Zombie Fallout 11

by Mark Tufo

  I knew this: Bassly and Craigs were going to be missed soon and it wouldn’t take much effort to redirect the animals or the humans. I supposed wrongly we could bounce back and forth between the homes, I shuddered at the thought of going back through that claustrophobic deathtrap, plus the rats, yeah, they’d find us soon enough. Running in the great wide-open sounded way better.

  “Charge set?” Sanders asked Biddeford.

  “Charge?” I asked. Hard to miss the conversation, considering we were in the same area.

  “That house is wired to blow,” Sanders said, matter-of-factly.

  “When did he do that?” BT asked.

  “It’s been wired since we set up shop there,” Sanders said. “Blow it in two.” He was talking to Biddeford.

  “We were in a house wired to explode instantly?” I wasn’t a fan of that at all. In fact, this group’s whole MO was starting to worry me.

  “Just like you are now.” Winters was smiling. I think my distress amused him.

  “You sure you’re going to blow the right one?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’m a Marine,” he told me. “I know my ABCs. That’s house A,” he pointed at one button, “and this one is B.” Biddeford was smiling, pointing at an identical button a fingernail apart from the first.

  “Fuck me, Biddie! This is house A,” Winters said.

  “Oh, that’s right!” Biddie exclaimed.

  “They’re just pulling our leg, right?” BT asked.

  “Fuck if I know,” I answered.

  “Guess we’re about to find out,” BT shook his head.

  “Be ready to run when that goes off–it’s an incendiary device. That house is going to burn hot and fast; should give us the cover we need to get away from here, though. Oh, and you might want to step away from the window.”

  I moved like the house was already going up.

  “These guys are hardcore, man,” BT whispered to me, I didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or a warning.

  “Got a couple of those people looking over here,” Travis said, he was peeking through the window.

  “More like heading over here, now.” Tommy went to look as well.

  “Everyone ready?” Sanders asked. When no one dissented, he ordered Biddeford to blow it early. I was still squinting out the window, but from a much safer distance. There was a flash in the kitchen, not much bigger than a lighter, then there was a loud whooshing sound like a huge dragon with an incredible wingspan had landed in the yard. Then to top it off, this dragon breathed fire; there was a flaming explosion large enough to blow holes all around the structure.

  “Incendiary device my ass,” I said as I hustled to keep up with the rapidly vacating tenants. I had caught glimpses of dozens, if not hundreds of burning rats being jettisoned into the air like rodent loaded Roman candles. Anyone within ten feet of the house had been obliterated by glass, plastic and wooden shrapnel or set completely ablaze as fire clouds the size of pick-up trucks blew out the windows and vaporized everything in their path. Flaming debris was raining down on us and we were at least a hundred feet away.

  “Might have overdone it,” Biddeford said as we continued on. Couldn’t wait to see what he’d come up with for the Fourth of July.

  “What now?” I asked Sanders as we entered into a home a good mile from where we’d been. We were all winded and BT looked exhausted, considering he’d carried Meredith the entire way.

  “This Knox guy isn’t an idiot, unfortunately. When no one runs out screaming, he’s going to realize that we weren’t in there. He’ll figure we’re going for the hostages,” Sanders said. “What else could we possibly be doing?”

  We had to get there and quick, he’d either kill them or they would be used to play parts in his fuck festival of a fantasy.

  “How far are we?” I asked.

  “Another mile. I figure we have a maximum fifteen-minute window, starting now. There’s a car; I’d rather not use it, but time dictates otherwise.”

  “Let’s go,” I told him. We were all ready.

  “Just you,” he said to me.

  “What?” I think it was BT–his voice was just louder than mine.

