Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga)

by D. A. Roberts

  “Make your shots count,” I yelled at the group. “Conserve your ammo!”

  I took a few steps away from the side of the Humvee and brought up both pistols. This time, I wasn’t nearly as scared. I controlled my breathing better and took my shots with more care. When my slides locked back, I’d taken out 10 zombies for 30 rounds expended. I could live with that. I quickly started swapping mags.

  “Wylie, look out!” yelled Spec-4.

  I spun as fast as I could and barely evaded the grasp of a female zombie wearing a Springfield Police Uniform. She was torn to shreds. What was left of her face was held on to her skull with only loose strands of flesh. The muscle of her neck had been eaten away, revealing the vertebrae behind it. Ragged bites were taken out of both of her arms and she was even missing a couple of fingers.

  I didn’t have time to reload my Glocks. Before I could release the pistols to grab my Mossberg, Spec-4 dropped her with a snap-shot with her M-16. The shot traversed the head from left ear to right ear, blasting brains and gore across the pavement. She dropped like a stone, twitching a few times before all movement ceased. I stood there a moment with my chest heaving to catch my breath.

  A quick glance told me that both Southard and Spec-4 were OK, but I didn’t see EMT anywhere. I flashed Spec-4 a quick smile, and rapidly scanned around me for threats. Then I reloaded both Glocks. That’s the trouble with shooting two pistols at the same time. Reloading’s a bitch. I made a mental note to try to refrain from using two pistols at the same time. Accuracy and reloading time were more important than magazine capacity.

  “Where’s EMT?” I asked, over my shoulder.

  “Cowering in the floorboard in the fetal position,” replied Spec-4 with a look of disgust on her face and pointing down into the Humvee.

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me!” I snapped, turning back to the zombies. “Fuck him, then. Chuck, watch your back. Let’s get the job done and get out of here.”

  We resumed shooting and I backed a few steps closer to the Humvee. I heard a rustling sound behind us and spun around to see half a dozen zombies coming out of the field behind Southard. It looked like they came from the church about a hundred meters north of us. I ducked below Southard’s line of fire and fired while I crouched and walked that way.

  “I’ve got it, Chuck!” I yelled. “Keep after the others.”

  I stood back up after I cleared the front bumper and kept up the fire. There was a wire fence between Southard and the field behind him, so I had time to aim my shots. I took out all six of them before they made it over the fence. Back from the direction of the church, I could see about a dozen more zombies, but they were preoccupied with trying to beat their way inside the building. I was considering a rescue run for the church as well, when the side doors flew open and people began pouring out and heading for cars. So, I turned back to our fight to survey the damage.

  Our shooting had done the trick. Very few were still moving about. I’d taken nearly twenty zombies in total and both Spec-4 and Southard had done better than that. In just a few more shots, they’d cleared the area. As the last ones fell, the doors to the Dollar Store burst open and a flood of people came pouring out, running for their cars. It was an odd assortment of people, ranging from women with kids to postal uniforms.

  No one even glanced our way as they began taking off in various directions. I did a quick scan of the area as I walked back to the driver’s side of the Humvee. Then I reached down and removed the duty belt from the fallen Spud officer. It held another radio, two magazines for a Glock, two sets of handcuffs, a can of pepper spray and a Taser. I did a quick scan of the area and spotted the SPD patrol car in the parking lot of the church across the street. Then I reached down and solemnly removed the badge from her shirt and tucked it in my pocket with Henderson’s.

  I backed towards the Humvee and kept watching the area. The immediate threat was taken care of. There were still plenty of zombies in the area, but nothing close enough to us to be a significant concern. We had a few minutes to catch our breath. Hopping back inside, I checked the fuel gauge. It showed almost a quarter of a tank. Then, inspiration hit me.

  “Hey, we’re at a gas station. Why not use it?”

  “Good idea,” said Southard.

  “Does anyone know how to activate the pumps at a Stop ‘n’ Rob?” I asked.

  “I used to work at a Convenience store,” said EMT from the rear floorboard.

  “That’s great,” I said. “Southard, take fearless there and go turn on the pumps.”

  “It’s a diesel,” said Spec-4.

  “Yeah, I’ve filled up a Humvee or two in my day,” said Southard.

  “Alright, then,” I said. “Southard, cover EMT while he turns on the pumps and don’t get eaten. If zombies come after you, tell them you’re high in LDL cholesterol or something.”

  “Got it,” he said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Besides, I don’t have to outrun the zombies. Just him.”

  He was gesturing towards EMT.

  “Larry,” said EMT.

  “What?”

  “My freakin’ name is Larry.”

  “Fine,” I replied. “Southard, take LARRY the EMT inside and carry on with the mission.”

