The four-by-four slams to a halt before impacting an over turned semitrailer. Two armed men stroll on what’s now the side turned roof. Three more men load boxes into the back of a bronco.
Kade hops from the four-by-four. “Hold up, Kale.”
“What the fuck, bro.” He flips his t-shirt over his sweating head.
“The colonel raided our stash.”
“I’ll kill the mother fucker.”
“Hold up. In the process he took out the gambling ring. We now operate with impunity.”
“Fuck, bro, I hate when you use big words.”
“If you’d have stayed out of juvie, you’d have gotten a better education.”
“None of that matters now. Hell, what I learned in prison works out here better now than any fucking school shit.”
“How much do you have loaded?”
“About half the bronco,” Kale brags.
“Should be enough. Too much and the good colonel will confiscate it.”
“I’m goin’ to have to gut that fucker.”
“Before you do I’ve some plans with his daughter,” Kade sneers. “Might even let him watch.” Embracing their own diseased perversions—they laugh.
“Kade.” The driver of the four-by-four keeps one hand on his holstered gun as he approaches.
“What now, Hale?”
“Something’s bugging me.”
“I told you to stay away from those girls with stinky slits. There’s going to be no more cream to cure that burning.” Kale laughs harder at his own joke.
“Ignore the primate. What’s bothering you?”
“This’s basically a one-lane black top. It’s not a road for semi-trucks at all.”
Kade glances both ways up and down the road. “Dumb ass driver got lost. More than likely he wasn’t local. Panicked with all the undead.”
“I guess.” Hale knows better than to openly disagree with a Bowlin brother, but he doesn’t adjust his tone.
Kade’s anger swells as he realizes Hale disagrees with his assessment. “Spit it out or I’ll beat it out of you.”
“The truck jackknifed going the wrong direction.”
“You know he ain’t wrong.” Kale rubs the shaggy patch of hair growth only on his chin.
“He must have gotten lost. FEMA’s job was to give supplies to people who needed it during an emergency.”
“They did a bang up job in New Orleans.”
Kale ignores the retort. “Or so the government says. They do lie. And if not they’re incompetent. A lot of people died from Katrina and from FEMA’s fuckup. ” Kale now takes more of an interest in the cab of the over-turned truck.
“If the driver wasn’t lost then why else would he be out here in the middle of deer shit junction? Dumb redneck.”
“My daddy fucked your mom.” Kale kicks the windshield glass.
“You came out of my dad’s testicles,” Kade gives Hale a ‘you’re getting your ass kicked later for bringing this up’ look.
The glass shatters into thousands of shards. Kale sticks his head inside. “No fucking GPS.”
“Could have flown out when the trailer jackknifed.”
“If I’m right in my thinking, the kid gets some extra pussy. We’ll trade some food; get him a virgin so his tiny dick feels how tight a girl can be.”
“You know I don’t like leaving the base this long. We’ve too much at stake for one of us not to be there. Kame’s been gone way too long.”
“Fine, but chew on this. This lane ends at a dairy farm. It was shut down when we were kids. Before we used to throw hay for the other farms along this road.”
“So?” Kade says.
“I found this truck because we were scouting barns for secondary locations to store supplies. I never made it to the dairy farm.”
“There are thousands of barns and abandoned and foreclosed-on farms in the four county area alone.”
“I bet they ain’t got fully loaded FEMA trucks heading toward them,” Kale says.
“Fine, take the four-by-four and go check it out. I’m going back to camp with the supplies.”
“No. You’ve got drive it. If some dumb soldier-boy notices we switched vehicles they’ll think we’re plotting something.” Kale points out.
“I hate when your thoughts aren’t completely stupid.”
Kade leans comfortably over the metal gate.
Hale keeps his finger next to the trigger of his rifle. “They all look like Will Smith from that Men in Black movie. Down to the ray bans.”
“Amazing they’ve stayed on all this time. I count fifteen.”
The government-suited undead mill around the barnyard, trapped by the metal pole fences. They take no notice of the newly arrived truck.
“They’ve never left the yard.”
“They don’t remember how to open a gate, dumbass.”
Hale levels the rifle.
“Save your bullets.”
A once agent staggers at them. Kade draws his hunting knife, slamming it onto the creature’s skull as his other hand slips into the coat to draw the Glock. “They should all be armed.”
“So we get some guns and a barn large enough for a couple of semi-trucks.”
“But we don’t know if any tractor trailers made it here.” Kade sets the Glock on the hood of the truck.
Hale shoulders his rifle and unsheathes his long bladed knife. His stabbing of the undead sends the body crashing against the gate. The rattle invites the remaining corpses.
“I didn’t get the gun.”
“Don’t panic.” Kade slices through another Infected. The top of the skull sails through the air landing before another Infected. “Someone else shot at this guy.”
“How can you tell when they were shot?” He stabs an Infected through the eye.
Kade hesitates unsure how to explain. “The blood.”
“It’s all a dried gooey mess.”
“No the blood spilling from an Infected’s more coagulated. Pay more attention to what’s going on around you.”
“It’s hard.”