  “Listen. It’s a small car, but that’s not the only reason. Us three have been fighting together for a long time; we know what the other is going to do almost before they do it. Now no disrespect to your group, you obviously know what you’re doing as well, or you wouldn’t be here, but we don’t know how you react to situations and I will not unnecessarily risk the lives of my men. That half-second delay in coordinated effort could mean a death. The only reason I’m bringing Talbot is that he’s a Marine, so we already know he has some reactions built in. Also, I need him to identify us to his family so they don’t take a shot at us.” I was getting the stink eye from everyone in my group, like I had made that declaration.

  “We’ll be right back,” I told them, following Winters out to the garage.

  “Kylie, when we leave, head back to base. We’ll follow when it’s safe,” Sanders told his wife.

  5

  Mike Journal Entry 5

  Don’t get me wrong. I was all about going to save my wife, but I wasn’t overly thrilled about the three guys I was with. I’m sure they were more capable than any three of us, it was just that I didn’t know them like they didn’t know me. If I got into trouble, would I just be collateral damage to them? I was relatively sure they weren’t bad guys. They most definitely weren’t working with Knox, not unless this was some super elaborate trap to catch us. We’d already wasted a number of them and a truckload of rats. If they had been with him, they would have just been waiting for us when we exited the other end of the bomb shelter. The car was a Prius, which I found slightly absurd, that was until Winters told me how little noise they made. Sanders was right; BT couldn’t have fit in this thing with a tub of Vaseline and a crowbar.

  The drive was only a couple of minutes; Sanders pulled up to a tidy, ranch style home. Winters hopped out and pulled the garage door open as Sanders pulled in.

  “It’s the next street over. I’d like to have more time to recon but I think this is going to be a hot zone soon. The idea here is a smash and grab. You alright with that, Talbot?” Sanders asked.

  “That’s fairly normal for me,” I told him. Winters smiled at that. “Do you have this entire neighborhood scoped out?” I asked, not believing this home had been picked at random in the hopes that it was empty.

  “It’s how we have ensured our survival. It’s basic, well, it’s imperative that we know our surroundings. Don’t you?”

  “I, ummm, yeah, sure. Not much of a neighborhood where we were,” I offered in defense. Although I realized we had not really even checked out the houses nearby. I had figured the risk too high; if people were keeping to themselves, I had been perfectly willing to leave them alone. Now I wasn’t so sure as I watched the ease at which this group melted into their different locations. They were as adept as the Viet Cong, striking out from their hidden caves and disappearing before an offensive could be mounted against them. Any village could be full of them or not; they owned the home-field advantage. I realized I wouldn’t have known how exposed I would be attempting to save my own family if not for this commando squad. What’s worse was Deneaux surely would.

  “The house we want is the next street over. I’ve got to believe we are going to encounter unfriendlies the moment we leave this yard. As always, I expect extreme prejudice when encountering them.”

  “Locate, close with and destroy the enemy by fire, and maneuver,” Biddeford said the mission of the Marine Corps rifle squad verbatim. Back in my active duty days I had heard it a dozen times just before we were sent on missions. Gave me chills.

  “You any good with a pistol?” Sanders asked, as he handed me a suppressed Ruger 22/45.

  “I’m better with a rifle, but I’m no slouch.” I took the weapon. The 22 wasn’t my preferred caliber, but with a suppressor on it, dropping change would be louder than the firin
g of a bullet. If you weren’t within fifteen feet of the person on the business end, odds were you weren’t going to hear it; that buys you a lot of time. I released the clip. I looked up to Sanders when I saw that it had no bullets in it. He had a smile that I figured signified the time when Biddie would place a neat hole in the back of my head. He had circled around, I presumed to get into position. I clenched my rifle; if he somehow missed, I was going to make them pay.

  “Just checking your situational awareness,” Sanders said as he pulled out a small box of fifty rounds and tossed it my way. I released my rifle with one hand and let the sling hold it up as I caught the box even over the throbbing of my heart, which I know was making my hands shake from the sheer pressure of the high pumping blood. I filled the magazine and chambered a round.

  “Big chance you just took, Major. Would anyone have told me I didn’t have rounds, had I not checked?” I asked.

