“Stabby, hang here for a minute. Poke anything that gets near, no guns unless we need ‘em.”
He nodded and found a position where he could see upriver, see the undead as soon as they surfaced, if they did. Griz and Gunny jogged up the shallow embankment, both doing function checks on their carbines. They were looking for a cart or a dolly or something to carry the two injured warriors, but found something even better. The foreman’s electric golf cart was in one of the warehouses and it still had plenty of charge. The place was deserted, any early arriving employees that were here when the outbreak started had long since departed, either alive to go after their families, or undead and wandered off in search of fresh blood to infect.
The cart was quick and silent and within minutes, they had them loaded and were whisking back toward the offices to make them as comfortable as they could. They had managed to get away from the river without drawing any attention to themselves, and the company was somewhat isolated in an industrial district. There were a few metal buildings, with the repair bays and offices surrounded by a vast gravel parking lot with dozens of cranes and other equipment parked in it. The chain link fence enclosing the lot was old and rusty, but it was tall and in good repair. They picked the largest office that could be easily barricaded and drug an extra couch into it from one of the others. Gunny went to the big mechanics locker room and grabbed a couple of towels and clean uniforms from one of the lockers.
“See if you can get them out of their wet clothes,” Gunny said, handing the bundle to Stabby and looking at the two shivering on the couches. “We’re going to lock down this building, secure the perimeter, and make a supply run.”
Stabby just nodded again as he took the bundle and started working on cutting Lars’ shirt off him. He was the worst of the two, he was breathing in short and pain-filled gasps.
Gunny knelt in front of him and gripped his knee.
“Hang on, Lars,” he said. “We’ll get you some painkillers, some antibiotics, and whatever else you need. You just hang on, keep still, and don’t bleed out on me. We’ll be back as fast as we can.”
Lars still had a smile for him, even if it did look more like a grimace, through his clenched teeth.
“I’ll be waitin’, Boss,” he breathed out between gasps.
Gunny nodded at Bridget, and he and Griz left the office to lock down all of the doors in the warehouse.
They closed the chain link gate behind them as they left. Any mildly curious zeds would keep on going if they happened along down the road. Gunny doubted any would, though. They seemed to congregate in groups around where they were last called by the keening. Once whatever victims they found were conquered, they usually didn’t wander away, they stayed in the same area until something else called to them.
“Any idea where the nearest pharmacy is?” Griz asked, “or a gun store?” Looking left and right down the street, only seeing the river and woods in one direction, and other metal warehouses in the other. “If I remember right, the Petro truck stop is up there.”
He pointed at the bridge crossing over the river.
“Yeah, it is,” Gunny said “I’ve never gone beyond it, though, I don’t know what’s up that way. I think there’s a strip mall down here,” he pointed the other direction. “I’ve run this road a few times trying to get out of Atlanta traffic.”
They took off at a fast walk, their clothes starting to dry and their boots squelching as they watched and listened for any of the undead. It was late afternoon, they didn’t have much time before dark.
“They knew we were coming,” Griz said. “When I was switching the track at the turnout, I noticed fresh gouges on the metal. They switched them over so we’d have to come to a stop.”
“The radio message we’re sending out, calling for survivors,” Gunny said. “They used it against us. They wanted the train, though. They were careful not to shoot it up.”
He remembered the bullets blowing Evans off the roof of the dining car. “Much,” he amended.
“You think they’re going to run it back to Lakota? That’s their way in? Get through the gate and a thousand hajis come screaming out? A Trojan Horse?”
Gunny thought about it for a minute before answering.
“It only makes sense to use subterfuge,” he said. “They want the town intact. It’s the only place like it that’s left. Walled, secure, electricity and water. Easily defended. There’s probably no place else where they could even duplicate what we have.”
“It seems like we’re playing catchup,” Griz grumbled. “They’re always one step ahead of us.”
“We’re trying to build something. All they want to do is destroy. A lot easier for them,” Gunny replied.
“Hollywood got it bad,” Griz said after a pause. “With what we’ve got, he ain’t gonna make it, man.”
