No Easy Hope - 01 (36 page)

“Alright guys, small change of plans. Ethan, I need you to ride with Rick. Steve is with me in the lead truck. Steve, you want to tell us what you have planned?”

Steve stepped forward and placed his hands on his hips.

 “Once we get the horde moving, before we break up and split directions, I want Eric to double back to the same parking lot he used when he rescued Ethan the other day. The other two trucks will pull away, and I’ll use these grenades to thin out the infected as much as possible. We’ll radio back to Cody and Stan once we’re clear to come in and sweep the town, just like we planned before.”

Justin raised his hand, a single finger pointing upward.

“Uh, Steve, do you really think that’s a good idea? I mean, what if you drop a grenade or something? I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

Steve reached over and placed a hand on Justin’s shoulder.

“I appreciate your concern, buddy, but I know what I’m doing. As long as Eric drives where I tell him to, everything will be fine.”

I must admit that I was feeling a few doubts myself, but once a thing is decided its best just to see it done.

“Alright, anyone have any other questions before we get started?” I asked.

Justin still looked dubious, but no one said anything.

“Great. Do a final weapons check, and get to your trucks. We leave in five minutes.” I said.

I walked back to my truck with Steve in tow. I looked over my rifle, and made sure that the safety was on, and that there was a round in the chamber. I did the same with my pistol, and placed it back in its holster. Once I had the guns squared away, I slung my small sword across my back and adjusted it so that I could get into and out of the truck if I needed to. As an afterthought, I buckled a combat knife onto the chest strap of my load bearing harness with the handle pointed downward.

I practiced drawing it a couple of times while Steve did a final check of his gear. Now that I was up close to it, I realized that his M1A was actually a Scout Squad version. The Scout Squad has a shorter barrel than a standard M1A, and Steve had placed a red-dot sight on the rifle’s forward mounted rail. There was a twenty round clip already in the gun, and Steve had nine more of them in pouches across the middle of his tactical vest. He also had a model 1911 pistol in a holster on his right thigh, and he wore a small assault pack on his back.

When you’ve done as much hiking as I have, you can judge how heavy a backpack is by how it hangs against its wearer. Judging by the tension on the straps against Steve’s shoulders, I was thinking that he was probably carrying at least twenty pounds of extra ammunition. Bullets were the only thing I could think of that could pack that much weight into such a small space, and still be worth bringing along. My own equipment was much lighter because the ammunition for my HK was much smaller and lighter than what Steve used in his battle rifle. I had just as many spare rounds as he did, but at about a third of the weight. His gun might hit harder, but mine could hit more often and do it without beating my shoulder to a pulp. We weren’t going after Iraqi insurgents after all, we were going after walking corpses. Any fighting we were going to do would probably happen at less than a hundred meters. My rifle was plenty accurate and plenty deadly at that range.

When Steve finished checking his gear, he nodded to me and jumped nimbly over the side of my truck and into the back. An impressive feat, considering that he had at least forty pounds of equipment on him. I realized his guns were his only weapons, and got a crowbar from my pile of equipment behind the truck. He cocked an eyebrow at me when I held it out to him.

“Bludgeons don’t run out of bullets. Keep it just in case.” I said.

Steve seemed to think about it for a second, then gave a slight nod and took the crowbar from me. While he threaded it through the loops on his pack, I wedged my rifle up in the center console and climbed into the truck. The engine rumbled to life on the first turn of the key, just as it always did, and I drove out of the warehouse and into the bright early morning sunlight. I parked it in front of the two Silverados that Earl and Ethan would be driving, and got out to have a quick word with both of them. After they reassured me that they were ready to go, I walked over to Bill who was a few yards away with the folks who would drive the moving trucks. Cody and Stan stood nearby beside a white work truck, and they both gave me a mock salute as I passed. Bill smiled at us and shook his head.

“You all ready to go, son?” He asked.

“As ready as we’re going to get, anyway. Wish us luck.” I reached out a hand, and Bill shook it.

“Good luck then. Keep me posted on the radio. If things go south, you get those guys the hell out of there, understood?”

I looked Bill in the eye and nodded. “Count on it.”

I turned and walked back to my truck. Steve was sitting on the roof with his rifle across his lap. His face was impassive, and his gaze rested on the people gathered behind me.

“You want to ride up front until we get there?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nope. I’m fine back here, just take it easy and try not to throw me out onto the road.”

I nodded and climbed into the cab. A few seconds later, I pulled out of the factory parking lot and turned onto the narrow two-lane leading back to highway 27. The other two trucks followed close behind me. It wasn’t until we were actually on the road that I began to feel apprehensive. This was it. If things went wrong, I might not live to see another day. Worse, I might end up as one of the undead. I could not help but wonder if I was leading these men to their deaths. After a few moments of doubt, I shook my head to clear it and focused on driving. The time for doubts had passed. Now was the time for action. The reasons were no longer important, I had decided on a course of action and I was committed to seeing it through.

A few minutes later, we crested the last hill that stood between our little convoy and the overrun town. The throngs of undead looked significantly thinner than the last time I was there. I fervently hoped that it was a good sign, but I could not ignore the hard knot of tension forming in my gut. I slowed my truck to a stop, and the drivers behind me followed suit. After rolling down the driver side window, I shouted to the other drivers.

“Everbody stay close until we get to the far intersection, then split up. Don’t worry about Steve and I, just carry out your part of the plan. Radio for help if you get in trouble. Everyone ready?”

