Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel (18 page)

Chapter 15

The Perfect Plan

“I’ve got to pee,” Skylar meekly said from the backseat.

“Really? I need to take care of business, too. You’re just going to have to cross your legs and hold it,” Mason said.

“I’m serious. I’ve had some female issues lately, and when I need to go, I need to go.”

“Either hang it out the window or piss in the seat. You need to be focused when we make our move.”

Troy looked at Mason and shrugged his shoulders.

A half-eaten face popped up from underneath Skylar’s window just as she turned her head that way. She screamed and threw herself to the opposite side of the cab. The zombie reached in and grabbed for the back of Mason’s head. He leaned against the steering wheel and fought off the nasty clutches of the undead.

A deafening blast rocked the cab. The zombie’s arms snaked its way out the window as a .45 caliber black talon bullet dropped it deader than undead.

Skylar had her back to the door and pointed the Colt Gold Cup at the window ready to fire again.

“Fuck! That was loud,” Mason said.

“What?” Troy replied.

“Are there anymore around us? I don’t see any.” Mason had raised his voice to a near holler.

Troy quickly scanned the area. “Nothing that I can see close by. That one must have been lying on the ground and crawled over here. We need to be more careful.”

“Looks like the gunshot got their attention. Look!” Skylar pointed to the windshield.

The zombies had either heard or felt the sound waves of the shot. Those who weren’t occupied feeding on corpses, had turned and faced in the direction of the sheriff and his posse.

“Okay, we either flee or fight, and I’ve had enough running for a while. I’m going to drive us in front of the police station. I’d be surprised if the door’s not locked, so have your key ready, Troy. I’ll hold them off until you and Sky are inside, and then, you can lay cover until I get in. We’ll be safe once we’re inside. The police station isn’t built like a regular house. The doors are steel, and the windows are made of bulletproof safety glass. There’s food in the fridge and a snack machine, along with soft drinks and water, and, the most important thing.”

“More guns?” Troy said.

“No, a bathroom. I really do need to take a shit.” Mason dropped the truck in gear and mashed the accelerator to the floor. Tires squealed as the truck sped down the middle of the road, heading directly for the nearest zombie. At the last minute, Mason whipped the wheel to the left and avoided hitting the undead with the front. The zombie bounced off the backend as it clipped the truck. He then turned the wheel to a hard right, and took out the next in line, as it smashed into the driver’s side door.

Skylar bounced from one side of the truck to the other. “Be careful, or you’re going to get us killed.”

Two more zombies stumbled from the sidewalk. The truck struck them on left front fender. Sheet metal crunched. A sickening thud and brains splattering on the windshield indicated their undead status had ended.   

Downtown Botte resembled a war ravaged town in the Mid-East, and remained nothing like the quaint little town that time had passed by. Mason had flashbacks from his stay in Iraq as flames and black smoke rose from a crashed car embedded in front of a dress shop. There were one or two other fires in the near distance. Dead bodies of men, women, and children littered the streets. Botte had been a bright, polished apple that had become a decayed, rotting mess. Troy waited for an opportunity and opened his door in time to take another one down. The zombie’s face struck the edge of the door. An eyeball popped out and hit the passenger’s side window, leaving a slimy streak.

“There are too many of them. We don’t have a chance,” Skylar said.

“Rangers fight harder than any enemy. You need to take that attitude, too, if you want to live to see tomorrow.” Mason spoke with conviction and from experience. 

The truck took another hard turn around a corner and had to swerve out of the path of a stalled car. The police station was right up ahead. The diner was a half block down. He had been so preoccupied with his own problems that he had forgotten about Rosella.

Broken window glass along the sidewalk in front of the diner told a story that made Mason’s heart sink. It had been a long time since he had met a woman like Rosella. The weeks he had spent planning to ask her out told him that he was capable of emotions beyond those felt below the waist. Just when he thought he had begun to rediscover his humanity, thought he might break the chains of the past with the help of a true love, that dream had come to bitter end. Life was more of a nightmare than it had ever been. “I’m sorry, Rosella.”

“What’d you say?” Troy asked.

“Nothing. Get ready, I’m going to get as close as I can to the front door and hold them off.”

“Here. Take this.” Troy handed the door key to Skylar. “I’ll cover you. Run to the door as fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything. Even if they get me, go for the door and get inside.”

“Oh, Troy. I’m so scared.”

“Me too, baby, but we have to do this. Stay focused. You got this?”

“Yes.” Her voice quivered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The truck arrived at the line of cars parked in front of the police station. The immediate area was clear, save for a group of zombies in the middle of the road some ten yards away. That was too many, and too close for them to chance it. Mason stepped on the gas pedal again. “Brace yourselves!”

The backend spun out until the tires grabbed the road and shot into the parade of undead. Two bodies flipped over the hood, smashed into the windshield, and rolled off. More went under the truck, or bounced off. Mason shifted into reverse and ran over those on the road again. For the moment, it was clear. Troy and Skylar would have a 15-foot dash to the front door of the station, and hopefully, sanctuary.

Mason hit the brakes as soon as he was in position. “Go! Go! Go!”

Troy bailed out while Skylar nervously fumbled with the rear door. She had forgotten to unlock it when she pulled on the handle to open the door.

Once out, Troy led the way between two parked cars and bolted toward the station. A female zombie lumbered from the side. Troy stopped, aimed, and squeezed off two rounds. The first shot went wide, the next found its target. The zombie fell, crimson from its head staining the green grass.

Skylar skidded to a halt in front of the door and pushed against it. It was locked tight, as they expected. She stuck the key in and turned it until hearing the reassuring mechanical click. “It’s open!”

