by Rounds, Mark
As they watched the group break up, Chris moved five yards to the right using the argument to cover the little sound he made. Then he watched as the first three moved off. The other six spread out and began moving into the gravel storage area.
Chris and Amber had discussed their plans earlier, before Amber drifted off to sleep. They were going to let anybody search the gravel storage area all they wanted. They were reasonably sure that the camouflage they had rigged for the car would cover it up. If it came to it, they would let them find and loot the car if necessary rather than give away their position as they had no idea how long it would be before Chad and company were able to mount a rescue. Chris and Amber were both convinced however that Chad, David, Mary and the rest would move heaven and earth to get across the river and link up.
This part of the highway was unlighted, with only the dim light of the upcoming dawn to illuminate the shadows. The six bridge people wandered in, clearly a little spooked by the dark, cold site. They were clearly motivated though, because they penetrated nearly to the back of the site.
“This is a waste of time,” said one of the bridge people. They were now close enough for Chris and Amber to hear their words clearly.
“Mickey said to check everywhere for that damned car,” said one who was clearly the leader. “He figures they are holed up somewhere close, waiting for their friends. But if I were them and I had that sweet ride, I’d be a million miles down the road.”
“Then who did you piss off to get us sent on this wild goose chase?” said the other.
“Mickey,” said the leader chuckling. “How was I to know that he liked that little red haired girl?”
There was some general laughter over that.
“Well, they ain’t here,” said the one who first complained. “I gotta take a piss. Then we should head down the hill. Some of those jokers wake up early and they might get at our stash.”
“Don’t you mean you have to leave a piss,” said the leader and then broke down in laughter at his own joke.
“Up yours,” said the other as he flipped off the leader and then walked right up to the pile of junk that hid the Camaro and began to fumble with his fly.
“Hey, I think this is it,” said the individual closest to the car.
“You mean you found your dick?” asked the leader, again laughing at his jest.
“Shut up wise ass, it’s the car,” said the other pointing to the pile of brush. “It’s right here!’
Chris looked at Amber and again made the motion for silence. Maybe they would go away? The next few minutes would tell. The group of Bridge People began moving towards the car. They spent a few minutes tugging at the camouflage until there was no doubt that the yellow car was under the pile of detritus.
“She’s here!” said one the bridge people looking up. “That girl they are looking for. Mickey was right, she did drive through.”
“Johnny, run back and tell Mickey that we found the car,” said the leader pointing to one of his group. “Tell him we think she is still around, close.”
Johnny holstered his pistol and took off at a run. Chris had a split second to decide. They could keep quiet and hope that they wouldn’t be found, but the coming daylight would make their hiding places all too visible. He was sure in his heart that Chad and Dave and the rest of the family were coming, but he had no clue when. Their best chance would be to keep their exact whereabouts a secret for as long as possible.
Chris drew a bead on Johnny’s receding back and fired twice. Johnny went down in a heap and didn’t move. Chris hoped that the sound of gun fire wouldn’t carry to the bridge but it was a quiet morning and they were only a little more than three miles down the road.
Chris quickly shifted fire to the leader of the group, but he had ducked behind the car and didn’t provide a suitable target. Chris began shooting at heads and arms through the bush, knowing his chance of hitting anyone was pretty small but also knowing that they had to keep their heads down and keep them pinned until Chad could get there. Chris would fire two or three times and then roll to a new location to keep from getting shot and to confuse the bridge people as to how many of them were out there. After Chris used up one magazine he rolled over and seated the next one. Then he pulled out heather’s ski radio and keyed the mic.
“Chad, are you out there?” said Chris quietly into the radio.
“This is Connor,” cackled the speaker. “I have radio watch. You are breaking up.”
“Connor, tell your dad that we have been discovered and are under fire from five infected from the bridge. Let him know that we need help. I’ll be monitoring the radio but I won’t transmit again unless it gets really bad as I am busy.”
Chris pocketed the radio and heard the 870 fire. He watched the windshield of the Camaro shatter as one of the bridge people hiding behind the car staggered back with glass fragments in his skin. One of the tires was already flat and there were several other bullet holes in the body.
“Chad is going to be truly pissed when he gets here,” thought Chris as he fired at a shadowy figure behind the car.
Chapter 26
June 3rd, Wednesday, 4:53 am PDT.
Chad was dozing in the front seat of the pickup when he started to hear gun fire in the distance. The work on the pickup had taken most of the evening. There was now a shock absorber mounted ahead of the grill, made from the frame of an old boat trailer. They had originally thought to make armor, but the weight dissuaded them.
They had a big argument over how to do it. Chad and David wanted to get up to sixty miles an hour and then just bump the VW out of the way. In the end, Connor of all people related his recollection of a YouTube video of a truck jumping a dune and accidentally deploying the airbag.
They finally decided that they did need to run down the hill fast but then jam on the breaks and hit the VW at about 20 miles per hour. That would be plenty fast enough to bump it out of the way if it were out of gear but with the brake set. If on the other hand, they had chocked it somehow, it wouldn’t be fast enough to deploy the airbag and Chad could see to improvise, likely by using the torque from the Cummins diesel to push something out of the way slowly. This made it all the more important that Dave be on the sniper rifle.
