Spec-4 opened a window and brought up her M-16, taking careful aim at the biker. Southard did the same, sighting in on the redneck. Bowman and Shane opened windows and picked their targets, as well.
“What the fuck do you want?” demanded the biker through a mouth full of rotten meth-teeth.
“I saw one of our Chargers, there,” I said, pointing. “Have you seen the driver?”
“No, we ain’t seen her,” said the redneck, his orthodontia no better than the biker’s.
“How’d you know it was a woman?” I asked, cocking my head towards him.
“Aw, hell,” said the redneck, spitting out a mouthful of tobacco juice.
“Shut the fuck up and let me do the talking,” snapped the biker to the redneck.
“Tell me where she is and we’ll be on our way,” I said, not quite raising my rifle.
“You’ll be moving on, anyway,” said the biker. “We ain’t telling you shit, cop!”
“Well, that’s too bad,” I said, “because I’m not leaving without my officer.”
“Then you’re dead meat, motherfucker” said the redneck, raising his rifle.
Southard shot him in the face. He fell over the side of the building and landed about twenty feet away from me. The rifle fell beside him, discharging a round into the wall when it hit.
“Son-of-a….” Biker started to say, as he brought up his rifle.
Spec-4 drilled him right in the forehead. He fell beside the redneck, and his rifle clattered to the ground a few feet away. I wasn’t worried about either of them returning as a zombie. For one thing, neither of them had enough skull left to turn. I had to climb over a couple of the cars to get to the front door of the club. Instead of parking the cars against the front of the building, they had made a horseshoe barricade around the door. Both redneck and biker were lying inside the horseshoe.
As I approached the door, Spec-4 and Southard caught up with me. Bowman and Shane continued to cover us from the windows. Behind us, EMT secured the bus door in case any zombie stragglers showed up. Then he gave us the thumbs up and a smile. He was learning. Sanders was covering us with his M-16, from the driver’s window.
“Open the door!” I yelled at the club.
“Piss off, pig!” said a voice from inside the club.
“Give me my officer and we’re gone.”
“You ain’t getting through that door,” replied the voice.
“Fair enough,” I muttered, and turned to Southard. “It’s your funeral. Is there any of that duct-tape left?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking confused. “Why?”
“Give me a roll.”
He turned and looked at Sanders and held up his hand. Sanders threw a roll of his famous redneck repair tape and it landed on the trunk of the car in front of Southard. He casually picked it up and handed it to me.
“Ok, now what?”
“Last chance!” I yelled at the club.
I didn’t get a response, but I didn’t really expect one. So I casually pulled a fragmentation grenade out of my cargo pocket and taped it to the door.
“You guys might want to get back,” I said quietly, to Southard and Spec-4.
Then I pulled the pin and ran for the barricade. Southard and Spec-4 followed my lead and dove over the cars. The explosion shredded the door and the two bikers behind it. We moved in quickly, before anyone could recover and mount a defense. Ordinarily, when we would breach a door, we would toss in a flash bang grenade to disorient the people inside. I was pretty sure that the frag and done that job, all by itself.
Inside we found four more bikers and two big rednecks. All of them were armed with either pistols or shotguns. We took them down in under 30 seconds, cutting the pie. Only two of them even got off a shot, and only one scored a hit. The round slammed into my vest and was stopped by the trauma plate. It drove me back a few feet, but didn’t penetrate the armor. It didn’t keep it from hurting like hell, though. That was the second time that vest had saved my life.
We found six women that were tied-up near the stage. Two were strippers from the club, but the other four had been taken by the bikers. One of them was Deputy Cassie Bennett. She was wearing her county issue uniform top, and nothing else. The buttons had all been torn off. All of the women were similarly undressed, not to mention battered and bruised.
Cassie ran up to us and hugged Southard. She was crying hard, sobs wracking her body.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried, tears streaming down her face.
“It’s ok,” he said, and held her tight. “It’s ok. How long have you been here?”
“Since yesterday afternoon,” she said, still crying. “They grabbed me when I stopped to see if they were alright.”
“Let’s get you all out of here,” I said, fighting back the anger I felt inside.
