Books of the Dead (Book 3): Dead Man's Land (32 page)

“Jo, you and Brother Ed are in charge while I’m gone.”

She gave me an incredulous look and said, “In charge of what?  There’s just us.” She put a hand out toward Brother Ed, Russell, Maggie, and Thomas.  Brother Ed looked irked that I hadn’t said that he alone was in charge, but there was no pleasing everyone and I was confident in my decision.

“The others may come back,” I said. “They’ll need someone to lead them.”

The helicopter that had just passed by came into view with its tail rotor facing away from us and hovered. It jockeyed around in the air for a few second and let loose with a volley of shots at something that was out of our field of view.  It let up and I assumed that their target was eliminated. 

Without warning, it pivoted, its blades slicing the air and knocking up dust from the ground and headed around the corner of the building and out of view.  Ten seconds later, a booming voice echoed our way, “Stop where you are.”  There was a slight pause.  “Stop running or we will be forced to shoot.”
              “That’s my cue,” I said turning to Jo.  “Take care of Thomas, please.  He’s been through a lot.”

“I will,” she said and reached out a hand to draw him close.  His expression seemed to loosen up as she pulled him to her side.

I knelt down to Thomas and said, “You can trust Jo.  She’s good people and she’ll do everything to protect you that I’ve done and more.  Can you help take care of things here while I’m gone?”

He didn’t say anything, but just nodded.  I could see the fear and doubt in his eyes.  Who could blame him?  He had been a disposable pawn in a deadly game.  He probably expected to die at any minute.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you while we’re around.”

Jo put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Later, tater,” I said to him and broke out of the doorway. 

The amplified voice boomed again, “This is your last warning.”

I ran out the back door and along the side of the building in shadows until I got parallel to the shed.  When I turned to look back to see if the coast was clear, I sensed someone behind me and was sure a zombies was getting ready to munch down on my ass.  I jerked around and none other than Brother Ed was behind me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

“How much fuel do you think you can carry?” he asked.

“Enough,” I replied.

“Not nearly enough,” he said. “That truck probably gets five miles per gallon, at best.  You’ll be lucky if you can get across the field before it runs dry again.  I’ll go with you and we’ll get enough for you to make it to the farm house.”

I wanted to argue, but his logic was too sound.  “Okay,” I said.  “You ready to run?”

He nodded.  I didn’t hesitate and broke for the shed just as one of the helicopters opened up with their guns.  I stopped dead in my tracks and my heart sank.  Those shots meant that Aaron and Maggie were dead.

“Stop or we will fire again,” the voice boomed again and relief swept over me.  They wouldn’t be shouting commands at someone they had just shot down.  There was still some hope, but I imagined that they weren’t going to go far.

There was nothing I could do for them, so I recommenced my sprint, jerking my head left and right, on lookout for the helicopters.  Brother Ed followed hot on my heels.  We made it to the shed and I ripped the door open and jumped inside, pulling the door closed behind us as soon as he was inside.

Calling it a shed was a bit of a misnomer.  It was really a fairly sizeable garage that was built to house the vehicles and implements for lawn care and landscaping.  Since the place never opened, no lawnmowers or weed eaters or other lawn care implements ever made it into it.  We kept extra fuel and the ATV that I had driven earlier in it. 

It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, but I quickly spotted some empty fuel cans.  I rushed over, grabbed two large ones, but Brother Ed stopped me.

“You can’t run with forty gallons of fuel,” he said and grabbed two smaller ones and handed them to me.  Once again his logic was impeccable.   I took them and headed to the fuel drums.  I knocked on the first one but it rang almost hollow.  The second came back with a solid response and I grabbed the fuel dispenser handle and started filling my first container. 

We circulated the containers in and out as fast as we could, filling them to the top.  We worked without speaking.  Brother Ed grabbed a long piece of hose off one of the counters and wrapped it around his waist.  Once the cap was on the last container, we hoisted the cans up and I learned that Brother Ed had been more than right.  These were only ten gallons each and felt like I was lugging a river with me as the fuel sloshed inside the can with every step I took.  I wanted to complain, but since Brother Ed wasn’t, I had to keep up appearances.

I set down a container and slid the door open, peering out into the field, paying particular attention to the corner of the building where the helicopter had disappeared.  Of course, my logic, once again, was not too logical.  These helicopters could fly up and over the buildings at will.

The coast was as clear as it ever was.  We only had to loop around the shed and head for the dump truck.  It was about a hundred feet away.  That hundred feet looked like a mile because I knew once we stepped outside the shed we’d be out in the open and exposed.

There was no place to go but forward.  Brother Ed didn’t hesitate and followed right behind me.  We made it the first fifty feet and it felt like my arms were about to fall off, but stopping to rest wasn’t an option.  I gritted my teeth and just kept moving. 

I was huffing and puffing by the time we made it beside the truck.  Brother Ed was too, but his breathing seemed disciplined and under control, while I was close to gasping.

“Look where to fuel this damn thing,” I said between gasps.

“Up here,” he said moving toward the front of the truck.  “Behind the cab.”  He waddled back and forth as he moved forward, reminding me of a duck.  I kept that to myself.

He set down his containers, uncapped the fuel port, and untied the hose from around his waist.  He took the cap off one of his containers, jammed the hose down into it and put the other end in the fuel port.  I wouldn’t have thought of that and would have been sloshing much of the fuel onto the ground.  Brother Ed was proving to be more resourceful than I would have given him credit.  He hoisted his container off the ground and the fuel made a ‘glug-glugging’ sound as it traveled down the hose and into the fuel tank on the truck.

