I still didn’t get a response. Her lip was quivering slightly as she stared at me. So, I fished out a bottle of water and a candy bar from my pack and handed them to her. I also took out one of Kris Newberry’s sandwiches. They looked to be peanut butter and jelly. She took them, cautiously. With tears still on her cheeks, she opened the bottle of water and drank almost half of it in one gulp. Then she opened the candy bar and ate it in silence. I thought it best to leave her be, for the time being.
When I turned back to Spec-4, she had regained her composure.
“You scared the shit out of me back there,” she said as she put the Humvee into gear and continued on down the road.
“Sorry,” I said. “It didn’t exactly do wonders for me either. I nearly had to change my shorts.”
She just shot me a glance without turning her head, and smiled.
“I am so glad that I decided to wear that vest,” I said.
“I don’t want to think about it.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I was damned near zombie chow.”
“Which way do I go?” she asked as we were approaching a small neighborhood market.
“Keep going south and we’ll turn left at the stop light. I’m pretty sure that’s Grand Street. There should be a cemetery on the south east corner.”
“Gotchya,” she said.
As we passed the market, I could see that it had been overrun by zombies. A few tried to catch us, but even the Sprinters can’t run 40 miles per hour. Less than a minute later, we arrived at the intersection with the stoplight. Unfortunately, it was blocked with too many cars. It was impassable for at least two blocks in any direction.
“Do we backtrack?” asked Spec-4.
“Screw it,” I said. “Take the sidewalk.”
She smiled and spun the wheels. Once we hopped up over the curb, she drove east down the sidewalk and through yards until we reached the next street. Then we had no choice but to turn left. The sidewalk was too narrow and light poles kept us from going any further down the sidewalk. Fortunately, this residential street was mostly empty.
So, we headed back north and took the first right that we came to. I didn’t catch the street name and residential streets tend to look alike to me. There was an old brick apartment building at the corner, though. The next street we came to was a one way street. We came out near a Junior High School. There were numerous abandoned vehicles near the school. The place was also crawling with undead.
Traffic was still blocked to our right, so we turned farther north. I smiled when I realized we were going the wrong way on a one way street. As we passed a pair of matching red brick apartment buildings, we could see that zombies were everywhere in one building and the other was on fire. One of my best friends in college used to live in the one that was on fire. I tossed back many a beer in that apartment.
We worked our way around numerous abandoned cars and you could see the occasional bloody spot on the road. Zombies were all around us, but thankfully scattered in small groups. Ahead of us on the left sat a Catholic Church. Across the street from it was another church on our right. I think it was a Baptist Church. Either way, both congregations got the same afterlife. They were swarming over the area, born-again as zombies. As bad as I hated to admit it, I think the Gods were sitting out this particular game.
Again, we took the first right we came to. We were going to be running the gauntlet between an apartment complex on the left and houses that had been converted to apartments on the right. Zombies came pouring out into the street and started hitting the windows and sides of the Humvee. There weren’t enough of them to bog us down, but it was nerve wracking, nonetheless. I knew we were getting close to the campus, so I decided to try and raise someone on the radio.
“829 to any unit in the University area,” I said, and paused. I waited for about 30 seconds, and tried again.
No answer.
We approached a stop sign next to strip mall with a restaurant on the end. As we crossed the intersection, we saw several college students climbing into a van. They were closely followed by several zombies, two of them dressed as cheerleaders. As the students screeched out of the parking lot of a Sub-sandwich shop, they barely missed us. The driver honked at us and flipped us off, but he didn’t slow down. It looked to me like they were all laughing. What a bunch of idiots. They turned left and we quickly lost sight of them. More than half of the zombies that were following us turned to pursue the van.
“Jackasses,” I muttered, watching them drive away.
When we reached the street that ran in front of the student arena, we turned right and had to stop immediately. The road was completely blocked with abandoned cars. A few were overturned and a couple of them were on fire. To our left was an apartment style dorm building from the university. The dorm looked like it had been bombed. The upper floors were on fire and most the windows had been shattered out of the lower floors. A group of zombies was busily eating the remains of a pair of co-eds in an open-topped jeep. Another group of zombies was pulling apart a boy in a basketball jersey. It was pure chaos.
Spec-4 didn’t wait for suggestions and drove up on the curb. Driving down the sidewalk, she looked for an opening that we could force our way through. Twice we ran over zombies who tried to charge us. A few zombies were running next to us and beating on the windows. Several Sprinters tried to follow us, but we quickly lost them by accelerating into the soccer field, south of the arena. We had to crash through a chain-link fence, but it didn’t take much. Thankfully, it wasn’t a very strong fence.
