by Rounds, Mark
Those who decided to travel up the street and away from the route taken by the MRAP found several lengths of monofilament fishing line strung across the street in several places at varying heights. The first biker hit the line at sixty miles an hour and was in the process of accelerating. The first was a 50lb test line and even though it broke, the jerk took the first biker over backwards. The bike carried on and hit the second line and set off another homemade claymore which completely shredded the bike. The second rider, seeing the explosion, laid his bike down attempting to stop and so was below the level of the third trip wire which set off another fougasse mine. His gang mate behind him was not so fortunate and caught the wire across his chest.
The can missed the biker and bounded high into the air after ricocheting off of the roof of the house across the street. The chemical detonation was slightly delayed because the shock was not hard enough so it blew up spectacularly in the air raining fire down around much of the neighborhood. Several small fires were started in backyards and one abandoned home also was set on fire.
Those who retraced their route into the neighborhood fared better because the neighborhood, at Dave’s suggestion didn’t want to trigger the ambush prematurely. Never the less, from a half a dozen homes, people opened fire on the fleeing bikers with shotguns, rifles, and pistols. Few connected with the retreating bikers because of the difficulty of hitting a moving target, but after a couple of blocks, most of the bikers were injured, either by gunfire or mishaps while riding too fast on a city street.
In the MRAP itself, things were even more confused. Even though Macklin was out of the direct line of fire, quite a bit of napalm spattered into the cab through his open window. Droplets of extremely hot burning napalm scattered across Macklin, the dashboard, and the driver, momentarily incapacitating them both.
The automatic fire extinguisher kicked in and rinsed the burning napalm to the floor. Macklin rolled out of his seat. Meanwhile, Kevin, hearing the screaming gunner and seeing the burning napalm drip down through the open hatch, shot the gunner in the back of the head, ending the screaming. Then, grabbing a seat cushion to shield himself, he pushed the gunner’s dead but still burning body up and out of the hatch which he rapidly closed. The internal fire extinguisher rinsed the burning napalm to the floor and then out the baffled drain.
Kevin then took his smoking Glock 23 .40 caliber pistol and stuck the hot barrel in the ear of the driver.
“Drive, bitch!” he shouted.
The driver shook off his fear based paralysis and mashed the accelerator. The MRAP began moving forward about the time the mines triggered by the escaping outriders went off. The driver turned around and by driving through several front lawns and over one of the downed bikers, got the MRAP headed more or less the way they had come. Heather’s Camry, which was in flames and on that side of the street, hardly slowed the MRAP down as it smacked it out of the way.
“What do you think you are doing?” screamed Macklin.
“Saving our asses,” said Kevin now aiming his pistol at Macklin. “You sure as shit don’t seem to care!”
“Why you,” sputtered Macklin, “I ought to …”
“I don’t give a shit what you ought to do,” said Kevin interrupting Macklin and pointing his pistol squarely at Macklin’s head. “I’ll be calling the shots now. You can stay or you can leave, but you will be on foot because your nice van with all the drugs and guns stays with me!”
June 2nd, Monday, 7:43 pm PDT.
Chad Strickland’s family and friends had spent most of the day picking their way along the Priest Rapids Road. A significant portion of the road was gravel fading to a two track dirt road and three times they had to pull the Camaro off the hump in the middle and adjust the road bed using hand tools. The last time had taken close to an hour. They had also gotten lost twice, taking roads that ended up in salt licks for cattle or farmer’s fields. They had seen several camps along the river but had so far been able to avoid getting close to them, although it had taken quite a bit of time to drive around them.
Everyone was hot, tired, and a little dehydrated. So it was to everybody’s vast relief that when they pulled onto I-90 from Huntzinger Road and could see the Vantage Bridge. It was almost two miles from exit to exit and it appeared to have a clear path across, though there were many abandoned cars and motor homes on the road.
Unfortunately, the rocks on the Priest River road had taken their toll on the tires of all the vehicles and Chad’s Subaru had the oldest set. They had just pulled out onto the interstate and were accelerating when the Subaru’s right front tire decided at that instant to fail catastrophically. Pieces of rubber flew everywhere but because they only doing thirty miles per hour and because of Chad’s quick reactions, they managed to keep it on the road. The other two vehicles pulled into a defensive triangle and while some members of the party worked, Dave, Heather, and Connor kept an eye out for traffic or other threats.
Sadly, the spare was under several hundred pounds of food, water, and other gear. Unloading it took the better part of an hour and it was agonizingly tantalizing to be literally on the entrance to the bridge that was obviously clear enough to cross. It was also aggravating that it was growing dark and they still had not yet gotten down to the spare tire.
Chad, Chris, Amber, and Mary were trying to unload the car as fast as they could, but because of the limited space, only two people could actually work so they created more inefficiency by getting in each other’s way. Finally Dave waved Chad over.
“We don’t have much time left before dark Chad,” said Dave.
“I know, and being out here in the open gives me the creeps,” said Chad. “I feel like every biker, infected gangbanger, and various other unsavories are watching every move. It’s also abundantly clear that we won’t make Moscow tonight. I’d hate like heck to camp here.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” said Dave. “I recall that there are some dunes and a gravel pit up on top of the canyon here just off to the south of highway 26. It would make a good place to hole up if we can get out of here before dark and across the river.”
