Rolling Thunder - 03

by Dirk Patton

  I looked around and saw Dog finishing off a female, another one lying dead in a spreading pool of blood to his rear. Turning to look up at the shelves I saw at least a dozen males at the far intersection shambling in our direction. Sheathing the knife I pulled my rifle around and scanned the shelves around us, pausing and staring when I spotted a female standing on the very top shelf staring back at me. We stood that way for a few heartbeats, just staring at each other, then she turned and disappeared. I wished I had shot her when I had the chance. I had no doubt that she was dangerously smart and had somehow gotten the other females to work together to set up this ambush. Thinking about that level of cunning from an infected made my blood run cold, but I was out of time to think about it.

  Turning back to the approaching males I started dropping them with head shots, the last one falling within six feet of where Rachel lay. Another scan and we were clear for the moment, unless there were more surprises hiding behind boxes. With no imminent attack I moved back to Rachel, picked up the inhalant and held it to my nose when Rachel didn’t react. They evaporate very quickly once broken open and it was dry. Digging out another, I broke it open and immediately stuck it under Rachel’s nose. She coughed, sputtered and tried to bat my hand away but I held it in place, moving it along with her as she tried to turn her head away.

  She finally opened her eyes, squinted up at me then quickly turned her head and threw up. Keeping my eyes on the aisle, I reached out and gathered her hair and held it behind her head while the waves of nausea from the concussion rolled through her. Rachel heaved until nothing was left in her stomach, then stayed in the same position gasping for air. I wanted to give her time to recover, but time was a luxury we didn’t have. Tucking her hair inside the back of her shirt I stood up, glanced at Dog to make sure he wasn’t sensing any threats, then leaned over Rachel.

  “I’m sorry, but we have to go. Now.” I said in a low voice.

  Rachel was on her hands and knees, head hanging down as she fought the sickness, but she nodded her understanding and raised up to sit on her knees and looked up at me. She looked like hell, pale and drawn with sunken eyes, but she raised a shaking hand to me for help. Taking her hand I pulled her to her feet and had to steady her when she wobbled and nearly crashed back to the floor. Once she was standing on her own I looked around for my pistol and retrieved it from where it had fallen in the scuffle.

  “Can you handle your rifle?” I asked her.

  “Give it here. I’m fine.” She answered, her weak voice telling me she was anything but. Regardless, I pulled her rifle sling over my head and handed it to her. She worked it over her head and performed a quick check to make sure it was ready to fire if she needed it. I was impressed with her toughness. I’ve had bad concussions, the kind where you get completely knocked out, and I knew how she was feeling right now. Dog came over to walk beside her and we started moving towards the back of the warehouse.

  16

  We turned right at the first intersection, my intention to go pick up Rachel’s pack. She carried all of our food plus the large field medic kit. I wasn’t too worried about food, we could always scavenge when we needed to eat, but I wanted that kit. It held the anesthetic for my hands and I had a lot of healing to go before I could do without. I knew I could handle the pain, that wasn’t it. Just because I could handle the pain didn’t mean the pain wouldn’t affect my ability to fight, and if I couldn’t fight we might as well just sit down and wait for the infected to find us. My, I was in a cheery mood.

  Moving quickly this time, I wasn’t worried about females stalking us. I didn’t know if we had killed all of them except for the one I had seen on top of the shelves, but for some reason I read into her look that she was letting us win this engagement and was backing off. Maybe it was just optimism, which was in pretty short supply right now, but I didn’t think we’d have to deal with any more attacks while in the warehouse. Female attacks, I clarified for myself as a small group of males wandered into an intersection ahead of us. I put them down quickly and kept us moving.

  A couple of times I had to stop and put a hand on Rachel’s arm to keep her upright, but she kept moving without complaint. I knew she was hurting, dizzy, weak and disoriented, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. She would get better, but only with time. Ideally that would be with time and rest, but we had a ways to go before we could think about resting.

  Reaching the aisle where I had left Rachel’s pack, I moved quickly to it and scooped it up. Turning to help her put it on I saw her sway slightly just standing there and realized there was no way I could put the weight on her back. While I was trying to think of a solution, Dog growled and I turned to look down the aisle towards the front of the warehouse. A large group of males, more than 20 and I quit counting, were shambling directly towards us. I turned and looked at the back of the warehouse and for the moment the aisle was clear.

  Dropping Rachel’s pack to the floor I extended the shoulder straps to their full length, stood and swung it over my left arm and on top of my pack. The extra weight made me shuffle sideways but I caught my balance and got my right arm through its strap and secured the pack in place. In the scheme of things Rachel’s pack wasn’t that much extra weight, only about 65 pounds at this point, but it felt like 200. Sucking it up, I got us moving again. Rachel swayed as she moved and I felt like I was barely plodding along with the extra weight. The result was we couldn’t outpace the males following us and were just barely able to maintain our distance. I thought about turning and eliminating the threat, but ammunition isn’t endless and I had already expended a lot getting us this far. I didn’t know when we’d be able to resupply so it was definitely time for conservation.