Heading across the field, we drove through another fence and between two buildings. We emerged next to the parking garage. That’s when I spotted the Sheriff’s Blazer. It was lying on its passenger side, with the windshield knocked out of it and sitting near the front bumper. I motioned for Spec-4 to stop so I could check it out. When she stopped, I got out with my M-16 in hand.
Several zombies lay dead around the over-turned Blazer. All of them had been shot in the head. Numerous shell casings lay scattered around, but there was no sign of the Sheriff. The shell casings were a mixture of 9mm and 12 gauge shotgun shells. I looked around the area, but saw nothing. I found a Remington 870 shotgun lying near the rear bumper. It was empty, but I snagged it anyway. I turned and quickly tossed it into the Humvee.
The Sprinters we had out-distanced on the soccer field came around the corner of the building right about then. There were only three of them, so I quickly shot them all in the head. It only took three shots to drop them before they closed within fifty feet. My aim was definitely improving. I held my aim at the spot where they had emerged for a few seconds longer, just to make sure no stragglers caught me by surprise.
Once I was satisfied that no more were coming in the immediate future, I turned and scanned the area. That’s when I noticed more dead zombies laying near the entrance to the parking garage, about thirty yards away. I pointed it out to Spec-4, and headed that way on foot. She followed closely and I kept my M-16 up and ready. I walked slowly and kept the weapon tight against my shoulder with my elbow out.
Just inside the entrance to the parking garage, I found an abandoned County Patrol Charger. It had been on its way out of the garage when it had struck a pick-up head-on. Both vehicles were disabled and a large puddle of coolant was beneath them. All four doors of the Charger were open. A quick glance told me that no one was inside and they’d left no weapons in the vehicle.
Spec-4 slowly worked her way around the obstruction and drove into the parking garage. The sun was sinking lower in the sky and I could tell that we didn’t have a lot of daylight left. With the shadows growing longer, I decided it might be best if I got back into the Humvee as we continued on into the parking garage. I shut the door and locked it, then crawled into the turret and popped the hatch.
Spec-4 continued on into the garage and switched on the headlights. Instantly, they illuminated two zombies that were busily eating a kid that was pinned under a scooter. I shot both of the
m in the head. I also shot the kid, just to be safe. The shots reverberated loudly in the confines of the garage, echoing around me in the darkness. My nerves were on ragged edge and I was expecting a horde of zombies to come charging out of every shadow.
As we continued up the ramp towards the top of the garage, there were fewer and fewer cars. Rounding the corner onto the third level, I saw a huge zombie standing in the middle of the path. He must have been at least 6’5” and weighed in close to 300 lbs. He was wearing an MSU practice jersey with the number 78 printed on it.
“Hey, I know that guy,” I said. “That’s Ken Riley. He plays the defensive line for the Bears.”
“Are you gonna shoot him or get his autograph?” asked Spec-4, laughing.
I chuckled, but shot him where he stood. No sense waiting until he charged. I’d seen that guy plow through opposing linemen like they weren’t there. I was almost afraid that he might knock the Humvee over. A few seconds later, we emerged onto the roof-top level. I could see that there had been one hell of a fire-fight.
The bodies of sixty or more zombies lay scattered around the top level. I counted four bodies in jail black and one in patrol gray. All of them were dead and they all had bite wounds. Then I saw the Sheriff. He was covered in blood and lay with his back against the far wall. Zombies lay scattered around him. I could see the light shining off of brass shell casings all over the place.
“Son of a Bitch,” I whispered. “This was a fucking war.”
Nothing was moving up here. The parking lot lights were just now coming on and illuminated the carnage all around us. Yeah, it had been one hell of a firefight. I scanned the area once more to be absolutely certain nothing was moving, then pulled the hatch shut and climbed out of the Humvee. Spec-4 kept the engine running as I stepped carefully around the area, M-16 at the ready. Spec-4 looked worried, but didn’t say anything. When she started to get out, I shook my head.
“Stay in there with the kid,” I said, “and be ready to haul ass if I come running.”
I could tell that she didn’t like it, but she stayed put. That was good. If any of these things started to get up, I wanted to be able to run for the Humvee and not worry about anyone else getting caught.
“Watch my back,” I said as I moved towards the Sheriff.
“Gotchya, Sar-major.”
Cautiously, I picked my way towards the Sheriff. Along the way, I recovered four empty Glocks and tossed them into the open passenger door of the Humvee. I also found three empty shotguns and one AR. Those went into the Humvee, as well. As I passed the fallen officers, I checked them all. I didn’t know any of them personally, but knew their faces in passing. The black shirts were all from D-Shift, I think. Their name tags read Simonson, Walters, Bradley and Tate. The patrol gray uniform belonged to a Sergeant that I didn’t know.
