With that, Butler steps out of the room.
Phillip and Dix watch the monitor for a moment longer before switching the feed back to the map.
With a catch in his voice, Phillip says, “I really thought we were doing something good here just now. I thought we could help them.”
Dix hesitates before answering, looking around the room. “We’re just puppets. Spook pulls the strings and we make the worm dance.”
CHAPTER 44.
Stalled
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Papi yells, looking straight at Craig. His eyes are threatening to bulge right out of his head.
The engine continues turning over without catching. Craig releases the key, looking Papi in the eye. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Everything looks fine. There’s gas and…”
“We need to go,” Sly interrupts matter-of-factly. “Does Roger still have the other keys?”
“I think so,” Craig says on the verge of all out panic.
Then the shooting starts.
Yonkey, Roger and Brett sit silently listening to the engine roll over and over. Yonkey turns, looking through the rear window. He can see Craig gesturing with his hands towards the dashboard. The voices are muffled, but Yonkey knows they are in deep shit. He turns back and scans the wall of dead moving their way. Multiple runners pass through the crowd.
Yonkey places his a hand on either boys shoulder, “we’re not leaving just yet guys. Start with the runners. Let them get close and shoot for the head. Brett, you take the right side and I’ll take the left. Roger, you back us up and watch the front of the truck. Hold that thing with both hands and squeeze the trigger slowly. It has a big kick so be ready. When you’re out of ammo there’s more weapons in the black bag. Don’t toss the guns, just lay them near the bag and keep your dog down.” Yonkey raises the MP5-N, sets the selector switch to one round, and sights the first runner.
A zombie, formerly a young lady in her twenties, sprints with a hideously bloated stomach and chest bobbing up and down over stick thin legs. She is naked from the waist up, allowing Yonkey a full view of the blackened lacerations where her breasts used to reside. Her left shoulder is missing chunks of flesh and muscle due to her former boyfriend feasting on her. Her left arm flops and bounces from her back to her disfigured chest. Yonkey allows her to get within fifty feet of the truck before firing. The back of her head erupts in a cloud of rotting brain matter; she falls on the street and splits open, releasing the decaying organs inside the body cavity. A runner just behind her slips in the putrefied intestines, buckling its right leg. Splintered bone pokes through the dead skin. As the zombie attempts to stand, a round from the MP5-N destroys its brain case.
Sugar scoots to the front of the bed, remaining as low as possible. She has been through similar situations, but without her master to direct her she doesn’t know what to do other than to survive. As Sugar cowers, Brett continues firing the 20 gauge effectively. He holds the shotgun tight against his right shoulder, waiting for runners to get close before shooting. He knows how to handle the shotgun and the .22 rifle he and Roger brought along, but the thought of having to pick up an unfamiliar weapon is scaring the piss out of him. Boom! A second runner goes down with severe damage to the facial region. He fires yet another round, dropping another runner, as a smile forms on his face. “It’s like playing a video game,” Brett yells out as Yonkey takes another shot.
“Your idea and my idea of video games differ greatly,” Yonkey states without taking his eyes off the next intended target.
Roger climbs onto the roof of the truck and scans the street ahead, seeing it’s relatively clear of zombies, but for a few caught in the barbwire along the parking structure. There is one walker moving slowly towards the truck. Roger raises the .38, sighting the head. He squeezes the trigger. The pistol kicks violently in his hand, almost causing him to drop it. The round ricochets off a cement column, well to the right of the zombie. “Shit.” Roger raises the pistol again, failing to see a runner approaching from his left.
“Papi, we need to help them. Craig, pop the hood and see if you can get this fucking thing started,” Sly orders, dropping Adam’s head to the seat. She grabs the door handle, feeling every ache in every muscle. She can feel one hell of a bruise starting on her left thigh.
Papi flings his door open, steps out swinging his shotgun into position, and moves to the rear of the truck.
“Nice of you to join us,” Yonkey states, catching Papi out of the corner of his eye. “I almost shot you.”
“Better than going out as one of them,” Papi said.
“Yeah, I hear you.” Yonkey fires another round. “Brett, go help Roger with the front.”
