The Last Town (Book 4): Fighting the Dead

by Stephen Knight

  “Not able to get through to them,” Grady said.

  “Think you can help me with crowd control while I take a look around?” Victor asked.

  Grady sighed. “Victor ... this isn’t your investigation.”

  Victor raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Oh? Very well, then. Do carry on, Chief Grady—I’m not really all that interested in heading up a murder investigation right now. We have something that’s probably more pressing.”

  “What’s that?” Grady turned and looked at the people milling around the area. They were definitely motorists, and many of them had likely seen what had happened. He was going to have to conduct a lot of interviews.

  “Whomever killed these men are probably criminals, and they have a few hours lead time on us. And if I were them, I’d be headed for Single Tree,” Victor said. “Just in case you wanted to know what my thinking on the matter might be.”

  Grady turned away from the crowd and looked at Victor with a frown. A chill ran through him. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you might be right about that.” He reached for the radio on his shoulder.

  ###

  The news that there were potential murderers on the loose in Single Tree galvanized the town’s small law enforcement team into action. While Chief Grady was tied up out on the highway, that meant Hailey and the others had to start scouring the town, while also remaining available to other calls for assistance. Single Tree was not particularly vast—dimensionally, the town was maybe two miles wide by perhaps four long, but access was restricted by the heavy traffic clogging up Highway 395, which essentially split the town in two. Hailey happened to be on the eastern side of town, keeping watch on one of the local gas stations. There had been two incidents there today already, with exhausted motorists fighting each other for access to the gas pumps. The sun was setting, and the temperature was beginning to drop, but blood pressure wasn’t following in suit. The owner of the gas station had informed him that the underground tanks were running dry, and he estimated that in ten minutes he wouldn’t have any fuel to sell to anyone. Things were going to get ugly. Hailey advised him to close up and head for home as soon as the tanks were tapped. There was no need to stick around, and it didn’t seem like Hailey was going to be returning any time soon.

  He pulled out of the back entrance to the service station’s parking lot and rolled south. A lot of traffic had boiled off of Main Street—what 395 was called when it bisected the town—which slowed his progress considerably. Most of the people were hopelessly lost, searching for an alternate to the highway when one didn’t exist. Hailey squirmed in his seat, pissed at the delays, but powerless to do anything about them. He didn’t want to run code three, because lights and sirens would only alert the bad guys that he was coming.

  And since he’d heard that several armed corrections officers had been killed, giving the convicts a heads-up wasn’t high on his to-do list.

  He kept his eyes open as he drove, looking for anything amiss. Single Tree was a small town, and usually, things didn’t change very much. But a few houses were vacant now, their residents having fled to other locations. A few more were vacation homes, and all but one of those were empty—the banker from Orange County had come to town with his family, and as Hailey’s Expedition rolled past, the man nodded to him. Hailey waved back. But aside from that, all was as it should have been, except for the occasional errant traffic that cruised around the neighborhood, searching for a way out. Hailey gave the passing cars and SUVs a look-over wherever he could, but no one seemed overtly suspicious.

  And would you actually know what murderers look like? he asked himself. He was a small town, low-time cop. He knew what alcoholics looked like, and knew what shoplifters looked like, and what the occasional vagrant looked like. But murderers? If they were still wearing their prison uniforms and carried guns out in the open, then sure. Otherwise? Maybe not.

  Chief Grady’s voice came over the radio. “Six, this is fourteen. Copy?”

  Hailey reached for his radio transceiver. “Fourteen, this is six.”

  “Six, head down to Substation Road. I’m with Res one and three. Make a pass through the neighborhood, we’ll be right with you. Copy?”

  “Fourteen, copy. Direct to Substation, be there in about five minutes.” Res One and Three were tribal reservation units, with one being none other than Victor Kuruk, and three being Suzy Kuruk. Hailey found himself smiling a bit. He hadn’t been able to see much of Suzy since their brief lunch together on the day that old Wally had apparently turned into a zombie and attacked him.

