.

  Mr. Sato and Robert said they would figure out lunch while the rest of them went to search through the offices again, this time looking for anything that would make a good, strong hook.

  With the triple wrapped shelving brackets they modified and bellies full of some spicy concoction from lunch, they gathered around the open elevator doors and started trying to throw the hook across the gulf to latch onto the ladder. After a few tries they got it to snag on and despite Phil’s hard tugs, it held.

  They had drawn straws at lunch time to see who would go down first and Robert tied the safety rope around his waist as he sat on the edge of the drop-off. He wrapped the braided wire that was hooked onto the ladder eight feet away firmly around his arm and with a few quick breaths, slid out into the emptiness.

  With Phil holding him back with the safety rope, he didn’t slam into the far wall but slowly slid over to it as the rope was let out. When his feet made contact with the rungs, there was a quiet cheer from those gathered at the open doors. He wrapped his arms around it once he made contact and stayed like that for a moment, getting his rapid breathing under control. They only had the one flashlight and he double checked that it was firmly in its holder borrowed from Phil then untied the safety rope and started down. They watched, heads leaning out over the darkness, as he disappeared.

  They soon lost sight of him and then even the sound of his feet on the metal ladder. Every so often, they would see the light shine down in the blackness as he checked his progress then finally saw it as a speck of white, moving around on the top of the elevator car.

  They listened. Thought they could hear the sound of the roof access panel being removed then the light disappeared completely. He must be inside the elevator, they all assured each other. Robert had a sturdy piece of flat railing they had pulled out of the ceiling and used it to pry open the doors on the car. Using the flashlight, he could see the doors of the sub-basement, plainly marked B-4. He listened with his ear to them but heard nothing.

  Quietly as he could, he started to pry open the doors, just enough to see out. Blackness.

  Four stories below ground with no electricity and the darkness was nearly as complete as it was in the elevator shaft.

  He switched on the light and a snarling face was illuminated, a hand reaching for him through the gap. An inhuman screech echoed through the underground garage as it shoved its arms through the opening, forcing it wider.

  Robert screamed and backpedaled, dropping the light and jumping for the opening in the ceiling of the elevator. The undead thing squeezed through the doors and launched himself at the dangling legs illuminated in the rolling beam of the flashlight.

  Robert screamed again as he felt the hands tearing at him, pulling him back down.

  They heard his screams from twelve stories up. First of fear, then of pain. Then nothing.

  Chapter 27

  Skull Valley, Utah

  Day 5

  It was four a.m. when the gentle tapping came on Gunny’s sleeper. He heard Deputy Collins come awake on the bunk above him and told her it was okay. His turn for guard duty. Guess being president didn’t get you off Cobb’s guard roster he thought sourly to himself. He dressed hurriedly, grabbed his AR, strapped on his Glock and double checked his magazine load out.

  He was relieving Bastille, and Bunny was coming on to relieve Griz. Cobb had made out the roster to have one civilian and a vet on duty each two-hour shift. It was up to the old hands to bring the civilians up to speed on what was expected of them, how everyone could die, including them, if they goofed off or nodded off. She stumbled up to the outpost, still half asleep, and sat down on a rock. Within a minute, her head was drooping.

  Gunny poured out a cup full of cold water and threw it in her face. She spluttered and jumped to her feet, dropping the .22 rifle she had been cradling between her legs.

  “What? What was that for?” she demanded

  “Sleeping.” Was Gunny’s simple answer. “Don’t do it on duty.”

  After she had calmed down, he went over her duties, explaining more than once that it didn’t matter if she thought it was bullshit. For now, it had to be done. Once they got to Lakota, got things secured, things would be different. By the end of their shift at six, with the smells of breakfast in the air, she had a pretty good understanding of the basics of military life. She realized the importance of each person in the cog and how they all made it work. Gunny knew a little more about her. She had been an exotic dancer and tended to drink too much. She and Collins had gone around and around a few times and she always wound up spending the night in jail when they tangled. She supposed it was lucky she had this last time. Otherwise, she would have ended up like everybody else she knew. Dead and still walking around.

  When Squeak and Preacher relieved them, they headed back to the trucks and got in line for chow, taking the cups of hot coffee gratefully.

  By seven, everyone was fed and Gunny had gathered his crew to head into town with Firecracker to see if his family was still alive. Cobb had tried to talk him out of it, said he was kind of too important to be running off on a dangerous mission.

