For some reason his left arm was aching near his tricep, which was exposed as his jersey was torn away and his arms were still tied behind his back. His legs were free now and he strained as he turned his head to see what was causing the pain. It was somewhat of a burning sensation, making him assume that maybe some wayward spark from the fire had landed there and melted through his skin. His vision was still blurred from the blow he had taken to the back of the head, and he thought he saw the yellow glow of embers covering him.
It was then that he discovered the horrifying truth. The yellow glow wasn’t from burning embers. It was from the undead fire emanating from eyes of rats swarming over him. His left arm used to showcase his gang tattoo in old English letters marking his street name of “LOCO”. He could only make out a partial “C” and the last “O”, as the rats had chewed off and devoured the rest of the lettering and the flesh canvas that they were displayed on.
Jimmy thrashed about as he realized that he had been hogtied, his legs now freed by the swarm of rats who had been chewing away at both flesh and fabric in a feeding frenzy. He slipped and slid in a pool of his own blood as he struggled to get up, realizing that his dazed fog was as much from blood loss as the hit he had taken. His vision continued to darken, as the outline of small furry zombified rats was backlit by the growing fire consuming the field around him.
His body ached with intense pain as he began to gag and heave. He choked on his own vomit as the binding across his mouth kept him from expelling the contents of his stomach, filling his nostrils and blocking his airwaves. The pain was excruciating, but short lived as he succumbed to the peacefulness of the dark that fell over him.
It was some time before he heard them shaking him into consciousness. He heard their cries as they brought him to his feet.
“Loco! Loco!”
Their voices sounded amplified as he gazed upon two glowing angels. He heard their voices, but no longer understood the meaning of their language. He didn’t remember his friends who were trying to revive him, as he only recognized them as two figures shrouded in a yellow haze.
He was ravenously hungry. He knew that only they were the things that would give him sustenance. He could feel their warmth and knew that they were full of the life-force he was now driven to consume.
He could also feel a collective mindset yearning for him to join them, like a beacon to where he could feed. While he wanted to heed the call and converge to the rally cry, these subjects before him demanded his immediate attention. They would serve a purpose and would not go unclaimed.
As he looked into the eyes of his rescuers and moved in for the kill with his gaping jaws outstretched wide, they realized their fatal error. Crimson rivers flowed on charred ground as golden flames danced in the background. Loco had turned.
Chapter 7
We converged in the usual meeting place, hovering over the map and plotting out what our next moves would be before attempting any more search and rescue missions. I went over our prior discussions with the newest members of the group, Jamie and Tool. Jamie appeared to be doing a bit better and offered a suggestion after hearing the goals of our plan to fortify the truck and SUV.
“There’s a place that had those things near the Club,” Jamie said referring to the wrap around push bumpers we were looking for. “There’s a business down Michigan Avenue that would work on outfitting police cars. I remember them rolling out some vehicles that had what you are describing.”
“That’s not far from my PD,” I added, “maybe we should just suck it up and make the trek all the way out there. It’s a sure thing and after seeing the crowds we seem to gather on the surface streets out there, looking at the local departments for this equipment may be more risk that it would be worth.”
“If we have to go to your department, wouldn’t that mean we would have to be there long enough to take them off of the cars?” Tommy asked.
“Or we could have some of the vehicles driven back and just do it here,” I replied, “which would give us some extra cars as well.”
“We can get rides all over the place,” added Eric, “we need the equipment – not the cars.”
“Besides,” Tommy chimed in, “the outfitter Jamie mentioned would have them in stock and ready to mount. We could grab them and go, rather than having to take the time to remove them.”
That seemed to make a lot of sense, as uninstalling police equipment wouldn’t be an easy task. Anyone who has ever worked on a car in the north knows the problems caused by the road salt accumulated in the winter months and the corrosion it creates. Bolts and fasteners were sure to be rusted over and unusable after they were removed. Getting brand new equipment in the box seemed like the best option. It wasn’t like they were going to be a hot item to loot and should be in good supply.
We had received the least resistance of any drive so far during our excursion along the I-94 passage. The fairly clear urban main roads was a clear contrast to the multitude of zombies we had been experiencing everywhere north of Detroit. This led credence to the theory that they were migrating towards a more abundant food source. In recent years, Detroit had seen a significant population decline, as did most of the surrounding southeast Michigan areas. However, this still left considerable numbers of undead to contend with – seemingly indefensible numbers to be more precise. Between the zombies and the scavenging bandits, this was going to be a tough outing.
I volunteered on the grounds that I would be able to identify the equipment that we were looking for. Tommy still refused to leave his stocked compound and makeshift communications center. Jamie was still too mentally unstable for me to give him a vote of confidence on this trip and agreed to stay behind. Tool was a physical force to be reckoned with and was a no-brainer for the team, while Eric and Justin prepared their gear as if there was no doubt they would be going.
While the SUV was lucky enough to make the trip the first time, I suggested that we scout the area for a Hummer. We were also going to need a bigger ride to carry all of us and the equipment we hoped to bring back.
