Thorton thought about the boy they had left behind and figured he was going to be okay. The cabin was isolated enough and the boy had that behemoth of a dog to protect him.
Ken’s thought were interrupted by his driver. “Sir? We’re coming up on another town, sir.”
“All right, let’s see where we are.” Thorton checked his map and saw it was a town called Smithville. Route 16 connected with Route 41 and that worked for him. “Go slow and when you can take route 41 east, do it.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver, Private Redding, was a thin kid from San Diego who had managed to slip into the foothills and escape the carnage of the Upheaval. He had been recruited by another member of Thorton’s army trying to live off the land and while at first he wasn’t proud of the way he was treating other survivors, he figured it was better them than him.
Rounding two small curves, the road sloped downwards until it leveled out at the bottom of a small valley. A creek ran alongside the road while trees lined the edge of its banks. As the road emerged from the woods, Thorton and his driver could see a large agricultural building across the way and an abandoned gas station just up the road. On the left side of the road, several trucks and flatbeds sat where they had been left to rust and the most thriving business before the Upheaval, a bar, lay empty and vacant on the corner of the junction.
The convoy turned left and ran smack into a roadblock. Just before the bridge that spanned the small creek was a gate that blocked the road. It was a long cattle gate, anchored to metal poles set into the ground. Chain link fencing blocked access all the way to the water and Thorton could see that the creek was one of those deep alluvials, capable of trapping a zombie.
A teenager sat on top of a small watchtower was, waving frantically as the trucks came into view. He jumped off the tower and ran over to the side of the truck.
“Thank God! You’re just in time! They’re trying to break through the east road! You’ve got to hurry! Come on!” The teen leaped onto the running board and pointed at the road. Thorton looked over at Redding and shrugged ‘Why not?’ at him.
Redding said, “Yes, Sir,” and moved the truck according to their new navigator. In a few minutes, it was easy to see what the excitement was all about.
About a hundred or so zombies had broken through a containment fence on the east end of the community’s holdings and were now trying to spread out and feed on the survivors who were desperately trying to hold them back from causing any more damage. Already Thorton could see a few pockets of kneeling zombies, pausing in their rampage to feed on a hapless soul who was unfortunate enough to be taken down. Blood and screams filled the air as men fought with garden tools, improvised weapons and primitive bludgeons. The zombies outnumbered the survivors nearly two to one and Thorton could see this ending badly.
“Come on, you got to help!” The teen jumped off the truck as it rolled to a stop and ran forward into the fray.
Thorton climbed out more casually and took stock of the situation. There might be an opportunity here, he thought as an older man came running. He was about thirty-five years old and carried a gunk-covered shovel.
“Thank God! Start killing them sons of bitches!” He gestured frantically at the smaller pockets of fighting that was starting to occur. Thorton knew that in a short amount of time the survivors would be overwhelmed if he didn’t step up.
“We will, but what’s in it for us?” Major Thorton asked.
“What?” The man was incredulous. “What you mean?”
Ken folded his massive arms across his chest. “I mean my men have been on the road for a while now and could use some fresh food and supplies. As well as some new entertainment, you understand?”
The man’s face was a torrent of emotions. He brought his weapon back a fraction as if he wanted to hit Thorton with it, but a fresh gurgling scream brought his attention back to the fight and he saw the teen who had guided the trucks to the battle get taken down with a zombie’s teeth in his throat.
Thorton continued. “I can escape here pretty quickly, but you sure can’t. Better make up your mind quickly.” Ken smiled and raised an eyebrow in anticipation of the answer he knew was coming.
“All right, fine! Whatever, just hurry!” The man spat out the words then rushed to help his comrades. How he was going to break the news to the other townspeople he had no idea.
Ken signaled his men. “I want two squads, left and right, take point and create a firing wedge. Down the middle I want a three man firing team, with two teams in reserve. Try not to kill anyone living.”
The men rushed off to fulfill their orders and Thorton watched them go. He looked over the area and saw some panicked faces in the windows of a small building. At least two of them looked to be of acceptable age to Ken’s twisted eye. He smiled and waved at the faces, which vanished at the attention. Better and better, he thought. Now let’s hope that little bastard doesn’t try to renege on the deal.
Thorton’s men spread out and the men in the front lines knelt down to make sure their shots went over people’s heads on the other side. Rifles cracked and a dozen zombies dropped dead, quickly replaced by more. The rifles cracked again and another dozen dropped. By this time, the zombies noticed the additional prey and moved over to the attack. The outlying teams chose their targets and killed their ghouls accordingly.
Thorton watched the slaughter and was amused at how the townspeople fell to the ground and crawled back from the fight once the shots were fired. They regrouped a short distance away from Thorton and the major, sensing a shifting mood in regards to his deal, called back one of his squads to keep an eye on the townsfolk
After a short amount of time, the main horde was taken care of and Thorton called back his men.
