The Asian guy was swallowed up by a few of the horde who dove down and started devouring him. No worries though, as the Asian guy would soon be given a rebirth as a zombie.
A new life.
Several were either too slow or kept falling, their fates sealed by the horde. John counted about eight that were still in the running, with Steve in the front. Zombies were tripping and falling over their own that had stopped to attack the fallen. A saving grace, in a way, as it slowed the stampede of the dead.
John saw Morgan slow his pace and take up position behind the hood of a Tesla. Morgan was making hand gestures, first pointing back toward John, then swinging his arm up, palm open. The white guy in his forties seemed to understand what Morgan was doing and directed his group to run in the center.
Morgan started firing well-placed shots, picking off zombies that were in the front. Heads exploded and bodies dropped. The group reached Morgan. Steve went to give Morgan a hug, but Morgan pushed him away toward the center, forcing him to run.
One hundred yards.
John took a quick peek back. The Scout was about two hundred yards back. They had a lot of ground to cover.
Morgan was still firing away, the group well past him now. The horde was about twenty yards from him and he was dropping as many as he could. As soon as Morgan finished emptying that mag, John would start firing.
The trick was, John would have to fire to slow the horde while Morgan and the group ran past him. Morgan would then find a place to take up position somewhere behind John and closer to the Scout. When John finished emptying his mag, Morgan would then take up firing, while John ran past him and took up position further back, like leapfrogging. Timing would be everything, but when you have a group running through a serpentine, timing might be a problem.
Morgan dropped three more. Another.
The horde was relentless in their pursuit for new blood. Morgan finished and took off at a sprint along the median to catch up with the group. A heavyset girl was crying and falling behind the group, but they couldn’t stop, with the zombies gaining on them.
Now.
John zeroed in on the closest zombie. The .223 round left the barrel of his gun with a loud pop, creating minimal recoil, and found its target. The head of the zombie exploded and the body dropped.
John zeroed in on the next nearest zombie.
Exhale, fire.
He kept the pace going, taking his time, finding the nearest target, firing while exhaling.
Calm.
“Reloading!” Morgan yelled across the freeway as he ran past John. To the group, he yelled, “The off-ramp!”
John picked off zombie after zombie, their falls slowing the stampede. He sighted in on an overly-muscled zombie with a shaved head and thick black beard. He thought he recognized who the guy used to be, but couldn’t place it. He aimed at his head, fired, and the head exploded in a cloud of red haze, bone fragments leaving in all directions like a starburst. He fired once more and heard the firing pin hit metal. The magazine was empty.
John turned and ran. He found Morgan set up behind another car about fifty yards back, fire leaving his barrel.
Time to move.
He took off at a sprint along the shoulder, the AR-15 pointed down. He clicked the mag release, let it fall to the ground, grabbed a fresh one, and slapped it in. He racked the gun, chambering a round.
He found the off-ramp and estimated that it was about one hundred fifty yards away. He saw the group about ten yards ahead of him and yelled out, “Keep going down the center! Move! Now!”
He heard Morgan firing, the shots coming in increasing frequency, the sound of the gunfire creating an odd mix with the screams of both the zombies and survivors.
He passed parallel to Morgan’s position and yelled, “Five seconds, reloaded!”
Morgan kept firing, the screams and yells of the horde gaining in volume.
John found a Honda Civic angled half on the shoulder, half in the lane. He took up position behind the hood, his chest heaving from the sprint. He took aim at the horde but his breathing was messing with his aim. He started firing what felt like one round per second. Some shots made their mark, others just grazed their targets, doing nothing but slowing them down.
“About fifty yards to the Scout! Reloaded!” Morgan yelled.
John kept firing, adrenaline fueling his aim, making well-timed head shots. The firing pin made a clicking sound as the last round exited the barrel.
He turned and ran, dropping the spent mag and reloading the last one. He was getting tired. His legs were turning to jelly. His vision became blurry.
He looked toward the center, saw the heavyset girl had fallen and was still trying to get up. He looked behind him, the horde fifteen yards from him and twenty yards from the group.
The zombies were getting too damned close now.
Morgan got up and started firing as he backpedaled at a crouch, doing his best to make accurate shots.
It was time to get out of here.
John moved to the center, took off his leather jacket, and threw it around the heavyset girl. If she got attacked, the leather jacket may prevent their teeth from finding its mark. He picked her up with his free right hand and half-carried her towards the Scout. He could hear the panic in her cries, her throat catching, out of breath.
“You have to move, now! C’mon, don’t give up! Move!” The girl cried harder.
The group was close to the off-ramp, the Scout in view, facing away from them. John yelled to them, “Get to that silver Scout on the off-ramp!”
He looked over his right shoulder and saw Morgan making his way to the center, jumping onto the hoods of vehicles instead of running in between cars.
He turned around and started running backwards, firing. A few shots made their target, others went errant. He felt around his body for another magazine, but there wasn’t one.
He was out of ammunition.
He turned back around toward the Scout and took off, sprinting. He could hear the scream of a zombie right on his tail, almost feel its breath on the back of his neck.