“There’s one walker a ways down the sidewalk. The boy took a shot but missed. Let it get closer,” Papi yells to Brett as he starts for the front of the truck.
Brett looks at Papi briefly then continues his short trek. “Roger, your left!” Brett screams.
Roger is focused on the walker near the parking structure when he hears Brett scream. He looks back at Brett who is aiming his shotgun towards the street. Roger turns his attention to the same direction as Brett fires. The runner, hit high in the chest, staggers to his left then regains his step.
“I’m out, Roger!” Brett ducks into the bed of the truck to retrieve another weapon from the bag. Please let there be a shotgun.
Roger raises the .38.
“Flip the switch,” Adam’s low voice catches Sly by surprise as she’s exiting the back seat of the truck.
“What?” Sly asks looking at Adam.
Adam is staring at the ceiling of the truck. “Flip the fuel tank switch just below the right side of the dash. The right tank reads wrong. It’s out of gas.”
Sly looks to the front of the open cab, meeting Craig’s astonished gaze. “You heard the man, flip the switch and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Craig, muttering something under his breath, reaches under the dash. He stretches, finding the unmarked black switch, flipping it to the second position. He turns the key one notch.
“Give the fuel pump a second to draw from the other tank. It should be full. If it isn’t, Edward’s fired,” Adam explains while trying to sit up.
Craig hears Adam, then watches the fuel gauge jump from 1/4 to full. “We’re in business.” He turns the key, listening to the engine turn over once, twice and on the third it roars to life. In his excitement, Craig slides back into the drivers’ seat, simultaneously slamming the truck into drive. It lurches forward a few feet before he realizes what he’s done.
Roger takes aim and feathers the trigger as Craig attempts to start the truck. In the bed, Yonkey and Brett drop to their knees, continuing to fire on runners and walkers alike. The truck starts and lurches forward. Roger does what he can to keep from falling, adjusting his weight and leaning into the forward movement, but then the truck stops suddenly, throwing him from the roof. He hits the pavement hard on the drivers’ side of the truck, losing his gun in the process. He sits up, spying a runner mere feet from him. He scrambles underneath the truck in an effort to evade the zombie. The zombie dives to the ground, scraping dead flesh from its arms and managing to grab Roger’s left leg. Roger screams and kicks violently at the zombie’s hands and face, connecting several times, but the zombie won’t relinquish its grasp. Roger soon realizes the zombie is much stronger than it appears.
Papi and Yonkey race around the side of the truck, seeing the zombie lying on the ground reaching under the truck.
Brett jumps from the bed, yelling, “Do something!”
The zombie pulls Roger closer to its waiting dead mouth. Its lips tear open and the corners of its mouth split, allowing the jaw to spread even further, reminding Roger of a snake about to eat a large prey. The mouth opens extraordinarily wide, then a large steel-toed boot crashes down. Roger stares with horror filled eyes as the deformed face balloons outward in a mess of rotting flesh and brain.
Tears pour from Roger’s eyes as
he watches the black boot lift off of the corpse. He can hear Craig cursing. “Goddamn shit’s all over my boot.”
“No time. Let’s go,” another voice yells out.
Suddenly Roger is being dragged out from his hiding place by Papi’s large hands. “Let’s go, son,” Papi says kindly, guiding him to the front seat. “You can sit up here with us.”
“I…I lost my gun.” Roger is seated next to the passenger side door. He continues wiping tears from his eyes not wanting Brett to see him cry or any of the others for that matter.
“I got the gun. Don’t worry. We just need to get.” Papi slides in next to Roger, pushing him to the middle, and slams the door shut. “We all in?”
Craig looks in the mirror, seeing Yonkey giving thumbs up. “Yep, we’re good.” He drives away from the horde of zombies, sneaking one last peek at the Atrium. I’m gonna miss that place.
The Atrium teams with activity as zombies roam the levels, occasionally bumping into one another. Three survivors huddle together in a small room with only a few boards and two cases of water propped against the door. They remain as quite as possible. Outside the Atrium the surviving pack of dogs sits on the top floor of the parking structure. Most have signs of infection from eating the dead. They watch the truck drive away, then they, too, run in the same direction.
