by Rounds, Mark
Chad risked a quick glance in the rear view mirror and saw that while the exterior of the Mustang behind him was poorly maintained, the drive train was still in fine repair. Chad was putting some distance between the cars but not much. There was thankfully little traffic, as most folks that still worked were already home and few people wandered around after dark anymore after the virus became common knowledge. He blasted through the red light and on to Washington 240 southbound in front of the airport.
There were two men in the Mustang, both dressed in dark clothes. Chad couldn’t see much more than that as they were still firing at him. The weapon they were using appeared to be Hi Point carbine. He remembered Dave calling one like it he had seen in a movie a punk’s weapon as it looked mean, but fired a pistol cartridge, and had little stopping power. It was not an accurate firearm to begin with and both cars were swerving to avoid obstacles and other cars. The pure physics of driving that fast on a city street meant the shooter couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.
They were firing full auto which wasn’t right as the Hi Point is was normally a semi-auto and didn’t seem to be concerned that there was an ammunition shortage in town. Chad was concerned about the bullets being fired almost randomly hitting someone by mistake. Even though the odds were small that whoever was trying to kill him would actually connect, that many bullets bouncing down a city street would eventually hit something and there was never a cop around when he really needed one.
Then Chad remembered from his last staff meeting that they had taken over Richland High for an overflow hospital and that there were a dozen cops working there to keep the patients and staff safe. If he could just reach the parking lot, there would be lots of police.
Chad got on the brakes hard, got the Camaro sliding sideways and barely made to corner onto Swift Boulevard headed east. The Mustang’s driver was alert and first gained back most of the distance that Chad had opened up but then had to also break hard as it was obvious he wasn’t going to catch Chad before he made the turn and so would have to make the same corner. The Mustang was going faster when he tried to turn so he slid across the intersection and banked off the light pole holding the stop light. This crumpled some of the body work but the Mustang spun gravel as it ran over the curb and into the gravelly area next to the road. In an instant, he was back on the road still hard after Chad. Swift Boulevard was not six lanes wide like Highway 240 was but rather an arterial leading through a residential neighborhood so it was harder for Chad to keep it on the road.
He risked another look back and the Mustang was still after him, however the bank shot off the light pole had spooked the shooter or perhaps injured him because he was not firing out of the window anymore.
Chad stayed on Swift until he got to where it split into a four lane. Again braking hard, he turned into the parking lot of the Church of Christ on the corner of Swift and Thayer. The Mustang missed that turn but then braked to make the turn onto Thayer headed south a half a block ahead.
The misdirection bought Chad a few precious seconds and he roared through the parking lot and down Thayer a half block into Richland High’s parking lot. He could see several police and sheriff’s cars in the lot which was otherwise pretty empty. He began laying on the horn and driving as close to the building as he could and as fast as he dared, trying to get somebody’s attention.
Chad’s car was nearly fifty years old and it had been meticulously maintained. However, many of the parts were still original and the pounding of the high speed chase took their toll. One of those parts, the tie rod that controlled the direction of the left front wheel, suddenly gave way and the two front tires pointed in wildly different directions. As a result, Chad now had very little directional control and so he got on the brakes to keep from crashing into a Washington State Patrol car in the lot. As soon as the car got more or less stopped, he flung the door of the Camaro wide, and rolled under the WSP car. The Camaro took several more rounds until the hoods in the Mustang realized he wasn’t in it anymore.
Chad drew the .45 from the holder under his now ripped windbreaker. It was only a matter of time before they figured out where he was and there wasn’t much he could do about it.
May 18th, Monday, 8:52 pm PDT
Chris Vaughn was in a converted classroom reading to Amber when he heard tire squealing and the sound of a barely legal muffler on a big V-8 motor. Sometimes kids did stuff like that on a dare and like most cops, he tried to ignore it if there wasn’t a safety concern. Chasing them only made it worse.
Chris was tired anyway, as he had worked most of the afternoon and into the evening keeping the flow of patients to the converted high school smooth even as accommodations were still under construction. They had had two patients break restraints and attempt to get away but in each case, police in full riot gear including tactical gloves were able to tackle and subdue them without resorting to lethal force. Chris was more than a little proud of the fact that he and his team got all of today’s patients secured and he had not had to shoot anyone despite Lieutenant Mills’ dark charge.
After everyone was secure, Chris had given the rest of his motley crew a couple hours to eat, clean up and organize their sleeping arrangements because they were going to stay here 24/7 until relieved. He and a corporal from the Richland PD who had also had to shoot an infected individual and was waiting for his board did the first shift of ward security. They had about forty patients, mostly in classrooms with five or six in each room and so they actually were using just one wing in the high school. Amber had her own room but that would change if they got any other female law enforcement personnel. There was also work going on in the gym to convert it to a big open air ward so they were clearly expecting more, many more. Chris shuddered at the thought.
He had set up a patrol schedule for the evenings with two hour shifts so everyone got some rest and so all of them could be up and alert when tomorrow’s patients started arriving.
