"Oh God," Mercy said, still visibly shaking. "Let's not do that again anytime soon, you two. Okay?"
"Only if the zombies and other infected let us," Lisa replied. Her breathing was more even than Mercy's, but she too was catching her breath.
Mercy gave Lisa a sideways look but did not speak. As for Cy, he had already caught his breath and was looking around. "Well, we're here," he stated, "and we need to get moving as soon as you two are ready. I'm guessing we've got about the same amount of time here as we did back at the sporting goods store before the main horde of the zombies show up. That'll be ten to twelve minutes or so, given the distance involved."
"We need more," Mercy said, as she drew herself up and turned to look at Cy, her breathing almost back to normal.
"We're not going to get more," Lisa said, stating the obvious. She too had now turned and was looking at Cy.
The Army corporal took them both in with his gaze. "She's right, Mercy, so let's get cracking. Our plan is still as before. We'll call the Army on the station's transmitter and get some body armor while we're in there. We also need to get a new set of wheels, since we had to leave Lisa's back at the hospital."
"We can do that right now," Lisa said. She walked over to the older police car, stood by it, then let go of the suppressor of her MAC-11 and patted the car's fender. "This one will do nicely."
Mercy cocked an eyebrow. "So we steal a police car?"
"We're going to appropriate one for military use, given my presence and our current status," Cy said with a grin. "Or something like that. That's how General Ryan would do it."
Mercy still looked doubtful. "But why not the newer one?" she said as she pointed to it.
"Because it's a Ford Fairmont and it's a piece of junk," Lisa replied tartly. "The Ford Fairmont police car is one of the worst police cars ever made. Weak engine, poor performance, poor handling, and a cheap flimsy frame. There's a story going around that a crook broke out of one of them even while handcuffed by kicking the back door open. That's how bad they are. You're not going to do that with this baby," she said, patting the fender of her choice again. "Dodge Royal Monaco. Late Seventies police package, looks like. It's a classic. It has everything you'd ever want in terms of performance in a police car." She now gave her companions a grin. "Like Elwood Blues said in the movie, you know. It's got a cop motor, a 440 cubic inch plant. It's got cop tires, cop suspension, cop shocks. It's a model made before catalytic converters, so it'll run good on regular gas."
Cy grinned. "The Blues Brothers. I get it."
Mercy too was smiling. "Good movie and good point."
Lisa grinned back at them. "All right. That's that. Now to buy us some much needed extra time ..." she said, letting her voice trail off as she looked around. Her eyes suddenly locked on something in one of the lot's darker corners. "There we go," she said, directing her MAC-11's barrel at her find. "That pallet of tires will do nicely, as well as anything else we can find that will burn."
"Burn?" Mercy asked, as she and Cy both followed Lisa towards the pallet.
"Burn," Lisa said as they reached it. She looked them over briefly and then nodded. "Oh, yes. Brand new. Excellent."
"What's a pallet of new tires doing in the back lot of a police station?" Mercy asked.
"They probably got delivered here to put on their police cars as they need them, or to be hauled to their preferred auto shop later," Lisa said. "Who knows? Who cares? Anyway, they're exactly what we need to get started."
"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" Cy said, still grinning.
"I sure am," Lisa said, grinning back at him. "We're going to spend the next ten minutes building a fire barrier in the street in front of this station, on the side down which we know the zombies are going to come, and we're going to ignite it before we go inside. We're going to use these tires for the base and stack on top of them everything we can find that's flammable, and we'll use the alcohol and torches you two have left from the hospital to ignite them. Tire fires burn for a very long time, and that'll give us the extra time we need to properly search the place, and find and do everything in there we have to."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Cy said, as he shouldered his shotgun on its sling and reached for one of the topmost tires on the pallet.
