by Dave Lund
“Sandra get out here, we’ve got to get ready!”
“Shush Jack, Keeley’s still down for her nap in Bexar’s cabin, and Will’s still napping in ours; if you wake them it’s your ass.”
“No, we’ve got problems, there are bikers in the Park, we’ve got to get ready!”
“That’s probably what the rifle shots were about. What now?”
“Hopefully Bexar and Jessie are headed down the mountain, so let’s hope they make it fast. I pushed the dumpsters together and set up the shotgun alarms. We need to put our go-bags in the Scout and load anything else we might need to bug out. Then I want to head back down the road and set up at the dumpsters to watch for any of them coming into the Basin. Maybe I can start picking them off before they can make it to the gate.”
“What about the kids?”
“Let them nap for now, but if you hear any more shooting, get them in the Scout and be ready to roll.”
“If they come up the only road in and out, how do I drive out?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to play it by ear. We might have to drive fast, run them down, and hope for the best.”
Jack gathered some supplies in a backpack and threw it over his shoulders, then grabbed the go-bags and tossed them into the Scout before getting in the FJ and leaving for the dumpsters. Sandra continued to load the Scout with two cases of .223, some pistol ammo, and some of their preserved venison jerky. She knew that they had the new cache site by Cattail Falls, but any extra supplies she brought could only help. The kids were still asleep, and the Scout was loaded as much as she dared. She looked at the cabins and began thinking about finding a good place to set. If she could get the kids safe in one of the back cabins, she could snipe the bikers or undead if they got past Jack. She wasn’t going to leave without him.
Jack stopped the FJ at the dumpsters and turned it around so he could drive back towards the cabins quickly. He took off the backpack and placed it on top of the dumpsters, along with his rifle, and climbed up with his gear. In the backpack he had ten loaded 30-round Pmags, two bottles of water, and the binoculars. Jack sat up, the rifle in his lap, binoculars to his eyes scanning the roads ahead, and waited.
Panther Junction, Big Bend National Park
Twardo stopped his group of bikers where the road came to a three-way stop in front of the Ranger’s station at Panther Junction. He knew from the radio conversations that his prize lay somewhere referred to as “The Basin,” but he didn’t know where that was in the Park. Twardo had never been to this part of Texas, since there weren’t any motorcycle rallies or club chapters down here. The large brown sign at the intersection had an arrow pointing right that read “Chisos Basin,” with the distance shown in miles. Bingo.
“Russell, send a scout to follow that sign.”
Russell looked around and pointed to one of the least senior club members. Without a word, the man started his motorcycle and sped off in a cloud of dust in the direction the sign pointed.
Chisos Basin
Jack could hear the sound of the motorcycles in the desert getting closer until they stopped. It sounded like they were in the direction of Panther Junction, even though it was out of his view. He then heard a single motorcycle start and take off in a hurry. The sound increased in volume, and Jack’s suspicion was confirmed a few minutes later when he saw the motorcycle approach the turnoff for the Basin. The bike slowed and then turned left, traveling towards Jack and his roadblock. Jack stashed the binoculars in his backpack and lay prone on the dumpster with his rifle, flicking the lever on the lower receiver from “Safe” to “Fire.”
To Jack it felt like an hour had passed before the motorcycle finally came into view, but in reality it only took a couple of minutes. Coming suddenly upon the closed gate, the biker slammed on his brakes and came to a skidding stop. He switched off the motorcycle’s ignition, drew a pistol from under his vest, and began walking towards the closed gate and the dumpsters.
Jack held his breath, waiting for the biker to see him, and waiting to see if the biker was from the same gang the group had encountered before. A deer broke out of the woods, running across the road behind the biker, causing him to spin in place, pistol raised. The three-piece patch on his vest was now clearly visible to Jack. That was the confirmation he’d been waiting for; slowly letting out his breath, he squeezed the trigger to the rear. But he was nervous and jerked the trigger slightly, so the round went low and struck the biker in the middle of the back. The biker cried out in pain and fell to the pavement. A few moments later he appeared to die.
