“Okay, have your bow ready,” said Nelson. He reached into a backpack on the floorboard next to him and pulled a M1911 from inside and hopped down.
“That’s a big cannon for you, bro,” said Jax.
“I’m hoping I don’t need it. I just had an idea. We don’t have enough kerosene to do the job, but I read a lot about this, so let’s get in and just do it. We’re going to need the biggest pump sprayers they have. The backpack kind with the big lever handles. I know they have them because I’ve seen them. They’re in row 12, third shelf down, almost to the back of the store. From our approach, they’ll be on the right side.”
“Jesus, your memory is nuts,” said Jax.
“I’m going to get sawdust. They have it in 45-gallon cardboard drums.”
“What’s it for?”
“I’ll tell you once I figure out if it’s gonna work. Like I said, get a commercial pump sprayer, and while you’re at it, there are 1-gallon pails of roofing tar in row 9. Get a can of that.”
“How you gonna move the drum of sawdust?”
“They have drum dollies, too,” said Nelson. “I’ll pass them on the way. C’mon. We need to get this done. It’s killing our productivity.”
“If we kill them, it’s productive enough.”
On Nelson’s go, they opened the front door and went inside. The windows were dirty, but the huge skylights, some of which had clearly been leaking during the rains, provided good light.
“Okay, be careful, bro. Hurry, but take the time to make sure it’s clear.”
“Oh yeah, brought the shotgun you asked for,” said Jax. “It’s got seven rounds of buck–”
He didn’t finish his sentence. A scraping sound came from between two of the tall racks of goods. One began shaking frantically, and a shadow flew between the skylights overhead, remaining in the shadows, but lit well enough that they knew exactly what it was.
Jax swung the barrel up and fired in one motion, striking the flying Mother where her neck met her shoulders. Her body exploded in a starburst of black blood, and her head ejected toward the front door while her body continued its forward momentum, landing atop Cash Register Station #2.
Both men turned immediately toward the origin of the zombie, scanning in the subdued light for more threats.
Breathing hard, Nelson said, “Bro, that was awesome!”
“Just pure luck and instinct,” said Jax. “Fuck. I wonder if there are any more.”
They were quiet for a few moments. Nelson waved Jax forward, motioning toward row 12. He moved toward the barrels of sawdust, one eye on Jax as he approached his destination.
Passing the drum dollies, he saw most had pneumatic tires – all flat. He searched the stock and found one with aluminum wheels with a rubber tread. He pulled that one along behind him and hurried to the corner where the drums of sawdust were stored.
He ran forward, the path ahead clear. “Jax, you alright?”
“Good, bro! All clear here. Got the sprayers. Big boxes, though. One at a time.”
“Put them by the door and get that tar,” said Nelson, sliding the wedge-shaped base supports on the dolly beneath the smaller-diameter drum. He slid the dog clamp down on top and tilted it backward, rolling toward the door.
He felt rather than saw them at first. Turning his head to the left, he saw around fifteen undead standing motionless in a shaded area near the door that once led to an open area where plants were sold.
The sun had broken through what clouds there were, and the shadow lines were clear. There were no Mothers among them – all their eyes were visible, and none were red. The faded pink of the vapor was there, but they did not penetrate from the shadows like the eyes of the Mothers.
Nelson decided. It was not a decision he made easily, but he had pent-up nervous energy building since he had developed his approach to killing the zombies in the buses, and it was time to get it out.
No plastic bats this time. He would subvert his Subdudo and break them into pieces.
Nelson allowed the drum dolly to settle, letting it go.
“Jax, come here and just stand ready with that shotgun. Don’t shoot me, though.”
Jax emerged from another aisle with a 1-gallon can of roofing tar in his hand. His eyes followed Nelson’s.
“Dude, I can just –”
“I got it,” Nelson interrupted. He ran forward, hands up. When he neared the first rotter, he kicked out, striking it in the midsection. As it buckled forward, he administered a hard chop to the back of its head.