“There’re no more short buses, kid. You don’t get a do over or extra time.” Kade spears another Infected.
Sixteen identical Glocks rest all in two rows across the hood. Hale drags a body away from the gate.
“Make a burn pile somewhere in a field. Let’s keep them out of the yards.”
The slamming of a screen door sends Kade spinning around, a Glock in each hand. Hale fumbles with the sling on his shoulder unable to get his rifle into firing position.
On the porch a female agent aims her Glock at Kade. “State your name and purpose here.”
Kade shifts to his business tone. “We’re looking for supplies.”
“Stop fucking with that rifle, mister.” Hale halts and fumbles his hands into the air.
“Under US law I have standing orders to shoot looters.”
“We’re not looters.” Kade lets both guns dangle on his fingers as he raises his hands.
A second agent cocks a shotgun.
“What do we do?” Hale whispers.
“You do nothing.” Kade takes a step toward the farmhouse and purposely places the fence post between himself and the direct line of fire.
“Stay where you are,” she calls out.
“Look, we don’t want trouble.”
A third agent side steps past her and keeps his gun on Kade. “You killed them?”
“You got to smash their brain. You three been locked in that farmhouse the last nine months?”
“Has it been that long?” She lowers her gun, but only by inches.
“We’ll just get in our car and go.”
“You two look well fed.” The first male agent notices.
“We’re stationed at the military base. They still get government supplies.”
“Lies,” she screams at them. “You two were never soldiers.”
“True enough. Civilian contractors. We search for supplies and survivors and return them to For
t Wood. We earn a little extra food. Don’t have a lot of need for greenbacks these days.”
The second male says something under his breath. Hale spots an Infected agent staggering from the edge of the farmhouse.
“Shut up, Hale.” Kade’s harsh whisper scares him.
She steps down from the porch followed by the second agent. “Put your guns down and back away from the truck,” she orders. “Once we check the vehicle you’ll drive us to this military base.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The dead agent sinks its rotten teeth into the neck of the second male. His screams send the other two into a panic. The shotgun wielding agent fires. The buckshot tears open his companion’s chest. The undead agent snarls at the loss of his meal. She spins around and fires into the chest of the undead.
Kade flips the gun handles back into his closing palms with a maneuver any trick shooting performer would envy. He fires on the run smashing open the skull of the male agent. He pops the Infected in the brain. She turns back, but before raising her gun he punches her jaw with the full weight of the gun in his swing. Kade kills the chest less agent for good measure.
“Makes twenty,” Kade calculates. He jerks the handcuff from her belt. “Still following regulations. Stupid bitch.” He cuffs her hands to the column holding up the porch roof.
“Let’s check each of these buildings. Make sure there aren’t any more Feds. Hale pulls the barn door open. Nothing. Bays for unloading semi-trucks remain empty.
“Must have been the first truck.”
“It’s not a total loss. Perfect location for a fall back point when Fort Wood falls.”
“The fort isn’t going anywhere.”
“Hale, haven’t you noticed our little business has picked up?”
“I just get to stand guard, eat well and fuck some girls.”
“Enjoy, because the food drops have become further apart. The one reason we’ve been doing so well. The food’s not lasting. Soon there won’t be enough and this place will be perfect for us to hold out.” Kade orders, “Burn those Infected, pack up the guns. I’m going to have a chat with our prisoner.” He drags the struggling woman inside the farmhouse.
Hale hears the click of the door lock.
Kade slams her onto the kitchen table.
“I’m a federal agent,” she protests.
“There’s no more government, sweetheart. And even if there was, no one will ever find out what I’m going to do to you. After I’ve satisfied my urges, I put a bullet in your brain and burn your body. Just like thousands of others. It’s the perfect crime.” He cuffs each of her ankles to the table legs. Kade rifles through the drawers, drawing a butcher knife.
“The nice thing about this is I don’t have to restrain myself on you like I have to with those girls at the base.” He slides the knife through the fabric of her jacket. He grips each edge of the tear and yanks. The ripping material scares her into screams.
“I haven’t cut you yet.”
“You don’t have to do this. I’ll do whatever you want. Please let me go.”
“You’ll do whatever I want.”
She jerks, struggling at her bonds.
“This is what I want.” Kade caresses her left shoulder. “Such soft, supple skin with a nice muscular build. I like a woman who takes care of herself.” He brushes his chapped lips over her shoulder. “You excite me.” He exhales an exasperated breath.
With the knife tip, he drills into the center of her deltoid muscle. Blood mushrooms from the hole. She screams. As the knife twists deeper, the agent stops her struggle.
DANZIGER SIPS FROM his makeshift canteen.
“Make it last. Clean water’s gotten pretty scarce,” Tom warns.
The line of abandoned cars stretches north to the horizon across both lanes.
“How long before we turn west?” Danziger asks.
“Three, four miles.”
“We should head back. I want to talk with those church people more before they head south,” Howie whines.
“Howie, you need to stay away from those fanatics.” James pulls a plastic water bottle from an open car window. He slides the empty bottle in his pocket.
