“Maybe I’m just being paranoid.” Jessie said. “I doubt the Raiders or the Cult could take over a place like this so fast. We’ve only been gone for a few days, there’d be a lot more damage and destruction if they tried.”
They were following a SUV as it led them through the town, headed for the municipal building at the center. Business seemed to be going on as usual. People were walking around on the sidewalks, shoppers were pushing carts, there were people in the green houses tending crops and a uniformed cop was writing someone a ticket.
They both shook their heads at that. Seemed like there would be more important things to do in a zombie apocalypse than write parking tickets. But last time they were here, people had been lined up getting permits at the courthouse so he supposed they were used to it. The only cops in Lakota was Sheriff Collins and deputy McBride and he was gone most of the time with the army guys. He didn’t think the sheriff even had a ticket book and he knew the only municipal offices in their courthouse were just the basics; garbage collection, the electricity and water people, housing assignments and things like that. His dad didn’t care much for government and tried to have as little as possible. Just what was absolutely necessary to serve the citizens, not make life difficult for them. Different strokes for different folks, he thought.
“Glad I don’t live here.” Jessie said as the cop eyeballed them suspiciously. “I don’t even have a driver’s license.”
Scarlet gasped and her eyes got big. “You mean I’m riding around with scofflaw?” she asked, playfully slipping into her bad English. “I bet you don’t have proper papers for Bob either. And you’re not wearing seatbelt! Maybe I tell officer Friendly all about big Outlaw Jessie. Maybe I get big reward. Maybe he handcuff you.”
“I’d rather have you slap the cuffs on me.” Jessie said with a salacious grin. “That’d be more fun.”
“Oh!” she said, her eyes widening comically “You very bad man, Jessie Meadows. Maybe you need spanking.”
“Promises, promises.” he said and turned into the parking lot behind the SUV. “But first, lets see what the director wants and let him know what’s coming soon. I can tell already he’s going to have to raise the height of his walls.”
Jessie ignored where the man was pointing for him to park and nosed into a spot next to the building facing the road, his bumper nearly touching the well-trimmed bushes. He could plow right over them if someone tried to block him in. His sixth sense was tingling but he wasn’t sure exactly why. Everything seemed ordinary enough, if a little strange, but this town gave him a weird vibe last time he was here. Maybe it was because they were too organized and had too many rules; he was like his dad in that respect. He had a habit of ignoring the rules, even when he was in school and that tended to get him in trouble.
Bob started to get out but Jessie slid the window bars up and closed the door. “You stay here, boy. Take care of the car.”
His eyes scanned the rooftops but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The town was so strict, so orderly, it set him on edge. He wasn’t used to it, even in the Tower everything had been easy going and there was more laughter than grim looks. He could feel the eyes on them, though. All the people scurrying around in their neatly pressed and washed, dull and drab clothes. None of them were armed, either. Most people inside the walls of Lakota didn’t carry weapons all the time but plenty did. It was common to see open carry holsters and everyone had one handy, whether in their desk drawer or hanging on a rack at the door.
The people snuck glances at the outsiders then looked away, keeping their heads down and hurrying along. The whole place smelled of fish and felt a little dodgy to Jessie, like something wasn’t quite right. Like the people were living in fear. He wondered if this was what it was like back in the old days when there was a wall around Berlin and the Russians were the bad guys. The little town had the feel of oppression to it. It wasn’t his business how they ran themselves, though. Maybe it was a bunch of survivors who wanted to be communists or socialists or whatever they were called. He was here to help them regardless, to let them know what was coming and how to fight it.
They followed the irritated guard through the doors. He’d pointed out the parking spot, the one marked for visitors, but didn’t say anything else when Jessie casually asked if they had many out of towners drop by.
“Rule breaker.” Scarlet whispered then giggled.
“You’ll need to relinquish your weapons at check-in.” he said instead. “It’s policy.”
“Diplomatic immunity.” Jessie replied, not even trying to be friendly anymore. “I didn’t last time, I won’t this time.”