John looked to the Scout and saw that it wasn’t empty. A man was standing in the back, taking up position, a rifle in his hands pointing their way. John instinctively brought the empty rifle up and aimed it at the man. The man fired a round and the heavy breathing behind John stopped. The man brought the rifle down to chamber a round.
Boogie.
With another round loaded, Boogie took aim and started firing. John heard him yell, “Morgan, driver’s seat!”
Morgan crossed John’s field of vision and headed to the driver’s side. He started the Scout, stood back up and started firing rounds over John’s head, each one making a cracking sound as it whizzed past him.
John was behind the group, running with them. They heavyset girl was right next to him.
There were seven people in the group and no way were all going to be able to get in.
Boogie jumped out of the back of the vehicle and ran down the off-ramp, yelling, “Some with me, let’s go!”
Half the group ran to the left, the others running to the Scout, ten yards away.
John felt fingers gently caress his back, heard the breathing of a zombie right behind him, its rancid breath like acid on his neck.
He jumped onto the bumper of the Scout and kicked back like a donkey and sent the zombie flying into the horde. Like bowling pins, they went down, buying John a few extra seconds.
He climbed in and turned around.
Morgan got into the driver’s seat. “We ready?”
The large black man climbed into the passenger seat and the white guy climbed into the back seat with John, followed by a young white girl.
John turned to help the heavyset girl climb over the back, but a zombie reached her first. She started yelling in pain, the fear evident in her eyes. John grabbed onto her hands and pulled, countering the zombie pulling on her, its grip tight on the jacket. The jacket got ripped off her as John p
ulled her into the Scout.
“Go, go, go!” John yelled.
Morgan accelerated down the ramp, but a zombie leaped out to grab onto her leg, sinking its teeth into her calf. She let out a scream and the white guy next to John turned and fired a round from a handgun point blank into the zombie’s head, its body dropping halfway up the ramp.
John pulled the heavyset girl in and immediately took off his shirt. He wrapped it as tightly as he could around her leg, just above the bite, hoping it would slow the infection until they got back.
“Here, take this.” John handed the AR-15 to the white guy, who gave it to the large black man in the front.
“Oh, my god, Christina!” the other girl yelled.
“Christina, is that your name?” The girl nodded, tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine. We have a nurse back home who can help you, okay?”
John looked to the white guy, who subtly shook his head, out of Christina’s view. John returned a subtle nod, both knowing what would happen to her. To Morgan, John said, “Morg, haul ass home.”
“Roger that.”
“Thanks for the help. I don’t know what would have happened, had you guys not saved us. We’re in your debt,” the white guy said.
“It’s no problem, man,” John said.
“Is there a safe place around here?”
John nodded. “Depends on your definition of safe. We saw some people walking to the Outlet Mall, but who knows what’s there.”
“You can drop us off there, if that’s okay.”
John shook his head. “You don’t want to go there, trust me. It’s going to be chaos in about five minutes.” He looked back toward the off-ramp and saw several of the horde coming down, running in all different directions, but the majority stayed on the freeway and didn’t pursue the Scout.
As he was tending to Christina, he felt the Scout turn to the right.
He looked up. “Morgan, where the hell you going? We have to get back.”
“I’m following Boogie. Hang on.”
John wondered why Morgan all of a sudden gave a shit about Boogie, but then saw Steve looking through the back window and knew why he was following them.
The Scout followed Boogie’s Charger all the way to the Outlet Mall. When they pulled to the side of the road, John jumped out and ran to Boogie. “Boogie, we have to get back. What the hell are you doing?”
Boogie ran towards the parking lot. “I have to warn these people!”
John looked and saw hundreds of people somehow materialize right in his field of view. The fact he hadn’t even seen them was a testament to his adrenaline-induced tunnel vision. The majority of the people were huddled around the back end of an open semi-trailer where three or four men were standing in the back, handing out bottles of water. One man had a megaphone and was asking for calm while they worked.
Two of the people Boogie had given a ride to had already exited the Charger and melted into the crowd.
Morgan had gotten out and stood next to John. “What is he doing?”
John didn’t answer. He watched as Boogie pushed his way to the front and talked to the guy holding the megaphone. There was a heated conversation that lasted for several seconds, but Boogie seemed to come out on top, as he climbed into the back of the trailer holding the megaphone.
There was a murmur amongst the crowd and then Boogie’s voice was heard. “Look, ya’ll! Shit is coming for you from that way! We just came from there and a group of zombies that are bigger’n Dallas are running this way and will be here in a few minutes. They ain’t slow neither! They’re faster than a fart out of a corn-fed horse and will get you! Now, ya’ll need to make like Tito Jackson’s brother, and beat it!”
The murmurs among the group increased, but they stayed in place. Boogie looked among the crowd then continued, “Move! Now, before –”
Boogie was interrupted by a scream coming from near the freeway. The crowd’s noise lessened and was replaced by a chorus of moans and yells coming from the west.
In the distance, John could see the zombies running on the freeway overpass behind the mall. Some were pouring in from the tree line. The parking lot started to become surrounded like a tidal wave of dead flesh.