The Hummer seemed to be a fairly popular vehicle out in these parts and even with the poor gas mileage, it would give us some better protection and durability for travelling off the beaten path if needed. There was a young eccentric millionaire, Mr. Nelson, who lived on Jefferson on Anchor Bay. He had two Hummers, one being the full sized version and the other was the smaller H3. If he was still alive, I knew that he was just the type to allow us to borrow one. If he wasn’t, then there really would be no need to ask.
The group agreed to the idea and it was decided that Eric and I would head over to see him. The two of us had a history with him as Eric had worked in the warehouse for Mr. Nelson’s business, and I had installed a gun safe in his home years ago as part of my off duty side job. He was one of those people who would always remember something that you did for him and never forgot a name. A few years ago he had invited Eric, Justin and I to a wild boat party on Lake St. Clair. Needless to say he could best be summed up as the local version of a Hugh Hefner, and earned the distinction of only being referred to as “Mr. Nelson”.
We loaded up into the SUV with only minimal supplies, as he only lived about a mile down the road. Eric brought a scoped hunting rifle that was slung over his shoulder and 9mm pistol for a sidearm. He threw a baseball bat in the backseat, as you could never have enough weapons on hand. I opted for my trusty AR, .40cal and a tomahawk.
As we were getting into the SUV, I noticed something odd about the scope on Eric’s rifle. It didn’t look like it was factory made and set on the frame much higher than I would have suspected.
“What kind of scope is that?” I asked.
“This is the J-1000,” Eric said as he smiled giving it a tap, “it’s a custom build by Justin. You should see some of the optic designs he has built. He’s a genius!”
I looked over at Justin who was looking back at me with a smirk. It seemed to make sense to me now, after the way Justin was acting with th
e sight on his weapon back on the rescue at the club.
“That’s not just a red dot on your AR is it?” I said to Justin, pointing over to his weapon.
“Nope,” he replied with a shit-eating grin.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“You never asked.”
“Oh, but I did, and you said that it was,” I replied wondering why he was being so secretive.
“And it is a red dot,” he said with a smirk, “and more.”
“I’ll play more of your game later, Eric and I have someplace to be.”
“Suit yourself,” Justin tossed back as he turned and walked away.
Eric agreed to ride shotgun and I was yet again given the extreme honor of playing taxi driver. That’s being said in jest, because I really did prefer to be behind the wheel. Call it a control issue, but I wasn’t very trustful of someone else driving under these circumstances. I had more training and actual miles behind the wheel than anyone in the group. I wasn’t about to surrender my welfare to the less trained.
As we left and drove through the subdivision, it was very disorienting to have to balance dodging the walking dead and keeping up a pace that kept them at a distance. As we swerved to avoid any collisions, it reminded me of the traffic cones that we used to use in our defensive driving training. It was much easier to drive the serpentine course with stationary objects. It added a new dimension to having the course move in unison to my evasive maneuvers.
What became disturbing as we drove outwards from the neighborhood was the amount of people I recognized. Zombies who were once familiar men, women and children – of all ages, sexes and ethnicity – were now roaming the streets with one unified purpose. I shook my head as I thought to myself that they probably would be spending more time together now roaming in death than they did enjoying each other’s company in life. Then again, I was thankful for that disconnect now. Seeing them in their current state made me appreciate not having deep personal relationships with any of them. It’s rather hard to end the life of someone you are close to. I obviously speak from personal experience on that one, but I digress.
As we exited the subdivision and entered Jefferson, the roadway was littered with vehicles. Most had been involved in accidents, disabled and discarded. Some were still smoldering, with the surreal ashen outline of trapped passengers who succumbed to the flames rather than the living dead. Either fate would be an extremely unpleasant experience I figured.
Moving along, we began to attract more and more of the undead and their numbers began to grow as we made our way. Luckily Mr. Nelson resided in a gated community. Then again, the downside was that Mr. Nelson resided in a gated community. We would be simply trading off one threat for another and be trapped in a cage fighting for our lives.
We came up on the old stone wall that bordered the community and would be at the gate shortly. We had put some fairly good distance between us and the runners chasing us, so we had bought some time needed to get through the gate.
I pulled up and stopped abruptly at the gate, pressing the intercom button. There was no response as the power outage experienced at Tommy’s appeared to be more widespread than I had anticipated. I slowly moved the front of the vehicle up to the gate, making contact and slowly forcing it open. In doing so, we were able to make our way in. We did considerable damage to the sides as the gate slid down the driver and passenger side, taking out the mirrors in the process.
I didn’t want to simply ram the gate, as that would have done more damage to front end of the SUV and would have destroyed the gate in the process. We were going to need to put the gate back in place to keep the runners out, which were quickly closing distance on us.
