Road to Riches: Deadline: Book 1 (Zombie Road)

by Wesley R. Norris

  “Damn, all this gear is heavy. How do I look?” She looked the part, time would tell if she had what it took.

  “Badass. You’ll get used to it.” I stuffed extra magazines into the pockets of her new vest, adding to the load she was carrying.

  I eyed the setting sun sinking behind the jewelry store. “We’ll hole up here tonight. There’s some bedrolls and MRE’s in the back, but first let’s go jewelry shopping”

  The jewelry store yielded some fine pieces. We sat in the backroom of the pawn shop while I ate canned peaches and split the haul from the jewelry store in a generous seventy- thirty split. Madi stood in front of a full-length mirror performing reload drills with the AR9 and fumbling her draw with the Smith.

  “How fast are you?” She asked out of frustration.

  “Fast enough. At least so far. Kid, it takes hours of practice, but it ain’t about being fast. If you can’t hit what you are shooting at, it doesn’t matter how fast you are. Slow it down a little. Focus on a smooth draw and getting your sights on the target. Speed will come in time.” I slurped down the sweet peach juice left in the can then stood.

  “That’s not fair, I wanted some peaches, too.” She said as I launched the empty can at a garbage can across the room. Swish, nothing but net. The crowd goes wild.

  “I’d rather win by fighting dirty than die from fighting fair. That’s your first lesson. You’re watching what you do, instead of watching yourself do it. That’s what the mirror is for. Stop looking at the holster. Your hand knows where the gun is, trust it.” I stepped back to give her room. She focused on the mirror and resumed her practice. She began to improve, and I felt a tingle of pride.

  I had a student once more. My long dormant teaching skills stirred within me. “The second lesson is that size doesn’t matter. You’re small. That doesn’t mean anything. Use it to your advantage, people will underestimate you because of your size. If it’s a fist fight, grab a piece of pipe or a wrench, whatever is handy and use it. If it’s a gunfight, shoot straightest and don’t wait for them to make the first move. You are gonna run into the undead, it’s unavoidable. Run away if you can, fight when you can’t. The undead don’t care. They don’t gossip among themselves and laugh behind your back because you ran.” I picked up the AR9 and showed her how to load it without looking. She absorbed the knowledge eagerly.

  “Lesson three. You’re a wealthy woman now.” I pointed at her pile of gold jewelry and held up a deck of cards. “Shall we begin?”

  Morning came way too soon. I was greeted by the sight of several hundred undead wandering the streets of Homer, lurking near the Armadillo where our scent was strongest. I watched them from the shadows of the doorway to the storage room and swore under my breath.

  Madi watched from beside me and whispered. “I did this. This is my fault.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Her little impromptu target practice outside of town had drawn them right to the road and they’d wandered in sometime during the night.

  “Shit happens, don’t sweat it.” I said, tamping down my anger. She had to learn sooner or later anyway so it might as well be now.

  I looked around for something I could use to get us out of here. I scanned the racks of pawned items. Chainsaws, weed eaters, leaf blowers, cordless tools, useless except maybe for that Les Paul guitar. I knew a guy who knew a guy. I turned my attention back to the task at hand. My eyes fell on an old school boombox. I pulled it from the shelf and popped the battery panel off.

  “Madi, I need D cell batteries, six of them. Check the office. Hurry.”

  She returned with a handful of mixed brands, and I slid them into the battery compartment and snapped it shut. I opened the cassette door to see what was in the deck. Black Sabbath, that should work. I grabbed a roll of paracord and headed for the back door. The alley behind the pawnshop was clear.

  “Stay down and keep quiet. I’ll lure them off and we’re out of here. Keep away from those plate glass windows, they won’t stop them. Get your gear together and get in the Jeep as soon as the coast is clear.” I handed her the keys. “Put them in the ignition, but do not crank it, and keep your hands off the machine gun.”

  She gave me a thumbs up and I slipped out the back door. I ran the alley back towards where we came into town, headed for the fire department and quickly climbed to the roof of the two story building. I rolled off a length of paracord and fashioned a lasso, whirled it over my head and dropped it over the top of the nearest streetlight. It was a flawless throw and there was no one to witness it, oh well. I cut the cord to length and tied it to the boombox, pressed play and let it swing out to hang twenty-five feet above the ground.