  Gunny had said that if I don’t help them, then they won’t help me when I go to Atlanta and it’s a hell of a lot more dangerous than Salt Lake. Stabby was already hopping from one foot to the other, anxious to get going. Scratch was cleaning his fingernails with the long shank he had on his prosthetic. Lars had snagged a pair of drop leg holsters from the pawn shop smash and grab and had matching Berettas tucked into them along with the two in Kydex holsters on his belt.

  “You look like a Rastafarian Neo.” Scratch said. “All you need is a leather trench coat.”

  “Nah,” Lars said. “You can call me the four gun kid.”

  “You ladies get over here,” Cobb growled out. “And what’s with the sunglasses, Hollywood? You ain’t got no fans around here.”

  Lars quickly took his shades off, not wanting to get on the rough side of Top�
��s tongue this early in the morning.

  “Hollywood.” Scratch and Stabby snickered. “Fits you, Man.”

  Firecracker was emotional when they all walked up to go over last minute plans. “Fellas, I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “I know you all volunteered, I know you don’t know my wife or kids but I sure thank you.” He had a little more to say but he was starting to get choked up and Scratch brushed him off, saying “We’re only going ‘cause we wanna kill zombies. We’ve got some new weapons to try out!”

  They could hear Bastille grumbling about the best killers they had going off on a fools’ errand, leaving everyone unprotected, but no one was paying any attention to him. Preacher came over and said a prayer for their safe and quick return then they were mounting up. Gunny had dropped his trailer and was taking his rig and Firecracker was driving his Kenworth.

  They waved their goodbyes and were soon out of site of the encampment. Firecracker took the lead, zipping towards his house on the back roads. The plan was to go in fast and hard, get his family if they were still hiding at home and get out before the inevitable followers caught up with them. The ride in was quick and Gunny took out the few zombies they saw running after the lead truck whenever he could.

  The suburbs weren’t as bad as they had envisioned. Either everyone had already left for work, or they had turned inside their houses and were still trapped there, unable to figure out how to operate a door. They hoped that was the case. Firecracker hadn’t been able to reach his wife since the first day but had sent her text messages, hoping they would go through. He had told her he was coming and here he was.

  He laid on the air horn as he pulled up and jumped out, sprinting for the door. Lars and Scratch both hopped out, ran halfway up the drive and shouldered their M-4s as they spread out to either side of it, ready to lay down covering fire so the family could run out to the truck. Gunny and Stabby flew by them and made the next right, circling the block, planning to start taking down any followers with the blade.

  Firecracker hit the door at a dead run, pounding on it. “Mary, open up!” he shouted. The door remained closed, the curtains on the windows not moving. He pounded his fists on it again as Scratch started taking head shots at some of the runners coming towards them. “If they ain’t answering, they ain’t there!” Lars shouted, starting to take out runners on his side.

  “Maybe they’re in the basement and can’t hear us,” Firecracker yelled back and fumbled the keys in his hand, searching for the right one.

  Scratch shook his head as he caught a glimpse of him nearly dropping the keys, a little pissed off that he hadn’t even thought past yelling out her name.

  Gunny rounded the last turn and floored it, trying to take out as many of the mob that had started chasing them as he could before they got too close. Bodies bounced off of the blade and went splattering through the lawns but he couldn’t get the ones not on the road. Not the hundreds he saw streaming down the street but peeling off into driveways and front lawns, chasing the sound of rifles over the sound of the big diesel.

  As he plowed through a hundred on the road, fifty in the grass ran past him, heading directly for Lars and Scratch who were still aiming for the heads as quickly as they could.

  Where had they all come from! Where had they been hiding?

  “I can’t hold!” Scratch yelled a few seconds later and Lars saw they had made a fatal mistake. They were too far away from the truck to make it back before the horde of screaming, keening monsters would shred them to pieces. Lars took a fast glance over his shoulder and hollered “To the house! To the house!” as Firecracker finally managed to get in and they both ran for their lives across the lawn and into the open door, slamming it behind them.

  Gunny spun around at the next intersection and banged gears as fast as he could, heading back to the house. There were already thirty or forty of them in the yard and on the porch, hammering at the door. He grimaced as he realized what they had done, taken cover inside.

  He bounced up over the curb and slammed into the crowd, ripping bodies and sending them flying. He took out a dozen and a few more started chasing him, but there were still too many attacking the house in a mad frenzy. It was only a matter of time before they smashed a window. Or the door caved under the relentless assault.

  Firecracker ran through the house, yelling for his wife, screaming out his children’s names. No one answered. There were no notes on the table or the fridge as he ran through. The basement was empty. He pounded up the stairs three at a time.

