by TW Gallier
"You think?" I said.
The roof had some of those fiberglass panels that let in light, so the garage was anything but dark. Every bay held a vehicle in various stages of repair. Out of habit, we began checking them to see if any would start. Unfortunately, their engines were all at least partly disassembled.
"Bingo!" Charlie cried.
"Shhh," I said. He was sitting in the driver's seat of a Ford F250 4x4 with a crew cab. It was a mid-nineties model, kind of battered looking. "What did you find? Booze?"
"I wish," he said. "I think it'll run. The dash lights up when I turn the key."
"Do you think this steel building acted as a Faraday Cage?" Mike asked.
Charlie and I stared at him.
"It's something that protects against EMP," he said.
He didn't sound a hundred percent confident, yet the pickup had power. And it wasn't some fifty year old clunker, either. It was a twenty-something year old clunker.
"Do you think you can finish repairing it?" I asked.
"Only one way to find out," Charlie said. He checked the paperwork on a clipboard. "It's in to replace the AC."
"Looks like they were still in the middle of removing shit," Mike said. "Do we want to continue with the AC repair, or just put it back together?"
"Just put it back together," I said. "I don't want to stay in here any longer than we have to."
Charlie and Mike went to work on the truck while I explored the shop. There was a very new full-sized Nissan pickup, but its front bumper was smashed into the radiator. No telling what other kind of damage was done. The other two vehicles were older sedans. All had power when I turned the key. Maybe Mike was correct, but I wasn't going to say anything.
I couldn't find a gas can, but found a rubber tube and an oil pan. After cleaning the pan really well, I started siphoning gas out of the other vehicles. I spilled almost as much as I got into the pickup, but managed to fill the tank before they finished the repairs.
Okay, it took them most of the day to put the engine back together.
"AC should work," Charlie said, grinning.
"You went ahead and replaced it?"
"Yep. They were halfway through removing the old AC, so it didn't take too long," he said. "And we are filling it with Freon now."
"AC uses more gas," I said.
"Not really."
I wasn't going to argue with him. Putting the packs in the back seat, I looked around for anything else we could use. Charlie put quite a few tools in the pickup's tool box. I found a case of bottled water. Nothing else.
Charlie started the truck as I returned with the water. It roared to life.
"Turn it off!" I shouted.
He did. "Why? What's wrong?"
"First, the zombies can hear. Second, you'll kill us," I said, indicating the closed bay door. "You proved it runs now. Let's get ready to leave."
As if to prove my point, someone started pounding on the back door and two of the bay doors. They jumped into the truck. Charlie got behind the wheel, with Mike riding shotgun. I opened the driver's side back door, before going over to the roll-up bay door. He cranked the engine as I unlocked the door.
"It's zombie time!"
Chapter 31
I yanked up on the bay door. The heavy door rolled up fast. Stepping back, I started shooting. One, two, three, four zombies bit the dust in as many seconds. Charlie started backing up, even with the back door wide open.
Cursing, I jumped into the back seat and slammed the door shut.
"Go!"
That pickup must've had a monster V8. Charlie burned rubber backing up. He swung around in the narrow gravel parking lot. I saw a parked car in the way, and two zombies between us.
"Watch out! Car!"
We hit it anyway.
"Crunch go the zombies," Mike said.
"Heehee," Charlie said mockingly. "Bet that hurt."
"Zombies can't chase anyone if they got broken legs," Mike said.
I signed gustily. Crushing the zombies might've been mildly amusing. Still, there were more converging on us. I quickly locked my door and started rolling down my window to shoot out.
"If you two are finished having fun…"
I started shooting the closest zombies on my side. Mike opened up on the other side of the truck. Charlie put it in gear, and burned rubber taking off like a bat out of hell.
"I thought Georgia boys were all Dukes of Hazzard wannabes," Charlie said. "Were you born in Alabama? Or, gasp, New York City?"
"You are so funny," I replied. "Stop the truck and let me drive, and then I'll show you Dukes of Hazzard."