“Shit, now we’re in trouble,” Jack said out loud to himself, climbing into the FJ to return to the cabins.
Panther Junction
Twardo turned to Russell. “That was a rifle. John only had a pistol. Looks like we’ve found our new friends. Saddle up!” he said, making a circling motion in the air with his right hand. The bikers mounted their motorcycles and the group sped off, the angry sound splintering the quiet desert air.
Chisos Basin
Sandra heard the rifle report and saw the FJ driving up the road into the Basin. Will had just woken up from his nap and was playing in Sandra’s cabin, but Keeley was still sleeping in Bexar’s cabin. Sandra ran out and met Jack at the FJ as he pulled to a stop. “What happened?”
“It’s them Sandra, the same bikers from Comanche. One of them rode up to the dumpsters and I killed him. I didn’t see any undead and I couldn’t see the rest of their group, but after I fired my shot I heard a bunch of motorcycle start near Panther Junction—I don’t know how many of them.”
“Damn. Okay, I prepped two shooting positions, one on the roof of our cabin and the other on the roof of the motel out front.”
“Perfect. Hide the Scout behind the cabins, I’ll take the spot on the motel. You’re the last line of defense. Keep our little boy safe!”
Sandra nodded, and Jack jogged towards the single-story motel across from the Ranger’s station in the Basin. Once on the roof, he had a clear view of the road as it came up from the tent camp area. Counting his magazines, Jack had a total of twenty loaded 30-round Pmags, minus the single shot he had just fired at the dumpsters.
Twardo signaled the group to a stop when they came in view of John’s parked motorcycle.
“Give me two prospects up front!”
Two prospects obediently climbed out of the van and jogged up to the club president.
“You two go up the road on foot, find John and figure out what happened, then report back.”
The prospects nodded and, pistols in hand, began walking towards the motorcycle, disappearing out of sight around the bend in the road.
Shortly after losing sight of the prospects, the valley echoed with a shotgun blast, followed by both prospects running back down the road towards the rest of the club.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Sir, we didn’t see John but there was a bunch of blood on the road, which is blocked by two dumpsters. When we got close someone shot at us from nowhere, so we ran back down here.”
“You fucking pussies, go back up there and figure it out!”
The prospects were visibly shaken, but they started back up the road, pistols raised but moving slower than last time. About ten minutes passed before they reappeared.
“We couldn’t find John, but the dumpsters are full of rocks and dirt, and there’s no one around. We’ll need the truck to pull them out of the way.”
Twardo nodded. One prospect retrieved John’s motorcycle, the other drove the truck past the group to the dumpsters before pulling out some heavy chain from the bed. Less than five minutes later, one of the dumpsters had been pulled out of the way.
Before riding past the roadblock, Russell walked around the dumpsters and stopped.
“Hey Prez, check this out.”
Twardo joined Russell, who continued, “Someone set up a trip wire, see? It’s attached to this thing over here with a shotgun shell. I bet the prospects set another one off
earlier.”
Twardo circled his right hand above his head and the bikers mounted their motorcycles once again.
Emory Peak
Bexar and Jessie were out of breath and sweating in the cool winter air, but they were getting close to where the trail came out behind the cabins. The echoing shotgun blast stopped them both in their tracks. They instantly knew it was the trip alarms at the dumpsters, and without a word they continued down the trail at a jog.
Chisos Basin
Lying on the roof of the motel with the binoculars up to his face, Jack saw a biker walking up the road into the parking area. It was the biker he had killed, now reanimated. He decided not to put it down and risk giving away his position. Then he heard the pack of motorcycle engines start.
The group still rode side-by-side as they entered the parking area in the Basin. Twardo saw a burned-out building to his left, a couple of motels, some cabins, some other buildings on his right, and John walking across the parking lot. Twardo turned off his motorcycle and walked towards John, who was moaning and quite obviously dead.