“I know,” Gunny replied. “I can’t tell just from looking, but I think his whole shoulder is destroyed. I think the bullet went right through his rotator cuff, probably exploded it.”
“Infection will get him. We’ve got no way of cleaning it out, or digging out the fragments,” Griz said glumly.
“I know,” Gunny said again. “We’ll set them up as best we can. Find enough drugs to keep him loopy so he either goes out gently, or we get him some help.”
“What are we gonna do? You want to try to take the train back?”
“Maybe. If we could get out ahead of them,” Gunny said, “we could do some James Bond shit and jump on the roof from an overpass.”
“I ain’t jumping off a bridge,” Griz stated flatly. “No way, no how.”
“If we landed it, we could get on the train, take it back.”
“IF. I ain’t jumping off no bridge,” Griz repeated.
“Maybe we can get ahead of it, maybe we could derail it somehow. Cut ‘em down as they crawled from the wreckage,” Gunny said.
In the distance, the gunfire was sporadic. The Muslims were just doing mop up as they all crammed aboard. Both men knew they’d never be able to get in front of it if they didn’t leave right now and hustle like a mad bastard to a rail crossing near Birmingham. With jammed freeways, they would have to zig zag around the back roads and the train could just hit the throttle and go. The radicals already knew the switches were set in the right direction, all the tracks were clear and all the bridges were functional. They’d never get ahead of them or beat them to Lakota.
But the train couldn’t outrun the radio. They’d let Cobb know what was headed his way.
“That whole stranded students and babies was just a ploy,” Gunny said. “And we fell for it. I’m losing my touch, Griz. I shoulda smelled a trap.”
“You ain’t God. Nobody else thought about it, either, so don’t start blaming yourself. Those bastards are coming after us a lot sooner than I thought they would be, though. I figured we’d have till spring while they gathered their forces.”
“They’ve got to be headed for Lakota,” Gunny said. “Lars and Bridget can’t be moved, not the kind of moving we’re going to have to do. We need to do what we can to set Jody up with some supplies, then get out of here ASAP.”
Griz grunted as he watched for movement in the distant supermarket parking lot. “I know you want to get there fast,” he said, “but we’re only two men. If Cobb can’t hold the town with five hundred, we won’t make much of a difference. The next couple of days are going to be critical for them two, and I don’t think Stabby knows his ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to infection or treatment.”
Griz could see Gunny was conflicted, it was a hard call, but neither man was a stranger to tough decisions.
“Let’s see what we can find in the pharmacy. We’ll give him a day, see how he’s doing. We can decide what to do then,” Gunny finally acquiesced. Hollywood was a good man, he owed him. They would do what they could. Bridget, too. The girl’s injuries weren’t nearly as severe, but the next day or so was critical for her also.
24
Gunny
Gunny pulled his Gerber out of the deli clerk’s eye socket and wiped it off on the woman’s smock before he sheathed it.
“I think that’s the last of them,” he said and turned to Griz, who was coming down an aisle with a new HotLanta t-shirt and a jar of canola oil in his hand. They both started field stripping their M-4s and laying out the parts at the nearest checkout line. They were quick and their eyes never stopped darting as they cleaned and oiled the muddy guns at the Publix supermarket. The store still had a bad odor from all of the rotted meats and fruits, but some of the front windows had been broken, it was airing out nicely.
Griz got his back together first and quickly started tearing down his .45, drying each bullet and liberally wiping down each piece with the cooking oil. Gunny did a function check on his M-4 and started field stripping his Glock. He had put in an extended slide lock years ago, making it easy to tear down, even when slippery with muck from the river. It was the first aftermarket part he installed after about the third broken fingernail trying to get the tiny factory lock to release. The water wouldn’t hurt the gun, it would fire underwater. Some divers went fishing with them just because they could. The rust is what destroyed the weapon, not merely getting wet, even though most of it was plastic. He was careful to wipe down every component nonetheless, making sure mud or sand wouldn’t cause a jam at a critical moment.
Within minutes, with everything dried and lubed, both were satisfied that their weapons were back to being reliable. They went to the rear of the store, avoiding the clouds of flies still feasting on dried puddles of ice cream covering one of the aisles. Gunny hopped over the counter into the pharmacy and started looking for the strongest drugs he could, while Griz kept watch. The storage locker where they kept all the things that the drugstore cowboys were after was open, the products already set out for the day.
