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

by D. A. Roberts

  I slammed into the remaining zombies and scattered them like bowling pins. Then I bounced over an overturned scooter and swerved around the front of the building. Once I was clear of the zombie crowd, I angled towards the gap I’d seen. Only one vehicle stood in my way. Beyond it was a clear shot into the parking lot of the fitness center. Once we cleared the fitness center, it was smooth sailing into the parking lot of the hardware store.

  There was a Grabber zombie still stuck in the seatbelt of a little blue Toyota Prius. I hit the front end of the Prius at an angle and spun it around and away from me. It slid beneath a flat-bed lumber truck and sheared the roof off of it. It also sheared the head off of the zombie. I couldn’t have aimed that shot any better if I tried.

  “Bonus points,” I muttered.

  “Nice hit, Wylie,” yelled Southard, from the radio.

  I didn’t bother to reply. I was busy navigating over the curb and into the parking lot of the fitness center. I had to plow over the top of two female zombies in workout tights. I could see dozens more inside the glass doors of the fitness center. Before I could say anything, the glass erupted as Spec-4 unleashed the full fury of the SAW on the fitness center zombies.

  “You see,” said Southard. “That’s why I never got a membership there. Too many people. I mean, who the fuck goes for a workout when zombies are attacking the goddamn city?”

  I spun to the left and rubber squealed in protest as I made the turn. Next to the fitness center was another liquor store. Spec-4 stopped shooting as we passed it, but still managed to put a short burst into the front of it. I’m not sure what she hit, but I saw fire erupt as we passed by. From the rate it was spreading, I could tell it was going to be one hell of a fire.

  “Aw, crap,” said Southard. “There goes all that wonderful alcohol.”

  I bounced through the parking lot and into the parking lot of the strip mall. I headed for the front entrance of the hardware store, crunching two more zombies under my wheels on the way. The parking lot was mostly empty and in seconds we were pulling in front of the store.

  “Listen up, folks,” I said into the radio. “When we stop, I want Wilder and Sanders to stay on the SAW’s and cover us. Southard and I will go inside and find the parts we need.”

  “Got it,” said Southard.

  “Both of you reload before we go in,” I said to Spec-4 and Sanders.

  “Copy,” said Sanders.

  Spec-4’s only response was to reach down and grab a box of ammo and pull it up. Southard pulled to a stop, right next to me. I scanned the area, quickly, and didn’t see any zombies that were close enough to be an immediate threat to us.

  “Ready?” I asked over the radio.

  “No, but let’s do it anyway,” said Southard.

  I opened my door and stepped out, M-16 at the ready. After a quick sweep of the area, I grabbed my Mossberg and slung it over my shoulder by the strap. I patted my right cargo pocket to confirm the contents. There were four extra magazines for the M-16. The other pocket held rounds for the shotgun. In holsters attached to my Interceptor vest, I had two Beretta 9mm’s. Extra mags for them were on my duty belt.

  The fire in the liquor store was getting bigger. Between the flames and the exploding liquor bottles, all of the zombies in the area seemed to be focusing their attention on it. That was good for us. So long as we didn’t make a lot of noise, we might just make it through this without an extended firefight. The bigger that fire got the more attention it would attract. We would definitely use that to our advantage.

  I nodded at Southard and started walking towards the front door of the hardware store, weapon at the ready. Southard stayed just to my left and kept his weapon up and sweeping the area. I tried the door and it was unlocked. That wasn’t good news. Sure, it meant we didn’t have to break in, but it also meant that there was a good possibility that there would be zombies inside.

  Slowly, I pulled the door open with my left hand, keeping the M-16 ready in my right. I was careful not to jangle the metal bell that was attached to the door. No sense attracting unnecessary attention. I slipped inside, and Southard came in right behind me. He gently shut the door as I pulled out my Stinger flashlight from my duty belt.

  The light was like a beacon in the darkened interior of the store. I motioned for Southard to sweep to the left and I went right. I didn’t see anything in the fist two aisles, but Southard waved at me and got my attention. He saw something in the fourth aisle. I started moving slowly in his direction. When I leaned around the corner, I saw two zombies eating the remains of a body on the ground. They hadn’t noticed us, yet.

  My first instinct was to shoot them both, but that would get the attention of any other zombies in the area. I didn’t want to do that. I looked quickly around for something that I could use to take them out quietly. In the third aisle, I saw garden and yard implements. I moved towards the shovels and stopped short. Lying a few feet to my right was a bunch of machetes on a shelf. I smiled wickedly as I reached down and grabbed one.