The guard made a face but kept walking. He’d already known the answer but it didn’t hurt to try. He was told not to push the issue. It didn’t matter. Things would go the way they were supposed to go whether the kid was armed or not. The girl didn’t have any firearms, she was harmless.
Jessie moved easily through the hallways, guns slung low on his hips, eyes darting to every door, looking for shadows or movement behind the frosted glass. He breathed deeply and could smell the guard’s unease, the fear sweat. He saw the jumpy, nervous way he walked. Something had set him on edge. They saw him talking on the police radio on their way in as he kept watching them in his rearview, making sure they didn’t stray off. When Jessie saw the sign for the restrooms, he bumped elbows with Scarlet to get her attention and jerked his chin towards it. She nodded, understanding immediately. Something about this place didn’t sit right with her either, it was too much like the headquarters of the Movement. There was always a little tension in the air and everyone was afraid of getting caught doing something wrong. Possibly something they didn’t even know was wrong until they were accosted by security and fined or jailed or worse.
“I have to use the ladies.” she said loudly then turned off before their escort could say anything. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
The man hesitated, unsure what to do. His orders had been to bring them both to the Director. They had been very explicit orders from a voice he didn’t recognize.
“She might be a while.” Jessie said in a long-suffering voice. “You know women. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
The escort grimaced, finally made up his mind and led him to the office, Director Jacobs stenciled boldly on the door. It was the same suite he’d been in before, the secretary’s desk in the small foyer with offices on either side.
“I’ll go wait for the girl.” the man said after showing him in and hurried away.
“If you’ll have a seat, the Director will be with you shortly.” The middle-aged woman behind the desk said and pointed to the couch. Jessie looked at her. She licked her lips; her eyes were dilated in fear and couldn’t keep contact with his. Jessie listened, cocked his head, ratcheted up his ears and really listened. Nervous breathing. A lot of it. A whisper of cloth on cloth. The quietest sound of rough calloused hands rubbing against pistol grip plastic. A hand moving on gun metal. He turned to stare at the door where the sounds were coming from then back at her. The fear was plain on her face now, her eyes huge.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Jessie said, using the sound of his voice to cover the sounds of his guns being pulled from their holsters. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to drink would you. I’m parched.”
He tilted his head to the hallway door, waved with his Glock, telling her to go. Giving her permission to live. Jessie wasn’t sure what was going on but his intuition was screaming at him to be careful.
“Yes, yes we do.” she babbled. “Do you like tea? I’ll get you a nice tea. We have ice. I’ll get you a nice iced tea.”
She hurried from the room and Jessie slid silently against the wall in the alcove where her desk sat, out of the line of fire and waited, listening. If there were a bunch of enhanced super soldiers waiting to spring a trap, they could hear him as easily as he heard them. He tried to smell them but came up with nothing but paper and leather and paint. He heard the squeak of a boot mo
ving stealthily on the marble floor, saw the door handle slowly start to turn and cleared his mind. He wasn’t wearing his Kevlar, it was too hot for the heavy jacket. He couldn’t make any mistakes. He couldn’t take any more bullets, it hurt too much and he was tired of getting shot. He leaned back against the wall, barely breathing, raised both guns beside his head and silently recited from the one hundred and forty fourth Psalm. His lips moved but his ears never stopped hearing the sounds of death creeping towards him.
Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight. Rid me and deliver me from the hands of strange children…
He didn’t have time to finish one of the few Bible verses he knew by heart. He heard the door squeak then burst open in a mad rush, they knew their element of surprise was over. Automatic gunfire filled the air as men raked the couch where he should have been sitting. The noise was deafening, chunks of stuffing, fluff and concrete flew into the air as the machine guns walked up the wall. Jessie dropped to his knees and spun out, both pistols blazing and catching men with double doses of death. Wadcutters from his left hand blew massive holes, bowled men over like they’d been hit with a sledgehammer. The right hand sent ripper rounds that expanded, exploded and tumbled their way through the body, destroying all major organs and splashing large portions of them against the wall. More machine guns opened up from inside the room, cutting down their own men. Jessie grabbed a falling body and pulled it down in front of him, tucking in small behind it and blasting through it with the rippers. The man’s face was stretched into an agonized scream but no sound came out, his lungs were thirty feet away splashed all over the bookcase. Gun smoke was getting thick and the explosions boomed as round after round came from the room. Jessie rolled away, chips of marble flying up as a line of bullets stitched across the floor looking for him. He slammed against the wall, threw an arm around the corner at ground level and his finger danced on the trigger until the magazine was empty. Men dove for cover and there was a lull as everyone reacquired and reloaded. The automatic chatter started up again blowing away chunks of plaster, filling the air with dust and Jessie had to leap to escape the copper jacketed bits of lead death. A black uniformed man rolled through the opening quick as a flash and came up shooting at where Jessie should have been. Books, files and splinters of wood filled the air but not blood and bone fragments. Jessie was on the book shelf near the ceiling, some ten feet up and just dove for the man. The Anubis warrior caught the movement at the last second and almost had time to bring the automatic rifle around. He was wicked fast but Jessie knocked it aside, barely avoided getting impaled, and slammed into him. The man was strong and tossed him off with a roll and a flip and was on him before Jessie could bring his guns to bear. They fell backward into the room where the others trained their weapons, trying to get a clean shot. The man head butted Jessie and his nose exploded in a gush of blood, his eyes involuntarily watered and he got pissed. Every time he ran into one of these guys they broke his nose. The man had him in a bear hug and the others were tossing their weapons to come help. They had him and they were going to take him alive. They would be rewarded. They tore the guns from his hands then fists and knees pummeled him. The wolf in his head howled, the monster wanted out. A hammer blow to the side of his head rocked him hard and he felt punches to his kidneys. Another punch to the back of his head made him see stars but then heard Scarlet scream from somewhere down the hall. He roared and let the monster out, the first lessons he learned about fighting from his old man overrode everything else. Don’t be a victim.
He bit down hard on the mans neck, ripping and tearing at the jugular. Hot blood spurted in his mouth and blasted across his face but he kept shredding, kept ripping, ignoring the man’s high-pitched shrieks. The bear hug loosened and he stripped the pistol from his shoulder rig. He plunged into a solar plexus and pulled the trigger twice, sending heart muscle and lung tissue following the path of the bullet out of the top of his head. Jessie bashed an elbow into another man’s face as his eyes grew wide and he struggled to pull his pistol. He put two rounds into the side of another man’s head then put the hot barrel into the eye of the man he’d just elbowed. Jessie pushed, they fell over and the gun never left the mans eye socket as his head slammed into the floor. The orb exploded under the pressure and splashed his face as the gun sunk deeper into his skull. His screams were shrill and full of terror, his hands gripped Jessies blood-soaked arm but he was in too much pain to do more than tug ineffectually. Jessie snatched the Glock from the small of his back, extended it and searched for danger, for more men. No one else was coming, this squad was all there was and they were dying or dead. He looked at them again, looking for signs they were moving, reaching for guns, preparing to attack. They weren’t. He amended his first thought, there were none dying. They had already done that. Except for the screaming man who was now blubbering and begging, his one good eye pleading.
“Shut up.” Jessie said, still astride him, still with a gun buried two inches in his head. He saw one of his own pistols and pulled it out a puddle of lungs or maybe it was a liver. Either way, it made a mess and a squishing sound when he shoved it back in his holster.
The man didn’t shut up. He was still sobbing and trying to pull the gun out. Jessie twisted it, hooking the sight on something that tore and put more pressure against the back of the eye socket.
“I said shut up.” Jessie said again, his face a cold mask of bloody retribution. His ears and eyes tuned for danger and alert for any other movements. The man tried. He really, really tried to be quiet but it was hard. He’d never felt that much pain before in his life. It HURT!