  “You would have figured it out soon enough. Let’s move out.”

  Can’t say I was a big fan of that type of thinking. We were going to get my family; I was going to thank them profusely and then put a shitload of miles between us. We quietly made our way across the yard. The house on the other side of the fence was a two-story job; if anyone decided to look through the window, we were there for all to observe.

  “Oh, come on,” we heard just from the other side of the fence. I moved cautiously to the privacy divider, as did the rest of the group. There was an older man, maybe in his sixties. Had his junk out and was beating it mercilessly. Wait, hold on…not in the way you might think a male alone would. I mean he was whacking his flaccid dick back and forth like they were in a bar fight with each other because his penis had called the man’s sister a whore. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what the hell he was doing until he spoke again.

  “Fucking prostate! I just want to piss!” He was almost crying.

  The guy’s prostate must have been the size of a watermelon because there was absolutely nothing coming out. Whatever biological problems he had ended with the insertion of a bullet into his head, probably could be classified as a mercy killing. His eyes crossed, he grabbed his dick so hard I thought he was going to yank it off. I turned away to see Winters wincing at the sight. It’s a fucked-up world when you can’t even piss in peace, I thought.

  Sanders moved a couple of the fence slats to the side so we could go through rather than over. These guys didn’t miss much when it came to planning. Biddeford grabbed his handiwork and pulled him into the yard we’d just vacated. I wish I’d missed it, but the man’s beleaguered bladder was now flowing like a fountain at a Vegas casino. Had to admit, finally relieved and dick in hand is not the worst way to go, but there was one of those sights you cannot unsee.

  “Talbot, Winters, you two inside. Biddie and I are going to check the perimeter.”

  I followed Winters in through the open sliding glass door that Peeing Man most likely had exited from.

  “Hey, Tresser, you get your dry well to pump?” A voice laughed from upstairs. In typical guy fashion it was laced with crude humor designed to discomfort the other. “Answer me, man! You know I get spooked when you do that shit.” We were about to head upstairs and give him some answers, maybe none he wanted to hear, but answers, nonetheless. That was until another came around the corner. He had a turkey drumstick in one hand and an old car magazine in his other.

  “Hey what are you doing here?” he asked, spitting out a mouthful of food. This guy wasn’t going to join Mensa anytime soon, but he still managed to drop what he was holding and run for his rifle, which was across the room. He’d probably left it right where he was going to eat some lunch and read. My first shot missed completely; my second ripped into his shoulder, skidded up off the ball joint, and lodged into his neck. He reached up to swat it away, blood began to pour through his fingers.

  “What did you do?” he asked. “Feeling a little light headed.” He went to sit but misjudged where exactly in the room he was, went down hard on his ass. We just stood there watching him catch up with the situation.

  “What the fu…” The upstairs man yelled from the top of the stairs just as Winters placed two rounds in his chest throwing him backwards into a wall. Winters motioned to me that he was going upstairs; he proceeded slowly with his pistol out in front of him. I did a quick check of the main floor, making sure there were no more surprises. I looked at the door that led to the basement but I didn’t want to check it until I was sure of Winters’ status. He was down in less than a minute.

  “Clear.” he said. “You ready?” He was pointing to the basement. I nodded. He pulled the door open and I did a quick head in to see. There was nothing there, so I started down the stairs. I was thankful this basement was finished, as I did not want to get a knife to the back of my leg. Two things I noticed quick enough: the first was the blood, the other was an open window on the far side of the room. Someone had been in here but had left when the festivities started upstairs. I turned the corner just enough to see what I had to imagine was a murdered family. Father, mother and two kids; bludgeoned to death. A heavy mallet lay next to the bodies. This had been recent, few hours at the most, as the blood had not had the opportunity to tack up yet.