CHAPTER 45.
Garage
In the corner of the control center a small red light flashes just as the power fails. Jack looks up from his iPhone, peering around the darkened room. The soft red glow does little to light the room. He walks to the light, studies it briefly, then notices a small gauge. Jack has no idea what it could be for, but he can tell it’s measuring something on empty. He listens for a moment before realizing the small refrigerator has stopped running. On the wall next to him is a large flashlight in a charger. He grabs the flashlight, switching it on. The beam is bright and narrow.
Jack looks at the monitors and feels a bit foolish, knowing the power is off. I knew this was too good to last. He dons a pair of baggy black sweats he found while rummaging around the closet, leaves the robe on over the sweats, and grabs one of his .357 revolvers. After ensuring it’s loaded, he drops it in one deep pocket of the robe. He steps into the hallway, stopping to listen for monsters. Once satisfied nothing is waiting to eat him, he proceeds to the stairs and makes his rounds, checking the doors and windows, careful to cup his hand over the end of the flashlight. He walks through the living room, the formal sitting room, dining room, small den and finally the kitchen. He stops at the trap door thinking of the dead family below. I should bury them…later.
Jack stands at the only door in the house he has yet to open, knowing it leads into the garage. The door has two large dead bolts and a sliding lock pin installed at the bottom dropping straight into a steel reinforced hole. He places his ear to the door, hearing nothing on the other side. He turns the top deadbolts until they click open. He places his ear to the door again, still hearing silence. He reaches down and releases the lock pin. His palms are sweating as he grasps the doorknob. Pull it together, Jack. The knob turns, allowing the door to open slightly.
A stale smell wrinkles Jack’s nose, but he is pleased nothing is rotting. He steps into the garage, turning the flashlight again, cupping his hand over the end. The first bay of the three-car garage is empty. The second bay holds a small red Toyota Camry. Jack pays the car little attention, focusing instead on the third bay housing two long industrial shelving units full of batteries. He shines a full beam on the shelves, taking it all in. He follows cables leading from the end of each shelf to a multi-outlet. The ends of both shelving units contain small meters and control boards.
Jack studies the control boards noting both contain lights, that when lit, indicate the batteries are either charging, in use, or simply idle. Unit 1, encompassing all three shelves, is idle, while unit 2 indicates a need for charging. Jack follows the cables again to the wall and finds a master switch, which is currently pointed to unit 2. He grasps the large dial, rotating it to unit 1. The silence is broken by the hum of the batteries operating and a small freezer springing to life in the opposite corner of the garage. It isn’t loud but noticeable. He walks the row of batteries, quite pleased he not only found them, but he knows how to manage them. He steps out from between the two shelves turning to walk back to the kitchen, when he inadvertently bumps into the garage door.
The thin aluminum door echoes loudly. Jack steps away, cursing himself under his breath. He starts for the door leading back into the kitchen when the banging starts. The door rattles and shakes violently. Jack hesitates, watches the large doors shake, then decides he’s better off in the house. He locks all three locks behind him and stops at the sound of zombies beating on the front door. Well ain’t this fucking peachy. Woke the whole goddam neighborhood. Jack runs to the stairs and bounds up to the control center. He stops at the monitors, turning all three on. His patience is wearing thin, his hands twitch and thoughts of fleeing rush his mind. He’s surprised Julia isn’t standing with him, telling him to go. All three monitors take their sweet ass time warming up, only to reveal all twelve cameras are off line. “Fuck!” He paces, threatening to wear a path in the carpet. Escape plans are forming when the first monitor blinks, then displays the four split screens he had become accustomed to seeing. The second and third monitors follow.
Jack stares at camera 6, stationed just above the garage doors. He counts seven zombies, not including the ones banging on the garage doors. The hollow sound from the aluminum doors echoes throughout the house. Jack continues pacing, listening as the zombies begin to lose interest. Their collective attention span lasted a bit longer than Jack would have liked but he’s thankful they’re finally moving on, even if it is just to the street or yard. He looks at camera 8, the interior of the garage, seeing nothing of concern. He studies the remaining cameras, finding nothing other than fifteen or so zombies, before he quits counting. “How do they know I’m in here?”