They had the fire barrier in place and ready by the time the first group of zombies turned the corner of the block some twelve minutes later. A full single row of tires had been laid across the street from one side to the other, with everything flammable the three could find within easy searching distance piled on top of them. Everything had been thoroughly soaked both with all of the bottles of alcohol Cy and Mercy still had and with a full five-gallon jerrican of gasoline Lisa had found sitting beside the guard shack. It was also during her search of the guard shack in order to find more flammables that she found the keys to the Dodge police car, hanging inside a keybox mounted on the wall. It had been locked, but the keybox key had been in the top drawer of the guard's desk. Lisa had immediately pocketed the Dodge keys but left the ones for the Ford Fairmont hanging on the hook before resuming the search for more flammables.
They waited until the first group of zombies had drawn up close to the fire barrier and two more had rounded the block and were on their way. Cy was positioned on the end across the street with his lit torch, while Mercy had hers on the station end. At a signal from Lisa the two stuck their torches into the barricade and ran for cover when it ignited. The fire chased down both ends of the barricade into the middle, completely surprising the zombies and setting on fire one that had gotten too close. It whirled about, screaming in agony as it burned and setting several other nearby zombies on fire as well, before collapsing to the pavement a half-minute or so later. The process continued to be repeated for the next few minutes, and soon all of the zombies that were not yet ablaze had turned and were half-running and half-stumbling back the way they came.
The three humans stood in the street in front of the MCPD substation, weapons in ready positions but not using them. They instead watched as the carnage unfolded before them.
"Man, oh man," Mercy said in awe. "Look at 'em burn."
"That was a great idea, Lisa," Cy said.
"Yeah," Lisa replied. She hefted her MAC-11. "Now let's get inside and get done, before it burns down and the zombies come back." She turned and began walking quickly towards the police station's smashed front doors, with Cy turning and walking with her almost immediately.
"But what's going to keep them from coming around the other side of the block?" Mercy asked, as she too turned and hurried after them.
"Nothing," Cy said. "Let's just hope they don't figure that out until we're done inside."
Mercy gulped but did not quit moving. She had caught up with the others by the time the trio approached the doors.
MCPD officer Joseph "Joe" Frisco sat on the floor of the substation's main lobby, with his back propped up against the front of the reception counter behind him. He was no longer in pain. He was no longer sure of the time of day, or of even what day of the week it was. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for quite a while. Each time he drifted back, he had found more of his body had gone numb. It had started in his toes, then moved into his feet, then up his ankles and next his legs, and that was how the creeping paralysis eventually worked its way with him all the way up to his neck. To his surprise he found he could still breathe despite the paralysis in the rest of his body; however the motion was ragged, and he gasped in and wheezed out every time. He couldn't help it. He could also feel the numbness creeping up his neck. Both the back of his neck and his ears were tingling. It wouldn't be long now, he guessed. He was turning, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He had seen motion outside the front doors for some time, but his blurred eyes couldn't make it out. Probably more zombies. Then there was a brilliant flash off to the right, accompanied by the sound of zombies screaming and the acrid smell of a large tire fire. Fire? Who had start
ed a fire, and why? No ... there shouldn't be anyone left to start a fire. Not long after that three shapes came into view, walking up the sidewalk toward the front doors. No, it couldn't be. Everyone was dead or turned ... and yet the shapes kept getting closer and louder. He had to reach them. He had to let them know he was still alive. He had to get their attention for Raul's sake. With an effort, Joe put all of his rapidly fading strength into calling out. He mouthed the words. No sound. He tried again, even harder, and at last the sounds came out. "Hel-lo? Any-one?" The sound of movement and voices ceased for several seconds. Whoever it was, they were very close now. Joe tried again. "Pleeeaaassseeee ... hurrrrrrryyy."
There was the sound of running feet. Seconds later the three shapes before his eyes became three people who quickly came through the ruins of the front doors. They sidestepped the wreck of the broken barricade in the lobby and came around to stop in front of Joe. The group consisted of one man and two women. The man was black and looked like someone from the Army or National Guard, given his uniform and accessories. The younger of the two women was wearing a black two-piece racing firesuit with red and white highlights, along with tall black racing boots. She looked like an Indian, with long dark hair and ruddy skin to complement it. She looked familiar, but right now he couldn't place her. The older was Asian in complexion, with short black hair and a haggard-looking face, wearing a torn labcoat over regular clothing and carrying a large medical bag. All three were heavily armed, and both the man and the younger woman had on military rucksacks, while the older woman wore both a large sholder bag and what looked like an extra small one. Both the older man and younger woman stopped and gave Joe surprised looks, while the older woman in the labcoat rushed over and quickly knelt down beside him. She opened her medical bag, then began to examine him with some of her medical gear.