“I’d hate to try and check the place out after dark,” said Chad agreeing. “But it’s going to be dark before we get this tire changed.”
“I could take the truck up the hill,” said Dave scrutinizing the route up the other side of the canyon, “and check it out before dark.”
“I don’t think so,” said Chad. “Most of my tools are in the truck and if what I suspect is true, there are going to be pieces of tire in between the calipers of the brake and the rotor as well as in other, less pleasant places to dig out. If we leave them, they could make for some serious problems before we get to Moscow.”
“I could go check it out, Dad,” said Connor. “We could run over there in the Camaro, check it out and be back in a few minutes. Fiona is getting bored and when she does, she is tough to put up with. I suppose I could leave her here with you guys while Amy and I took the run up to the gravel pit and came ...”
“No way are you leaving me behind, Connor,” said Fiona. She was as hot and tired as everyone else and riding all day over bumpy roads in the backseat of the Camaro hadn’t improved her mood one bit. “I am going nuts listening to you and Amy making lovely eyes at each other. I’d walk the rest of the way if I could, but if you two are going to do something interesting, I am not sitting here.”
“Young lady, that will be quite enough,” said Mary straightening her aching back. “That’s not a job for Connor and Amy anyway. If something should happen, who would take care of it?”
“Mom, I am almost eighteen and so is Amy,” said Connor in an exasperated tone.
“Your mom is right on this one, son,” said Chad raising his hand. “I know you have proven yourself level-headed and good in a fight, but maybe Chris or Dave might be a better choice?”
“Aw Dad,” said Connor, then, with an effort, he controlled his emotions. “I hate it when you are right. Look, we are just … sca
red and anxious just sitting here on the freeway with no traffic and looking out over a set from the ‘Walking Dead’. I thought we could get off the road and could calm down a bit.”
Chris looked up from the unloading task and wiped his brow.
“Connor, as much fun as I am having sweating here in the oncoming gloom, I think it might be better for Amber and me to make the recon run. If there was trouble, your mother would give your dad no end of grief. Besides, since I joined the ‘family’ I have always wanted to drive the Camaro,” said Chris with a smirk.
“Ok, that sounds good to me too,” said Dave. “I will limber up the .338 and Connor, you can stand watch with the M-1. It’s almost two miles across the bridge, if they do need help in the crossing, we can be some support from here.”
As the darkness approached, Chris and Amber took the Camaro out of the defensive triangle and slowly made their way down the left hand lanes of the freeway. While it was technically going the wrong way, it also happened to be the clearest lane.
They were two thirds of the way across the bridge and almost a mile from the disabled Subaru when, from one of the stranded motorhomes, the door burst open and seven people, obviously infected, came running towards the Camaro and from under other vehicles and the other stranded motorhomes, more infected people started pouring out. The infected were armed, some carrying pistols, but more carrying a variety of clubs and blades.
Chris got on the accelerator hard and powered through the rest of the stranded vehicles and got to the other side before the infected could react. One made a rash attempt to block the way and was rewarded for his troubles by bouncing off the hood and landing in the Columbia.
“Chad, we have made it across but the bridge is going to be tough to cross,” said Amber into the radio. “We will turn around and try to re-cross as soon as we clear the exit.”
“Negative,” crackled the speaker. “The infected are pushing a VW Beetle into the gap you just left. I doubt you could bump it out of the way.”
Even as they were speaking gunfire erupted from various vehicles up and down the bridge. While the first infected who burst out of the motorhomes and from under cars were fairly well along the curve of infection and not well armed, it appears others were healthier and still capable of using shotguns and some rifles. It was clear that they had sprung this ambush many times, judging from the number of vehicles on the road and were keeping themselves fed and supplied from those vehicles, obviously stocked by people running from bad situations to places of perceived safety. Many had obviously had some significant survival supplies so it wasn’t surprising that there was a high volume of fire.
“Chris, get out of there!” shouted Chad over the radio. “Hold up in the place we discussed and we will catch up with you. If you don’t hear from us in two days, head towards our destination.”
“Will comply,” said Amber calmly, “but we will talk before we split up the party.”
Dave and Connor began slowly and methodically firing at people on the bridge that were firing at Chris and Amber. With his Leupold optics, Dave was being successful more than fifty percent of the time while Connor, firing over open sights was having a much harder time of it. Even so, their combined fire drew attention away from Chris and Amber at that critical junction.
There was a roar and a squeal of tires as the big block V-8 in the Camaro grabbed the road and seconds later, the canary yellow Camaro was around the corner and out of sight.
With their primary target out of range, the infected on the bridge turned their attention to the two riflemen firing from behind Dave’s white pickup and began returning fire. Soon there was return fire hitting the pickup and causing everyone behind them to duck.
“Chad, how long before we can get off this road?” asked Dave as he reloaded the .338. “I have fired like twenty rounds and the fire from the wreckage isn’t slacking. I am afraid they will hit something vital in the truck or one of us.”