Dave had wanted to drive the truck through the barricade himself but in the end, Chad was able to persuade him to take the sniper’s position instead, as Dave was a much better shot. Chad was going to drive the truck while Dave fired upon anyone who looked like they might be a threat. Then, as soon as the truck was though, the BACA bikers would follow, shooting up anything they could see as the passed by. Then Mary in the Subaru would cross the bridge. Dave would ride two up with one of the BACA bikers to get through the road block followed by with a rear guard of two more BACA bikers. They had planned to rendezvous at the gravel storage area where Chris and Amber were hiding out. Their plan was to go at first light which was just a little over thirty minutes from now.
It took Chad a bit to recognize the gunfire as it was far away and intermittent, however when Connor came running over to the truck with the radio in hand, he came to full alert.
“Dad!” shouted Connor. “Chris is in trouble, they’re being shot at!”
“Where are they, son?” asked Chad as he fired up the engine in the big Dodge.
“At the gravel pit you showed me on the map,” said Connor.
“Get everybody together and let’s kick this off early.”
There was two minutes of absolute pandemonium where the BACA bikers started their Harleys and got them pointed in the right direction, Heather, Mary and the kids tumbled into the Subaru, and Amy and Fiona loaded themselves into the back seat and Connor got into the front passenger seat. They were all armed but the plan was not to go in shooting, hoping to be through before there was any organized response.
Dave rushed down the bank with his rifle in hand. The original plan had been for him to work his way quietly and unobtrusively down the hill to a hide, but that wasn’t g
oing to work. There was no time. He got to his position and placed his rifle on the sand bag he had set up the night before as a shooting rest. Then he worked the bolt, chambering a round, and gave Chad the thumbs up.
Chad returned the gesture and gunned the truck and headed back toward the ramp. They headed the wrong way down the ramp to get into the left hand lane and then Chad got on it hard. The big turbo wound up and he was going seventy miles an hour before he realized it.
He looked forward and checked out the VW and saw that it was angled toward him, no doubt in made it easier to manually push the car into the lane but in this case was going to work for him. Then the Dodge’s windshield cracked and spider webbed as someone shot at the truck. The truck swerved as Chad instinctively ducked. He straightened the truck and looked up.
There was a man standing on the top of one of the cars in the barricade drawing a bead on the truck with a pistol for a second shot. Then his chest exploded as the .338 round hit just above the breast bone, knocking him out of sight.
Chad was almost on the VW so he nailed the brakes, the ABS functioned and the truck rapidly lost momentum as he was thrown against his shoulder harness. The truck tracked true and so it hit the back of the VW at exactly twenty-two miles per hour. The welded boat trailer frame had lowered the front of the truck enough that the lower flange of the frame caught under the bumper of the VW, lifting the back end and the rear wheels clear off the pavement. The parking brake had evidently been set, as the front wheels continued to resist forward progress; but the momentum of the three-and-a-half ton truck and the ton and a half of supplies in the back combined with the torquey Cummings diesel engine flipped the VW over on to its side. The car bounced off the shock absorber sprung grill three more times as Chad accelerated, rolling it down the bridge like a grotesque version of kick the can until the rear bumper of the VW, which now looked like a crumpled ball of tin foil, caught another vehicle and spun off to the right, clearing the lane ahead.
Chad could feel several rounds impact the vehicle as people on the barricade started to wake up. He only hoped that they had not hit anything vital. Chad kept his speed up and headed for the off ramp.
June 3rd, Wednesday, 5:01 am PDT.
Dave had watched his truck race down the road. At first the barricade was quiet, and then the apparent lone lookout got up on the hood of an older Ford and began firing at the truck. Firing the big rifle from the rest, it was a shot well with in his capabilities and he dropped him back over the car. Then others started firing. None of them were out in the open so he settled for firing a few times to at least spook them a little.
As soon as the truck cleared the lane, Smokey waved the BACA chapter forward and thirty-one Harleys rumbled down the road with more than fifty members riding one and two up. As they didn’t have to slow down, the first of them were on the opening in the barricade in seconds, firing somewhat haphazardly at the defenders of the barricade who were now beginning scrambling around like an ant hill that had been kicked over. The firing was poorly aimed and few were hit, but it added to the general confusion. Mary had the Subaru on the road with the kids all lying down in a heap on the back seat and floor boards. One of the BACA members was hit and fell from his bike but two other members of the chapter stopped and loaded him two up onto one of their cycles. Dave fired rapidly into the barricade where the returning fire had come from until the big rifle was empty. He had no clue if he had hit anyone but he hoped the big bullets ricocheting around would spoil the aim of the defenders.
Dave reloaded and fired a couple more times until Mary and the injured biker were through the barrier and then he jumped up, whipped his rifle over his shoulder on the sling, and ran twenty feet to where a BACA member named Dirty Bob waited along with two of his brothers.
