Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (28 page)

“Get back on the damned bus,” I snapped.

“No way,” said Spec-4. “You go, we go.”

“Fine,” I said, and couldn’t keep from smiling.
“Get ready to haul ass. Cal, GO!!”

Sanders shut the door and immediately shot the bus backwards about forty feet, screeching to a stop.
I didn’t hear a crash, so at least that part of the plan had worked. As soon as the bus cleared the door, we all opened fire into the crowd of zombies. We all had M-16’s and were making good use of them. In seconds, we’d thinned the crowd down to less than half its strength.

Sanders didn’t wait for an invitation and gunned the engine.
We all stopped firing when we heard the roar of the engine. Seconds later, he crashed through the rest of them and rounded the corner. I reloaded my M-16, and stepped out the door. Spec-4 and Southard followed my lead as we began taking out zombies between us and the burger place. Parker pulled the door shut, just in case we had to fall back to it. Then we headed across the parking lot.

“Stick together and stay close!” I yelled.

I caught a glimpse of gray as the bus disappeared around the back of the store. I knew he’d be retracing our route back to the jail. We made it to the edge of the street and lay down more fire, taking out about ten zombies in the road. It seemed like for every one we shot, two more took their place.

“Keep moving!” I yelled, reloading my weapon.

We started crossing the street and I stole a glance to our left to check on the large group of zombies that were coming towards us. They were almost to the intersection. I stopped long enough to launch an M-203 grenade into a group of vehicles, igniting them. That put a large fire between them and us. It wasn’t much, but it might slow them down enough to buy us time.

We made it to the burger joint parking lot and were almost to the Charger when about a dozen zombies came around the building from near the drive-thru lane.
We all opened fire and ran for the car. I let my empty M-16 drop to hang around my neck by the strap, and pulled out the big Mossberg. Unfortunately, I was a couple seconds too late.

Three of the zombies had made it to melee range.
One slammed into Spec-4 and took her to the ground. Parker went down in a tangle with another one and the third slammed into me. Before it could bite me, I cracked it in the face with the Mossberg and knocked it back a step. That gave me just enough time to snap off a quick shot.

My shot was good, striking it in the neck and lower jaw.
It wasn’t an instant kill, but it was good enough. I’d cut the strings to the puppet. It fell to the ground and started flopping. I spun around and snapped a kick into the face of the one that was on top of Spec-4. It fell away from her and I shot it in the head. Southard drew his Glock and shot the one that was fighting with Parker, while I pulled Spec-4 to her feet. She was shaken, but appeared unhurt.

“Everyone get in the car!” I yelled, and ran for the driver’s side of the Charger.

Spec-4 ran to the passenger’s side front seat and Southard dove into the back seat. I looked out and saw Parker just standing there with a bewildered look on his face.

“Come on, Parker!” I yelled.
“Get in the damned car!”

Parker opened the back door and started tossing in his gear.
He even took off his belt and tossed it in. Then he took off his badge and tossed it inside.

“What the hell are you doing?!” screamed Southard.

“I’m bit,” he said and lifted his arm. A ragged bloody hole was torn from his arm-pit, right beneath his body armor. It had gotten him good.

Oh, Jesus!” yelled Southard.
“Wylie! What do we do?”

Parker took the decision out of our hands.

“Go!” he yelled. “Just fucking
GO
!!”

He pulled a grenade out of his pocket and pulled the pin.
For just a second, he met each our gazes with a deep sadness in his eyes. Then he turned away from us and ran straight at a group of zombies that were coming right for us.

“
ALEX!!!
” screamed Southard.

For just a second, I thought he was going to run after him.
But we all just watched in mute horror as he dove into them and released the spoon on the grenade. With a loud
CRUMP
, Alex Parker was gone, but he took a bunch of them with him.

I started the engine and pulled it into gear as Southard shut the door.
I squealed the tires as I slid out of the parking lot and into a clear eastbound lane. I couldn’t follow Sanders, because I couldn’t get through to the other side of the road. I would have to find another path. There was no way that the bulldozer trick was going to work in this vehicle without damaging it beyond use.

Tears flowed down my cheeks unchecked and there wasn’t a dry eye in the car.
Even Spec-4 was crying, and she didn’t even know Alex. Alex Parker was my friend. He was Southard’s best friend and had been the best man at his wedding. We’d all known each other for years. They didn’t make them any better than Alex.