"Nope. I fixed it, so I get to drive it first," he said. "Mike's next, because he kinda sorta helped."
The great thing about the zombie apocalypse was you didn't have to obey traffic signs. Charlie blew past the stop signs, ignored the speed limit, and even side-swiped a trio of zombies walking along the street. I'd never seen him so happy. Maybe Mike wasn't the craziest one of us?
"What road do we take?" Charlie asked as we blasted through downtown. We'd passed through a few towns during our trek across America, but that was the most abandoned cars I'd seen yet in a downtown. They were all nicely parallel parked, too. "Do we even have a choice?"
I noticed Mike was firing his M-4 with the M203 and I didn't see the M-249 SAW.
"Where's the SAW?" I asked.
"You forgot the Mimini?" Mike asked incredulously.
"It's not in back?"
The SAW wasn't in the back seat. I didn't see it in the bed, but the tool box blocked most of my view. Charlie came skidding to a stop just past downtown. I jumped out and looked in the bed.
"Nothing!"
"Fuck me! I'm the stupidest man in the world!"
"Do you have your – "
"NO! I left my M-4, too," Charlie said. He hit the gas and did a u-turn. "We have to go back."
He was right. We couldn't leave both weapons behind. Our first passage through town had brought all of the zombies running to that street.
"Zombies are coming out of the woodwork," Mike said. Charlie swerved and hit one, sending him flying over the hood. The zombie's head struck the windshield, leaving a head-sized impact cave-in there. "Don't hit them, idiot. You'll wreck the truck."
"At least the whole windshield didn't crack," I said, rather disgusted with Charlie. "Calm down, Charlie. It's just a thing."
It wasn't, but…
There must've been twenty or more zombies nosing around the auto repair shop. Mike and I leaned out our windows and fired them up. I think we missed more often than not. At least we knocked most of them down. Charlie drove over even more of them. Yeah, that was one pissed off man.
"Stay in the truck, Charlie!" I cried. I opened my door to slam into a zombie, knocking her into another. I shot them both in the head. "I'll come back and jump in the bed, and then you can take off."
Mike opened his door and stood up, shooting over the truck and into the bay. Zombies were everywhere. I shot them as I went, trying to ignore the ones to my sides. The SAW and M-4 were side-by-side leaning against the back wall.
"Son of a bitch!" I screamed when three zombies converged on me from three sides.
I butt-slapped the one in front of me, spun between him and a female to my right. Then I stopped and shot her in the head, before charging the last one as I pulled the trigger over and over. He did a little dance of death, and finally fell when I hit him in the head. The first zombie was on all fours, trying to stand, so I pulled the cleaver out of my back pocket and chopped his head off.
Reaching Charlie's weapons, I quickly slung both across my back. When I turned I found a dozen zombies shuffling towards me. They knew they had me. I was trapped like a rat. Mike was shooting, but none of them were falling. He must've been defending the pickup.
My eyes fell upon the oil pan I'd used to siphon gas. It was still half full of gasoline. So I snatched it up and flung the gas all over the zombies. That didn't faze them. Not a one of
them so much as blinked. Didn't it burn their eyes?
"Burn, mother fuckers," I growled, and fired into them.
They burst into flames.
The fireball came close to engulfing me. I took off running for the shop office. Slamming and locking the door behind me, I charged out the front door and headed for the pickup.
"Go!" I shouted as I dove head first into the bed.
Charlie backed out fast, and almost flipped us over when he cut the wheel. He put her into gear, and burned rubber as we headed back towards downtown Union City. I just lay sprawled in the bed, huffing and puffing, wondering where my life went wrong.
Mike started shooting before we made it to the downtown. Sitting up, I noticed a lot more zombies in the streets. They were all rushing towards the street to intercept us. With a big sigh, I rolled to my knees to remove Charlie's weapons. Then I took the SAW and knelt atop the tool box. With the bipods down and resting atop the roof, I started firing short bursts at any zombies blocking our way.