“You four, reload your magazines and go with a couple of these nitwits and see what you can do about securing the east border. The rest of you, reload and keep your weapons handy. Don’t go near any of these guys by yourselves until things are sorted out.” Thorton looked back at the assembled group. Instead of looks of gratitude, he was receiving open looks of hostility. He didn’t care, he had the upper hand and everyone knew it.
As he walked over to the group, a zombie that hadn’t been properly killed unsteadily got to its feet. It swayed a bit before it got its bearings and the first thing it saw was the major. It was an average zombie, medium height with stooped shoulders and blood splatter along its mouth and neck. Its dead eyes locked on Thorton and it reached with a dead hand as it slouched forward.
Ken waved off the men who were raising their weapons and walked towards the zombie. At the sight of its prey getting closer, the ghoul bared its teeth and opened its mouth to groan again. Thorton never broke stride, he simply walked up to the zombie and in a single quick move, lopped its groaning head off of its shoulders. Thorton rarely used the blade at his belt, but he was as good with it as anyone he had ever seen. In his own mind, he was the best there was. It was a thick, curved blade with a sixteen inch cutting edge that was kept razor sharp. It was heavy enough and sharp enough to trim off limbs and Thorton kept it in reserve for special occasions.
Grasping the undead head by the greasy hair, he lifted it up and watched as the mouth snapped and snarled at him, the eyes never leaving his. Grinning, he tossed the head over at the group of men arguing and laughed as they scampered out of the way. Even without a body, the zombie head was as deadly as a pit viper.
“We kept our end of the bargain, now keep yours. We need food, supplies and women for the night. You figure out how.” Major Thorton’s face turned hard. “Anyone thinking about revenge or doing something stupid, may as well step up and get shot now and save me the trouble later.”
The men glowered at the major and some were white-knuckled as they held their weapons, but to a man they knew that without the aid of the soldiers, they would have been wiped out.
“Go tell your women not to worry, none of them will be hurt or mistreated. Consider it part of the new currency and be grateful th
ey have such valuable, ah, commodities.” Thorton’s men laughed out loud at that last and they broke out their tents and supplies in anticipation.
An hour later, after the gap had been fixed and no new zombies were within hearing distance, a group of fifteen women walked over to the men. One of them, a sharp-faced redhead, walked boldly up to Ken. “I got your word none of these gals will be hurt or treated bad? Your men just gettin’ some and then we’re done?”
Thorton liked the attitude of the woman and he spoke loud enough for his men to hear. “My word. No one gets hurt.”
The redhead nodded. “Good. I’d kill you myself if anyone thought they could slap us around.” She gestured to the assembled women. “Come on, ladies, let’s get it done. Try and find yourself a cute one, at least.”
The women reluctantly shuffled forward and for the next hour there were various noises coming from the tents and truck beds. Thorton did not participate in the festivities; he just stood and had a staring contest with the men who waited barely a hundred yards away. Get used to the new currency, suckers. Thorton thought as he cleaned and sharpened his blade.
When the last woman was released and the new supplies put away, Major Thorton ordered his men to pack up. There were a lot of grunts and groans, but the men did as they were told. They knew they were not welcome here and spending the night would have tempted too many angry husbands to try something stupid.
As they rolled out the east side of the survivor’s territory, Ken took a look at the darkening sky and figured they could travel for another couple of hours and camp at the next road junction. It was going to be slow going, since they were going to be in the heart of the Smoky Mountains, but the road seemed fairly passable.
There weren’t any settlements or survivors the rest of the way to US 33 and for Thorton, that was just fine. Things were probably going to get lively pretty soon, just when they left the protection of the mountains.
As the sun was setting over the western ridge of the Smokies, throwing sharp hues of red and orange into the air, Ken and his men rolled into a gas station at the junction of 47 and 33. They parked the trucks with the back ends facing the convenience store and men clambered out with cans and hoses and pumps to see if there was anything left in the tanks.
Several men checked out the convenience store for any supplies and they were pleasantly surprised to find a decent amount of junk food, drinks and other sundries. Thorton himself looked over a display of fireworks, pocketing several with the thought they might be useful in distracting the zombies or something.
With the light waning, the men settled in and one of the sergeants asked Thorton if he knew how much further they had to go. Thorton checked the map, checked it again and said, “About one hundred and fifty miles.”
As the men digested that, Thorton climbed into the cab of the truck to stretch out and go to sleep. One hundred and fifty miles. He thought. One hundred and fifty and then its all mine.
Happy thoughts lulled Major Thorton to sleep.
Chapter 12
“On your left!”
“Move it, move it!”
“Watch where you’re swinging that thing! Christ!”
“Where the hell did all these fuckers come from?”
“Didja see the one with the thong?”
“Focus, Duncan!”
“Can’t hold this window! Back up!”
“They’re busting through on this side!”
“Fall back, there’s too many! Fall back, dammit! Regroup at the grass seed, make a barrier! Let’s go! Tommy, find an exit! Duncan, back him up!”
Nate and I dropped the zombies we were currently killing and snatched up our backpacks as we bolted for the middle section of the landscaping store we had spent the last night in. We were on the border of West Virginia and Virginia and taking shelter in this store seemed like a good idea at the time. But I think we arrived too late and the local Z’s were attracted to the headlights and noise of the RV. Add the sound of four snoring men and the ghouls were in a positive lather for our blood.