“They make a good point. Surviving has to be a part of God’s chosen plan. We’ve seen some hairy stuff.” Hairy, Howie’s term for all they have survived since the apocalypse. “God has to be looking out for us.”
“My partner had a vasectomy and married a woman who had her tubes tied. She ended up getting pregnant with his baby. They called her their little miracle. Made Miracle her middle name. The odds of her conception had to be greater than winning the lottery. The God you speak of, you think protects His chosen. I can’t imagine a more chosen person than that little girl.”
“She had to be important to God’s plan,” Howie agrees.
“I put a bullet into that eight-year-old girl’s skull after we found her eating her mother’s flesh.”
Dumbstruck, Howie remains silent.
“I don’t know if God watches over us or not, but he has no plan.”
Tom pauses at the end of each vehicle, looking to his right or left before he steps past the space between the abandoned cars as if he’s sure something will jump out and grab him. A likely scenario, but the undead won’t crouch in wait, at least not in a planned manner, and there won’t be anyone living waiting in ambush. Not on this part of the highway; there’s nothing of value here.
“Someone should syphon the gas from these cars,” James considers. He peeks into each car he passes. Most are so crammed full of personal possessions it would take hours to inspect each one for any useful item.
“People are stupid.” He taps the roof of a car with a flat screen television filling the backseat. “They rescued their HD TV. Bet they left a cupboard full of canned goods.”
“This’s why we should follow those religious people. They’re giving up all earthy goods.”
“Howie, you need to consider what they are preaching. What if they don’t consider you worthy?”
“I’m alive. I haven’t been bitten. According to them I’ve God’s blessing.”
“According to the group you met they’re going to join a larger group. You don’t know what the larger group finds worthy. You get there and they may not let you in.
“God left this place a long time ago,” Danziger adds.
Tom continues, “No god would punish all the decaying children I’ve seen since this started. They committed no sins, and the only invisible force keeping you alive is blind stupid luck. You want to pray, you go right ahead. You ask God for help and wait for him to come. The only lightning bolt to save you from a DK will fall from the shotgun you carry.”
“Harsh, man.” James shakes his head.
“So’s this new world.”
Trapped among the vacant cars an armored personnel carrier calls to Danziger. He hurries past Tom.
“Hold your pace, officer. We’re not alone on this interstate.”
Danziger hops into the back of the military truck. Mostly picked over and left empty he discovers a flak jacket in a storage bin. He slips it on. It’s too snug to secure, but provides some protection, especially his back. He grabs a pack and feels heft—grenades.
“Find anything useful?” Tom calls from guarding the rear entrance. He waves to James who swings open the cab door.
“No. The soldiers took everything they could carry.”
“All the military vehicles we’ve searched are empty,” James calls out, also finding nothing. “Still can’t get over those people packing their big screen.”
Danziger drops an empty canteen into the backpack. “If I do find anything useful I can at least carry easier.”
“Too bad the flak jacket doesn’t fit. I saw a DK bite a guy wearing one, never made it to the skin.”
“It will work for now.” Repeating thunder crackles in the distance.
“Sounds like machine gun fire.” James flattens himself against the personnel carrier before scannin
g for the source.
“Noise means there are DKs around, or there will be.”
“I’ll take point.” Danziger flings one strap of the pack on his shoulder and races toward the shots.
“We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to help this guy,” Howie points out.
“No, you don’t. None of you have to risk anything for me,” Danziger agrees.
Tom fails to respond. He runs to the inner concrete barrier dividing the north and south bound lanes. “Stay along this wall.” He inches forward.
Danziger follows suit, pistol drawn.
“Go, Howie,” James orders. “I’ll take rear.” The foursome eases up the road toward the gunfire.
“Why are we heading toward the expenditure of bullets?” Howie asks.
“Someone needs help,” Tom reasons.
Lights sparkle on the overpass as it comes into view. A hoard of Infected crawl over a growing number of corpses as soldiers unload clip after clip into the never-ending mass of rotten flesh. The firing slows as soldiers cease in order to change out the barrels of their guns.
“They’re going to be overrun.” Danziger unslings the backpack.
“I’m not sure how.” Tom views the penciling soldiers through the scope of his rifle.
“They are about to be overrun. The Infected just keep climbing on top of each other to reach them.” Despite the lack of speed, the sheer numbers of undead swarm the overpass.
“We pull back and save ourselves,” James offers.
“Can’t do that.”
“We may have to. We don’t have near the ammo they have and once they stop firing the DKs will turn on us,” Tom points out.
Danziger pulls out a grenade from the backpack. “What kinds of damage will this do?”
Tom glares at the cop for lying about not finding anything, but realizes it was not meant as a deception. Weapons are the key to survival.
“You’ll draw them toward us for sure,” James says. “They like loud noise.”
“They do. How many do you have?” Tom asks.
Danziger fumbles through the bag. “Ten, maybe.”
“Anyone got a good throwing arm?” Tom asks.
“Grenades aren’t a killing explosive. They are more for maiming. Won’t stop the undead. Blow off a leg, they still keep crawling toward food,” Howie points out.
No Room In Hell (Book 1): The Good, The Bad and The Undead Page 10