He was about to go back to The Hobbit when he heard what sounded like a burst of automatic weapon fire. Chis lunged out of his chair and grabbed his shotgun as he headed for the door.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Chris,” shouted Amber as he headed for the door.
“Not to worry ma’am, I am the soul of caution,” he quipped as his disappeared around the corner.
As soon as he had the door closed, Chis got on the radio even as he was headed for the front door.
“Kowalski and Brown cover the back door. Simms, get Jack out of bed and cover the hall entrance. Ottman and Grasseli, you have roving patrol. Everyone else get to the front door.”
Chris cursed himself silently for not thinking of this sooner. It was only a matter of time before some dirt ball was going to try and solve the ‘Zombie Problem’ by shooting every infected person he could find. Why couldn’t they have waited a day so he could do some planning with the rest of his detail?
He checked himself before he burst out of the front door. That would likely get him killed. He took a combat crouch and peered around the last corner. There was a beat to crap rusty red Mustang pulling to a stop out in front. As he watched they put a half dozen more rounds into what must have been a really cherry old Camaro. Apparently, they were not only were they dirt balls, but they had no culture either.
Just then his corporal from the Richland police force whose name he vaguely remembered was something like Howard rushed up beside him.
“What’s the plan Sergeant?” asked the corporal.
Chris was about to speak when he saw the shape a man under his car.
“Crap, there is someone out there under my cruiser and these guys are gunning for him.”
“Just your luck, they will probably shoot up your shiny new cruiser too” said the corporal with a bit of a smirk then he was all business. “If we bust out there, they are liable to fire on us too, if they are druggies, do we let them shoot it out and pick up the pieces?”
“The guy under the car doesn’t look like a druggie. It looks lik
e some poor shcmuck that got caught up in some road rage or maybe by some of the infected. I am going out. I will order them to put down their weapons. If they start shooting, put some .40 into the engine of that Mustang. It will make them easier to catch and maybe make them duck while I get to cover.”
“You’re the boss,” said the corporal as he drew his side arm.
The Mustang had stopped, though you could hear the engine burbling through an almost non-existent muffler. A very large man with long curly blond hair holding a Hi Point carbine in one hand was looking around the Camaro. He was obviously angry because he gave the left rear fender a resounding kick. It dented the fender but obviously hurt him more as he let out a string of profanity that would have made a sailor proud.
Chris slowly opened the door and moved off to the left behind a low retaining wall. The second man, smaller and Hispanic, started to get out of the driver’s side of the car. This one carried a pistol gripped Mossberg 930 shotgun with an extended tube. Chris was going to be really pissed if he shot his new cruiser with that thing. Both were looking at his cruiser and not at the entrance to the school so they were surprised when Chris shouted.
“Put your weapons down and back away from the car!”
The larger of the two was momentarily confused, but the smaller man with the shotgun was situationally more aware and turned and began firing. Pellets broke a number of windows to the left and right of Chris, but none got close enough to be a concern.
Chris dove behind the retaining wall behind which he was taking cover while the corporal fired three quick rounds from the door into the engine of the Mustang before he too took cover behind the door jam.
The larger man dove for the ground while the smaller got in the car and tried to drive away. Unfortunately, the larger of the two thugs landed almost face to face with Chad.
Chapter 9
May 18th, Monday, 8:53 pm PDT
Chad was just beginning to think he would live to see his family again when a face with three days growth of beard and curly blond hair plopped down right by the wheel well. The both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity and then Chad pointed his pistol at the young man’s head and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He realized with a sickening feeling in his gut that his Colt wasn’t cocked. It had seemed safer to carry it with a magazine in the well but no round in the chamber, figuring he could cock it when it got greasy.
He rued that decision as he reached up to cock the piece. Blondie grinned and reached to grab the pistol just as the slide went home. They wrestled for a second over control of the pistol and then it went off.
Blondie screamed and rolled away grabbing his thigh. There was blood all over as Dave had thoughtfully loaded the pistol with hollow point bullets so the round had entered his leg with a neat little entry hole but had torn out a huge chunk of flesh as it exited.
There was a string of Spanish profanity and the slamming of a car door. The Mustang pulled out, spitting gravel. The engine in the Ford, which had run so well in the chase, now sounded like a lawn mower that had been left all winter with bad gas. Without thinking, Chad aimed and put three rounds in the general vicinity of the rear tire. One must have hit because the car slewed to the left and banked off a light post in the parking lot before coming to rest.
There were running feet as at least three police officers ran from the building.
“Toss out your weapon and come out with your hands up!” said someone over a bull horn.
Chad was not inclined to argue. He safed the pistol and pitched out from under the car.
“I am coming out! Don’t shoot!” he yelled and then began crawling out from under the car. He looked up and saw what appeared to be the Holland Tunnel staring him in the face. It took him a second to realize that it was the business end of a twelve gauge shotgun. Behind it was the familiar face of Chris Vaughn.
“What the hell …” began Chris.