  I flipped it over in my hand and caught it by the blade, then handed it handle first to Southard. He took it with a wicked grin. Then I snagged another one for myself. Slinging the M-16 over my shoulder by the strap, I hefted the machete in my right hand. It felt good. I took a couple practice swings in the air and nodded. Southard did the same and just shrugged.

  “Let’s go, Conan,” he whispered.

  I just grinned, but led the way towards the fourth aisle and the feeding zombies. We were almost on top of them before they noticed us. I launched a vicious swing at the nearest one, hoping to silence it before it could shriek. I was amazed at how easily I sliced into it. I expected more resistance from the skull, but I cut deeply into it in a single swipe. Southard swung his in a downward swing, and nearly split the skull in half.

  I pulled my blade loose with a little effort, and the zombie dropped to the floor. Southard couldn’t pull his blade free; it had buried itself clear to the nose of his. What was worse is that it didn’t die. It was flopping around like a headless chicken. It thrashed so hard that it yanked the machete out of Southard’s hand and started smashing into the displays around it. It made so much noise that I heard shuffling feet coming our way from the back of the store.

  “Dammit!” hissed Southard, yanking his pistol from its holster.

  “No,” I said. “It’ll make too much noise.”

  “What do you want me to do, beat it to death with a fucking post-hole digger?”

  Three more zombies came around the back corner of the aisle and started shuffling our way. Southard still looked like he wanted to shoot them.

  “Go find the manual pumps,” I said. “I’ll deal with them.”

  “You’re going to get yourself bit, dumb-ass,” said Southard, turning to head off down the next aisle.

  “Let me worry about that. Just find the pumps so we can get the hell out of here.”

  The zombies were still about fifty feet away from me, and close together. I started to think that maybe Southard was right. I could definitely get the first one but if my machete got stuck like Southard’s did, I’d be toast. The one that Southard chopped was still flopping around, not dead but not really a threat either. I idly considered yanking out the second machete, but thought better of it. Then, I saw a display of hatchets about ten feet away.

  “What the hell,” I whispered, and ran over to the hatchets.

  I dropped the machete and grabbed up about six of the hatchets. Then I stepped back around the corner and looked at the approaching zombies. They were still a good thirty feet away, shambling towards me. I hefted one hatchet in my right hand and took aim. I drew back my arm and threw. The hatchet flew end over end and stuck in the chest of the lead zombie. It stumbled, but kept coming.

  “Come on, Wylie,” I muttered, readying the next hatchet.

  This time I took a wider stance and let fly. It didn’t stick, but still struck the lead zombie in the forehead. It fell in a heap and didn’t rise. Encou
raged, I readied another hatchet. This time I threw with more force and flipped the end as I released. It flew straight and buried to the handle in the face of the second zombie. It fell and became a flopper, like the one Southard chopped.

  The next two I threw missed the target completely. As I readied my last hatchet, I hoped like hell that it worked. I didn’t want to have to shoot this one. Just as I was getting ready to throw, Southard came around the end of the aisle behind it with a sledge hammer in his hands. He took four running steps and smashed the remaining zombie in the back of the head. With a sickening crunch it fell on its face, not moving. The back of its head had been completely caved in.

  “Let’s find your damned pump,” he said, “before you go completely Lord of the Rings or something.”

  “Hey, just give me a sword and a bow,” I said. “I’ll skip the cloak, though.”

  I left the M-16 hanging by its strap and pulled out one of the Berettas. I kept it in my right hand and lay it across my left wrist holding the Stinger in my left hand. This way I could use the flashlight and the pistol was pointed down the beam of the light. Not as good as having a tactical light mounted under the barrel, but it would do for now.

  I kept sweeping the area as we moved towards the back of the store. Southard let me cover him and kept checking the shelves, looking for a manual pump. All the way at the back of the store, we found a shelf with manual pumps. The hoses were right down the aisle from them. With that accomplished, Southard hustled back down the aisle and grabbed a shopping cart. Then we went shopping.

  We put in all five of the pumps they had and four entire rolls of hose. I grabbed four boxes of hose clamps in various sizes and every roll of duct tape on the shelf. Then we grabbed all the machetes they had and a couple heavy handled axes. While I was headed for the door, Southard grabbed another cart and filled it with all the batteries he could find. He didn’t get picky, either. He took all the brands and all sizes. We could sort them later.

  When I made it to the door, I could see a large crowd of zombies gathered around the burning liquor store. Spec-4 and Sanders were sitting motionless behind their weapons, both looking very nervous. Southard and I exited the store as quietly as possible, and headed for the back of his Humvee. We had to be careful pushing the shopping carts to keep them from making too much noise.

  Once we made it to the back, we started unloading our gear as quietly as humanly possible. We were almost halfway through when we heard a Shrieker start in behind us. I spun around and grabbled for my M-16. Just as I had feared, a Shrieker from the crowd had noticed us and alerted the rest to our presence. The crowd of zombies began to turn and started heading our direction. The Sprinters immediately came straight at us.