It went down and he stomped on its fragile skull, crushing it.
The others shuffled forward, but Nelson fell into a rhythm, his feet flying out left and right, his balled fists and open hands contacting effectively, battering the shuffling crowd.
Jax circled the battle zone warily, the shotgun barrel held down and shaking, but ready in case any broke free or circled behind Nelson.
At first, it had seemed the task would take a while, but like the Tasmanian Devil spinning into a vortex and destroying everything in its path, Nelson Moore tore through the Hungerers like they were only made of papier-mâché.
Silence fell over the warehouse, as Jax walked forward to stand beside the huffing Nelson. Nelson turned to look at him, removing his pipe from his shirt pocket. Without a word, he raised it to his mouth, reached into his pocket and withdrew his Zippo.
Exhaling, Nelson said, “Let’s go. I might be getting overly creative, but we need to kill these bastards at a distance.”
“Those guys weren’t even going for you,” said Jax. “You just ripped through them.”
“No Mothers,” said Nelson. “They’re like true slaves now. That tells me one thing. Nobody was telling them what to do after you shot the one that jumped off the rack. Maybe a Mother, if she’d been around, would have grabbed control of them, but none did.”
They took their supplies out to a sunny spot just to be safe. Nelson opened up both sprayers, exposing the mouth of the tanks, and then went to work on the nozzles.
He removed all restrictors, as well as the tip. Using a rock, he hammered the tube on one of them until it was about an 1/8” orifice at the end. He left the other. Looking at Jax, he said, “Backup.”
“Huh? You trashed that one, right?” said Jax.
“That one’s not spraying liquid,” said Nelson.
“Duh, that’s all you can spray out of these things.”
“Not true. Watch this.” He pried open the drum of sawdust, finding it dry and powdery. Atop the contents was a large, plastic scoop. He filled it and held it over the reservoir, pouring it in.
“What am I doing, bro?” asked Nelson.
“Filling that sprayer with sawdust.”
“Yeah, but I’m pouring it in. What else pours?”
“Liquid?”
“Right.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“You will. Take six – no, take eight – arrows and smear that roofing tar on the tips. Try to get it even, okay, bro?”
Jax was a good guy, but he tended to rush through things rather than take his time and make sure everything was right.
Nelson had noticed that, and tried to drop subtle hints, but nothing really seemed to stick. Nelson was fairly sure that was why Trina had lost interest in him.
Nelson’s daughter Lita loved Jax, because he was kind of childlike himself, and he was good with the kids.
When everything was ready, Nelson said, “Jax, that shotgun is filled with buckshot, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. You won’t need to be a good shot for this next part. I want you to blow the windshield out of every bus in that line. You can stay clear enough.”
“Now?”
“No time like the present,” said Nelson.
“You know I’ll probably kill a couple when I do that, right?”
“Head start,” said Nelson. “I’m probably crazy, but I read about this and I just have to see what happens.”
“What?”
/> “Go, blow the windshields.”
Jax walked around, staying in the sunshine, and stood about 20 yards from the front bus. He raised the shotgun and fired into the windshield. It exploded outward and inward, blowing the tempered glass everywhere.
“Good, keep going. Hurry.”
Jax did listen to that. He ran to the next bus and repeated the action. For the last one, he had to blow out the rear window because it was all he could sight in on and remain in the sunshine.
“What now?”
Nelson picked up the crossbow and the bow rack filled with arrows and held them out to Jax. “Okay, sweet work, bro. Take these and come with me.”
Shrieks were coming from the buses. The Mothers were pissed and the Hungerers were … well, probably hungry. “Sounds like I got to ‘em,” said Jax.
He took the items from Nelson and followed him. Walking to the first bus Jax had shot and putting the sawdust-filled sprayer on his back, he pumped the handle until he felt backpressure so strong he could not get another stroke on the lever.