Shotgun blasts boomed over her last words. Mason found himself barraged by walking dead. In some ways, this felt too much like his time in Iraq. Insurgents, citizens of a community, gathered against him. In war, he dared not look at the faces of the enemy. If he hesitated for a moment, his advantage would be lost. He couldn’t afford to think of them as human beings. How could he ever be so cold to kill another person? Especially since
he
was the invader. The enemy had to be neither man nor woman, young nor old. The enemy, to him, was a mindless robot. Just a target in the way that needed to be taken down.

That had worked without fail years ago. Mason didn’t know if would work now. Fortunately, whatever had turned the townspeople, made most of their faces practically unrecognizable.

One zombie presented itself and stopped Mason cold. The man was short, very old, and hobbled on a withered left leg. Unmistakably, it was Old Man Jones, one of the nicest men Mason had ever met. A retired Navy crewman, Jones spent all his free time helping those in need. He was the first in church on Sunday morning and the last to leave.

Mr. Jones’ perpetual smile and kind eyes replaced the monster before him in Mason’s mind. The old man reached out with an arthritic hand to give a gentle handshake. Mason heard the words, ‘So glad to see you, Sheriff. May God bless and protect you.’

The old zombie grunted out a spine-tingling moan. Mason snapped back from his momentary escape and pulled the trigger on the shotgun. It clicked empty. He grabbed hold of the .45 and put an end to his friend’s miserable existence.    

  Skylar pushed against the door but it still wouldn’t move. “It’s stuck!”

Troy had just killed two more zombies that had come around the side of the police station. He ran over and put his shoulder into the door. It moved a few inches, after great effort, but it was far from being open enough to gain entrance. “Mason, get on over here. We need your help.”

Old Man Jones had seen his last Sunday. Mason looked down on him and hoped he was right about there being a God.

It was time to move, Mason pulled the bag of ammo out of the truck before hightailing it to the station door. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s unlocked, but it’s barricaded,” Troy said.

The three leaned into the door and pushed. Their combined strength slowly moved the obstacle a few tenths of an inch before Skylar stopped pushing and let out a loud exhale.

“Son-of-a-bitch, this is tough,” Mason said.

“We’re not going to make it! There’re more coming, and we don’t have enough time!” Skylar said.

More dead emerged from around the cars in front and shambled between them toward the station. They were an army of ghouls driven by an insatiable lust for human flesh.

Mason picked up the shotgun and handed it to Skylar. “Load this up. Troy and I are going to have to thin the herd to buy us some time. You keep the bullets coming, and we’ll drive them back.” He dropped the clip from his .45, gave it to her, too, and then slapped in a full one. Troy did the same with his 9mm.

If these things had been much faster, he knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. Mason picked the nearest target and slowly squeezed off round after round. Troy’s gun joined in, the 9mm blast wasn’t near as loud as the .45. Target after target fell until Mason’s gun clicked empty. He turned and handed it to Skylar, who handed him the shotgun.

A grin curled on his lips; holding a long gun gave him a boost of confidence. The gun rose to his shoulder as he walked forward, firing in rapid succession. Heads exploded, sending bone fragments, grey matter, and blood raining down on the vehicles behind.  

Troy held his fire. It only took ten seconds for Mason to empty the gun and bring the immediate threat to a halt.

“Okay, let’s try again.” Mason hurried back with the others already in position to give it another team effort. At first, the door didn’t seem as if it was going to move at all. If the barricade had caught on something, it wasn’t enough to prevent the three from pushing it past the obstacle. The door moved again, this time almost six inches before the next phase of shambling dead.

  “Looks like another wave coming. Positions, everyone.” Mason swapped his shotgun for the .45. It was target practice all over again.

* * *

“Listen . . . I hear gunshots.” Rosella said, her eyes closed as she listened by the door of the utility closet. At first, she couldn’t distinguish the popping noise through the scratching and moans of the monsters trying to break in. Apparently, some of the zombies had left at the sound of the gunfire. With less distraction, hope started to build, knowing that someone, hopefully Sheriff Mason, was on the scene. She prayed he was kicking butt and not bothering to take names. Memories of the bodies and the horrors committed to them in the diner told her there was only one way to deal with this menace. Death had to come quick and without mercy.

“I can’t hear anything,” Barry said.

“I’m surprised you’re not deaf. Most of the time, you’ve got an iPod turned up to ten shoved in your ears.”

“I think I hear something now. So what if it is gunshots? We’re in here, and they’re out there. Unless they come looking for us, it doesn’t matter,” Barry said.

“If it’s Sheriff Mason, I know he’ll come here.”

“Really, why do you say that? Think he wants to order some pie and a cup of coffee?” Barry’s comment dripped in sarcasm.

“No, you little shit. Let’s just say, if he thinks I made the coffee, he won’t rest until he gets a cup. If he’s half the man I think he is, he will find us.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Judging from your previous demonstration of chivalry, meaning lack of, you must know how it is when a man feels like he has to protect his woman.”

“Oh, I get it now. He’s sweet on you.”

“I hope so.” Rosella words trailed off. “God, I sure hope so.” She closed her eyes and was glad that it was too dark in the closet for Barry to see her cry.

The low moans and hands hitting the door continued, but the gunshots stopped. The two remained silent for a few minutes.

“I think they’re gone. I don’t hear the guns,” Barry said.

Rosella sniffed back the tears. “Maybe . . . maybe the area’s clean. Maybe they’ve all gone outside.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. I ain’t going out there to find out.”

“Yes, you’ve already made that point clear,” Rosella said. “There must be some way to let them know we’re in here. Think, Barry, I can’t do this all by myself.”

“I don’t know. What can we do? Beat on the wall? Holler real loud? They’ll never hear us.”