“Wylie,” she cried. “They hurt us. They hurt all of us.”
I didn’t want to know, but in my heart I already did. They’d all been raped repeatedly. I was glad we’d killed all of the scum-bags. I only wished we could have done it again, this time more slowly. Or better yet, leave them bleeding and tied-up for the zombies to find.
“It’s ok, Cassie,” I said, trying to sound soothing. “No one’s going to hurt any of you, now. Not anymore.”
“Thank you,” she said, still holding Southard tightly.
“Wilder, get these ladies on the bus. Let them grab clothes, if they have them. Southard and I are on round-up detail. We’ll grab all the guns and ammo we can find. Make it quick, though. It won’t be long before we have zombies crawling all over this place.”
Reluctantly, Cassie let go of Southard and went with Spec-4. She found what was left of her uniform, but it was cut to pieces.
“I have a spare uniform in the trunk of my Charger,” she said.
“Grab it, but be quick,” I said.
In less than two minutes, we rounded up all of the guns we could find and were back on the bus. I dropped the lock into place and Sanders fired up the engine. I was careful to look the other way while the women got dressed. Spec-4 handed out water and EMT was checking them all out. He looked pissed off as he’d glance at the front of the strip club.
“Hey, Wylie,” said Southard. “Want an inventory of the gun bag?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What did we end up with?”
“We got two deer rifles, four shotguns and six pistols. That’s not counting Cassie’s pistol and shotgun. It’s a mixed lot on the ammo, but quite a bit of it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “We may need it all.”
“How much of it do you want to stash back for you to take with you to the lake?” he asked quietly, so only I could hear him.
“As much as we can spare,” I whispered.
“We can spare all of it,” he said. “Besides, Sanders and I are both going with you.”
“Thanks, Chuck,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”
“Just say the word.”
“I will.”
Just then, Cassie Bennett came walking up to the front of the bus. She was dressed in her spare uniform. Although bruised, there was a look of calm defiance on her face. She looked like a cop again.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
“No, not really,” she replied, honestly. “I’m back in this. Besides, you’re going to need me.”
“Yes, we will,” I said. “But after what happened….”
She stopped me there.
“I don’t want to think about that. It happened, but we have to think about survival. I won’t forget it, but I won’t let it break me, either.”
“Good,” I said. “But only if you’re sure.”
“I am,” she replied, a ring of steel in her voice. “I’m not going to cower at the back of the bus. I’m not a victim.”
“Southard has your pistol and shotgun,” I said. “Get your gear and load up. We’re going after more people.”
“Thanks, again,” she said, softly. “You really don’t know h
ow grateful I am. How grateful we all are,”
“Any time,” I replied, smiling.
Sanders was still picking his way through abandoned cars as we approached the Army Surplus store. The parking lot was empty and the place was closed up tightly. It didn’t have the look of a place that had been looted.
“I’d love to get in there,” he said, pointing.
“Don’t rule it out,” I said. “There’s a lot of gear in there we could really use.”
“What about right now,” he said, grinning.
“Not this trip,” I replied. “We’ve got people to save.”
“So where’s this convenience store at?”
“It should be right around here, somewhere,” I replied, gesturing.
About that time my radio crackled to life.
“I never thought I’d be happy to see the jail bus,” said a voice over the radio.
I grabbed the handset and keyed up.
“Nathanael County shuttle service,” I said. “Did you call for a ride?”
“Yeah,” replied a second voice. “Did you bring our pizza?”
“Sure did,” I responded. “It’s still fresh in the MRE bag.”
“MRE’s?” said the first voice. “I ain’t that hungry.”
“Wow,” chimed in Sanders. “He must be ex-Army. MRE’s never sound good to me, either.”
“Where do you want the delivery brought?” I asked.
“I’m looking at you, right now. We’re in the Stop ‘n’ Rob right next to the auto parts store.”
“Got ‘em,” said Sanders, and started heading that way.
We could see the store clearly, now. They’d succeeded in blocking off the doors, but a few dozen zombies were crowded around the entrance. We were going to have to fight our way in.
“Is there any chance that you can shoot your way out of there?” I asked.
“No can do,” said voice number one. “We’re completely out of ammo. Plus, I’m banged up pretty bad.”