A voice boomed off the trees and I nearly jumped out of my skin, “Stay where you are with your hands on your head.  If you attempt to run or take any offensive actions, we will be forced to shoot you.”  I was sure we were cooked, but when I wheeled about no helicopters were visible.  “Get down on your knees,” the voice said again.  The sound bounced off the trees and came back towards us from the front of the buildings, which meant that the choppers were still in that area.

Unflappable or oblivious, Brother Ed finished with his first container and started on the second one.  I took the caps off both of mine to be ready when I needed to be, but once again, I felt like a time clock was ticking down on us.

Brother Ed finished with his second container and I moved in with my first.  The fuel felt like it was moving like molasses down the hose, but I kept the can elevated and waited it out.

The tone of the helicopter blades changed in pitch and volume.  My can finished emptying out just as the sound of the helicopter came closer.  Brother Ed grabbed my shoulder and pushed me to the ground.  “Roll under, so they can’t see us.”

I did as I was told and, a second after I slipped under, Brother Ed came in behind me.

The helicopter burst from around the corner of the building and came our way.  The wind from its blades kicked up dust and grass from the field and blew them like a wind tunnel under the truck, forcing both of us to close our eyes.

“I hope they don’t see the gas cans,” Brother Ed said loudly.

While we couldn’t see the chopper from where were under the truck, I could sense it hovering nearby.  These sensations seemed to go on forever, then the roar from the engine increased in intensity and the wind from its blades moved over and past us.  Three seconds later, its gun sounded and, when I looked across the field, I saw a small group of zombies jitterbugging from the impact of the rounds and they literally shook apart, with pieces going in every direction.  Even for zombies, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

The helicopter drifted sideways fifty feet off the tree line, presumably searching for more undead.  After about thirty seconds, it ascended and disappeared from view.  There were no commands coming from the front of the complex, but the roar of the other helicopter resounded our way. 

Just to be safe, we stayed under the truck for another minute.  When I felt like I couldn’t stay under the truck any longer, I slid out and Brother Ed followed.  We quickly drained the other can into the tank of the truck. 

I set the can down and said, “Get in.  I’ll drive you back to the building.”

Getting in the truck was a leap of faith.  While running left us exposed and vulnerable, there was the possibility of stealth.  Once this truck started moving, there was no hiding.  Ancient rusted out dump trucks were not known as being stealthy.  Not in a million years.

As soon as I slid behind the steering wheel and looked out the window, I knew we were in trouble.  “Oh shit,” I said.

“What?” Brother Ed said with alarm in his voice.

“Look at the hill,” I said.

The Humvees and other military vehicles were on the move and coming down the road toward the complex.  Their caravan looked to be around twelve vehicles, mostly Humvees, some with roof mounted machine guns and some not.  There were two larger trucks and some sort of armored vehicle with over-sized wheels at the end of the line.  This one was at the back of the line and brought a sense of dread out in me because it looked like the same Styker mobile cannon that the soldiers who attacked the church used. 
Oh joy, just what we needed.

“I’m going to wait until they get completely off that hill before moving,” I said.  “We’ll stick out like a sore thumb if we make a run for it now.”  Once they made it onto the field in front of the complex, the buildings would essentially shield us from view.  That was, until we started moving and then all bets were off.

I felt completely conspicuous sitting out in the open like we were, but there was nothing to do about it.  They had seen the dump truck sitting behind the complex before and it was still there.  My only hope was that they would think it was just parked there permanently.

Before the end of the world, sitting and waiting in silence was a virtual hell on Earth for me. I would have rather had a root canal than sit and wait in silence.  I had two rules in life then; 1) never go anywhere without a book because you don’t know how long you’re going to be there and how boring it’s going to be and, 2) don’t go anywhere without food because you don’t know how long you’re going to be there and how hungry you’re going to get.  The zombie apocalypse cured me of my aversion to sitting in silence.  Silence was good.  Unless you were waiting for highly dangerous helicopters to spot you or a military convoy to roll up beside you and start blasting.

I counted the vehicles as they came down the hill and passed out of view behind the complex.  This little truck went down the hill.  This little Humvee followed.  This little Stryker came up the rear, and so on, wee-wee-wee all the way home.  I waited ten seconds after the Stryker disappeared from sight, placed my hand on the ignition key, and said a silent prayer for the beast to start.

I turned the key and initially nothing happened, but after about three seconds the fuel must have started moving through the system.  The engine shuddered to life and roared, chugging for a few seconds before it sent a backfire through the tailpipe that sounded like a cannon shot.

That was not good.

“Skip taking me to the building,” Ed said.  “They might have heard that.”

“But that will have you walking back,” I said.

“So be it.  You need to get to Kara,” he said.

For a guy who had annoyed the shit out of me for as long as I had known him, he was a lot smarter than I thought.  And braver.

I slammed the transmission into gear and eased on the gas pedal, hoping to avoid another backfire.  The truck lurched forward, jerking us back in our seats, and we were off.  I steered us away from the complex in a direct path, using the building to block our escape. 

There were only the mildest of squishes as we ran over what was left of the zombies.  I kept an eye on my side view mirror, watching for the other helicopter and the military vehicles, but didn’t see any.  I figured if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me.  Of course, that would only work until that helicopter decided to pop-up into the sky and go on patrol.  Then we would stick out like a sore thumb.

From where we started to where we had to go, it was less than a half mile to the tree line, but it seemed remote given our situation. There was a dirt road off the back woods that would take us to the old farm which was south of our complex.  We just had to get to that road and under the cover of the trees to be safe. 

Somehow, some way, we made it almost to the tree line when the sound of helicopter blades came from over the trees and directly at us.