“Southard,” I said, “get on the radio and let Sanders know that we can’t follow him. We’ll have to find another way back.”
He tried a few times before raising them on the Jail Op Frequency.
“Sanders,” said Cal’s voice. “Go ahead.”
“Are you guys clear?” asked Southard.
“Yeah, so far so good,” replied Sanders. “How about you guys?”
“We lost Parker,” said Southard, his voice cracking.
There was silence on the radio.
“Where are you guys, right now?” asked Southard.
“We took a detour down Fort,” replied Sanders. “It looked clear to me. We’re crossing Sunshine right now. Once we’re clear of Sunshine, I’m gonna back-road it to the jail.”
“Good plan,” said Southard. “Avoid the main streets.”
“What about you?” asked Sanders.
Southard looked at me, questioningly. I thought about it for a few seconds. We were already south of Battlefield. The Charger had three quarters of a tank of gas, and we still had plenty of ammo.
“We’re going after the Sarge,” I said.
“Put some coffee on for us,” said Southard. “We’re going after Daniels and the others.”
“Copy that,” said Sanders.
“700 copies, as well,” came the voice of Lt. Murdock. “We’ll have the coffee waiting for you when you get here.”
“Thanks, L.T.,” said Southard. “We plan on bringing back three more officers with us.”
“Best of luck,” said the L.T. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
“Copy that, 700,” said Southard. “917 out.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, getting ourselves back together before we continued on. The silence loomed heavily as we were each lost in our own thoughts. I kept my hands on the steering wheel and closed my eyes. I tried to force myself to think about other things. I couldn’t let grief win, right now. We could mourn our losses, later. I had to focus on the living. I had to focus on the people that we still could save. It was somewhere to start, anyway.
“Chuck,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “I’m sorry about Alex.”
“Thanks, man,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “He was like a brother to me.”
“Yeah, Alex was good people,” I agreed, looking back at Southard.
“Did he have any family?” asked Spec-4, sobbing.
“He was divorced,” I said. “No kids. I don’t know about his parents, he never talked about them. He did have one brother, but he died in Iraq in ‘04.”
“Still,” said Southard. “Alex was family to all of us. He’ll be missed. He was a hell of a guy. In fact, he was the God-father to both of my daughters.”
I reached back into the back seat and picked up Alex’s badge. I held it in my hand for a few moments, running my fingers across the shiny surface. It felt cool to the touch. I cleaned off a smudge of blood and wiped it on my pants. The silver badge gleamed in the light and I could almost see Alex’s face reflected in it’s surface.
“Goodbye, Alex,” I whispered, and put the badge in my pocket with the others.
“What are you going to do with all those badges?” asked Southard.
“I don’t know, Chuck. Maybe when all of this is over, I’ll build a memorial or something. It’s about the only thing we have that we can hold on to.”
“Are you going to put up the Sheriff’s badge?” asked Spec-4.
“No,” I replied, softly. “I made a promise on that badge. It has to go on.”
“Maybe they all should go on,” said Southard. “The best way to honor them is to keep going.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Maybe we should, assuming that there’s anyone left to pass them on to. We’ll keep the legacy going.”
Then I put the Charger back in gear and continued on down the street heading south. We weren’t sure how we were going to pull this off, but we were going after our people. Saving lives was the reason that any of us picked up a badge. Saving lives was how Alex had died. Badge or no badge…that was a legacy worth continuing.
Chapter Ten
Bushwhacked
“Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment.”
-Dag Hammarskjold
Our path took us south to Walnut Lawn. We were still seeing plenty of zombies, but this was a residential area and there weren’t any large groups. As we approached the intersection, I saw flashing lights up ahead. There were two SPD cruisers parked nose to nose, effectively blocking the entire intersection. There weren’t any other vehicles in the road.
“Do we risk it?” I asked, glancing quickly at the others.
“You want to pull a quick scavenge-job, don’t you?” said Spec-4, grinning.
“That’s pretty much what I was thinking, yeah,” I said.
“Hell, yeah,” said Southard, already checking the magazine on his M-16. “We didn’t pack for an extended outing. I’m almost out of ammo for my 16.”
“Wylie,” cautioned Spec-4, “remember this isn’t a Humvee. We can’t take that kind of damage and keep driving.”
“Duly noted,” I replied. "No crashing. Got it."