  “Gotchya,” said Southard. “Charlie Mike[3].”

  I pulled the Humvee over to the gas pumps and Southard jumped out with his M-16 at the ready. Then he practically had to pull EMT out of the backseat by the collar and headed into the C-store. I got out and headed around to the pump, Mossberg in hand. Spec-4 covered us all from the top of the Humvee. As Southard reached the door, I yelled after him.

  “Hey, Chuck! Snag any gas cans you find in there. We might as well fill them too, just in case.”

  “On it!”

  Once they were inside, I heard two rapid shots from Southard’s M-16. I turned to head inside, but stopped short when I heard Southard yell back to us.

  “All clear in here! I’m just mopping up a couple stragglers! By the way, we need a clean-up on aisle four.”

  Spec-4 checked her magazine and popped in a fresh one. I quickly replaced my magazines in my Glocks, and checked to make sure the Mossberg was full. I was just finishing when all of the pumps lit up.

  “Thank you for choosing our Stop ‘n’ Rob,” came Southard’s voice from the speaker. “You are ready to fill up on pump...aw, hell. We just turned them all on.”

  “Smart-ass,” I muttered, as I started the pump and began fueling the Humvee.

  “Make sure you fill the tanks in the back, too,” said Spec-4.

  I walked to the back end and found four fuel cans mounted inside in a rack. So I grabbed the nozzle of another pump and started topping them off, as well.

  “How’re we looking, up there?”

  “All clear, so far. I see a few zoms a couple blocks up, but no immediate threats,” she said.

  I checked the fuel pumps, again. This was taking entirely too long for my comfort. So I kept my left hand free to run the pumps, and held the Mossberg tightly in my right hand. I could shoot the 12 gauge with one hand, but it wasn’t something I enjoyed. The Mossberg kicked like a Missouri Mule. Besides that, I wasn’t really looking forward to firing a shotgun near a gas pump. The results could be devastating.

  I was just finishing filling the last of the fuel tanks, when Southard and EMT came trotting out of the store. They both were loaded down with a bunch of bags, but no fuel cans.

  “What the fuck, Chuck?” I asked, as they got to the vehicle.

  “No fuel cans to be had,” said Southard. “So we helped ourselves to soda and snacks.”

  “Did you leave anything, at all?”

  “Well, we didn’t get any scratchers tickets or nudie magazines. I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a grin. “But I did get a whole bag full of chew. You want a can?”

  “You know damned good and well that Karen will kick my ass if I start chewing, again.”

  “I grabbed some of those apple flavored pouches,” he te
ased. “She’ll never know. I won’t tell her. I promise.”

  “Maybe later,” I replied, and headed for the driver’s seat.

  Southard and EMT climbed back inside, and started distributing the junk-food. I snagged some beef jerky and an energy drink. Spec-4 climbed back inside and sealed the hatch in time to take a Mountain Dew and a jumbo Snickers. EMT went for pork-rinds and a coke. Southard put in a chew and grabbed a Dr. Pepper.

  “I got you a little something special, too,” said Southard, handing me a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. “I figured I owed you a drink for saving my ass, back there.”

  “I’ll save that for later,” I said and slid the bottle into my bag. “Thanks.”

  “No problem, man. Just make sure I get a shot or six of that when you crack it open.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Spec-4. “If we get out of this alive, I think we could all use a stiff drink.”

  “Hell, I’d go for one right freakin’ now,” said EMT.

  “Not till we’re clear,” said Southard. “We all need to be clear-headed to get through this alive. So just relax and drink your damned coke.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” I said. “I want to raid that SPD cruiser parked across the street. You guys cover me while I search it. That had to be where the faceless chick came from.”

  I drove across the street and into the parking lot of the church. I could see a zombie beating on the glass door of the church. He was dressed in a cheap suit and tie, and was missing his throat and a cheek. Fortunately, he was on the inside and wasn’t making any progress in trying to get out. I pulled up next to the parked cruiser and hopped out.

  Southard popped out of the passenger door and started scanning the area. Spec-4 appeared out of the hatch like a rabbit appearing out of a magician’s hat and nodded at me. I brought up the Mossberg and walked cautiously towards the parked cruiser. The entire area was eerily quiet and not even birds were making any noise. Only the sound of the wind whistling between the tree branches and power lines broke the silence. It was a little unnerving.

  The driver’s side door was open and the lights on top of the car were still flashing. I noticed that there were keys were in the ignition as I leaned into the driver’s side door.. The shotgun was still in the rack, so I took it. I slung the tactical sling over my shoulder and opened the glove box. Inside was a box of .40 caliber ammo. I took that, too. Then I snagged the laptop and the extra radio battery in the console. On the seat was a rechargeable flashlight. That went under my arm.