"Oh man," Cy said, looking at the badly wounded policeman before them, propped up against the lobby reception counter as if he were a stiff-jointed action figure. "How is he, Mercy?"
"Not good," Mercy said, as she looked him over. She took the time to take a brief look at his name badge. It read FRISCO, JOSEPH. As for Frisco, he remained silent while Mercy continued with her examination. He seemed to be concentrating on making himself breathe, with which he seemed to be having difficulty. After a few more seconds, Mercy put her gear away and looked back at Cy and Lisa. "It's no use. You can't do anything for them when they're this far gone. He could turn at any time."
Frisco's jaw worked, but there was no sound. Mercy started back at the motion. Cy and Lisa raised their guns and trained them on him. Again the policeman's mouth moved, but this time he managed to speak. "Raaaaulll ..." came the faint words from the poor man. "Help ... Raaauuuulllll ...."
"Raul?" Lisa asked. "Who's Raul?"
"Ill-leegh-ahlll ..." Frisco managed to get out. "Good guy ... just ... illegaaalll .... Holding for ... for INS ... until ... Outbreak hit ...." He stopped, drew in a ragged breath, and then continued. "Holding cell ... isolated ... not infected ...."
The three looked at each other, and then back at the dying policeman. Mercy looked skeptical. "I'll be the judge of that," she said evenly.
"Look," Cy said, before Mercy could continue. "We don't have a lot of time, and you don't either, given your condition. Here's the deal. We need to get to the station armory for body armor and other supplies, and we need to get to the station's radio transmitter so I can call out for help. Tell us where those are, and we'll go see if this Raul fellow can be saved. Okay?"
Frisco looked at the others for several seconds. The only sounds to be heard were his spasmodic breathing and the faint moans of zombies elsewhere in the building. Joe finally nodded. "Deal," he said firmly. He took in another shuddering breath, then continued. "Radio room ... second floor .... By ... chief's office .... Got ... to go there ... anyway. Keys ... to armory ... and holding cells ... in there." With that he paused, gave them a long look, then spoke again. "You ...," he said, swinging his head slowly around to face Lisa. "You're ... Lisa ... Stanridge."
"Yes," Lisa replied.
Frisco smiled, despite his pain. "First time ... I've seen you ... for real .... You're ... pretty ...." he said. Lisa forced a smile, listening as Frisco continued. "Hope ... you ... make it ... out ...." he struggled to say. "You ... and ... your friends."
Lisa nodded. "God knows we're gonna try," she answered, still doing her best to maintain her smile.
Frisco nodded back, then suddenly convulsed. The others hurriedly backed away. He looked up at them with eyes that had all but glazed over, and his fingers were frozen into stiff claws. "Goooooooo ...." he snarled. "Tuuuuurrrrrnnnniiinnng ..."
The others turned and ran past him towards the far hallway. As she ran, Lisa fought to keep her tears back. She knew MCPD officer Joe Frisco wouldn't be there waiting for them when they returned. There would be a mindless zombie in his place, and it would be just another one they would have to kill in order to survive.
The trio didn't stop moving until they had put and pegged into place a pair of stout fire doors between themselves and the front lobby. Once they were done, Cy turned to the two women and sighed sadly. "Damn," he said.
"Yeah," Lisa agreed.
"At least now we know where to go and what to do," Mercy pointed out. "His death won't be in vain."
"No it won't," Lisa said, as she again hefted her weapon. "What do you think, Cy? Stick together and maintain strength in numbers, or split up to cover more ground in less time?"
"I don't see why we have to," Mercy pointed out. "Like the police officer said, everything is where we can get to it along the way."