  We kept moving and I was splitting my attention between the aisle ahead of us, the males pursuing and Rachel’s progress. She was keeping pace with me but walked like a drunk, seemingly unable to travel in a straight line. I was worried about her, worried about the concussion, but knew there was nothing I could do other than get her to safety so she could rest and heal.

  Sensing our urgency, Dog had moved ahead of us and was checking each intersection before we arrived so we could keep pushing. He was fifty feet in front of me when he reached the rearmost row in the warehouse, a solid wall ahead of him. I watched him check the area visually, then raise his nose in the air for a moment before he turned to look at me. The row was clear.

  Reaching Dog I paused to look for an exit, Rachel taking the opportunity to lean her shoulder against the wall. The back of the warehouse was piled with broken and empty pallets, forklift parts, giant rolls of plastic shrink wrap and myriad other items I didn’t bother to try and identify. What I didn’t see was an exit, but I knew one had to be there. Modern fire codes would require them and this looked like a busy enterprise that wouldn’t want to risk getting shut down by the fire marshal. Glancing back at the approaching males I grabbed Rachel’s arm and got us moving along the wall in search of a door.

  We had to pick our way through the junk that had been stacked against the wall and spilled out across the floor. Dog moved through with little effort, seeming too nimble for an animal his size, but Rachel struggled and I was worried about turning or breaking an ankle with all the weight on my back. The only positive news was the infected males would be slowed down at least as much since they were walking blind. Looking behind us I saw the first one round the corner and start bumping along the wall in our wake. Soon the rest of his buddies stumbled into sight and followed.

  Several spools of shrink wrap were leaned up against the wall, the four foot long empty cardboard tubes that had held the plastic lying on the floor. Rachel stepped over one of these tubes but didn’t lift her foot high enough and brought her weight down too early. The round tube rolled out from under her and she tumbled to the floor. As she was falling I had reached out to grab her but only succeeded in falling with her as I overbalanced the load I was carrying. We made a lot of racket falling and the approaching males got exci
ted and started snarling and growling in anticipation of a meal. They were still far enough away that I didn’t want to start expending ammo, but soon I wouldn’t have a choice.

  I clambered back to my feet, pulled Rachel up with me and started moving again. This time I shuffled my feet, kicking the tubes out of the way as I went so Rachel had clear footing as she followed me. I was holding my rifle by the pistol grip with my right hand and had a firm grip on her with my left hand as we moved. If we stumbled and fell again I’d have no choice but to start thinning the herd that was in pursuit.

  There was another lightning flash and ahead I could see three figures standing at the end of an intersection frozen in place by the strobe of lightning. More males. Bad news. The good news was they were standing next to what looked like a roll up door. Pushing myself I picked up the pace, dragging Rachel to keep her with me. Dog stayed slightly to our front, still clearing each intersection as we came to it. Two intersections to go before we reached the roll door Dog suddenly growled and leapt to the side into an aisle. I lost sight of him but could hear him fighting. Wanting to run forward to help in case he was in trouble I glanced back to see how Rachel was doing and barely had time to react.

  The female I had seen on top of the shelves earlier was charging directly at us from behind and was no more than a dozen feet away. Leaping distance. Yanking Rachel to the side I spun as the female launched herself at us. I have fast reactions and would normally have been able to complete the turn to meet her attack, but all the weight of the packs was dragging me down and I didn’t make it. I did get Rachel out of the way, noting she fell into a pile of packing material a split second before the female slammed into my side. She knocked me over and I landed on my right shoulder, rifle popping free from my grip and sliding to the end of the sling that was around my upper body.

  On my side with the two packs preventing me from rolling I knew I was in trouble. My right arm was trapped under my body and I couldn’t get it out as the female levered my left hand aside and lunged for my throat. Seeing the bite coming I tucked my chin to my chest as hard as I could and fought to get my arms into action but she succeeded in getting her teeth locked on to the side of my neck. I can’t say it hurt that bad when she bit in and tore a piece of flesh out of me, but like any other combat wound that was because of all the adrenaline in my system. After the fight, if there was an after, it would hurt like a bitch.

  Feeling part of my body being bitten off sent an additional surge of adrenaline into my blood, and frankly pissed me off. With a roar I lifted my chin and smashed the side of my head into the female’s face, feeling her nose and probably one of her eye orbits shatter from the blow. Her grip didn’t falter but she paused in trying to bite me again and I slammed my head into the same spot on her face a second time then levered with my left arm. I thought I was about to get an advantage when she shifted her grip and lunged at the side of my face with her teeth. Jerking my head around I avoided the bite but felt her teeth break through the skin on my scalp and tear long furrows down the side of my head.

  She shifted again in preparation for taking another bite but before she could lunge there was the sound of a suppressed rifle right next to my ear and her head deformed for a heartbeat before the side of it blew out and sprayed the floor with blood and brains. The skin on the side of my head was burning from spent gun powder and I didn’t have to look to know that Rachel had shot the infected with her rifle and the muzzle had only been about a foot from my head when she pulled the trigger. Thankful she hadn’t had a wave of dizziness at the moment she fired, I shoved the corpse off of me and got to my feet as fast as I could.