The outside door burst open and Jessies free hand dipped faster than lightning to pull out his pistol. The jostling made the man scream again as the barrel shoved in a little deeper, the gun sight tore something else free. His eyelid tried to close but blood filled the cavity and overflowed it. He was whispering now, nonstop. Prayers to the lord of the underworld.
Scarlet stood there with one baton ready to fling, the other ready to smash. She was impeccable, tight black leather jeans, tight black Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt. Bobbed blonde and black hair that was mostly black. Bob at her side panting and looking for danger.
She looked around the room, at nearly every inch shot up with bullet holes and shattered glass and broken pictures and stuffing strewn from the couch. Bodies were scattered about, none of them moving, all of them with most of their insides decorating the room. It stank of fresh death, blown open intestines and blood. Bob didn’t even want to come in the room.
“I heard you scream. What happened?” Jessie asked, relief washing over him.
“Oh, that was just to get the others to come closer.” she said. “The locals had orders to take me in so I took them out.”
“You’re too messy.” she added, inspecting her weapons, looking for traces of blood.
Scarlet collapsed her batons and looked at Jessie. His nose was still dripping and he was going to have a couple of black eyes. Again.
“I was trying to keep one of them alive so we could question him.” he said, a little defensively. “It’s a lot harder than just killing everybody.”
“What questions?” she asked. “I already know the answers.”
Jessie grimaced. Of course, she did. These were people she’d worked and trained with. She knew their battle plan as well as they did. He was covered in blood, only some of it his own, and had a gun buried two or three inches deep in a mans eye hole. Blood was welling up around the barrel and spilling over, running down his cheek.
“That’s kind of gross.” she said.
“You sure we don’t need to ask this guy anything?” he asked.
“No, but he’s reaching for his gun.” she said
“I know.” Jessie said and pulled the trigger.
The man stopped reaching for his gun.
79
Jessie + Scarlet
The secretary never did come back and the direct
or was cowering in his office. The frosted glass on his door was shattered and bullet holes pockmarked the wall. Papers and pictures and plants were smashed and littered the floor. He looked up in fear when Jessie pushed the chair away and crouched to look at him hiding in the knee well of the polished mahogany desk.
“Are there any more of them here?” he asked conversationally.
The director shook his head rapidly, his eyes huge, staring at the blood drenched boy. He knew they had been lying in wait, he’d heard the machine guns, listened to the screams and thunderous booms, seen thousands of bullets sprayed all over the foyer but the boy was right there in front of him. The boy wasn’t dead but the invincible soldiers were.
They’d put on a little display of their skills when they’d shown up a day ago. They’d walked up to the west gate with hundreds of the undead following. They’d breached his walls, had simply jumped to the top of them, then killed his guards and anyone else that challenged them. They left the screaming horde outside and told him they were in charge now. They told him they were taking over and he could do as they said or he could be fed to the zombies. They told him they were unstoppable.
But the boy had stopped them all.
He took the proffered hand and Jessie helped him get shakily to his feet. He glanced out of his broken door and saw the bodies splattered all over the floors and walls and even the ceiling and felt faint. He had been an assistant to the comptroller in charge of audits. He was a community organizer, a coordinator and planner, not some G.I. Joe. He didn’t even like horror movies. He had stepped up and helped shape this town and had taken over when the first director had been killed while on a supply run. He was the brains behind the brawn and had used his time in charge to get things organized again. To get the people under control. To bring order and structure back to the masses instead of rampant chaos it had been under Director Colonel Barton’s command. The former Director had only concentrated on building a fighting force and reinforcing the walls. Very important, to be sure, but that had all been completed. Now things needed to be done properly. Paperwork was needed to ensure compliance. Permits were required so his administration could approve or deny any new marriages or building improvements. Things must be controlled or there would be anarchy. He learned early on if he assigned the best houses to his militia commanders, they would help him and not try to stop what was obviously for the betterment of all.
Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet Page 52