“Which is stronger?” Gunny stage-whispered to Griz. “Fentanyl or oxycontin?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Grab ‘em all. And any penicillin they have, too.”
They grabbed a couple of back to school backpacks from the bargain bin and loaded them up with the meds and crammed gauze, food, and water into the rest of the space. They didn’t encounter any more of the undead. If any had been milling around in this area, they were long gone, chasing the sound of the gunfight less than a mile away.
They got back to the crane company’s oversized garages while the sun was disappearing in the west. They gave Bridget and Lars the painkillers and while they waited for them to do their job, Griz and Gunny raided the locker room, looking for dry clothes and boots that might fit.
They worked on Bridget first, giving Lars a little more time to become numb. She was in pretty good shape, all things considered. She didn’t have an ear anymore, but the bullet hadn’t broken her skull, just laid a little groove in the bone as it went on its merry way. The leg had been held tightly in place with the makeshift splint and hadn’t moved, all they had to do was rewrap it to keep it immobile. Nothing could be done about her collarbone. It would be painful for a while, but it would heal.
When they turned their flashlights to Lars, he was nearly incoherent. They’d given him a lot of medicine because he was in for a lot of pain.
“You ready for this?” Griz asked Gunny.
He just nodded and put his belt in Lars' mouth, told him to clamp down and not scream.
Stabby had cut off the plastic armor and rebandaged the soaked dressings. The bleeding had stopped, or he’d already be dead, so they knew the main arteries weren’t hit. Now they had to clean it, flush out all the dirty river water that had gotten in it. The fentanyl had done its job though, and Lars got through the irrigation and Griz picking around with tweezers, without chewing the belt in half.
When they were done and the leather couch was reeking of the alcohol they used to disinfect it, Griz pulled out a bottle of Black Label Jack Daniels. He splashed some into the paper cups from the water cooler and passed them to Gunny and Stabby as they quietly made plans for tomorrow. Bridget was trying to tear down her gun to clean and rub it down with the canola, but was having trouble one-handed. Stabby slid over to help her as they talked.
Lars couldn’t travel, it would probably kill him. Bridget wouldn’t make it if they had to run from danger, if they got jammed up and had to abandon their vehicle.
The dead had started to establish patterns and if you knew what to look for, if you understood a few things about them, they could usually be avoided. Random encounters on the street with just one or two didn’t seem to happen very often anymore. If you ran into a horde of zeds now, you’d better have a fast way to get out of there. Now that nearly everyone was infected, they didn’t run and scream up and down every street looking for new victims. They had all gathered in groups during feeding frenzies and it was rare to see them wandering by themselves. They tended to stay where their last victim was until something drew them away, then they would all go to the new bloody feast. Ten small groups would become a large group. They would hear a keening dinner call and go running after it, then ten large groups would merge and become one massive horde. They would hear the call and on it went until, eventually, there would only be one monstrous group of them, hundreds of thousands or even millions strong, milling around aimlessly until something drew their attention.
General Carson had said the Germans were getting quite good at creating giant hordes hundreds of thousands strong and leading them toward the Turkish border. The ships should be there by now. The barrier would be blown to bits by heavy bombardment. The Muslim world would be getting a dose of the same horror they had released on the planet.
They decided to give it a day, maybe two, before they decided to take off. They needed to get Lars over the hump. If he made it forty-eight hours, he’d probably survive.
25
Jessie
Jessie awoke with a start, the same old nightmare launching him to full alertness. The sun was up, but it was still low in the sky as he made his way outside to take care of morning business and check the perimeter for any undead surprises that may have wandered in during the night.