  “Light ‘em up,” I yelled.

  Spec-4 and Sanders didn’t wait for a second invitation. Both SAW’s roared to life and started spitting death into the coming crowd of zombies. The first wave of Sprinters was cut to ribbons. Most of them weren’t killed outright, but were instantly turned into Crawlers. Many of them were now missing limbs. Southard began to unload the supplies at a frenzied pace.

  I left the supplies to Southard and took aim with the M-203. With a resounding THUMP, I sent a round into the burning liquor store. The resulting explosion sent burning alcohol and debris all over the crowd of zombies. Instantly, dozens of them were engulfed in flames. Sanders and Spec-4 kept up the withering fire from the SAW’s and the results were devastating.

  “That’s it,” said Southard, slamming the back door shut.

  “Let’s move!” I yelled, and shoved the shopping cart rolling across the parking lot towards the zombies.

  I was back inside my Humvee before it quit rolling. Spec-4 finished the belt of ammo she was using as I fired up the engine. I could see her reach down and grab another box of ammo, and begin reloading.

  “Save the ammo,” I called up to her. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

  I pulled it into gear and backed away from the front of the hardware store, then turned the wheel to come about. Southard drove over the sidewalk and turned around without backing up. Once he was behind me, I headed for the parking lot exit. I couldn’t retrace our steps, since it would take us through the fire. So I found another way.

  “Hang on, folks,” I yelled into the mic. “The ride’s about to get bumpy!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Yard Farming

  “The All-Father wove the skein of your life a long time ago. Go and hide in a hole if you wish, but you won't live one instant longer. Your fate is fixed. Fear profits a man nothing.”

  - Herger the Joyous

  -From the “Eaters of the Dead” by Michael Crichton

  My plan meant going back across Glenstone, but it beat the hell out of the alternative. It was blocked for at least another block to the south, so I had to find another way through. Where we needed to go was to the south, and it looked like I was going to have to take a wandering path. There was no direct route, this time. Since this was one of the main arteries, it was going to be clogged with cars.

  I shot across the road, going between the front of the lumber truck we’d passed before and an overturned potato chip truck. We bounced into the parking lot of one of those car title loan places and I plowed over four zombies that had gotten in our way. Southard stayed right behind us. When I headed towards the back of the lot, I couldn’t see an exit. I was going to have to make one.

  “Everyone back inside,” I yelled into the radio. “This might get ugly.”

  Spec-4 was inside in an instant, and I could see Sanders drop from view as well. Then I headed straight at a six foot privacy fence that ran the length of the back of the store. With a crunch, we lurched over the curb and through the fence. Boards bounced off of the windshield and before I could see clearly, we were crashing through a child’s swing set. Fortunately for us, it wasn’t a good quality swing. It was cheap metal and crunched easily under the up-armored juggernaut.

  Once we cleared the debris, I looked for an exit from the backyard. Not seeing one, I continued straight through and crashed the privacy fence on the other side. This time we emerged into a backyard that must have been owned by Martha Fucking Stewart. There was landscaping everywhere, with lawn figures, shrubs and statuary. Two water fountains fed fresh water into a large Koi pond.

  I mashed a lawn gnome into oblivion and took the head off of a large cement unicorn. But try as I might, I didn’t quite avoid the Koi pond. The driver’s side front tire dropped into it, sending a wave of water up and over the hood. A gold and white fish landed on the hood and started flopping. The front wheel popped up out of the other side as the back tire fell in. I nearly got whiplash from the beating we took bouncing through.

  I landed on top of a group of lawn gnomes that were arranged around a flower garden, crushing them all under my wheels. I was amazed that despite committing mass gnome-icide, the stupid fish was still on the hood. I turned the wheels hard to the left, narrowly avoiding a concrete brick retaining wall leading to an elevated herb garden.

  “Holy Crap!” yelled Southard over the radio.

  “Yeah,” I called back, “Yard rodeo time.”

  “Try not to kill us all,” replied Southard.

  “Copy that,” I replied. “Follow me and try and keep up.”

  “10-4,” he replied. “Lead the way.”

  I accelerated towards a gate on the west side of the little house. I headed right for it, and kept my fingers crossed that there wasn’t a car on the other side. I blasted through the gates, emerging under a carport. Thankfully, there wasn’t a car in it. Unfortunately, there were four or five bicycles. I rolled over them just like a monster truck. I could hear them crunching and scraping on the way under the Humvee. I bounced out of the driveway and back onto the street. Southard was right behind me, only he clipped the support beams on the carport and dragged it with him.