People began running in all directions, most toward the entrance where the Scout and Charger were parked.
Boogie hightailed it out of the trailer and jumped into the driver’s seat of the Charger, while John and Morgan ran to the Scout. Morgan pushed the pedal down and the Charger’s engine came to life as smoke poured from the rear.
“That’s my cue!” Morgan threw the Scout into drive and did a U-turn, falling in behind Boogie just after the Charger passed him down the road, the front of the vehicle up in the air as the powerful engine threw its weight to the back.
As Morgan turned right to go home and out of sight of the mall, high-pitched screams could be heard in the background, decreasing in volume the further they got, until all that was heard was the vibration of the Scout and Charger driving down the road.
He heard one of the girls in the Scout vomit over the side. He looked at the man in the back with him, then at the black guy in the front. “Everyone okay?”
Nobody answered at first, then the guy in the back stuck his hand out. John took it.
“My name is Russell. This here is my daughter, Kat. And that large dude in front is Reggie, but he goes by ‘Sims,’” He pointed to Christina, who was lying down in the back. “And that’s my daughter’s friend, Christina.” He looked back to John. “And thank you again for saving us.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m John, and that’s Morgan.” John looked down at Christina. “We’re almost home and then we’ll see what we can do to get you some help, okay?” She didn’t respond.
John was keeping a count in his head. She had been bitten about three minutes ago and hadn’t turned yet, which seemed to be longer than what he’d seen in Seattle. Her coloring was becoming increasingly pale and her breathing more rapid. Sooner or later she would turn and he would have to put a bullet in her head. He doubted the tourniquet was enough to stop the spread through her veins, but it seemed to have a slowing effect. He just hoped she didn’t turn before they made it home.
As they drove, John kept glancing down the road back toward the Outlet Mall. He saw people running in all directions.
The zombies had finally reached North Bend.
Chapter 26
Boogie pulled over at the gate to let Morgan pass. Morgan flew down the driveway, kicking up gravel and dirt, and came to a sliding stop in front of Frankie’s place. Boogie and his dirt-covered Charger pulled in right behind them.
John jumped out and ran to the house, while Sims and Russell carried Christina toward the house, careful not to touch the wound on her leg.
Frankie was sitting on the porch, smoking a joint. He jumped up when he saw John running toward the house. “John, what the hell’s going on?”
John ignored him, threw open the door, and ran inside. “Helen! Helen!” He heard pattering coming from the kitchen, then saw Helen. “Grab your kit, you’re needed outside!” To Cindy, who was sitting on the sofa, he said, “Clear that couch and move that table. We’re bringing in a wounded.”
Before she could reply, he ran to the front door, but was beat by Sims, who was walking backwards, carrying Christina by the shoulders. Russell had a hold of her legs.
“Where?” Sims said.
John pointed to the sofa. “On the sofa.”
Helen came down, carrying a large first aid kit and said, “What the hell happened, John?” She looked around the room. “And who are these people in my house?”
John pointed to the couch. “I’ll explain later, but she got bit by an infected person. I placed a tourniquet around her leg above the knee.”
Helen walked over to Christina, knelt beside her, and felt her head. “She’s burning up.” She fumbled around in her bag and grabbed some surgical scissors. “John, grab her leg, but stay clear of the infected area and
bring it out level.”
John walked over, cupped both hands around Christina’s heel, brought her leg out and lifted it up.
“I need to see the wound.” Helen cut Christina’s pants lengthwise from the ankle up and pulled the fabric over, revealing a ghastly bite mark that looked like it was eating the flesh around her leg.
“What the…” John said. The smell of the wound was awful.
Helen reared back a bit. “Jesus, it looks worse than untreated MRSA.”
The wound was a multitude of colors, with varying shades of gray, green, blue, purple, and red, with a smattering of black inside. It was a sharp contrast to Christina’s pale skin, which had taken on an almost translucent look. Her breaths were becoming rapid, her chest rising and falling at a greater frequency. She had yet to regain consciousness.
“What’s MRSA?” John asked.
“Staph infection. Except this looks worse.” Helen took out what looked like a white walkie talkie. She pushed a button to turn it on and waved it across Christina’s forehead and back. She looked at the blue-lit readout screen. “God, that’s the highest I’ve ever seen.”
Cindy walked over. “Holy shit, one hundred seven? Shouldn’t she be…uh…dead?”
“Normally. Well, at least, it should be destroying her brain.”
“Well, she was bit,” John said.
“I’ll grab some cold water.” Cindy ran into the kitchen. Pots and pans could be heard banging around.
“I’ll get some towels, babe!” Frankie said, and ran upstairs.
“She’s not gonna make it. Shit, Christina! C’mon, please! Wake up!” Kat had come running over and was trying to push her way past John, who held her back.
“Please, Kat, we need the room.” John nodded to Russell, who was already walking over.
“Sweetheart, come on outside, okay?” Russell pulled Kat by the arm and led her outside.
“She’s the only friend I have in this state!” Kat was crying. The sound died out as she made it outside with her dad.
Inception_The Bern Project_Volume One Page 21