  Empty.

  Nothing.

  The mob outside were trying to throw themselves against the door, but with so many bunched up, it was an uncoordinated effort at best. Gunny was plowing through the yard again, blasting the air horn, trying to get them to follow him and away from the house but they were intent. They knew they had their prey cornered and the madness of flesh so close was driving them into a frenzy of wanton abandon.

  The door shuddered in its frame and Lars ran into the living room and started dragging the couch towards the entryway. Scratch joined in and they wedged it between the front door and the stairs, making a solid barrier that couldn’t be breached.

  Firecracker was near meltdown mode, they saw. “They’re not here! I told them I was coming! I told them to stay here!” he said over and over, still searching the house.

  Lars looked at Scratch. “You got the handheld?” he asked

  Scratch just shook his head. “Thought this was going to be an easy extraction, Man. Should of known better. What a SNAFU.” They could hear Gunny honking his horns and doing his best to kill those that he could on the lawn. They needed to get out and get out fast. With all the noise they were making, every zombie in Salt Lake City would be heading their way soon.

  “Can we blast past them, get back to the truck?” Lars asked.

  “Maybe if you had an M-60,” Scratch said, “We don’t have time to pick them all off and don’t have the firepower to wade through them.”

  They heard a window break and both immediately ran for the stairs.

  “Firecracker, come on!” Lars yelled and splattered the forehead of some brunette trying to paw her way through the window.

  “They’re not here! They’re not here! I told them to be here!” he kept saying.

  “He’s losing it.” Lars said. “I thought he spent time in the ‘Stans.”

  “Probably never left the Green Zone, Damn Fobbits.” Scratch shot back.

  They heard Gunny make another pass at the mob on the front yard and knew their time was getting short when they heard another window break. They both yelled for Firecracker to come upstairs and they finally saw him climb over the couch and run up towards them. That’s when they noticed he didn’t have a gun. Nothing. Not even a club or a knife. They moved aside as he came up then immediately went back to their positions at the top of the stairs, ready to shoot anything that came into view.

  “We can hold here until they’re all dead or the ammo runs out.” Scratch said. “How many of them you think there are?”

  “More of them than bullets, probably,” Lars said. “Firecracker, can Gunny get alongside the house? Can we jump out of a window onto his truck?”

  “I don’t know,” he said and stood there behind them.

  “Go check, Mother Fucker! I wasn’t asking to pass the time!” Lars yelled at him, and Firecracker took off as he and Scratch started targeting the bloodied infected that had made their way through the shattered living room windows.

  Gunny had been trying to raise them on the radio but never got a reply as he cursed and swung around again, this time nearly tearing the porch off the house. He was trying to whittle their numbers down before they could crawl through the broken windows.

  “Look.” Stabby pointed with his wickedly sharp claws and Gunny followed with his eyes to see what he was supposed to be looking at. Firecracker was waving to them from a window at the end of the house. Pointing to the ground directly below.

  Gunny
got it as he roared through another half dozen and swung around again in the neighbors’ yard, clipping the front of their Camaro with the blade. So much for those flower gardens, he thought. The turf was getting pretty churned up by now with the body parts, bloody guts and spinning tires. He flipped the differential lock switch, essentially giving him four wheel drive, and aimed for the upstairs window. He slid up alongside it, getting as close to the house as he could. It wasn’t much of a drop for them, only a few feet to the top of his sleeper, and he heard Firecracker yell “He’s here!” to the guys still firing. Gunny lowered his window and started blasting away with his Glock at the surrounding mob trying to claw their way towards him, all the while, listening anxiously to hear the team land on his roof.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Lars yelled as they backed into the master bedroom. He had switched to his Berettas letting the carbine dangle across his back on its single point sling. The onslaught had slowed some as the snarling horde struggled over the bodies on the stairs and the narrow hallway made for a good killing field. When the first gun emptied, he started firing with his off-hand but he wasn’t getting head shots, the 9mm rounds only slowing them, making them stumble.

  As soon as they backed into the room Scratch was there slamming the door behind him and grabbing the heavy king-sized bed to drag it over. The door shuddered as a body slammed into it and Lars put two more through the thin wood at head level then grabbed the other side of the bed and helped slide it against the door.

  He saw Firecracker on the roof of the truck, waving at them to hurry and he told Scratch to go, telling him “I’m right behind you.” He quickly dropped the empty mag and sent a fresh one in, thumbing the catch to let the slide go home. He ran to the window and jumped the couple of feet over to the sleeper and crouched down, trying to find something to hold on to.