Once inside, I swung the SUV around and drove back into each gate section, using the front bumper to bend the sections back into place. I had to leave the SUV forced up against the middle of the two sections to get the gate to hold its position. We decided to travel on foot for the remainder of the journey, grabbing our gear and moving quickly out of sight hoping that the runners would lose interest once we had broken visual contact with them. They hadn’t gotten to the gate yet and I had no intention on finding out if they would be able to force their way in.
As we made our way into the complex, the screeching cries of the undead echoed from back where we had left the SUV. It was as if the undead were mourning the loss of their prey and were calling off the search party. Then again, they may have been calling in reinforcements for all I know. We were definitely going to need some better vehicles to get out of this alive.
The homes lining the street were starting to become unkempt and the yards overgrown. There was no sign of looting, which rather surprised me. There were, however, several homes with open doors and windows that had evidence of the violence that had played out. Destroyed storm doors with bloody trails kept us on alert, as did a few yards littered with remains. As we got closer to the lakefront homes, and our destination, the fear that comes with the anticipation of an eminent attack began to grow.
Eric and I travelled in the middle of the street for good reason. In my profession, we were always cognizant of cover and concealment. However, the times we were in now dispelled most traditional tactical maneuvers. It seemed suicidal to be close to any area where something could be lying in wait – the more open the space the better. I wanted as much reaction time as possible and confined spaces were to be avoided.
It was just then that I heard the crashing sound of breaking glass and looked over to see a figure bouncing off of a porch overhang and landing with a thud on the ground below. It appeared to be a woman, but her decomposition left little indication as to what her age was when she passed. She was wearing a nightgown soaked in dried blood, with dark chunks of something stuck to the front. Her long hair was a dirty blonde and had a few hair rollers in it, which began to fall off as she struggled to get to her feet.
In the blink of an eye she was in a full sprint towards us, her eyes emitting that piercing yellow glow. With her mouth gaping abnormally wide, she let out a raspy noise that I can only describe as a crackling howl. Her mouth was a dark gaping void, with the exception of a couple of visible teeth and the brown stringy liquid pouring from it. The trail of liquid goo shook from side to side in unison with her stride as Eric and I were frozen in shock.
Let me tell you something, I don’t care how careful you are. You can walk down the middle of the street with a bazooka in tow, ready for anything that the zombie apocalypse wants to throw at you, but when one of these sons a bitches jumps out at you it scares you shitless. Sure you end up reacting eventually, but the initial shock and resulting hesitation is what can get you in a bind. Hence the reason I like to keep as large of a reactionary gap as possible. I don’t care how tough you think you are, you will undoubtedly physically shit yourself at least once being subjected to this kind of thing – I guarantee it. Try finding replacement underwear that fits during a zombie apocalypse. Clean underwear. I dare you.
Eric choked up on his bat and charged at the zombie. When I say “charged” it was his version of the action. For the average person in good shape, it would have been sauntering. For Eric, it was definitely charging.
Eric turned off to the right side of the zombie as they met in the street, taking a powerful swing (even for the average person in decent shape) at the head. The sweet spot of the bat connected with the face of the zombie, spinning it on its axis and backwards onto the pavement. Brown ooze splashed out at the impact and the bottom plate of the jaw was separated, flying off down the street like a little league baseball from a tee.
Much to our surprise, the zombie quickly recovered to her feet. Both eyes were now dangling about on its face, as the cheekbones had shattered and removed all support. It was like a sick version of zombie tetherball, as she swung her head from side to side and her eyeballs smacked back and forth against her temples.
Eric brought the baseball bat up over his head, brining it down smack dab into the center of her skull.
The weakened head exploded like a melon, sending brain and bone matter showering down to the surface of the street. Her body collapsed to the pavement as Eric leaned over it and vomited. I was certain that this had less to do with the sight of the exploding skull, and more to do with the physical exertion that he had just endured.
“You alright?” I asked as I ran over to him.
“Never better,” he replied as he wiped his mouth across his sleeve.
“At least she wasn’t naked,” I commented, which sent Eric into another gagging fit.
He wiped off the bat on the back of the nightgown, followed by scraping it on the pavement to remove the bone fragments that got stuck. For reference, use aluminum bats for easier clean up.
We walked for a bit more and found ourselves at the end of the complex, looking at the home of Mr. Nelson. Unlike the other home, his had a preened lawn and was kept up rather nicely. There was one small exception. There were two bodies on the lawn, which appeared to be zombies that had been dispatched. We scanned the area before making our way to the front porch.
“What now?” Eric asked.
“We ring the doorbell,” I said as I reached up to the door.
“But the power’s out,” said Eric.
“Thank you Captain Obvious,” I replied, “it was a figure of speech. I’ll knock on the door.”
I gave the door several knocks and called to Mr. Nelson from the door frame, being as quiet as possible while letting him know that it was us. What seemed like an eternity passed before we heard a shuffling noise coming from behind the door. We stepped back and readied ourselves for another attack. We felt some relief as the deadbolt latch was turned and the door was opened. We were hoping that the zombies hadn’t begun to advance to that stage in motor skills yet.
Zombie Reign (Book 2): Rescue in Detroit Page 6