“Well shit John, you went and became a goddamned zombie.”
Twardo pulled a pistol out from under his vest and pointed it at reanimated John’s face. Suddenly, it was his own face that exploded, the sharp rifle report echoing a split second later.
Undead John didn’t notice or care about the rifle, or that Twardo had just died, he simply bent over and tore a chunk of flesh from his president’s shoulder. Russell, still standing next to his motorcycle, yelled, “Holy shit, get the deuce out of the van and kill those motherfuckers!”
Two prospects ran to the van, swung open the rear doors, and dragged an M-2 with a tripod base out of the back, carrying it towards a large rock in the parking lot for cover. A third prospect pulled two green ammo cans out of the back of the van and was starting towards the M-2 when the side of his head exploded outward and he fell to the ground. Another biker went down as he ran towards the Ranger’s station, falling to the pavement, screaming and holding his stomach, blood pouring out of the rifle wound.
Russell yelled behind him, “You get the truck and get up there to flank him.” As the truck drove up the road next to the motel, Jack fired a full magazine into the truck. He missed the driver, but the truck gained a flat tire and a bunch of bullet holes in the side.
Russell yelled at the prospects just finishing loading the M-2, “That asshole’s on top of the motel there, kill that piece of shit!” The M-2’s report was fast and deep, echoing in the Basin. Tracer rounds walked up the front of the hotel, 50-cal holes crumbling the front wall.
Jack grabbed his backpack and slid down the back of the motel’s roof. He ran west, away from the crew-served weapon and towards the trail that would lead to the back of the cabins. Three shots from an AR rang out near the cabins, and as Jack turned the corner he saw the biker who’d been driving the truck fall to the ground dead, three bullet holes in his chest. That biker would soon reanimate, but he had other things to worry about for now.
The prospects only stopped shooting the motel once they had emptied an entire can of 50-cal chain-fed ammo. The motel was smoking, about to catch on fire from the tracer rounds, but they didn’t care. They figured the guy on the motel was probably dead because he wasn’t shooting at them anymore.
Russell pointed at two club members behind him and said, “You two, go up there and make sure that guy on the roof’s dead.”
The bikers jogged forward, giving undead John a wide berth as he continued to eat their former club president. Going to the back of the motel, one hoisted the other up onto the roof, where they found an empty AR magazine and a bunch of shell casings, but no shooter. Standing on the roof, they saw the club’s truck parked in the road with a lot of bullet holes, a flat tire, and no driver. They whistled and waved at the other Pistoleros, motioning them to come forward. The bikers moved their motorcycles out of the road and into the parking lot by the motel, the van following.
Bexar and Jessie were getting close. The gunfire could be heard very clearly, as could the long bursts from a fully-automatic big caliber gun. Neither of them had been in the military, so they didn’t know the distinct sound an M-2 makes, but both knew that the sound was very bad.
The bikers, away from their motorcycles, walked up the road in a loose group towards the abandoned and bullet-riddled truck. As the first biker passed the truck, Sandra shot him in the throat. The rest of the bikers dove for cover and started shooting at the cabin, not knowing that Sandra was on the roof.
Will sat in the cabin, crying, scared, and alone. His mother had told him to stay in there no matter what. Sandra knew the cabin was his best protection, and she was never going to let the bikers get near the cabin anyways. But he was just a little boy who wanted to find his mom, so he opened the door and ran out of the cabin into the open. Russell saw the little boy running across the parking lot and shot him twice, sending his little body tumbling to the ground.
Jack rounded the back of the cabins just in time to see his only child run out of their cabin and die in the parking lot. He stopped, and an anguished howl tore from his guts. Blinded with hatred and rage, he ran around the cabin toward the bikers, shooting wildly. Two of those rounds found two different bikers before his bolt locked back on an empty magazine. Taking advantage of the break in the shooting, Russell shot Jack with his pistol, and continued shooting until Jack’s body fell in a growing pool of blood.