  He drove past the Single Tree High School, which was closed for classes due to the emergency. Just the same, its parking lot was hardly empty—several trucks and containers were there, being tended to by work crews that Barry Corbett had brought it. There were also several Native Americans, as well. It looked like they were working alongside Corbett’s crew, earning some dollars for some work. At the moment, all they were doing was unloading a shit-ton of building supplies. Hailey didn’t know everything that was going on, but the chief had passed on that the town was about to go under a pretty massive change. Unofficially, he’d also heard that Old Man Corbett was planning to turn the entire town into a fortress, and the suited Hailey just fine.

  He made it down to Substation Road just as Chief Grady’s Expedition pulled around the far corner, followed by a shiny Dodge pickup and a reservation Suburban. Hailey accelerated down the street as the other vehicles pulled to the curb. He brought his own Expedition to a halt abreast of Chief Grady’s and rolled down the passenger window.

  “What’s up, Chief?” he asked.

  “We’re going to take a walk around and just make sure there haven’t been any break-ins,” Grady said. “Anyone else with you?”

  Hailey shook his head. “Just me. All the other guys are tied up on the other side of town. It’s going to take a bit for them to get down here. So what’s the deal?” he asked, as Victor Kuruk alighted from his tall Dodge pickup. Beyond him, Suzy climbed out of her Expedition and adjusted her gun belt. She favored him with a sly smile and a not-so-sly wink. Hailey smiled back, then noticed Victor’s frown. Hailey looked back at Grady.

  “We’ve got three dead corrections officers on the highway,” Grady said. “From the documentation on the bus, there were five prisoners being transported downstate. Looks like they shot their way out, and they’re probably holing up around here somewhere. I want you to shoot up to Muir and make a couple of passes. Keep your eyes open.”

  “Anyone see anything?” Hailey asked.

  Grady nodded. “Several motorists saw it go down, or at least part of it. And a bunch of guys took off and headed out into the desert. There’s a chance they could still be moving easterly, but with a town nearby, I’d think they’d come here first.” The police chief pushed open his door. “If you see something, call me. Don’t get directly involved in something, wait for the rest of us.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to stick around?” Hailey regarded the short row of houses before and behind him. It was getting dark, and lights were starting to shine through several windows. A lost motorist turned onto the street but stopped when he saw the collection of police vehicles sitting at the end of the street. The car slowly backed off and turned up another street.

  “I’m good,” Grady said. “Victor and Suzy are going to help out, so I’ll manage for the time being.”

  “You got it, Chief,” Hailey said. He took his foot off the brake and pulled away.

  ###

  “Okay, one cop just pulled away,” Big Tone said. He was stationed next to the living room window, peering around the edge of the curtains. “Got three more out there. Heh, one guy looks like an Indian.”

  Doddridge held onto the shotgun with sweaty hands. “What, you mean like a dot head?”

  “No, man, like a fucking Indian looking for a buffalo to shoot. Funny shit.”

  The old lady who owned the house the crew had taken over sat on the plastic-wrapped couch, her
silhouette barely visible in the darkness. When she had come home from wherever she had gone off to, Doddridge had met her at the carport door and took her in without incident. He had thought she was a blue-haired white woman when he’d seen her from a distance, but it turned out she was a Mexican named Estelle. She and Big Tone conversed in Spanish for a bit, and the Latin King seemed satisfied that she wasn’t going to cause any trouble. Doddridge didn’t quite believe that. He’d had more than a little bit of trouble from 80-something year old ladies in the past, but as long as she sat on the couch and didn’t move, everyone was going to be fine.

  And then, the cops showed up.

  Doddridge wasn’t surprised by it, though he’d hoped that the small town’s PD would be too tied up with other things to start pressing them so soon. They’d had a few hours to themselves, gotten cleaned up, ate, and had begun planning their next move. In the middle of the night, Doddridge intended to take the old lady’s Cadillac and enter the stream of slowly-moving traffic in what was certain to be a slow-motion escape from the town. It wasn’t preferable, but there wasn’t a lot of opportunity to do anything else. From the maps he’d found in old lady Estelle’s house, there was really only one road out of here, and that was the highway. There wasn’t anything in the house that could sustain the men for several days in the desert, and Doddridge wasn’t at all interested in busting his ass climbing over mountains and rocky ridges.