The other five men shouted agreement and gave me thumbs-up signals. I rolled up the window, took a deep breath, and eased off the brake.

Time to go to work.

Chapter 13

When a Plan Comes Together

I drove down the hill and checked my rearview mirror. The second truck let me get a hundred yards or so ahead and then accelerated to follow me. I was still a good quarter mile away from the main part of town, but I could already see infected heads whipping around in our direction. I realized that we would not have very long before they surrounded us, even though there seemed to be fewer undead. I increased my speed, and radioed back to the other trucks to do the same.

I reached the bottom of the hill and angled the wheel to dodge the first few infected stumbling toward us. Once I was past them, I slowed down to about twenty miles an hour and let the corpses bounce off my truck’s brush guard. I checked my rear view mirror again, and I saw that I was cutting a wide swath through the undead that the vehicles behind me were driving through. The walking dead swarmed in to fill the space in our wake, but not quickly enough to trap us. I felt a fierce grin cross my face as I realized that our plan was working.

It only took me a couple of minutes to plow my way to the other end of town. The truck bounced around as the undead fell beneath the wheels. Thankfully, the sound of the infected moaning at us drowned out the crunch of crushed bones and the squelch of ruptured organs beneath the truck’s tires. The undead poured toward us like floodwaters, emerging from every crack, crevice, alley, and building that we passed. When I was close to a hundred yards from the intersection where we planned to split up, I gunned the engine and put some distance between my truck and the horde. Steve slid into the side of the truck and cursed as I turned the steering wheel sharply to my right and ducked into the parking lot of the auto parts store at the end of the street. I slowed to a crawl, and watched as the other two trucks reduced speed to allow the mass of infected to catch up to them.

With the other two trucks safely out of his line of fire, Steve hopped down from the back of the truck and leveled his rifle. The big gun roared and fire erupted from the end of its barrel as he tore into the ranks of revenants staggering after us. His marksmanship was amazing. The horde was at least a hundred yards behind us, but he still managed to drop an infected with each and every shot. Even though Steve did his best to thin their ranks, revenants were joining the horde faster than he could put them down. The bastards were literally coming out of the woodwork.

I realized why there seemed to be fewer infected in town than the last time I was here. It seemed that they had wandered away in search of other prey, and the sound of vehicles and gunfire was bringing them back by the hundreds. I checked around us to make sure that nothing would sneak up on Steve, and sure enough, I saw at least a dozen undead emerging from the woods to my left. They were coming at us from every direction, but most of them seemed to have funneled into the narrow road to follow the diversion trucks. I rolled down the driver side window and took aim with my rifle. The silencer kept the report from blowing out my eardrums as I dropped the walking meat sacks, focusing on the ones closest to us. It was obvious that we could not stay where we were.

“We need to get moving, if we stay here we’ll be surrounded.” I shouted over my shoulder to Steve.

Steve gave me a thumbs-up, and fired off three more shots before climbing into the back of the truck. I let off the brakes and slowly drove through the adjoining parking lots to keep the undead at bay as the horde got to within twenty yards of us. The other two trucks had reached the intersection and split off in separate directions. I pulled around behind the building to my left to stay out of sight. Steve grabbed the box of grenades and stepped down onto the pavement.

“Steve! What the hell are you doing?” I said as I put the truck in park.

Steve was grinning like a mad man, and he had a wild, savage gleam in his eyes.

“Come on. I have an idea. Bring the sniper rifle with you.”

I spat a vehement curse, and climbed out of the truck. Steve was already heading off toward one of the buildings nearby. I grabbed the sniper rifle, slung it over my back, and stuffed the boxes of ammunition into the cargo pockets on my pants. I trotted after Steve, and fervently hoped that he was not about to get both of us killed with whatever hare-brained stunt he was planning. When I reached him, he was using my crowbar to break a pad lock from an iron grate that covered a service ladder. We were behind what had once been a local restaurant.

“What the fuck are we doing Steve? If you want to get me killed, just be a man and shoot me already.” I hissed.

“Quit whining, you’ll see what I’m doing in a minute. Help me break this damn lock.” He replied.

Steve levered the crowbar against a steel support bar, and both of us grabbed hold and pulled downward.  After a few seconds of red-faced straining, the cheap padlock broke and we nearly fell on our asses. Steve opened the iron grate door and pulled a bundle of parachute cord out of his back pocket. He bent down, looped the cord through the grenade box handles, and tied a slipknot at the end. He climbed the ladder and let the cord spool out behind him. I kept my rifle at the ready, and scanned the area behind us for any undead. The buildings on either side of us were a police station and a bank, and they both protruded farther toward the wood line than the little restaurant did. We were in a U-shaped bend between them, which limited my line of sight. I heard Steve snap his fingers several times above me, and I turned to look at him.

“Come on up.” He said.

I climbed the ladder as quickly as I could. Steve stepped to the edge of the roof and pulled the box of grenades up with the para-cord. I squatted down and low-crawled to the edge of the building closest to the street. The building had a false front that rose up three feet from the end of the roof. It gave us good concealment to hide behind. I poked my head up over it and peered southward. The other two trucks were still slowly proceeding out of town with a large crowd of infected following close behind. Ethan and Justin were standing in the trucks waving their arms and shouting obscenities at the infected to keep their attention. It looked like the diversion was working.