I began slowing down, and started looking left and right. We were within a couple blocks of a Mega-Mart Supercenter and I knew that there would be a large crowd of zombies nearby. I idly considered trying for the ammo, but then I remembered my conversation with my wife. She bought all the ammo that they had in 9mm and 12 gauge, and they rarely carried much of the .223 or 5.56mm ammo. This was the closest Mega-Mart to my house, so I figured that this had to be the one she emptied. No sense risking it for nothing.
Well, not exactly nothing, per se, just no ammo that we actually needed. There would be plenty of food, camping supplies and other gear we could use. Unfortunately, the place would be crawling with zombies. Besides that, Spec-4 was right. We weren’t exactly in a Humvee. I couldn’t just crash in the door and expect to be able to drive back out, again. Not without major structural damage and flat tires, at the very least. We'd most-likely disable the vehicle completely.
There were only about ten zombies in our immediate area. None of them were close enough to be an immediate threat, and none of them appeared to be moving fast enough to be a Sprinter. That was the good news. The bad news was that we were within spitting distance of that Supercenter, and any gunfire would bring down the horde. To make matters worse, we really weren’t in a position to call down that kind of thunder, and live to tell the tale. For one thing, we didn’t have that kind of ammo.
Putting the car in park, I nodded to Spec-4 and Southard. We all jumped out simultaneously, and headed towards the patrol cars. I reached in my cargo pocket and tossed Southard two magazines for his M-16. By unspoken agreement, Spec-4 covered our six. I motioned for Southard to swing to the left while I went to the right, each taking a different car. I found the body of an SPD officer lying in the front seat. She was still holding the radio mic in her right hand.
Gears in my head began turning at a furious pace. I had fully expected to find someone dead, or worse. I was even prepared to find only blood. But this was different. This officer had died from a gunshot wound. Actually, she died from several of them. They were large caliber, too. Then I noticed that there were several bullet holes in the car, as well. All of her gear was missing and the car had been picked clean. Her equipment belt was missing and there was a powder burn from a weapon that was pressed to the side of her head. She'd been shot, then executed when she hadn't died instantly. This was very, very bad.
“Wylie!” said Southard. “Something’s seriously wrong, over here.”
“Fall back to the car,” I said, and started moving. “Now!”
The first gunshot struck me right in the middle of the back. I pitched forward and slammed my head into the doorframe of the patrol car, then fell in a heap with the breath knocked out of me. My back felt like it was on fire and my vision was swimming. I
could hear my heartbeat in my ears, like it was hammering out a drum solo. I could only barely hear gunshots breaking out around me. Through the pain and disorientation, it hit me. We’d just walked into an ambush.
Rough hands grabbed me around the arm and pulled me to my feet. I almost lashed out before I saw it was Southard. My vision was beginning to clear, but I still couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in my ears. My head swam from shock and pain, and I tasted blood in my mouth. I could see that Southard was yelling something at me, but I couldn’t make it out. His voice seemed to be distorted and coming to me as if from a great distance.
Behind Southard, I saw two men in jeans and t-shirts coming towards us. They were both holding AK-47’s, and were firing from the hip. The good news was that they weren’t very good at it. Moving and shooting is a skill, much different than standing at a gun-range and firing at a paper target. It took practice to hit a target accurately while moving. It’s much harder when you’re firing from the hip. Even more-so when you don't know what you're doing. These two looked like they watched too many bad movies. But, even idiots can be deadly.
I could see Spec-4 take a hit and go over backwards, firing into the air as she fell. Southard let go of my arm and turned to fire at the advancing gunmen. I could stand on my own, but it took major effort. I wanted to go get Spec-4, but I couldn’t make my legs work like I wanted them to. Somehow in the confusion, I had lost my grip on my M-16. I knew it was still hanging around my neck, but I just couldn’t seem to find it. Then I felt my fingers grasp a familiar handle. In that instant, something instinctual took over inside me. I felt the change inside, but didn't fight it. I was now a spectator as my body reacted on its own.
I drew the big .45 Army Colt and leveled it at the advancing gunmen. Silently, I asked the Gods (I didn’t care who was listening, as long as they helped) to guide my hand. I barely heard the report as I aimed and fired at the lead gunman. The big .45 hollow point hit him just below the neck line of the t-shirt. He went over backwards, blood flying from the wound. I was already turning towards the next target before his body even hit the ground.
The second gunman turned towards me, in total surprise. He tried to swing his AK around to aim at me, but lost the race. Southard stitched him from groin to eyebrows. He went down hard, flailing like mad as my second round struck him in the forehead. I looked around, and saw two other gunmen approaching from the other side of the street. They were concentrating on us and never noticed Spec-4 setting up on one elbow.