Jack sits at the desk, feet kicked up. He reaches into his robe, retrieving the .357. “Could end this now.” He takes a deep breath then sets the pistol on the desk. “I’m going to have to leave this place. I’m going to have to escape, and that calls for an escape plan. I fucking hate escape plans!” Jack peers over to camera 12 showing the big 4x4 truck sitting next door. He knows the man in white was watching the truck for a reason. It’s too close to use as a diversion. No, this truck was primed and ready for when things go bad. “Now where could those keys be?”
CHAPTER 46.
Adam
“Why weren’t we ever told about the bad gas gauge in this truck?” Craig demands angrily, negotiating abandoned and burned out vehicles along Redding’s west side.
Adam stares straight ahead, his head slowly swaying back and forth with the movement of the truck. His thoughts aren’t entirely clear, as he is having trouble focusing after the blow he suffered from Papi. “You punch real hard for an older gentleman, Pap.”
“I know. Sorry it had to be done. Can you answer the questions now? Why didn’t you tell us about the gauge? We could have been killed because of that one thing.”
“Oh yes, the gauge. As I recall, Edward told me about it a day or two ago. I didn’t think the truck was going out again, until you guys decided to take it.”
“That’s your problem, you think too much about the shit that doesn’t matter and too little about what does. We almost lost Roger because of your bullshit.” Venom flies as the truck continues accelerating.
Adam looks out the front window, trying to think of more reasons why he didn’t tell them about the truck, then his mind shifts. “Are the rest dead?” Adam asks with clarity.
“Well, we…” Papi is cut short by Craig’s anger.
“What the fuck do you think? Of course they’re all dead. You think we would leave survivors behind? We’re it, and you should be back there with them, oh great City Manager or whatever the fuck you were.” The truck’s speed continues creeping
up as Craig’s anger intensifies. Sly reaches forward, placing her hand on Craig’s right shoulder. She squeezes it slightly.
Adam’s mind settles, as a singular thought comes front and center. “Of course I think you’d leave survivors behind. Wasn’t it your group, the Squad, that was stashing supplies near the exit to be easily loaded into a vehicle, say this truck, so you could leave the rest of us behind?” Adam looks straight into the rearview mirror, grinning slightly, making eye contact with Craig.
Craig slams on the brakes, propelling everybody forward. Sly and Roger are the only occupants wearing seatbelts. Papi smashes hard against the dash, while Adam hits the back of Craig’s seat and crumples to the floor. Yonkey is thrown against the rear of the cab, tumbling out of the bed along the driver’s side, while Brett and Sugar slide against the front of the bed, unharmed. Yonkey is slow to rise, having no idea where his gun went. He reaches down on his left side, pulling the 9mm Beretta from the scarred holster.
Craig throws his door open. He pulls Adam’s door open, grabs him by the neck and pulls him from the vehicle. Sly, having trouble with her seatbelt, attempts to grab Adam’s hand, but is too late.
“Goddamn it, Craig, this is not the time for this bullshit. Look around you, we need to go,” Sly yells, jamming her thumb as hard as she can against the red release button. She opens her door, meeting the foggy gaze of a slow moving zombie.
Roger sits in the middle of the front seat, staring blankly ahead. Sounds around him are muffled as he watches a crow peck at the open ribs of an emaciated zombie slowly crawling along the pavement. The first gunshot snaps him back to the here and now.
Sly holds the zombie back as it bares its decaying teeth, reaching out for her. Her hands are firmly planted against the zombie’s chest, and she pushes with all her might. This is reminiscent of pushing away a drunk at local bar. The zombie stumbles back a couple of steps, sways briefly, then resumes its assault once again. The limited space is just enough for Sly to remove her .40 from its holster, and shoot the persistent zombie between the eyes. The force of the bullet exploding out the back of the zombie’s head forces its upper body violently backward. Sly would swear she heard bones snapping as the zombie lands awkwardly on the pavement below.
Dust of the Devil's Land Page 18
