by Derek Slaton
Hammond cracked a smile and smacked the Detective on the shoulder as they headed back to the others. “Listen up,” he began, “we’re going to have to be swift between buildings. I’m leading the way, Whitaker behind me. When we get to an alleyway, we’ll clear out anything that’s there. Rogers, you and Landry are going to be responsible for anything that follows us in.”
“Given the potential for patrols, we need to wait until the zombies are completely out of view of the main road,” Rogers added. “Last thing we need is a Cartel patrol to see us down a zombie.”
Hammond nodded. “Works for me,” he agreed. “Now let’s do this.” He led the group towards the first of several alleyways between the airplane hangars. He rushed around the corner, sprinting hard, his team hot on his heels.
The footsteps attracted the attention of a few zombies in the middle of the road, and they turned to amble after the newcomers.
As Hammond reached the first building, he quickly turned, readying his bat for any surprises. There was a lone zombie thirty yards away, and Whitaker swept past him, holding up her bat as she confidently strode over.
“I got it,” she said, and worked her way towards the snarling corpse.
Rogers and Landry turned to combat the two working towards them, but the sound of an SUV in the distance put them all on high alert. Hammond waved for them to retreat, and the duo trotted behind the corner. Rogers peered out and watched the vehicle crest the road, and slow down, presumably to have a look at the two zombies hanging about. It didn’t stay long, however, and sped away after no sign of human activity.
“We’re clear,” Rogers called.
He and Landry jumped out from the alley and swung down hard, caving in the heads of their enemies. As they dropped, they smashed them in the backs of the skulls just to be sure.
“Come on, we gotta drag them,” the Detective said.
Landry nodded and they each grabbed a fallen creature, dragging them into the alleyway.
“You weren’t spotted?” Hammond asked.
Rogers shrugged. “If I was, they didn’t give a shit.”
“That gives us ten minutes to get into the base,” the Sergeant replied.
“So, fuck the alleyways?” Whitaker asked as she returned from her own execution.
“Fuck the alleyways,” Hammond confirmed. “Let’s roll.”
The foursome rushed ahead towards the fence. They ran down the center of the road between the two sets of hangars that lined the street. There were a few zombies still shambling around, but the team just ran by them, knowing that time was short. Hammond and Landry ducked their shoulders and knocked a few of them to the ground, hoping that having them on their asses would delay them enough so they didn’t interfere at the fence.
As they approached the last alleyway before the fence, zombies began to pour out. At first it was a handful, but as they reached it, there were dozens clogging it.
“Run faster!” Hammond urged.
They darted forward, but Landry slowed down to a stop, staring down the eighty or so zombies coming out of the alley.
“Run, you dumb motherfucker!” Whitaker snapped over her shoulder.
He shook his head. “Get that fence cut!” he barked back. He honed in on the lead ghoul and lunged forward. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked, and shoved the tip of his bat into its chest. He pushed it back into a group of others, sending half a dozen of them crashing to the ground. He began to back away as the fringe zombies decided he was the most interesting thing in the world.
A lone creature managed to break away from the back and get ahead, and Landry cracked it over the head, dropping it and tripping up a few behind it. He smacked a few others and then glanced over his shoulder to see the fence open, his team sliding through.
He finally broke away and sprinted from the mini-horde, rushing towards the fence just as Rogers slid through the hole. He quickly slipped in after him, and followed the others across the field to the first building they could see.
As they ran behind Hammond, they tried their best to remain parallel with the center of the building, keeping as much cover as they could. They reached the back wall, close to the door. The Sergeant knelt and began to work on the lock as the others peered in through the windows.
“Big empty warehouse,” Whitaker murmured.
Rogers shook his head. “I’m not seeing anything either.”
“We’ll know for sure in just a second,” Hammond said.
Landry stood with his back to them, staring at the fence fifty yards back. The zombies seemed to have given up the chase, moving away from the cut hole.
“Doesn’t look like they’re following us,” he said.
Whitaker turned to look. “With any luck, they’ll get bored and wander off before we come back.”
“If not, we’ll have something for them,” Rogers added.
The door lock clinked open, and Hammond got to his feet. “Let’s move.” He threw open the door and rushed in, bat raised. Nothing jumped out at him, and he moved to the right to check the handle of the office door there. It was secure.
The others bustled in, Landry closing and locking the door behind them. They stared around the large space, easily a hundred yards across. The sunlight pouring in through the skylights gave them just enough light to see by.
The Sergeant nodded to his team. “Let’s catch our breath, and get ready to move again.”
CHAPTER SIX
Landry looked outside at the small set of office buildings through the window. “Uh, Sarge, I think we got a problem.”
The rest of the team headed over to his position, staring out the window. There were several hundred zombies standing between them and the office complex.
“Mother of fuck,” Whitaker breathed.
Rogers let out a low whistle. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”
“Landry, you want to show us some of those limbering up techniques?” Whitaker asked.
The Detective shook his head. “We could have an army of Hank Aarons, and I don’t think it would be enough against that.”
“Be honest,” Whitaker said slyly, “you’re just afraid I’ll crack more skulls than you.”