She shot them both with her Berretta before they reached us. Two rounds to the chest for each of them. They both fell without knowing who killed them. Southard moved off towards the fallen gunmen, his weapon at the ready. He looked like he was moving in slow motion. My ears still rang and my back was killing me, but I didn’t think that I was bleeding out. The vest had saved my life, again. Spec-4 had been saved the same way.
Spec-4 got slowly to her feet, and I could tell that she was saying something to me. I just couldn’t hear her or make it out. My head was clearing slowly, but my ears still rang. I could tell that she was hurt, but not as bad as she would have been without the vest on. That was good. By the time she made it to me, the ringing in my ears had subsided somewhat and I could see more clearly.
“Wylie?” she said, hesitantly. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said sarcastically, gently shaking my head. “Never fucking better.”
“You’re bleeding,” she said, worriedly.
I tried to put my hand behind my back and touch the spot where I’d been shot, but she shook her head. I was still dizzy and fought to keep my balance as she took me by the arm to help steady me on my feet. I wobbled a bit from side to side as my vision finally began to focus on her face.
“Not from there,” she said, softly. “From your head.”
Gingerly, I put my fingers up to my forehead. My face and forehead were covered with blood. I must have busted my head open when I fell. It had to have been when I hit the doorframe of the cruiser. I could feel something that I assumed was blood dripping off of my chin and onto the ground. My face throbbed like I’d just gone ten rounds with a heavy-weight boxer.
“How bad is it?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Bad,” she said, nodding. “Are your ears ringing?”
“Yeah, a little,” I said, spitting out a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto the ground.
“How’s your vision?” she asked, helping steady my balance.
“Still a bit blurry,” I replied, slipping my arm around her shoulders.
“And your speech is a bit slurred,” she added. “You may have a concussion.”
“Great,” I muttered. "Just what I fucking needed."
Southard came back over to us, looking out of breath. He was carrying four AK-47’s and four pistols. They all looked to be Springfield Arms Mil-spec .45’s. He sat them next to us and started to walk away.
“How bad is it, Chuck?”
“We’re fucked,” he said, turning to look at us and shaking his head. “They shot the shit out of the car. It’s finished. Holes in the radiator, the engine and three out of four tires are flat. Plus, they took out all the windows. They got us good. We're on foot, now.”
“Oh God,” said Spec-4, looking around nervously. “What do we do now?”
“Gather all the supplies we can carry,” I said. “We need to move. All that gunfire will be attracting every zombie for blocks.”
Southard returned from the wreckage of the Charger with our packs. He started loading the confiscated gear into our bags. From the way he was moving, I could tell that he was angry. I couldn't blame him. We didn't even know who those assholes were. They just attacked us without warning or provocation. It was like they had no interest in helping other survivors…only themselves. They must have cut the two Springfield Police Officers down in the same cold-blooded way that they had attacked us.
“Where’d they hit us from?” I asked, glancing around. “There’s no way that they knew we were coming this way. Fuck, I didn’t even know until a few minutes ago.”
“I think they came from that house,” said Spec-4, pointing at the little white house on the corner.
“Then that’s where we’re going,” I said. “Right now. We need to get to cover before we attract too much attention.”
I looked back towards the Mega-Mart and could see the beginnings of a crowd of zombies heading our way. We didn’t have long before this place would be crawling with the dead. Spec-4 and I weren’t moving very fast, so Southard let us lead and covered our backs. We made it to the house to find the front door standing wide open. It had to be where they came from. I quickly pulled the flashlight off of my belt and shined it inside. I couldn’t see anyone or anything moving.
Since we really didn’t have much choice, Spec-4 and I went inside. Southard stood by the door and covered us while we swept through the house. On the table, I found the duty belts and gear from the two SPD officers, complete with duty weapons and shotguns. Lying around the room were boxes of MRE’s and ammo crates. We didn’t find anyone else in the house. It was only a two bedroom and didn’t take much searching to clear it.
“It’s clear,” I said to Southard. “Looks like the power’s out.”
By the time I made it back to the living room, Spec-4 and Southard were replacing the large wooden bolt that had been set against the door. These guys had been preparing for this for a while, probably since the first reports came in. Once the door was secure, we did a quick check of the house. All of the windows had been boarded up, and the doors were bolted with 2x4’s.
Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 26