  Now, he was beginning to wonder if that wasn’t a good idea, after all.

  “What’re we gonna do?” Auto asked in the darkness.

  “Not gonna do shit,” Doddridge said. “Wait for them to move on, then let’s sit tight for a bit before we bug out.”

  “Hey, one of the cops is coming toward the house,” Big Tone said. He eased away from the window and reached into his waistband. He parked one of the guards’ liberated pistols there, and he pulled it free.

  “Easy, ese,” Doddridge whispered. “Take it easy.”

  “Not sweatin’ it,” Big Tone said. He raised the pistol and Doddridge saw its outline against the pale glow that penetrated the curtains over the living room window. There was a knock on the door, and in the silence that ensued, Doddridge heard the cop’s feet scrape against the stoop outside. After a lengthy pause, there was another knock, this time louder.

  “Estelle! It’s Chief Grady!” a voice called out.

  “Dude’s got to know she’s home,” Shaliq whispered. “Car’s out there.”

  “Quiet,” Doddridge said.

  In the hallway, the little pasty man named Bruce whimpered. “I don’t want to go back,” he said, his voice a strangled hiss.

  “You’re not going back. Now be fuckin’ quiet,” Doddridge said. You ain’t goin’ back, you pussy, because I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself.

  The cop at the door knocked again, harder this time. For the first time in over an hour, the old lady on the couch stirred.

  “Maybe I just answer?” she asked, voice low.

  “Shut up,” Doddridge said, wondering why the fuck everyone had to start talking now, of all times. He took his right hand off the shotgun and wiped his palm against his pants, trying to get rid of the sweat.

  ###

  Grady stood at the front door of Estelle Garcia’s neat little house. The lights were off, and the house was silent. He knocked one more time and called out, but Estelle didn’t come to the door. She wasn’t deaf, and her big vintage Caddy was still in the carport. That made Grady a little worried. He turned and looked back at the street. Victor stood on the sidewalk by his truck, one hand on the butt of a pistol that was on his hip. A few dozen yards award, Suzy was in the street, feet planted apart, right hand on her own pistol.

  “Could she not be home?” Victor asked quietly. “Could she be with friends?”

  “She doesn’t like to be out at night, if I recall correctly,” Grady said. He stepped away from the door, looking at the windows. He reached for his radio. “Base, this fourteen.”

  “Fourteen, go.”

  “Base, give a call to the Estelle Garcia residence. If she answers, have her come open the front door.”

  “Fourteen, copy.” While he waited, Grady slowly drifted to his left toward the carport. The Caddy sat there in the darkness. There were no clicking sounds of cooling metal, so it hadn’t moved in a while. He heard distant peal of a ringing telephone inside the house. Five rings. Ten. Fifteen.

  “Fourteen, copy?”

  “Fourteen. Go ahead.”

  “Fourteen, no answer at that residence. Copy?”

  “Copy, Base.”

  Grady stepped into the carport and walked to the front of the Cadillac. He put a hand on its hood. It was warmer than the ambient air, so it had been driven at some point during the day. He reached for the Maglite on his belt with his left hand and switched it on. He played the beam around the carport. The Cadillac was empty. There was nothing unusual in the carport itself; garbage and recycling bins, a stack of old newspapers, some closed cabinets. He stepped toward the door that led to the house, shining his beam on it.

  The doorjamb was broken.

  Grady drew his Glock and stepped closer, shining the brilliant flashlight on the doorjamb, ensuring that what he saw was in fact the case. It was. From the corner of his eye, he sensed Victor edging up the short driveway, pistol in hand.

  Then the door to the house opened, and Grady barely saw the flash of lightning before the thunder hit him.