“Where’s your cruiser?” I asked.
“What’s left of it is at the intersection of Sunshine and West By-pass. We got t-boned by a pick-up truck. It’s totaled.”
“Copy,” I replied. “Stand by. We’re coming for you.”
“We’ve got plenty of alcohol. The drinks are on us when you get here. Name your poison.”
“Bushmills Irish Whiskey,” I replied. “Any variety will do, but the 21’s my favorite.”
“We’ll see what we can do.”
“Also, grab coffee,” I said. “We’re running low at the jail.”
“Gotchya,” replied voice number two. “We’re on it.”
“By the way,” I said. “Who are you guys?”
“This is Burton and Graham’s here with me. His leg’s pretty banged up. Who are you?”
“Wylie Grant,” I replied. “Jail staff.”
“I knew it,” said Graham. “If I’d have known it was you, I’d have asked for Chinese instead of pizza.”
“Hell, Graham,” I replied, laughing. “If I’d have known it was you, I’d have stayed at the jail.”
I was kidding and they knew it. I knew them both from nights spent in Booking. For Roadies, they were both pretty good guys. They didn’t treat the jail staff like crap, and that made them alright in my book. Besides, I wouldn’t have left anyone to die. Not even Henderson. Well, maybe Henderson. I’m kidding. Well, mostly.
“Everyone lock and load,” I called out to the bus. “Sanders, stop us about thirty yards out.”
“Got it,” he replied, already beginning to slow down.
I keyed up the radio once more.
“Listen up, guys,” I said. “You might want to grab some floor. If we miss, it might come through the walls or the windows.”
“Copy that,” said Burton. “I didn’t know that you C.O.’s could shoot.”
“Up yours, Burton,” I replied. “We’ll yell when we’re clear.”
“Copy, that.”
Sanders brought the bus to a screeching halt as I yanked out the lock and opened the door. I was the first one out the door. Spec-4 was right on my heels, followed by Southard, Cassie Bennett, Shane, Bowman and Sanders. I began firing as soon as I cleared the bus.
The zombies turned and came right at us. A few of them were Sprinters, so we took them out first. With seven of us shooting, it was over pretty quickly. The zombies never made it within ten yards of us. As soon as we stopped shooting, the door to the Stop ‘n’ Rob flew open and out came two very banged up patrol deputies. I yelled for EMT as soon as I saw them, and he came out with bag in hand.
We all fanned out and covered the area, letting them come to us. EMT helped them onto the bus while I did a quick scan of the area. I didn’t see any zombies that would be close enough to cause us any problems. That gave us a little breathing room to play with. We had a little bit of time to kill and I knew just how to use it.
“Ok, people,” I said. “Burton and Graham already cleared the Stop ‘n’ Rob. I’ll watch our six. Take a few minutes and go shopping. Grab whatever we might need.”
Spec-4 stayed with me while Sanders, Bowman, Shane, Southard and Bennett ran inside the store to grab supplies. Spec-4 and I faced opposite directions and began sweeping the area. I didn’t see anything coming from the direction that I was covering, so I glanced towards Spec-4.
“I’ve got about a dozen Shamblers coming our way,” said Spec-4. “They’re about two blocks north of us. They shouldn’t be here for a while.”
“Keep an eye on them,” I replied. “If there are any Sprinters in the group, they’ll get here quick. My side is clear.”
In less than two minutes, they were all coming back out of the store. They were each carrying several bags. Southard handed me a bag when he walked up.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“All the chew pouches they had,” he replied. “I thought I’d stock you up, since you’re off the wagon now.”
I grinned and jerked my thumb at the bus.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, people,” I said.
They climbed back onto the bus as I backed up to the door, covering us. Sanders climbed back into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. I was the last one back on board. Once the lock was back in place, Sanders shoved the big bus into gear and we rumbled on towards West By-pass. While Sanders was driving, I turned my attention towards our newest arrivals.
“Are either of you bit?” I yelled at Burton and Graham.
“Nope,” said Burton. “But we did get pretty busted up in the crash.”
“How’d you guys make it all the way up here on foot?” I asked.
Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 22