“Okay, Jax. Take in all I’m about to tell you because timing is important. There has to be a perfect oxygen to dust ratio, and I have no goddamned idea what that is, so I’m going to wait until it looks right compared to videos I’ve seen of it.”
“Of what?”
“I’ll tell you if it works. Now, I’m going to spray this dust through the window you shot out. When it starts to billow back out like a dust cloud, I want you to fire a flaming arrow into the bus. Light one up.” He pulled out his Zippo and gave it to Jax.
Jax lit the tip and it slowly ignited. Once it lit, the flame grew, crackling and bubbling as the tar burned and popped.
Nelson raised the modified nozzle and opened the handle.
The dust streamed out as narrow as a cord, and Nelson rotated the tip like a spiral as he blasted the bus. The dust then began to billow back out of the bus as it became filled with the floating wood particles.
“Now!” shouted Nelson.
Jax loosed the bolt.
“Run!” shouted Nelson.
He and Jax turned as a huge explosion came from behind them. The concussive blast shook the ground, knocking both of them forward into the dirt.
They rolled over to see the bus had blown apart, nothing but orange-yellow metal scrap, intermixed with black-blooded body parts.
The sudden flame caught the few dry, rotted seats aflame, and what remained looked like a macabre hayride gone wrong.
“Next!” shouted Nelson, getting up. “No survivors!”
Jax scrambled to his feet behind Nelson and lit the arrow on the fly. Nelson came within range of the second bus and opened the valve, shooting the stream of dust inside. He didn’t have to say anything this time; as the dust began to billow back out, Jax fired.
Nelson didn’t give the command to run and Jax didn’t wait for it. Both men dove to the ground and covered their heads with their hands.
They felt shrapnel and possibly body parts flying over their heads. Waiting only seconds after the blast, both looked up to see the bus in similar condition to the first one.
Inside the other buses, the Mothers were staring out of the glass. They did not emerge. Perhaps they knew there was no chance of defeating the humans during daylight.
Instead, they shrieked. When they did this, the other three buses began to rock on their frames. Out the doors the Hungerers poured, milling and shuffling around aimlessly at first, then seeming to gain focus at another loud call from a Mother in the rear bus.
Then they all came towards Nelson and Jax. Nelson ran toward the other backpack sprayer, dropping the one he was wearing off.
He ran back to where Jax stood, just five feet across the shadow/sunlight line.
“I thought they might try this shit. Light an arrow, fast!”
They were running toward the two men. There had to have been over a hundred of them, ranging from ragged, thin and nude, to bald, blistered, and missing limbs, ears, and eyes.
Along with them came floating tufts of hair, balling and blowing at their feet like biological tumbleweeds.
Nelson opened the sprayer and fanned it from side to side, raising it up and allowing the kerosene to rain down on them and the buses behind them. He had to preserve it; he didn’t have very much.
“Fire the arrow! Now!”
“Where?”
“At the horde, dude! Aim in the center!”
Jax fired. When the arrow hit the front zombie, the flames caught, then crawled up and down his clothing, quickly engulfing him in flames. The nude ones, also coated with the oily fuel, caught just as easily.
As one fell into the next, soon the entire horde was aflame, the Mothers screeching behind them like they were losing their children all over again.
The flames spread from bus to bus, with Nelson alongside them, spraying more kerosene through the holes Jax had blown in the windows.
Jax started running along the horde, trying to unclip another arrow from the rack. He got it free, and looking down, struck the Zippo lighter.
“Jax! What are you doing?”
“That last bus!” he called back. “It didn’t light!”
But as the lighter struck into flame, the fire from bus five leapt to bus six, immediately igniting the buildup of kerosene Nelson had sprayed in the shattered windshield.
The buildup of fumes within the bus, along with all the active, liquid fuel, resulted in a whoomph! sound, and the walls of the bus punched outward, tearing the old, rusted metal apart and spilling the burning zombies onto the dirt around it.