Mike and I cleared a path through them, though Charlie still had to drive over a lot of dead bodies. It was a rough ride, and I struggled to stay atop the tool box. But once we were past the business district, the zombies thinned out dramatically.
When we came up to a highway, Charlie came to a stop. I moved all weapons into the back seat. Then we opened the map and figured out our location.
"Take Route 22. We'll go down to Adamsville, and then take 64 all the way to Chattanooga," I said. "Five to ten hours."
"Can you be more specific?" Mike asked with a chuckle.
"I've driven the length of Tennessee in a day a few times," I said.
I got all tingly when I realized I could be home tomorrow. The dash clock showed it was just after 8 o'clock. It'd be dark soon, and from the look of my friends, they were too tired to push on through the night. Still, tomorrow…
Two hours or so out of Union City, after passing through Huntingdon without issue, we came to a stop at Interstate 40.
"Man, I tell you, it'll be faster if we take I-40 into Nashville, and then take I-24 down to Chattanooga," Mike said. "It'll cut hours off of the trip."
"Maybe. Probably not," I replied. "I think Nashville is swarming with zombies. I say continue down 22 to Adamsville, and then take 64 east. It's safer, and won't take much longer."
Mike and Charlie looked at each, and then Charlie shrugged. Mike gave up after that.
"Don't worry, Mike. Remember, I'm the one familiar with this area."
"Yeah, right," he said. "I say we find a store, get some beer, and then find a house to crash for the night."
Hearing him say it sent a wave of exhaustion through me. That sounded good to me. Maybe we could find a bottle of aspirin for all of my aches and pains, too.
"Okay. And then tomorrow maybe we can reach Georgia, and my family."
Chapter 32
I was given the day off. After my trials and tribulations of the previous day, and the fact I bagged three deer, I felt I earned a little time to myself. Translation: time to wait hand and foot on my children.
The boys wanted to go fishing. They always wanted to go fishing. Sitting in the shade and watching a cork bob in the water sounded good to my battered and bruised body. So we went down, each with our own rod and reel. My sons were good at digging up earth worms, so we had bait. Sometimes they even caught a fish large enough to eat.
"When's Daddy coming home?" Harlan asked.
"Soon," I said. Then under my breath, "I hope."
The morning passed without drama. The community security patrol checked on us about once an hour. We caught a lot of Blue Gill, but had to release them all due to being too small. Honestly, I didn't like eating bream anyway. Too many bones. I silently cursed the fool who stocked that pond. Catfish would've been better.
For lunch I made the boys peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. That was the end of the bread I brought up. I felt lucky it lasted so long. In the future it would be peanut butter and jelly on crackers. We had a lot of crackers.
During lunch Timmy's little friend Spooky knocked at the door. I gave her the sandwich I'd made for myself.
"Do your parents know where you are, Spooky?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Daddy's on guard. Momma's babysitting in the Meeting House."
Most days all of the community's children spent most of the day in child care. That released the adults to do more important tasks, like guard and hunting. The children preferred to be with their friends as well. So two women were also on duty at the day care. I'd pulled a few day long shifts down there myself. As much as I love children, child care was not a fun day. Those kids wore me out.
"You ran away from the Meeting House?" From the look she slanted at me, I knew it was the case. I shook my head. "After lunch I'll take all of you back down."
Whoever was on duty would have a fit when she learned Spooky snuck away. I was surprised the on-duty guards were not out shouting her name. Missing children were quickly hunted down and returned to the Meeting House. Not so surprisingly, whenever children went missing Spooky was usually one of them.
I began stuffing my fanny-pack with 30-06 ammo. There was no more 30-30 ammo. I shot the last of it up killing the zombies the previous day. At the time I hadn't realized it was my last box of ammo. But I had a good four boxes of ammo for the 30-06, and it had a scope.
The 30-06 was Roger's deer rifle. I hesitated using it. That gun was his pride and joy, despite him being more of a fisherman. My father gave it to him when he married me, so it was special to me as well.