“Block the aisles as best as you can on that side, I got this side,” I said as I began tossing thirty pound bags of fertilizer down the aisle to act as stumbling blocks. The more of them I could get to trip, the easier it would be to kill them. That was the theory anyway. As the undead began working their way into the store and coming down the aisles, I couldn’t be blamed for lobbing a few at the nearest ones and knocking them over.
Tommy and Duncan disappeared into the back sections of the store, the wind chimes tinkling softly at their passage. The store wasn’t the best place for defense, with its big windows and sliding doors for an opening. But it was the only place after a long drive through West Virginia that looked like it might not be infested with zombies. Man, were we wrong. The whole landscape was littered with drifters, some moving around, others just standing like they sometimes do when they haven’t any stimulus to follow.
Nate and I kept throwing bags of fertilizer and grass seed, depleting one pile to make another. If we could bottle them up, make them come at us through choke points, we could whittle their numbers down without having to fire shots and attract even more of the stupid things.
One of the zombies got clever and was working its way around the crowd and came at me from an unblocked aisle. His diseased arms raised in triumph as he opened his blackened mouth to come at me.
“No you won’t, either!” I said as I grabbed one of the last bags of fertilizer by the edge and swung it over my head and onto his. The heavy bag took the Z right on the noggin and jammed his head face down into his chest. Somehow his spine was still intact and his arms flailed about and he stumbled over another bag, losing the one that had replaced his head.
Nate looked over at the seemingly headless corpse and said, “How’s he moving without a head?”
I laughed a little. “I knocked his head into his chest.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “Just when I think I’ve seen everything you could do to a zombie…” he trailed off and piled another bag on top of his little fertilizer mountain. “You good on your side?” he asked.
“I’m good. Watch your left. If they get clever and come around we gotta bolt.”
“Roger that. Watch your right, same reason,” Nate said. He picked up a long handled tree pruner and slammed it down on the head of the nearest zombie he could reach. The high ceiling allowed for some serious swings. The Z dropped and another stepped into the same spot to be dropped by the same method.
I had a billhook with a slightly shorter handle, but it was devastating just the same. I could punch through their heads from above or swing from the side and lop off their noggins as quick as I could like. I only did that a couple of times, since a moving zombie head was still dangerous and when one of the ones still upright kicked the head back at me, I gave up the French Revolution thing. Besides, if I missed, I stood a good chance of taking Nate’s head off. I’m guessing he’d save his serious cursing for that moment.
“Dammit!” Nate swore as his pruner got stuck in the frontal lobe of a withered Z. He pushed back on the pole and had the satisfaction of knocking over a couple more zombies angling to climb over the rising, putrid barricade. He twisted the pole and wedged in under a sack, creating another obstacle for the Z’s to stumble over. He looked at my billhook and cocked his head. “Got another one of those?”
I slammed the point down on a teenager, perforating his hoodie and brain all in one shot. “Behind me, by the trimmer saws.”
Nate hurried back there and with an exclamation of joy, he resumed his position with what had to be the biggest billhook I had ever seen. It had a twenty inch blade with a wicked curve to it, was about seven inches wide and the straight back was sharpened as well. With the four foot hickory handle, it was a medieval answer to a lot of zombie problems.
I watched in awe as Nate went full berserker on the zombies. Hands and heads went flying, chunks and cheeks were split, skulls were crushed and legs were chopped. After a
full minute he had cleared his area and mine. The blade was black with zombie gore and the area was splattered pretty well, too.
“Holy shit,” I said, wiping a bit of zombie off my arm while Nate wiped off the blade on a bag of seed and waited for more zombies. “Any more of those?” My own billhook, while an impressive ten inches, did not come near the awesomeness of Nate’s.
Nate grinned and shoved a thumb back to the racks. I dropped my weapon and looked for myself, exclaiming aloud when I found not only another one, but three more as well. We’re sure taking these with us, I thought as I propped the other two up on a counter.
Just when I started back to the fray Tommy came barreling around the corner.
“We got an exit, but we gotta go now! They’re starting to congregate out back!” he said breathlessly. “Wow! What’s that?” His eyes took in the heavy bladed brush remover.
“New toy. You should see it work,” I said, hefting the big sucker.
“I will if you don’t move your ass.”
“Roger that. Nate!” I called. “We’re gone. Move it!”
“Coming!”
I heard the meaty smack of metal striking flesh and I knew Nate was playing some more.
A second later, he was rushing past us, grabbing up the additional billhooks as Tommy led the way. We burst through a supply room and I took scant notice of the dead zombie lying facedown with a crowbar buried in the back of its skull. Nate took a moment to assess the shelves in the stockroom, then he jumped up onto one of them and braced his feet on the other.
With a heave, he managed to shove and entire shelving unit of paint cans onto the floor, creating a footing nightmare for the zombies that were sure to follow. The move bought us five to ten minutes if we needed it.
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