All of them had nasty bite-marks on their bodies and a single large caliber bullet wound to the forehead. Spec-4 stayed as close to me as she could, without running over too many bodies. I took the time to strip all four of the officers of their duty belts, any extra ammo and radios. There wasn’t much ammo left on any of them. They hadn’t gone down without a fight. That was good.
As I checked the Sergeant, I noticed his name plate said Jennings. I’d heard his name before, but didn’t know him personally. His eyes were partially open and he had almost a relieved look on his face. Blood was congealing around the bullet hole in his forehead. I pulled off his badge and stuck it in my cargo pocket with the others.
Then I continued on to the Sheriff. He was covered in blood and had a nasty bite wound to his left shoulder. He didn’t appear to be breathing. I could see other bites on his arms and one on his left thigh. He hadn’t been shot, though. That meant that he could still turn at any time. I kept the M-16 pointed at him as I approached and nudged his boot with my toe. I was fully expecting him to wake up and try to attack me. I almost shot him when he opened his eyes and looked at me.
“Grant?” he whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear. “Is that you?”
“Oh, shit,” I whispered. “He’s alive!”
I lowered the rifle and went to him. His wounds were bad. Frantically, I dug out my first aid kit and started to open it.
“Don’t waste it,” he managed to gasp out. “It’s too late.”
“Let me help you, sir,” I said.
“You can,” he hissed through pain-clenched teeth. “Just listen.”
I did as he asked.
“I did…all I could. I tried to…(cough)…save them. We got trapped…up here. We held out… (cough)…as long as we could. Just too many… (cough)…of them. They just…kept coming.”
He gasped and coughed, again. Dark red blood spurted out onto his chin and chest. Spec-4 ran over with a bottle of water and handed it to me. I opened it and gave him a sip.
“Grant,” he said. “I don’t have…much time left. I’m turning; I can feel it…inside. I need you…to do something…for me.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Name it.”
“Take my badge…and gun,” he whispered. “You’ve got to…keep it going. Don’t let it fall. Someone has to…take up the badge.”
“But…” I stammered.
“Take it, Grant!” he hissed. “I carried it for a while. It was…heavier...than I ever expected.”
I waited, expecting each sentence to be his last.
“Keep it going. Pass it on… (cough)…when you can’t…carry it… (cough)…anymore.”
“I will, sir,” I said, my voice quivering.
“It’s more…than a badge….it’s a symbol. Keep it……”
He gave a soft wheeze and shuddered, and then his chin fell to his chest. Sheriff Rick Hawkins was gone. It was one hell of an end for the 41st Sheriff of Nathanael County. This was only the second time in history that a sheriff of Nathanael County had died in the line of duty. It was always a peaceful place. At least it was, until Ragnarok came.
Gently, I took the badge from his shirt and took his pistol from his hand. I took the shoulder holster that held his county-issued Glock. Around his waist was his pride and joy. It was a gunfighter rig holding a beautiful 1873 Army Colt. It had wooden grips and gleamed like it was new. I’d heard the story on how he’d come by that particular gun.
It had belonged to his father and he claimed that it once belonged to another Sheriff, long ago. A Sheriff named Virgil Earp, brother of legendary lawman Wyatt Earp. I don’t know if it was true or not, but it was a hell of a story. Although it was a museum piece, the gun worked just fine. Sheriff Hawkins had even qualified with it at the range.
Although it was an old style holster, it had been upgraded with loops that held replacement cartridges for the Colt that could be swapped out. Only seven rounds remained with in it. Reverently, I reloaded the old beauty and stuck it back in its holster.
Just then, the Sheriff opened his eyes. As he started to get to his feet, I drew the old revolver and brought it up. I hesitated for a few moments, letting him stand completely up. Before he could lunge forward to attack, I cocked the hammer back and steadied my aim.
“I won’t let it fall, sir,” I whispered, and shot him between the eyes.
I considered grabbing the old .45 brass casings, but I didn’t have any way to reload them. Then I slowly turned and headed for the Humvee. I turned and glanced back at Sheriff Hawkins one last time before I got in.
“I won’t let it fall,” I promised.
The sun was down completely as we secured the doors. The street lights were beginning to flicker on all around us. I gave silent thanks that the power grid hadn’t failed, yet. It would only be a matter of time until it did, though. Little by little, we were losing this war. With every new zombie that turned, humanity lost more ground. If we didn’t find a way to stem the tide, we were all as good as dead.
“Where to?” asked Spec-4.
Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 15