“Chris, it’s not what it looks like.” said Chad.
“If I had a dollar for every time I have heard that, I could retire. Come on, get out of there,” said Chris as he moved the shotgun to his left hand and helped Chad up with the other.
“Put your hands on the hood of the car and spread them. I need to search you.”
Chad was beginning to crash after his adrenalin high and meekly complied. The search was swift, thorough, and professional. He found Chad’s wallet, his shoulder rig with spare magazine, keys and a pocket knife. He was also sure that Chris knew he was circumcised and wore boxers.
“So what gives?” said Chris. “Who are those guys and why do they want to shoot you? Some kind of drug deal?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Chad saw that the other driver was cuffed and being questioned as well. There were medical folks working with the blond man.
“I wish I knew what they wanted. I have never seen them before in my life, and no, drugs were not involved, at least on my side,” said Chad. “The car though, it matches the one that was driven by the guys that took a shot a Clinton Taylor.”
“You know this Mr. Taylor?”
“Yeah, he works at the lab where I do as legal counsel for our non-profit.”
They were interrupted by one of the nurses working on the blond assailant.
“Shit!” said the nurse. “I think he’s got it!”
Both Chris and Chad looked over and saw that the nurse had slit open his pant leg and there were two ugly looking bite wounds, one on the calf and one on the thigh.
May 19th, Tuesday, 1:03am PDT.
Mary Strickland was driving her mature Subaru wagon out to pick up Chad at the police station. She was a mix of mad, worried, and frightened. Mad because the phone call she had received from Chad had been very brief; just that there had been a shooting incident, he was fine, but they were questioning him. Worried because Chad had used that reassuring tone of voice that he used when he wanted her to think everything was alright when it wasn’t, and frightened because she had spent too much time watching the news now that she wasn’t working and knew that there were more and more violent incidents with people who were infected with the ‘Zombie Plague.’ She knew they really weren’t zombies as Chad had carefully explained what was known about the disease but it was what the news readers were calling it.
She pulled up in the parking lot of the police station and sat in her car a minute to gather her thoughts. It had been one crisis after another for the last week and she was used up.
“SMASH!”
There was a loud crash and Mary looked up to see her windshield was covered with a spider web of cracks.
“SMASH!”
“Come out of the car pretty lady!” said a voice.
Mary saw that the windshield was worse and it looked like it wouldn’t take many more whacks like that. The voice was coming from a frail looking older man who was swinging a crow bar for all he was worth.
Raising two kids and running a tasting room and restaurant had made Mary good in a crisis. She immediately leaned on the horn and simultaneously tried to start the car.
“Thank God for Chad’s car fetish,” she exclaimed as the engine roared to life.
“SMASH!”
“I know you’re in there, come out, come out!” said the old man.
The crow bar broke through the window but thankfully did not shatter it, but Mary did not hesitate. Even though the windshield was a mass of cracks and now almost completely opaque, she put the car in gear and hammered the accelerator. As she started to roll forward there was a shriek from the old man and a glancing blow on the driver’s side window that cracked it.
She was going almost twenty miles an hour when she hit the back of a parked police cruiser. The Subaru’s air bag deployed, the alarm in the police car went off, and Mary was momentarily disoriented so she was surprised when the old man yanked the door open with more strength than she believed his slight body had.
Now that he was close, she could see the sickly pallor of his face and noticed the f
amiliar smell of rotting meat. It reminded her of the Hollywood type in Bookwalter’s right before she got laid off. This guy had the plague.
“Why don’ you like old Archie,” said the old man as he hefted his crow bar. “I’m a nice guy, I really am. But if you don’ like me then jes one lil whack and it’ll all be over.”
Mary clawed at the seatbelt latch but in her panic, she couldn’t operate it.
“Put the crow bar down and stand away from the car”, said someone with a bullhorn.
Archie turned to look but had to cover his eyes as there was a bright light pointed at the car and Archie.
The distraction allowed Mary a few precious seconds which she did not waste. She looked down and saw that she wasn’t pressing on the release pad for the seat belt but rather the fitting directly above it. She shifted her grip and popped the seat belt. Then she lunged across the emergency brake and into the next seat.
Archie turned and swung his crow bar but the constricted space of the car made it a feeble poke in the rear end instead of a real blow. Spurred by the crow bar, Mary grabbed the release handle of the passenger side door, opened it and rolled clumsily onto the pavement on the other side of the car.
She heard the “tack a tack a tack a” sound of a properly deployed taser and looked back to see two thin wires stuck to Archie’s shoulder. He looked annoyed more than in pain and brushed the wires away with the crow bar.
Then there was another taser deployed, and another and Archie became rigid and collapsed on the other side of the car.
“Ma’am, are you ok?” said a female voice.
Mary looked up and saw a female policewoman looking down in obvious concern.
“I think so,” said Mary sitting on the pavement shaking her head. She had a bloody nose from her rapid exit from the Subaru but was otherwise fine. Then Chad’s admonitions about infection control bloomed in her mind.