  “Oh man, that’s the McKenzies,” Winters said, taking it in before turning away. I pointed to the window. There was gunfire. Out there, the fight was on in earnest. I raced back upstairs. I didn’t see the need to vacate the house like Winters did. We had a strategic position and we’d fought to earn it. I could not see Biddeford or Sanders. The gunfire was to our right–the sound of heavy AK rounds. I didn’t hear return fire, but I watched the machine gun wielder go down in a heap.

  “They’re all around us!” someone shouted. More gunfire, though I don’t think this was directed at anyone in particular; more of a spray-and-pray type of approach. I saw a couple of people run through a yard across the street. They were going the wrong way if they wanted to engage us. I put the pistol down and switched to my rifle. The two that had been running stopped and dove down under a row of hedges. They would have been invisible had I not known exactly where to look. I lined up the shot; I was shooting at something the size of a dinner plate, basically, just the top of the man’s skull. Was using iron sights, but it was only a fifty-yard shot. The trick was going to be getting his partner. I blew one well-placed round through the heavy bone plating, even watched as pieces of it peppered the shrubs around him. I moved my barrel an inch, estimating where the other man had been, and pulled the trigger five times in succession. I could not confirm the kill, but the shots had been dead on and he’d not had enough time to clear the area. If he wasn’t dead outright, he would be soon. I looked up just in time to see someone taking a look from our target house. Pretty sure it was Justin, though he did not stay long enough for confirmation.

  “Looks clear,” Winters said.

  “Maybe you should go and check it out,” I told him.

  “I said looks.”

  “My guess is they won’t abandon their post so easily–not because they’re disciplined soldiers, but rather they’re afraid of what Knox will do to them if he finds out they ran.”

  “Winters, this is Sanders. Come in.”

  “I hear you, sir,” Winters replied.

  “I don’t see anybody and there is the sound of engines coming. Our window is shrinking. Tell Talbot it’s go time.”

  Winters looked over at me.

  “I heard. Shit.” Vesuvius looked like a mountain, the Titanic looked like an unsinkable ship, and that street looked devoid of enemies. “Justin! It’s me!”

  I saw my son poke his head up.

  “We need to move!” I yelled to him.

  “There’s more of them on the side of the house!”

  “Which side?” I asked.

  “Both.”

  “We don’t have time to clear the perimeter,” Sanders said over the radio. “We need to pull back.” The sound of the engines were nearly on top of us.

&
nbsp; “I have to go in, Winters,” I said. If I left now there would be nothing to come back to. Knox wasn’t afraid of going into that house; he could burn it, send rats in or his slave army. Made no difference to him. This whole thing was a plan to get me and BT out into the open, teach us a lesson and show his people he was the brute in control, always. I don’t know how they could think that, though. He’d brought his entire shit show on the road to catch two guys. Seems like right there he’d already lost it.

  “Talbot, you heard the major,” Winters said, though he knew how this was going to go.

  “It’s my family, Winters. I can’t leave them.”

  “Negative, sir,” he said into the radio. “Talbot is not leaving.”

  To his credit, Sanders didn’t lose it and start calling me every colorful name he could think of, and believe me, I’d heard a bunch. “Biddie and I will take on the newcomers. You two get those people out of there. Good luck, out.”

  Justin was looking out the window at us, I held up Winters radio, wondering why Justin hadn’t been using the one he had. He put his fists together and then twisted them in the “broke” signal.

  “How many?” I yelled across the street.

  He held up three fingers and pointed to the right, held up two fingers and pointed to the left, and held up four and pointed to the rear. Now, obviously, this was a fluid equation and any or all of those people could move around the house easily enough. We had nine on two, and they were in somewhat defensive positions. I was not a fan of our odds.

  “Open the front door!” I yelled.

  “You realize you’re telling them what you’re about to do, right?” Winters said as somewhat of a question.

  “Exactly. I need them out in the open waiting for me. If I try to run across the street now they’ll cut me down.”

  “You’re pretty smart for a Marine.”

  “You’re a Marine, too.”

  “I just did it to pay for college. Should have already been out by now, working,” he responded.