He crawled under the car to check out the damage, now that he had light and wasn’t constantly afraid of something taking a bite out of his ankle. He wasn’t much of a mechanic, but hanging out and helping his dad over the years, he’d learned how to be a parts changer. He could replace an alternator or put in a starter, little things like that. The gold-plated brush guard had some scuffs and scratches, and had bent against the grill, but it was all good. Other than disgusting chunks of cooked meat caught up near the exhaust, the only damage was the hose. He grabbed a screwdriver from his toolbox and took it off so he’d have something to compare it to when he went shopping. The first place he tried was under the hood of the pickup truck parked in the next bay, but it had a straight six and neither hose would even come close to fitting. The openings were too small. He sighed. Slippery Jim said the orphanage had a maintenance garage, and it was only a few miles up the road, so he strapped on his weapons and slipped into the woods.
It was October in Alabama and most of the trees had already put on their autumn finery. The leaves crunched loudly in his ears, but at least the heat waves of summer had passed and he wasn’t pouring sweat. Although he kept it unzipped, he wore what he considered his armor. Thick jeans, light leather jacket and a pair of mechanics gloves. He’d tried wrapping a scarf around his neck but it was just too hot and itchy. It was stuffed into one of his pockets as he made his way through the woods. He kept far enough away from the road that he should be invisible to any wandering undead stumbling down it, but close enough to prevent him from veering off into the forest and getting lost. He moved at a slow and steady pace, as quiet as he could, constantly looking and listening for danger. He felt exposed outside of the car and kept flashing back to the last time he’d been in the woods. Never again, he told himself. Never again would he be so unprepared and so vulnerable. Never again would he spend days trapped in
a tree, surrounded by the undead.
He came to the fence after a half hour of stealthy walking and followed it until he found the garage. He could see where Jim had climbed up, it was just as he’d described. Easy access to the roof of the building if he wanted, and it was hidden from view of the main house.
Jessie went up and over, not bothering with the roof. He didn’t need to do any surveillance, he just needed to see if they had spare parts for the orphanage vehicles. Nearly any hose from a V-8 should work he thought. As long as the outlets were the same size, he could make it fit. He found the door and slipped inside. Guess the Sisters of Sophia are a trusting sort, he thought as he closed it behind him and let his eyes adjust to the dimness. As soon as the latch clicked in place, he heard a snuffling sound, almost like a pig, and a head appeared from behind a shelf, black eyes boring into him. Jessie froze, just staring. The undead thing snorted again, caught his scent and screeched through wrecked lips and yellowed teeth. It ran straight for him, arms reaching and mouth wide open. It crashed against a workbench and bounded over it, leaping for him. Jessie barely had time to bring his rifle up before the thing was plowing into him, gnashing and screaming in his face. He never got off a shot, his panicked, gloved fingers never found the trigger. It impacted with the gun barrel first, driving it through its open mouth and out of the side of his neck. Its teeth shattered and flew out as its jaw ripped free and was torn aside. Jessie crashed back from the attack, rifle butt still tucked in his shoulder, finger still groping for the trigger, and landed hard on the concrete. Sticky brackish blood poured out of the thing’s mangled head and splashed over him as he tried to fend it off. He let go of the gun and shoved hard as he rolled free. He scrambled away, diving through the boxes on the shelf below the workbench and stood up quickly on the other side. The zombie was having a hard time adjusting to the weight of the rifle sticking out of his face and nearly two feet out of the back of his neck. He kept trying to bite it but his jaw was torn mostly off, dangling only by tendons and muscle and it kept smacking against his shoulder every time he turned his head. He spotted Jessie, who was just staring wide-eyed at the incredulous sight. It launched over the table at him. The stock of gun caught the edge as he leaped and ripped free, tearing a large chunk of his cheek and neck out as he face planted against the table top vise. Jessie's hand dipped to his automatic and, before the thing could recover, he sent two bullets into the top of its head and down into its body. One went deep and buried itself in his pelvis, slicing a path through bones and organs the whole way. The other exploded out of his shoulder, ripping loose his dangling jaw, splintering his collarbone, and punching through the tin of the building. It dropped bonelessly to the floor, leaving part of its face and splashes of blood among the scattered tools. Jessie stood staring for a few seconds before he whirled, remembering there might be others inside. He hadn’t cleared the building. He searched then, taking nothing for granted. Lesson learned, he thought. Don’t make that same mistake again.
The Zombie Road Omnibus Page 79