  Ozzy Osbourne screamed through the speakers while I beat feet out the back door and headed for the pawnshop while the undead raced for their impromptu concert. Madi was in the Jeep. I fired it up and tore around the square headed through the center of town right into the waiting arms of a different horde. Son of a bitch, I stood on the brakes.

  There were about fifty of them. The circus was in town. Half a dozen clowns in faded streaked makeup and ragged clown costumes ran towards us, followed by the midgets and high wire acrobats. More streamed from the big top sitting on the town square. Fuck me. Do you remember in the old days how it seemed whenever you were thinking about buying something, ads started popping up for those items in your newsfeed? I was having one of those moments. It was on the outer edge of the crowd and headed straight for me. A rail thin zombie in a rubber latex costume dressed as a Spork.

  I turned to Madi. “Now would be a good time to shoot the machine gun, but not the spork. That one’s mine.” Did I mention I hate sporks? Useless utensils.

  She locked down on the trigger while I accelerated towards the onrushing freaks. Zombies exploded in a hail of concentrated gunfire.

  “Sweep it!” I yelled as one of the clowns landed on the hood. I also hate clowns. Ever since my sixth birthday party when Snarky the clown showed up drunk and ended up puking all over my wrapped birthday presents. I could see his rotted broken teeth under his big faded red nose, the outline of a blue star painted over an empty eye socket. He had his fingers wedged in the gap between the hood and the cowling and I couldn’t shake him off. I charged through the center of the charging horde, their bodies broken and flung aside by the reinforced front bumper. The Armadillo bounced over the curb surrounding the green and I aimed for the asshole in the spork costume. I rolled right over him, felt the crunch of his bones beneath my tires, then stood on the brakes. The hood ornament zombie clown’s hands tore loose from his arms, and he flipped end over end down the street. I could hear the honking of his squeaky shoes as he tumbled ass over elbow. I punched the gas and we left that slice of nightmare fuel in the dust. Madi laughed hysterically from the passenger seat and I started laughing too. We were alive and there was one less spork in the world.

  We ate a breakfast of MRE’s and soft drinks while I drove. I traded the out of date M&M’s in mine for the tiny bottle of tabasco in hers. We were out of danger for now and making good time.

  Madi had been quiet and sullen for the past fifty miles. I knew she was beating herself up. “Maybe I should have stayed. Maybe it was a mistake, and I don’t belong here.”

  “You made an error in judgment, we all stick our heads up our own asses sooner or later. Things go wrong, hell we’d have never met otherwise. When things go sideways, and they always do, you can either lay down and quit or choose to fight. You fought and did okay back there.” She smiled and fell silent again. She’d figure it out in time. She was a smart kid.

  It was another five hundred fifty miles to the river crossing, and I planned on being there before nightfall. The twisty mountain roads ate up a lot of time, but it was worth it to avoid the undead. Madi was car sick for most of the roller coaster ride but didn’t complain.

  I explained to her the new monetary system and how the trade between settlements worked to take her mind off the ride and her SNAFU in Homer. Whether she was
quiet because she was hanging on every word or feared she would spew her breakfast if she opened her mouth didn’t matter to me, I was grateful for the silence.

  The road leveled out once we made it into Tennessee. I ran hard for the wildlife refuge, stopping once to raid for fuel. We turned into the refuge late in the afternoon, followed the winding dirt trails to the river crossing. I took a flare gun from my pack and launched a red flare into the twilight sky. A couple of minutes passed before I was answered with rapid flashes from a flashlight. A few more minutes passed before the barge began its slow trip across the river.

  Peebles dropped the ramp when the barge bumped the shore. He grunted when he saw Madi standing beside me. “Brought back a souvenir, huh.”

  “She’s payment for the fare.” I said. Madi elbowed me in the ribs.

  “Got enough mouths to feed already, but I could use a fresh deader if you have one of those. Come on dammit, I ain’t got all night.” He muttered to himself while I loaded the ‘Dillo.

  During the long river crossing, I only saw her look back once, no regret on her face. When we reached the far shore, Madi’s mouth hung open in surprise when she saw how the ferry worked. She had questions but Peebles ordered us off his barge. She declined my offer to stick around until he was more talkative.

  I blew the horn at Bait and headed for the highway. Thirteen hundred more miles to go. Piece of cake. I picked up the radio and made a call.