My boys are usually easy to control. Spooky had a bad influence on them. When she was around they went crazy. She was so headstrong and determined to do her own thing. It was hard to be angry with her, since I was the same way at her age. Some thought I was still that way. I begged to differ.
The Meeting House was full of rioting children. I stood in the door as my boys and Spooky charged into the middle of that mess. All I could do was stare for a long moment. Just looking at them made me feel tired.
"How's it going, Amy?" I called to one of the babysitters. The pretty blonde was Spooky's mother and Paul Sutton's wife. She looked harried. The poor thing had lost a lot of weight since the world went to hell, but was still a little on the chubby side. "Is anyone helping you today?"
Amy worked as a babysitter most days. She was useless with weapons, with no desire to learn. A few of the women were like that, so mostly pulled cooking and childcare duties.
"About like normal. Sara and Rosa are helping me," she said. Glancing at her daughter, "Thanks for bringing Spooky back. I was just about to send someone to find her. Where did you find her?"
I saw Rosa Mixon across the Great Room playing with the youngest children. I didn't see Sarah Connor, but there were children throughout the house and out on the deck.
"Spooky came looking for Timmy," I said. "May I ask a question that's been driving me crazy? Why do you call her Spooky? Is that short for something?"
"I hate that name," Amy said. "But the boy next door started calling her that about three years ago, and she loved it. She insists everyone call her Spooky now."
Gunshots brought everyone to an abrupt stop. The room froze, silent as a mouse, as I turned back to the door and stepped outside.
"Momma?" Timmy called.
"Stay here. Take care of your brother," I said. Amy was looking at me with big eyes. "I'll go check it out and let you know."
I already had a round chambered. As Sean would say, that was SOP nowadays. But I took it off safety as I moved down toward my usual defensive position. The general alert bell began ringing before I was halfway.
That was the first time the bell was used. It was an old dinner bell Bill had behind his cabin. They moved it to the Meeting House after we fought off the mob earlier in the week. That was the first time I'd heard it used other than in a test or quick response drill.
"What's happening, Hector?" I asked when I reached my fighting position. It was a fox
hole on high ground above the last of three barrier fences we installed. "Zombies or another mob?"
"I don't know. I can see movement down the road," he said.
Hector Morales was a tall, brutally handsome man. I didn't think Roger liked him, mostly because the women all swooned over him. He was good friends with Sean, though, so must be okay in my book. Being an avid hunter he'd proven himself in many ways to the community. He only had a 12-gauge shotgun and a .38 Special revolver, so not much help at long range fighting.
I could see a small part of the open space in front of the first barrier, too. Using my scope, I studied the situation. There were quite a few people on the road, mostly milling around as if agitated. So, it didn't look good.
"Another mob. Damn," I said. "I hope Bill can defuse the situation."
"Not good. Sean, Fred, and Bill did an inventory of ammo earlier," he said. "We're getting pretty low."
"Oh no," I whispered, thinking about how I'd run out of 30-30 ammo. "We have to do something about that before we head off cross-country."
Ratta-tat-tat-tat!
I dropped behind cover. Bullets kicked up dirt around our position. Hector and I shared a shocked look.
"The mob has guns?" he said.
We heard the community return fire. I rose up, steadied the 30-06 on the log placed in front of our foxhole, and sighted through the scope. I rejected the first four people the crosshairs fell upon. None of them were armed. The fifth man had a handgun and was firing up towards the Meeting House.
I squeezed the trigger. The rifled kicked the hell out of me. I hated its recoil, but I quickly got my sight back on the gunman. He was dead, and a young woman took up his pistol. She couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty. She had a whole life ahead of her. Except she'd chosen to attack us, threaten to kill us. So I shot her as tears rolled down my cheeks.
Someone in the mob threw something smoking up the side of the mountain. I braced for an explosion, but it burst into flames instead. After the third one was thrown up, to no discernible effect, I figured out they had Molotov Cocktails.
Our return fire continued unabated. Men and women were dying left and right. It was pure butchery. I felt sick.