"Yes, but Cy's radio call to his superiors outside the quarantine line is going to take time," Lisa countered, "and we don't know how long our fire barricade outside is going to hold off all the zombies out there."
"Not to mention the ones in here with us," Cy finished, "and that now includes Officer Frisco. He'll have turned by the time we get back down to the lobby."
"Oh yeah," Mercy said, turning away and looking at the floor. "Poor man."
"Poor Randy," Lisa added softy, also looking sad, "and poor John," she continued, looking at Mercy. When Mercy raised an eyebrow, Lisa explained. "Randy was my brother's name."
The erstwhile nurse nodded in understanding. "Poor everyone," Mercy finished, and then both women fell silent.
The hallway remained quiet for several more seconds, until Cy spoke. "Here's the plan. We split up. We'll stay together until we get to the second floor and I can get to the radio room. If the transmitter is still good, then I'll stay there and make my call while you ladies get the keys we need from the chief's office. Head on downstairs after that, unlock the Armory, and see if this Raul guy Officer Frisco told us about is still human and can be saved. Hopefully I'll be finished with my radio call by then and I can head on down to join you. One last trip to the station's Armory for all of us and then we're out of here. Agreed?"
"Agreed," both women replied in unison.
"Then let's do it," Cy said, hefting his shotgun into the ready position. He led the way and the two women followed, heading down the hallway towards the building's main stairwell.
In the meantime, outside the MPCD substation, beyond the fiercely burning fire barricade in the street, those zombies who had not been consumed by the flames of either the barricade or their flaming fellows were milling about aimlessly. They were at a loss as to what to do next. They knew where the food was, only they couldn't reach it because of the fire. A few were beginning to wander outward, seeking easier prey, but the rest remained in the general area. They remembered enough from their former humanity to know that fires tend to burn down after a while unless they had more fuel upon which to feed. All they had to do was wait, so they waited. They spent their time either fussing with each other, or watching as lone members of their group would occasionally wander off to wherever, or watching the crows feed on the burned bodies of their former companions who had perished in the flames. They h
ad flown in from the alley not long after the fire at the barricade had subsided somewhat, and then they had swooped down upon the fallen. The zombies watched as the crows used their powerful beaks to peck and tear at the charred flesh on each body, ripping out long and thick strips to swallow with an almost arrogant tossing back of their heads. They also watched as the big black raven that seemed to be their leader, and which had been both the first to emerge from the alley and the first to pick its dinner, fed on the best of the bodies that had fallen on their side of the fire barricade. None of the crows dared to challenge its choice of the corpses, and all of the zombies shrank away in fear from it. Even their infection-damaged senses could tell that there was something unusual about this particular raven, something unhealthy, something ... incredibly evil in the intelligence that seemed to shine from its unnatural sable-colored eyes. As did the zombies at the National Guard Armory earlier that day, the zombies here at the MCPD substation kept well back from the big raven and did not molest it in any way, lest they fall victim to whatever evil it truly represented.
Inside the front lobby of the police station, Joe Frisco's body continued to convulse. His eyes rolled up into his head, and a low but steady moan continually emanated from his twisted mouth. Suddenly he stopped moving and froze in an arch of agony as a loud and shrill cry sounded from outside. It was the cry of a raven; however, it was augmented and amplified to an incredible degree. Frisco's eyes opened wide in terror at a sight only he could see, and his mouth opened in a soundless scream as he was forced to endure that terrible cry. It seemed to be intended for him and him alone, for nothing else reacted to it either inside or out. Frisco's last conscious thoughts as a human were of feeling his life drain from him as quickly and impersonally as one might flush a toilet. The cry lasted only for several seconds, but Frisco's body collapsed to the floor as soon as it stopped. His eyes were wide open but they remained rolled up into his head. His mouth was open but no sound came out, nor did he breathe. Police officer Joe Frisco was as dead as a doornail, and now there was nothing left to keep the virus from finishing its claim on his lifeless body.
Escape From Metro City Page 12