Chad and Mary had stopped to watch Chris work his way through the maze of wrecked vehicles but at Dave’s remark, jumped back towards their tasks. The Subaru was unloaded but the tire was still flat and attached. Chad started pumping the jack for all he was worth, while Heather cranked on the lug nuts. Mary, showing more strength than anybody thought she had, undid the quick release fitting and hoisted the tire over her head and set it down by Heather.
Together, they changed the tire like a NASCAR pit crew and with everyone helping to reload; they had the gear packed in ten minutes. The packing job sucked and several awkwardly shaped items were tossed in the back seat of the pickup.
“Mary,” said Chad as he grabbed his AR-15, “Take the kids and go to Blustery’s, that round building over there. As soon as we see you safe, we will pile into the truck and get over there. We will be safer in the structure.”
“Amy, get Ginger!” yelled Heather and she grabbed Jason and Katy and pushed them into the back seat of the Subaru. Amy picked Ginger up from where she was hiding near the front wheel of the truck and ran over to the Subaru which thankfully was mostly shielded by the bulk of the much larger truck.
Amy started to go back to where Connor was but Mary grabbed her arm.
“Please come with us Amy,” said Mary. “We’ll need you to help clear the restaurant.”
So Mary had Ginger get out, Amy get in and then she put Ginger on Amy’s lap. With everybody reloaded, they crossed the freeway median and headed for Blustery’s. The fire at the truck began to slack off as their ammunition supply was limited. Dave stopped shooting altogether and started to collect the shells for the .338. Connor and his father kept watch on the wreckage on the bridge, but stopped shooting altogether. A eerie quiet descended on the landscape.
Meanwhile, Mary pulled the Subaru around behind the restaurant, out of the line of sight from the highway. She drew her .357 magnum and Heather got out her 30-30. Amy still had Dave’s old .45 which she drew and watched the approaches to the car while Mary and Heather entered the back door of the restaurant. The door was open and there was a note posted on it.
To whoever opens this door, this restaurant was our home and dream for the last ten years. You are welcome to any food you find here, we tried to leave anything that would keep for those in need. If you need shelter, stay here, if you need to use the bathroom go ahead, just be respectful of those who come after and try to leave the place neat and clean.
The Montaño Family
The kitchen had been searched but it was clear whoever had done it had tried to follow the spirit of the note. The cookware was still neatly stacked and the plastic sacks that had likely held buns for the sandwiches were in the now overflowing trash basket.
Heather and Mary walked through the restaurant and found no one so they waved the kids in. Ginger reached out to touch the counter.
“Ginger, don’t touch anything please,” said Heather. “It looks like people were trying to be nice, but we don’t know if they were infected when they cleaned up the last time.”
They shepherded the kids into the dining room and while the younger set stood around wondering what to do, Mary found some cleaning supplies. She and Heather channeled their previous lives in the hospitality industry and quickly washed down two of the booths and wiped them down with disinfectant. Then Mary took the garbage out and neatly bagged it next to the overly full dumpster.
The kids were starting to relax and clown around a little when Chad, Dave, and Connor came in.
“Well?” said Heather, “what now? Can we go further north to the next bridge?”
“It isn’t that easy,” said Chad as he pulled out a map and spread it across one of the tables. “The next bridge across the Columbia is up in Wenatchee where US Highway 2 crosses the river. There is no convenient road along the river like there was for this last bit as the terrain gets much more rugged. We would have to backtrack through Ellensburg and them turn north on US 97 and then grab US 2. Besides, it looks like owning bridges has become a cottage industry. If that didn’t pan out
, we would be stranded because the fuel would run out. ”
“Could we head for Fort Lewis?” asked Heather.
“Not unless there isn’t another alternative,” said Chad. “We would be stuck using I-90. I suspect lots of other folks are stranded up and down that route trying to get to the Seattle area or get away from it. It will be pretty dicey. I suspect there are road blocks like this all up and down I-90.”
“Well, how are we going to get to the other side then?” asked Mary. “We can’t abandon Chris and Amber.”
Amy, who had been only half listening to the discussion let her eye wander out along the road and saw something that scared her badly.
“There are bikers coming,” said Amy with a shaky voice as she pulled the .45 at her hip and started looking around for a place to hide.
“Shit,” said Chad. “Beginner’s mistake, we didn’t leave anyone on watch!”
Everyone grabbed weapons and looked for cover; Mary had the kids lay down in the booth. It was telling that they had been in enough gun fights that they didn’t make a sound. Four bikers riding gorgeous looking Harleys pulled up right in front of the restaurant.
“Hey you, in the restaurant!” said a large man dressed in biker leathers with a gang vest over the top. His colors were not visible from the window. “We want to talk to you!”
“I’m listening,” said Dave. “Go ahead and talk.”
“We’re sorry we didn’t see you try to cross. We would have warned you.” said the biker. “We thought everybody knew about the zombies on the bridge.”
“Why would you have warned us?” said Dave warily. “What’s in it for you?”
“I’d rather not be shouting out here,” said the biker indicating the bridge. “My voice will carry that far. I would like to come in. I have no weapons, watch!”