  After I was sure that there was nothing left to take in the front seat, I got back out and tossed the flashlight to Spec-4. Then I laid the rest on the hood of the Humvee so Southard could stow them inside. As I started to walk around to the back of the cruiser, I saw a puddle of blood and several brass shell casings. A few feet away lay a Glock .40, with the slide locked back. That went in my belt.

  Then I popped the trunk and started rummaging through it. Most of it wasn’t worth taking. There were a couple stuffed animals lying in the corner. Most cops keep a box of toys in their trunk to give to kids they meet on calls. Sometimes it helps to calm them down. It was a great sentiment, but I didn’t think I would need toys right now. I was looking for things that might help us survive this mess. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help myself and tossed a stuffed Elmo doll to Southard.

  “Elmo says shoot some zombies,” said Southard in a very good copy of the famous voice.

  I grinned and returned to rummaging through the trunk. I’m glad I did too, because I found two duffle-bags. One was apparently the go-bag for the female officer that had been assigned to this car. It had an extra uniform and undergarments in it.

  “Hmm, red thong? Not the usual Law Enforcement issue,” I mused. “It must be a tactical thong.”

  There was a pair of tactical boots beneath the uniform. She had been about Spec-4’s size, so I took the bag. She might need the change of clothes. The second duffle-bag had extra gear in it. Four boxes of 12 gauge ammo in .00 buck, and five boxes of .40 caliber hollow points. There was also a pair of tactical gloves, a PR-24 night-stick, and an S&W M&P[4] in .40 in a concealable holster. The holster also held two extra mags for the M&P.

  “Paydirt,” I mumbled.

  I grabbed the two bags and started to walk away when something else caught my eye. I’d almost missed a major score. In a rack against the backseat was a Heckler and Koch range bag. It was partially covered by a rain slicker, so I nearly missed it. I opened it like I’d just found the Holy Grail. I whistled softly as I unzipped the bag and found an H&K MP-5, chambered in 9mm. The bag also had five extra loaded magazines for it.

  “Thank you, All-Father,” I said as I snagged it.

  “Wylie,” said Southard. “We’ve got company!”

  I turned and headed back to the Humvee in time to see about ten zombies rapidly approaching the glass doors of the church. While the doors had been enough to stop the one zombie in the cheap suit, I had no illusions about it stopping all of them. They immediately hit the door and began to try to force their way through it. It would only be a matter of time before they got through.

  Southard grabbed the shotgun and ammo off the hood and dove back inside. I tossed the bags to Spec-4 and held on to the MP-5. It went into the seat next to me as I climbed in. As I shut the door, the church doors exploded outwards in a shower of glass. Three of the zombies stumbled and fell, but the rest kept coming. I noticed that they were moving much faster than I had expected them to. In fact, they were starting to build up speed.

  I fired up the engine and we roared back out of the parking lot, leaving the small crowd of zombies behind. Most of them were hauling ass and tried to keep up with us, but to no avail. I named them Sprinters. The slower ones seemed to shamble along, so I called them Shamblers. They fell behind almost immediately. By the time we were passing the stoplight next to a waffle shop, I could barely see them in the mirror anymore.

  Just as I was reaching the overpass that crossed over the interstate, I had to hit the brakes hard. We screeched to a stop, narrowly avoiding running into an overturned pick-up truck. The entire bridge was clogged with abandoned vehicles. Glenstone was blocked for as far as I could see. All around us were signs of violence and death. Many of the vehicles had broken out windows and blood on the doors.

  “Hand me the binocs,” I said, and held up my hand.

  Southard handed me the binoculars and I stepped out of the Humvee.

  “Damn it, Wylie,” said Spec-4. “Warn me before you jump out.”

  She popped back out of the turret to cover me while I surveyed the area. It didn’t look good. I could see one of the cars that had left the Dollar store. It was only a few hundred yards farther up the road. They’d managed to get between some of the vehicles until they were trapped. They couldn’t go forward and there was no room to turn around. About twenty zombies were already surrounding the car.

  I was about to tell everyone to grab their gear to mount a rescue when I saw the driver’s side window shatter. Then the screaming began. The four occupants of the car were systematically dragged out by the zombies. I had to close my eyes when I realized that one of them was a child of about six. I couldn’t look any more. I lowered the binoculars and looked down. I felt like being sick. I forced myself to turn away and get back in the Humvee.

  “We can’t get through that way,” I said.

  “There’s no use in taking the interstate. It’s blocked,” said Spec-4, patting me on the shoulder. She’d seen it, too.

  “Glenstone’s blocked,” I said. “We can’t go that way. Any suggestions?”

  “How about the road at the last stop light?” said Southard. “We can catch it right there by the waffle place.”