Before Nelson could duck, something flew from the bus. He only saw it in his peripheral vision as he turned away to avoid singeing the skin from his face, but he heard the new shrieking battle cry before he saw the result.
As he spun back around, the initial explosion of flame now receded, he saw the Mother. Her body burning, she flew from the blown-apart bus and landed directly atop Jax.
He had been in the shadows. He had not paid attention to the line of demarcation.
With both black, burning hands she dug into his midsection and pulled out his guts, shoving them into her mouth as though the meat would give her enough strength to fight on.
Nelson patted his pockets, knowing he had used all the stars. He raised the nozzle – he could direct the flames to the powerful female but could not guarantee they would not travel back to him, blowing him to bits when the tank on his back exploded.
He squeezed the lever, but nothing came out.
The Mother gulped down Jax’s intestines, then reached down to clutch his head. She hammered it against the hard-packed dirt until it cracked open, such force was behind it.
Jax, the man that Trina had become enamored with, then tired of, was dead. None of this was known to him.
Nelson frantically pumped the handle of the sprayer, trying to build enough pressure to get the kerosene to where she tore apart his dead friend.
The Red-Eye tore open Jax’s broken skull and jammed her hands inside, pulling the brain from its rightful place.
Shoving it into her mouth, she raised her head and bit down, the red blood running down the side of her face.
Nelson felt the backpressure from the pump handle. The Mother swallowed, the flames now seeming to engulf her, but not enough to stop her movement.
Nelson aimed the flow of kerosene at her and opened up. As the stream of flammable fluid arched its way to her, flames leapt from the other many burning bodies into the torrent, which was just robust enough to reach her. Even as she fully ignited, becoming a human-shaped torch, she crouched down and leapt straight toward Nelson, who staggered backward in response.
It was like slow motion.
He prayed he did not lose his footing. He cut off the spray and saw the burning Mother flying directly at him, her last-ditch jump accurate and true.
And deadly, should she strike Nelson. He quickly shrugged his shoulders, losing the kerosene tank and flinging it away. He hit the
ground hard and rolled, the Mother landing some five feet beyond him, rolling into the sunlight.
She was back on her feet in an instant, the flames now fully engulfing her, shooting fifteen feet into the sky.
Then, like a house fire collapsing in on itself, her bones disintegrated, and her torched body sank into itself, becoming a pile of burning ash and black, bubbling blood.
Nelson rolled onto his back and cried.
*****
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Jim Cole and Jim Scofield rode in the front seat, while Eileen and Steven rode in the back. They had been driving nonstop since leaving the town of Miller, and so far, no trouble.
Carly was snoring so loud that Cole had to ask Eileen to give her a nudge now and then to interrupt the constant low rumble.
Breaking the silence, Jim Scofield asked, “So what did you do before the apocalypse, Eileen?”
“Dog groomer,” said Eileen. “Carly here is my second apocalypse companion. Dallas, my first zombie alert buddy, belonged to one of my customers.”
“They never came back for him?”
“No,” said Eileen, staring out the window. “Dallas took to me from the time Nancy Jameson brought him in. I don’t know what happened to her.”
“Well, sounds like he got himself a good mama, and so does Carly there,” said Scofield. “You get stuck at work when this nastiness started?”
Eileen said, “I was always at work. I loved my job. Hated school, so I never got a college degree, but animals were always my passion. Dogs mostly.”
“College degrees are mostly wasted unless you’re an engineer, doctor or lawyer. So, you were at work?”
“I figured out later the zombie thing had been going on for a while before I realized it. There were two other groomers there that day. Lucinda and Tamara. We heard this noise and went to the front window. We saw a bunch of people coming down the street, straight toward our shop.”
“Did you know what they were?” asked Steven.
Eileen shook her head. “Not at all. How could we? How could anyone? I didn’t believe zombies were possible. I mean, I don’t have a college education, but I know humans can’t live without respiratory systems and heartbeats.”
Dead Hunger | Book 10 | The Remnants Page 24