  ###

  Doddridge knew the gig was up when the cop left the front door and, instead of returning to his vehicle or moving on to another house, moved to the carport. The door frame was damaged where it had been kicked in, and while an old lady might limp her way to the door and not really see the damage, as Estelle had done, a policeman was unlikely to not notice. The gig was up. They were about to get caught.

  Time to get on with it.

  Doddridge moved past Auto and walked through the kitchen and stood to one side of the carport door. He heard the cop’s soft footfalls outside, the soles of his shoes scuffing along some grit on the dusty concrete floor. Light filtered in beneath the door and, a moment later, around the cracked and broken wood of the doorframe. The light paused, then began to recede.

  “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ showtime,” he said to himself.

  Doddridge fired through the door. The shotgun blast blew a nice hole right through the thin wood, and the pellets continued on and slammed into the man in the carport. He stumbled back against the Cadillac, the flashlight falling from his hand as he raised his pistol. Doddridge fired twice, hitting the cop first in the chest, then in the face as he slumped forward. The pistol slid out of the cop’s hand and skipped across the carport’s dry concrete pad.

  “Dude, what are you doing?” Shaliq cried. “What the fuck!”

  The old lady was wailing now, curling up on the couch. Tone stepped up to the window, raised his Glock, and fired five or six rounds outside. Glass shattered and the drapes twitched as his bullets lanced through them. Doddridge barreled past Auto, who was crouching near the living room wall. He ran straight for the sliding glass door at the rear of the house and eased it open. He stuck his head out, looked both ways, then jumped out into the back yard. The black desert awaited him, and off to his right, the long, slowly-moving conga line of traffic, headlights blazing in the deepening gloom. It was surprisingly chilly outside.

  In the house, Tone kept firing, swearing for the fucking Indian to stay still. From the open carport, three deep reports came, and Doddridge looked back to see Tone spin around. Whoever had hit him had shot right through the house from the carport, which meant two things: the guy had some serious weaponry, and in order to make a shot like that, he also had to have X-ray vision.

  More bullets ripped through the house, this time from the street. Doddridge heard the little pussy Bruce cry out, yelling he was hit. Doddridge took that as a good omen and sprinted to his right, head down, running all out through the yard of the house next door. He kept on going,
even as people stirred in the surrounding houses. Once he had rolled down half the block, he cut to his right and juked up between two houses. He flattened against one, then slowly edged forward until he could look up the street.

  Lights flashed, and a big SUV roared around the corner of a side street. For an instant, the lights had Doddridge fully exposed, but if the cop driving the SUV had seen him, he didn’t slow down. He kept charging down the street, where the gunfire still popped in the night.

  Doddridge sprinted across the street and slipped past a couple of houses, running northward in the darkness.

  ###

  For an instant, Victor had no clue what had just happened. There was a flash of light in the carport, and his initial thought was that Grady had accidentally discharged his weapon. Then he saw Grady’s flashlight fall, and two more great orange-yellow fireballs surged out of the house toward him. Grady was flung back against the Cadillac, then sank to the concrete floor.

  At the same time, more muzzle flashes erupted from the living room window. Victor was at an extreme angle to it, but he heard the snap! of a bullet zipping right past his head. He leaped toward the carport, his .45 in his right hand. He realized he was caught between the gunman behind the door leading into the house, and the one sniping away from the window. He raised his pistol toward the wall and fired three shots in rapid succession, blasting right into the house. He doubted he’d hit anyone, but he hoped that the sudden onslaught of large-caliber rounds would make the shooter at the window take pause and hunker down. At the same time, he heard Suzy firing at the house. Compared to the roar of his .45, her nine-millimeter sounded downright anemic.

  He continued his slide to the left, pistol up, aimed at the door. The firing from inside had stopped, but he heard two women wailing. Suzy popped a few more rounds into the house, then ceased fire as she advanced, hurrying toward him. In the near distance, Victor could also hear the sound of an approaching vehicle—probably his niece’s would-be suitor, Mike Hailey.