Sandra’s body went ice cold, and she began slowly taking aim, firing on one biker at a time. The prospects finished moving the M-2 about the time that Sandra started back into the fight, opening up on the cabin where she lay on the roof.
Bexar and Jessie were close enough to hear the gunfire and Jack’s bone-chilling scream, but came down the trail just in time to see Jack lying dead by his son’s dead body, and to see the M-2 begin firing on Sandra, decimating their cabin and killing her in a hail of gunfire. They both stopped behind the last row of cabins.
“Holy fucking shit, Jess, they’re all dead!” Bexar was shaking, his face white.
Jessie stood motionless, tears streaming down her face.
“Jess, find Keeley, check our cabin. I’m going to kill these bastards, then I’ll meet you at the RV.”
Jessie’s feet felt rooted to the ground, but her need to protect her child shook her loose from her catatonic state and she began running towards their cabin. If Keeley was in Sandra’s cabin she would probably be dead, but she prayed that her little girl had been hidden in the cabin further back.
Bexar took a kneeling position behind a large tree and tried to slow his breathing while taking aim at the bikers. His first target was the biker behind the big machine gun, and as he squeezed the trigger twice, the biker’s head exploded brain matter all over his fellow prospects. Moving slightly, he did the same with the biker holding the ammo belt, and then the biker next to the open ammo can.
Seeing his prospects being picked off, Russell ran down the road towards his parked motorcycle. The two remaining bikers who were still alive turned to follow Russell, but both were shot twice in the back by Bexar. They dropped to the pavement, screaming in pain. Bexar took aim on the last biker, but he turned the corner out of his view before he could take the shot.
Bexar stood, rifle up, and slowly made his way to where Jack and Will were lying on the pavement. Both were dead, bullet holes riddling both of their torsos. Bexar couldn’t fathom his best friend and his little boy reanimating, so he drew his pistol and shot them both once in the head. He then went to Sandra’s cabin and climbed onto the roof from the picnic table in front. Sandra was also dead, but mercifully a round had found her skull and he wouldn’t have to shoot another close friend.
He climbed down from the roof and walked back to where Jack’s body lay to retrieve the backpack. In the bag, he found eight loaded Pmags and a broken pair of binoculars. Bexar tossed the field glasses out of the bag and walked to the Scout, where he retrieved Jack and Sandra’s go-bags,
a couple of cases of ammo, and the venison jerky. He then put the two cases of .223 ammo in the large backpack, shouldered the bag, and went to his cabin to retrieve his go-bag before jogging towards the trail to The Window.
Before starting down the trail, Bexar did a tactical reload, swapping a fresh magazine into his AR. Rounding the corner by the western edge of the motel that was now on fire, Bexar saw a handful of bikers, reanimated and stumbling aimlessly around the parking lot.
“Fuck you all, you deserve to stay zombies.”
Bexar made his way to the trailhead and hopefully towards his family.
CHAPTER 59
On the trail to The Window
Bexar passed a large boulder to his right and found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Jessie stood in the middle of the trail, Keeley hiding behind her legs. When she saw it was her husband, she holstered the pistol and started crying, hugging Bexar.
“I found Keeley hiding under the bed in our cabin. Since our cabin was in the back of the group the bikers never made it back that far.”
“Thank you Jessie, I love you. Jack, Sandra, and Will are all dead, but I made sure they wouldn’t reanimate. One of the bikers got away, but I killed the rest of them.”
The stars were beginning to come out in the night sky. Jessie kept Keeley hidden while Bexar made a safety sweep around the RV. It was still hitched to the Wagoneer and all their cached supplies were safe.
Jessie laid Keeley down to sleep in the RV before joining Bexar outside in the cold winter air. Even though the RV was well-hidden off the main road, they sat in the dark quietly discussing their future.
“Bexar, I don’t think I can stay here any longer, not with our friends killed. I don’t want to see their bodies, I don’t want to see that sweet little boy’s dead face. I just can’t.”