Rogers smirked. “Given our little wager, that’s definitely a concern.”
Landry groaned loudly. “Okay, I’m going to just head out there.”
“Settle down,” Hammond said with a chuckle. “I know they’re inappropriate, but no need to commit suicide.”
“Who said anything about suicide?” Landry replied. “I’m going to head out there and draw them up to the north side fence, so y’all can get through.”
Rogers furrowed his brow. “There has to be a better way than that.”
“Sure, if there were thirty of us, and we could use guns,” Landry replied with a shrug. “But we have neither, and even if we did, there’s a chance that there’s another group waiting for us at the next set of buildings. So I’m gonna pull them out of the way. It’s a hell of a run between here and the north fence, and nothing but clear fields standing in my way. I’ll lure them up there, slip on through, and then circle back to where we came in to help y’all lug the haul back to town.”
Whitaker and Rogers glanced at each other, and Hammond stared out the window, a hard expression on his face.
He finally sighed. “Get moving, soldier,” he said, turning to the younger man. “And remember, no guns.”
“I’m on it,” Landry replied with a salute, and then ran off to the north side of the building. He cracked open the door and peeked out, seeing only a few zombies about twenty yards away. He fell into a crouch, getting ready to take off. “Well, this was a fan-fucking-tastic idea,” he muttered to himself, and then readied his bat.
He took a deep breath and jumped outside, slamming the large metal door behind him. The loud noise grabbed the attention of the nearby zombies, and he ran up to them, swinging hard. He took down a corpse in military fatigues, and then whipped around to bring the bat down on top of th
e next contender.
“Whoo!” he screamed, turning his attention towards the horde of a hundred clustered around the other side. “Come get me you pus-filled motherfuckers! Whoo!” He spread his arms, puffing out his chest, relishing in the opportunity to be a defiant badass in the face of an overwhelming mass of the dead. “Yeah, come on now, each and every one of you bastards will get a shot at me!”
He began to walk slowly backwards, hooting as the horde lumbered towards him. As they closed the gap, coming within about thirty yards, he turned his back, rested his bat on his shoulder, and whistled as he strolled, like the Pied Piper of Zombies.
It took about twenty minutes for him to lead the massive cluster across the field towards the fence. “It’s been fun y’all, but time for me to get on out of here,” he said, and took a bow.
He jogged towards the fence, and tossed his bat up and over. He climbed up easily, and then at the top, used his knife to slice the three rows of outward-facing barbed wire. The tension caused the wires to spring back out of the way, and he hopped over, landing on his feet.
He picked up the bat, turning to admire his handiwork as the ghouls pressed against the fence. “Not a bad job, if I say so myself.” He turned towards the road, and then froze as a black SUV rolled towards him.
He took a deep breath, and then relaxed his posture, keeping it cool.
Two Cartel members got out of the vehicle, saying calm as well, not drawing their weapons. They stood in front of the SUV, sizing him up.
“Hey boys, how’s your day going?” Landry asked.
The two men chittered to each other in Spanish, and laughed.
“Not sure what’s funny about this situation,” Landry said with a shrug. “But you do you.”
They continued to chat in Spanish, and then the one on the left reached for his gun. Landry reacted immediately, flinging his bat towards his face. It bonked him straight in the forehead, and the stunned man fell back against the hoot of the SUV, unconscious.
The other man’s eyes widened with panic, and he scrambled for his own gun, giving Landry time to rush him. He tackled him, wrapping a hand around his throat. The man flailed wildly as the soldier pulled his knife, moving for his jugular.
The man shook his head, trying to get his hands up to protecting himself, but Landry slipped the blade through his Adam’s Apple. The Cartel member gurgled something and then fell to the ground, blood pooling around him.
Landry wiped his knife on the man’s shirt, and then cocked his head, looking at the unconscious partner. “Now, what to do with you?”
He looked around, suddenly realizing he’d created a bit of a mess. “Okay, think. Can’t just leave them here, or it’ll set off alarm bells. Can’t hide the truck for the same reason.” He paced back and forth. “Fuck.”
The unconscious man groaned and began to move. Landry casually walked over and picked up the bat, cracking him over the head a few times. He stepped back, staring at the splatter of blood he’d sent across the front of the vehicle.
“Fuck me, what am I going to do?” He scrubbed his hands down his face, and then reared on the excited zombies rattling the fence behind him. “Will you assholes shut the fuck up, I’m trying to think!”
He suddenly froze, a smile creeping over his face. “You know what? Live it up a bit!” he bellowed. “Bang that fence cause you are about to get a snack!”
He trotted to the SUV, and opened up the doors. He dragged one body to the passenger’s seat, and with some finagling, heaved him up into it. He grabbed the seatbelt and shoved him back, snapping it into place.
“Buckle up for safety, bud,” Landry declared brightly. He smacked the man on the chest, before going back to the front and dragging the other man to the driver’s seat. He buckled him in as well and then reached in to start up the car.
He rolled down the windows. “Hoping that once they find you boys, they won’t look too closely at this.” He popped the vehicle into neutral, and gave it a hard shove.