  Crickett and Cicada Mills were sitting in the Camaro when we reached the El Camino just shy of midnight, looking like angels with a three-day pass to raise hell and tarnish their halos. I introduced them to Madi and told them a little about Haven. Madi could give them the whole story later. I told them what I needed from them while Madi climbed in her new car and inspected it. She gave me a thumbs up and a big smile. I called her over and tossed her the keys.

  “It’s all yours. This is where we part ways. The sisters are gonna take you to their settlement and get you a place to stay. I’ll send for you in a few days and take you to Lakota.”

  I continued, “Tomorrow morning use their radio and get in touch with Cobb. Tell him about your people, he’ll take it from there.”

  She hugged me tightly. “Thanks, Rye. For everything.” The Mills sisters would look out for her. She would be fine until I could get back. I helped her transfer her gear to the El Camino, said my goodbyes to Crickett and Cicada, then climbed back up in the Jeep and headed for Tombstone.

  28

  Showdown

  Tombstone, AZ

  I rolled into the parking lot of the Butcher’s Block. The Armadillo was running on fumes and so was I. It was late, or early depending on how you wanted to look at it, either way I was exhausted. The clock on the radio read 2:37 AM. Most of the patrons would have already moved on, be passed out in the upstairs rooms or paired off with companionship for the night.

  The Bell Ranger helicopter was there, sleek and black. As soon as I’d gotten into radio range, I’d started calling ahead, counting on the settlements with their much stronger Ham radios to relay the message to the Tower that I was inbound. A reply had come quickly. Come now, we both have a lot to lose. I knew what it really meant, the subtle threat to Caitlin made me rage. It was time to put this job to rest and spend the next couple of weeks relaxing and counting my jumbo sized pile of gold.

  Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum stood at their posts beside the Bell Ranger, MP5 submachine guns cradled in their arms. I was on my own, no backup. I’d hoped to see Nancy’s ambulance, hell, I’d even settle for McCullough’s truck. Carter waited outside the doors with a neutral look on his face, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Me and that smug bastard had a score to settle, he’d made threats against those I cared about, but business first. I guess one of the Tweedle’s had radioed him when they saw me coming, since he wasn’t the kind to stand around and wait.

  I would have preferred to make the exchange in Butcher’s office the next morning, but it looked like it was going down in the parking lot tonight. A trained killer in front of me, and two more at my back.

  “You have it?” He moved a few steps in my direction and gestured to the briefcase I carried in my left hand.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Everything you asked for.”

  “Show me.” He didn’t trust me. That was fine, I didn’t trust his smug ass either.

  “That’s close enough, asshat. Where’s my gold?” I wasn’t showing him shit until I knew that he’d held up his end.

  He pointed at the helicopter and gave a thumbs up to Tweedle Dum. “Now show me, Mr. Rye. I don’t have all night, every second matters.”

  I kept my eyes locked on him, I wasn’t showing him my back. I heard the dull clank of a heavy bag hitting the dirt. Sweet payday, if I could keep them from murdering me where I stood.

  I set the briefcase on the ground, popped the latches and lifted the lid. He eyed the contents, nodded. “Close it up and back away. Well done, Mr. Rye you never cease to amaze.”

  He took a few more steps toward me and stared at the briefcase. “Do you know what that is? What you risked your life to get for me? Do you have any idea what it’s worth? Any idea what it can do?”

  “Don’t care what it is, but it’s worth one hundred thousand, as agreed,” I said. I decided I preferred stoic Carter to Chatty Carter. “I made the retrieve, our business is done. Let’s wrap this up so I can kick your ass and go get drunk.”

  He ignored my comment. “You lived up to your reputation. I was against sending a wild card like you when my bosses suggested it. One man on his own where so many others failed. You know, you weren’t the first. We sent a dozen men and women before you, two highly trained teams. They never made it back. Tell me, did you look at it? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  The truth was, I did flip through the manuals. Mostly to make sure it wasn’t something even worse than the zombie virus, partially out of curiosity. The first five manuals were thick volumes containing thousands of pages of technical specifications for some kind of machine. Material compositions, detailed diagrams, measurements and parameters to program CNC machines. The last book was thinner and contained seventeen pages of complex mathematical formulas that meant nothing to me, just long strings of characters and numbers. Math wasn’t my strongest suit, but I am a cautious, sneaky bastard who anticipated a double cross. The final page in the last book contained one string of forty-three characters all by their lonesome. It was so innocuous compared to the other pages that were filled from margin to margin that I figured anyone who took time to inspect the binder wouldn’t notice it was missing. Well, not until they tried to use it anyway, then they would be in for a surprise. That page was locked in the gun vault inside the Armadillo. Once I had my gold and assurances that Caitlin was safe, I’d have one of the Hell Drivers deliver the missing page. A little insurance in case things went sideways. Sort of like they were going now.