They took off after Mary. Dave drew his .44 magnum knowing that hitting anything from the back of a moving motorcycle one handed was more luck than skill, but began firing anyway as soon as heads turned their way. They were through the barricade hitting ninety miles an hour and soon they were headed up the hill and away from the bridge.
June 3rd, Wednesday, 5:08 am PDT.
Chris had expended all of the ammunition he had for his rifle and had pulled his service pistol. Two of the bridge people lay sprawled behind the car and the others had become masters at staying under cover.
Amber had been more parsimonious with her fire and was still firing her shotgun from time to time. He glanced over at her and she gave him a reassuring smile and a thumbs up. What she couldn’t see was that behind her, the three bridge people that had headed down the hill had apparently headed back when they heard the gun fire and they were now just a few feet from her with knives and clubs. Without thinking, Chris jumped to one knee and took them under fire, killing the first one almost instantly and wounding a second. Amber rolled over and fired the shotgun three times, the first went wide but the next two hit the remaining bridge people and knocked them down.
However, Chris jumping up and changing his focus gave the other group of bridge people by the Camaro an opening and they began firing. Chris was hit twice. The first round ricocheted off of the hard ground in front of him, grazing the back of his head and stunning for a moment. The second penetrated the meaty part of his thigh and knocked him over.
Amber screamed and raced over to him. She should have been killed as the rest of the bridge people were waiting for something like this, but in her anguish and anger, her mind, for the first time, opened to the call instead of fighting it. It blazed white hot in their minds with visions of fear, pain, and vengeance, causing them to drop their weapons and recoil with their hands clutching their heads. The three remaining bridge people began a headlong flight down the hill, no longer completely sane.
Amber had no time for them however. She raced over to where Chris lay and put a tourniquet on his leg to staunch the bleeding and began checking him over for other wounds. The head injury was bleeding and he was fading in and out of consciousness. Luckily, her training as an EMT kicked in and she locked out her personal feelings and began treating Chris’s wounds. She heard the diesel engine of Dave’s Dodge and looked up to see Chad entering the gravel yard so she stood up and waved.
“Hey, beautiful lady,” murmured Chris smiling, “I think I owe you again for saving my life.”
“You are in shock,” said Amber who was, in truth, dealing with some of the symptoms of shock herself. “Besides, I think you saved me.”
Chris smiled and then got serious.
“How bad?”
“The first round hit you on the head, so no damage there,” said Amber trying to lighten the mood. “The wound to the leg is worse, but I don’t think they hit the femoral artery. After I get this wound dressed, I was going to let up on the tourniquet, but I really wish I could get you to a doctor. I just do band aids.”
“Keep doing them, sister,” said Chris with a smile.
Chad came running up and looked around.
“Where are the bad guys?” asked Chad as he watched the horizon. It was telling that without being asked, Connor had taken up a position of cover with the M-1 and Amy stayed with the truck, pistol drawn.
“I don’t know,” said Amber getting busy with her first aid kit. “They must have heard your truck or something. We did shoot up most of them.”
There was something in her voice that Chad couldn’t place, something that said all was not as it seemed, but he put that away for later analysis.
“How is the patient?” asked Chad.
“I think he’ll live,” said Amber, “but I wish we could get him to a doctor.”
The rest of the entourage began filling the gravel yard. Smokey waved a bunch of the BACA riders on. Then he road over to where Chad and Amber were looking at Chris.
“I sent some of the chapter ahead to Royal City,” said Smokey. “I wanted to thank you though, before I went with them, for breaking open the bridge. I don’t know what we would have done without you. But I also have some bad news for y
ou. That truck was smoking something fierce going up the hill. I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t overheating too.”
“It was,” said Chad, “but I had other things on my mind.”
Smokey looked back toward the group of the bikers that were assembling and then pointed at one of the bikers.
“Hey Grease Monkey, Sparky” shouted Smokey. “Could you guys check out the truck? It was smoking and overheating.”
An older man grabbed a satchel from the back of his bike and then popped open the hood on the truck and looked around for a bit. A kid who didn’t look eighteen crawled under the truck and tapped on something. In a couple of minutes, they popped back up and came over to Smokey and Chad.
“Bad news,” said the Grease Monkey. “There is a hole in the engine block as big as my little finger. Looks like somebody shot the engine with a rifle or something. There is no exit hole so the bullet is still likely banging around in the oil pan somewhere. I am amazed that it ran this far up the hill.”
“Can it be fixed?” asked Chad.
“Little cracks can be temporarily fixed with stuff like Blue Devil sealer, “said the Grease Monkey shaking his head. “But a hole that big would normally require a new engine. You maybe could try and weld it, but that can warp the block and will definitely leave a weak and brittle spot. Sparky is up for it and would try and weld it, but as big a hole as that is, I figure that there is maybe a fifty percent chance that it would work. We would also have to take the engine down completely and find the bullet.”
About this time, the Subaru and the rest of the bikers made it up to the hill. There was a general commotion while Mary and the others looked over Chris and added their two cents worth about his condition.