  The males that had been following us had closed most of the ground while I was occupied with the female and I had to bring my rifle up and start dropping bodies. Half way through I changed magazines and noted that I was down to five spares, or only 150 rounds. When the last male fell I reached down and pulled Rachel to her feet. She looked marginally better and gave me a wan smile when she saw my wounds.

  “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.” She said, gesturing at my head.

  “We’ll worry about that later.” I turned and started looking for Dog. Not seeing him right away, a thrill of concern passed over me and I headed for the aisle I had seen him go down just before the female attacked. Before I got there Dog came walking into the intersection, covered in blood and gore. He looked OK, then I noticed the last few inches of his tail was missing. He trotted up to me and nuzzled my hand for petting. Rubbing his blood soaked head I quickly checked him for injuries but all I could see wrong was the missing part of his tail. Blood was flowing freely, but no worse than my injuries and we had to get moving.

  The males that had been standing near the door were coming our way, drawn by the sounds of fighting. Even though I was uncomfortably low on ammo, I didn’t think any of us needed another hand to hand fight at the moment, so I shot each of them as we approached. As we passed the bodies I turned to make sure Rachel didn’t stumble over them but she seemed more alert and steadier on her feet. I still kept half an eye on her, but was pleased to see her moving with more assurance.

  Reaching the door I cursed when I found a heavy chain and padlock had been used to secure it. This was a large, commercial duty padlock made from case hardened steel and I didn’t even bother to try shooting it off with my rifle. It would have been a waste of bullets. However, the frame on the door the chain was looped through was only made of the same rolled metal that the door was made of. Not surprising, really. Reminded me of a friend who after a burglary had installed two massive, high security deadbolts on his front door. The only problem was the door was made of wood and the next time his house was broken into the burglars had used a cordless saw and cut the door around the dead bolts.

  I wished for that saw, but settled for pressing the muzzle of the rifle against the thin metal and firing three rounds in burst mode. The metal tore apart and with some force I was able to rip the heavy chain the rest of the way free. Quickly slapping the two security pegs to the open position I raised the door a foot as I knelt down to look through the opening. Dark and rain. No infected in sight. Back on my feet I rolled the door the rest of the way up and waved Dog and Rachel through, then followed them and turned to lower the door.

  Turning back to survey the area we had just moved into, I raised my rifle when a small pickup pulled up to the elevated dock where we stood. The doors popped open and two men wearing police uniforms stepped out but stayed behind the doors of the truck. Dog growled but held his position next to Rachel who was standing at the edge of the dock, closest to the cops. Finally the one on the passenger side stepped into the open with his hands held away from his holstered pistol and took a couple of steps towards us. He was dressed in riot gear, right down to a helmet with face guard which was lowered into place completely masking his features.

  “It’s OK, folks. We’re here to rescue you.” He shouted out to be heard over the rain.

  “Aren’t you a little short for a storm trooper?” Rachel answered. I just stared at her as she appeared to be trying very hard to not look at me and laugh. Bitch.

  17

  Rachel’s comment had distracted me, but I didn’t lower the rifle. Something wasn’t right here. Assuming the cops were actually out looking for survivors, which I doubted this close to the time of the departure of the last train, I sure didn’t think they would be driving around in anything other than police issue vehicles. Maybe I was wrong, but I wasn’t ready to bet our lives on it. Maintaining my aim at the man who had stepped forward I moved my eyes around, scanning the area.

  We were facing a medium sized parking lot that I guessed was where the warehouse employees parked. Over forty vehicles were in the lot and all looked like they’d been sitting in the same place for a while. Trash had blown against and been trapped by a few of the tires and even during a heavy downpour of rain the glass looked dirty and streaked. To the right a tall, chain link fence guarded the pavement from the other side
of the weedy lot we had seen when we were looking for a way around the warehouse. The river was to our left and directly ahead the parking lot had an exit to the road where the tall barricade sat. Nothing was moving other than the males banging up against the fence in the lot to my right.

  “How did you know we were here?” I shouted, turning my attention fully back to the two men. Rachel picked up the tone in my voice and took a couple of steps back to stand next to me, adjusting the grip on her rifle as she moved.

  “We need to go,” he shouted back, shooting a quick glance at his partner who was still mostly concealed behind the driver side door. “The train is leaving soon and we need to get you to the station so you can get seats.” I wasn’t certain enough to start shooting, but everything about these guys felt wrong.

  “We’re just fine walking,” I shouted back. “I’m sure there’s other people that need your help more than us.”

  They exchanged glances again, then the driver made his move. He had been standing close to the door and stepped back to raise the shotgun he had kept hidden. In my world the time it takes to move a step and try to bring a cumbersome weapon up and into play is an eternity. I shifted aim and shot him through the face shield before the muzzle of the shotgun cleared the door, then snapped my aim back to the other man. When I’d shot his partner he’d grabbed for his pistol, but hadn’t even gotten it out of the holster before the muzzle of my rifle was once again aimed at his head. He froze in a partial crouch, right arm back and bent at the elbow with his hand on the butt of the pistol. I thought about just shooting him and taking the truck and getting on with our evening, but I was curious what they had wanted with us.