  “I hope the lives you spent were worth it.” I was ready for him to put up or shut up. I suspected from the start he wasn’t on the level, agreeing to one hundred thousand without batting an eye. Whoever was pulling his strings wanted this stuff badly and I knew they wouldn’t want any loose ends once they had it. He was trying to distract me with all the talk, get me to lower my guard. I’ve spent too many hours at high stakes poker tables to fall for such a rube move. We weren’t friends, not even close. There was nothing to talk about. He was a douchebag that threatened the lives of innocents, and I was pissed off and tired. The tension was thick in the air, the conditions right for gunning me down without anyone to dispute the facts before disappearing back to the safety of the Tower. I knew we wouldn’t be shaking hands and walking away from one another, him with his retrieve and me another hundred thousand richer. We were past that point, the stakes were our lives.

  “That briefcase isn’t just the key to the future, Mr. Rye, it’s the key to the past and the present.” He was closing the gap between us, slow, cautious, body slightl
y angled to present a smaller profile.

  “Why are you telling me? I don’t give a shit. I just want my gold and your word that my people will be left alone.” I edged sideways, tried to keep the Tweedles in my peripheral vision.

  “The secrets in that data are bigger than you and me, more important than anyone or anything else on this planet. I’d sacrifice thousands, millions, without hesitation to harness the power it holds. I’m telling you this, because we can’t risk you talking to anyone about what’s in those books. Therefore, your services are no longer required.” His hand darted beneath his jacket with a speed that would have made any old west gunslinger envious. Stratton Haisch would have shit his pants if he’d still been around to see it.

  The son of a bitch was fast. Faster than me. I had thousands of hours of trigger time from years of shooting competition, using a gun was as natural to me as breathing. I’d spent untold hours standing in front of a mirror trying to shave microseconds off my draw time, honing my craft to where it was pure muscle memory. I was good and I knew it, but even as fast as I was, I felt like I was moving in slow motion compared to him.

  I’d already taken his first round to the center of my chest before my pistol ever cleared the holster. I felt the thud of the second round hit me high in the stomach as I squeezed the trigger on my M&P. The impact of the bullets hurt like hell. I was way behind in this game of death, but he made a mistake, and when it comes to gambling, one mistake is all it takes to turn the tables. He fell back on his training, two to the chest, one to the head. I was already in motion though as I stroked the trigger on my pistol. I heard the head shot he had planned for me whiz by my ear. I saw the look of surprise on his face when I moved towards him, instead of away. I figured he was wearing a vest like I was, so I shot for his pelvis. The big slugs from my .45 took him in the right hip. He screamed and went down like a puppet with his strings cut. I felt the impacts in my back and shoulders from several rounds fired by the two shooters by the helicopter, my proximity to their boss the only thing keeping them from unleashing a hail of full auto fire on me. I struggled to draw in a breath, my lungs starved for oxygen, my body in agony. Even though the vest stopped the bullets, it still felt like getting hit multiple times with a sledgehammer. I threw myself behind the nearest car, sought cover, a chance to draw air into my battered chest and turn the odds in my favor. Glass shattered and ricochets whined off the armored exterior of the Monte Carlo as the Tweedles did their damnedest to kill me now that I was clear of Carter. As soon as I heard the lull in firing, I knew they were reloading, so I popped up and squeezed off a half dozen rounds. Tweedle Dee spun, his plans of killing me forgotten as he clamped his hands to his throat to stem the arterial spray that spewed forth from his wounded neck. Tweedle Dum didn’t bother to check on his partner, instead he lit up the car again, his MP-5 spitting rounds in my direction. I ducked down, shielded by the tire and the engine block while the bullets sparked off the car’s armor and ricocheted away.