It moved slowly, but with enough force that it crashed through the fence. It rolled over quite a few zombies, but the rest of them managed to force their way into the doors still ajar. Within seconds, the horde gnawed at the Cartel members, destroying the evidence.
Landry watched with trepidation. “Really hope they buy this as an accident,” he muttered, and then picked up his bat, turning to begin the long trip back to the meet up point, leaving the zombies to their feast.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Okay,” Clara said as they stopped just before crossing the town line. “We go up two blocks, then hang a left. That’s the main road, and they’re at the far edge of town.”
Trenton took a deep breath. “What’s the plan?”
“We ride up quick, grab the smallest body we can find, throw it on one of our laps, and get out of dodge,” she replied. “We can figure out how to tie it up once we’re clear.”
He nodded. “I’ll take the body.”
“Okay.” She motioned to his lap. “Then as soon as we get it cut down, you get back on your bike, and I’ll throw it on.”
He hesitated. “And if there’s trouble?”
“Take cover, and let me handle things,” she said firmly.
He nodded and they revved up their bikes, taking off. They sped down the highway before turning sharply onto the main road through town. They went at a good clip, rolling past the empty blocks as their target grew closer. But just at the last block, a shot rang out, hitting the ground in front of Trenton.
He slammed on the brakes, and Clara skidded to a stop as well, a bullet whizzing right past her head.
“Get to the store!” she cried, and leapt off of her bike.
Trenton followed suit, and the motorcycles hit the pavement as they sprinted for cover under a hail of bullets. He pulled out his handgun and returned fire, but his erratic shooting didn’t do anything to quell their enemies.
Clara drew her gun and fired at the glass door in front of them, shattering it so they could leap through into the building. They dove behind the counter as bullets ripped through the storefront, tearing apart the whole display.
“I don’t think they’re happy to see us,” Trenton quipped.
Clara grunted. “You think?!”
After a moment, the gunfire died down. The duo waited with bated breath.
“We told you not to come back,” a man called from outside. “Drop your weapons, get on your bikes, and get out. Or else.”
She took a deep breath and yelled, “There’s a reason we’re here!”
“And we don’t give a fuck,” the guy bellowed. “Now drop your weapons and get out.”
There was a shuffle inside, and both Clara and Trenton froze, peering into the darkness. They didn’t want to sit up for fear of being shot, but from their vantage point they were still able to see some movement in the back.
“I need to fire one more time,” Clara called. “It’s not going to be towards you.”
“You shoot and we’re going to open fire!” the man outside yelled.
She growled. “Listen!” she snapped. “Either you let me shoot or you’re going to have runners in this town! Do you understand?” She kept her eyes on the zombie in the store, watching it struggle through some clothing racks. “There’s a shot coming in five seconds whether you like it or not!” She aimed her gun.
After a brief pause, the man outside replied, “Go ahead.”
Clara squeezed the trigger, and dropped the corpse. She waited for more movement, more noise, but there was nothing.
Satisfied, she turned her head. “Now, we need to talk,” she called.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the reply.
She grunted in frustration, and turned to Trenton. “Stay out of sight, and don’t do a goddamn thing unless they shoot me,” she instructed. “Not shoot at me, actually shoot me. You go that?”
“What are you going to do?” he hissed.
She flipped her handgun around so that she held it b
y the barrel. “Something other than cowering here.” She propped herself up on her elbows. “I’m coming out, don’t shoot me!”
“Come on, now,” the man outside urged.
She got to her feet.
Trenton emphatically shook his head. “What are you doing?! Get down!”
“Remember, do nothing unless they shoot me,” Clara said in a low voice. She stepped through the broken glass and onto the street. As she emerged from the store, a trio of gunmen came out from their hiding spots, weapons trained on her.
“You can lose that gun, now,” the lead man declared.
She carefully leaned down, setting her handgun on the sidewalk, raising her hands above her head as she straightened back up. “Now, where is that cowboy who was in charge the last time I was here?”
“Andrew?” The guy shrugged. “He’s busy.”
“Well, he needs to get un-busy, because I need to talk to him,” Clara demanded.
The guy sneered at her. “Well, it could be a while.”
“I got all day,” she shot back. “And so does my crack shot of a friend, so unless you want to risk your life over this, I’d suggest you make the call.” She stared him down defiantly, and he finally sighed.
He pulled out a walkie talkie and raised it to his lips. “Andrew, you copy?”
“What is it?” the cowboy replied through the radio.
The gunman glared at Clara. “That crazy girl from the other day is back, and real insistent on talking to you.”
There was a long pause, and then Andrew replied, “I’m on my way.”
The guy put his radio away, and Clara nodded her head, smiling politely.
“Appreciated,” she said, and then slowly stepped back, plonking herself on the curb to stretch out her legs. “And now we wait.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hammond, Rogers, and Whitaker skidded to a stop in front of an office building on the other side of the cleared field. The Sergeant got down on one knee to work at the lock, but Whitaker reached over him and simply opened the door.
He shook his head and shrugged, standing back up. “Clear the immediate space and be ready to retreat if necessary.”