We rode in silence for a few minutes, while I looked for a path that would lead us towards the jail.
I had to turn back to the south on a side street, when Battlefield became impassable. Although the road was clear, it was taking us away from the jail. I looked around and pulled to a stop on a residential street. There weren’t any zombies in the immediate area, so we had a moment to collect our thoughts before we continued.

“Look,” I said.
“We’ll all drink to Alex, later. Right now, we have to focus. Alex will have died for nothing if we don’t make it back to the jail.”

That seemed to pull them both out of their grief.
Spec-4 wiped her eyes and started reloading weapons. Southard pulled out three bottles of water from his pack and handed them out.

“Southard,” I said, “get on the radio and let Sanders know that we can’t follow him.
We’ll have to find another way back.”

He tried a few times before raising them on the Jail Op Frequency.

“Sanders,” said Cal’s voice. “Go ahead.”

“Are you guys clear?” asked Southard.

“Yeah, so far so good,” replied Sanders. “How about you guys?”

“We lost Parker,” said Southard, his voice cracking.

There was silence on the radio.

“Where are you guys, right now?” asked Southard.

“We took a detour down Fort,” replied Sanders. “It looked clear to me. We’re crossing Sunshine right now. Once we’re clear of Sunshine, I’m gonna back-road it to the jail.”

“Good plan,” said Southard.
“Avoid the main streets.”

“What about you?” asked Sanders.

Southard looked at me, questioningly. I thought about it for a few seconds. We were already south of Battlefield. The Charger had three quarters of a tank of gas, and we still had plenty of ammo.

“We’re going after the Sarge,” I said.

“Put some coffee on for us,” said Southard. “We’re going after Daniels and the others.”

“Copy that,” said Sanders.

“700 copies, as well,” came the voice of Lt. Murdock. “We’ll have the coffee waiting for you when you get here.”

“Thanks, L.T.,” said Southard.
“We plan on bringing back three more officers with us.”

“Best of luck,” said the L.T.
“We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Copy that, 700,” said Southard.
“917 out.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, getting ourselves back together before we continued on.
The silence loomed heavily as we were each lost in our own thoughts. I kept my hands on the steering wheel and closed my eyes. I tried to force myself to think about other things. I couldn’t let grief win, right now. We could mourn our losses, later. I had to focus on the living. I had to focus on the people that we still could save. It was somewhere to start, anyway.

“Chuck,” I said
, my voice catching in my throat. “I’m sorry about Alex.”

“Thanks, man,” he replied
, his voice thick with emotion. “He was like a brother to me.”

“Yeah, Alex was good people,” I
agreed, looking back at Southard.

“Did he
have any family?” asked Spec-4, sobbing.

“He was divorced,” I said.
“No kids. I don’t know about his parents, he never talked about them. He did have one brother, but he died in Iraq in ‘04.”

“Still,” said Southard.
“Alex was family to all of us. He’ll be missed. He was a hell of a guy. In fact, he was the God-father to both of my daughters.”

I reached back into the back seat and picked up Alex’s badge.
I held it in my hand for a few moments, running my fingers across the shiny surface. It felt cool to the touch. I cleaned off a smudge of blood and wiped it on my pants. The silver badge gleamed in the light and I could almost see Alex’s face reflected in it’s surface.

“Goodbye, Alex,” I whispered, and put the badge in my pocket with the others.

“What are you going to do with all those badges?” asked Southard.

“I don’t know, Chuck.
Maybe when all of this is over, I’ll build a memorial or something. It’s about the only thing we have that we can hold on to.”

“Are you going to put up the Sheriff’s badge?” asked Spec-4.

“No,” I replied, softly. “I made a promise on that badge. It has to go on.”

“Maybe they all should go on,” said Southard.
“The best way to honor them is to keep going.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Maybe we should, assuming that there’s anyone left to pass them on to.
We’ll keep the legacy going.”

Then I put the Charger back in gear and continued on down the street heading south.
We weren’t sure how we were going to pull this off, but we were going after our people. Saving lives was the reason that any of us picked up a badge. Saving lives was how Alex had died. Badge or no badge…that was a legacy worth continuing.

“
Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment.”

-Dag Hammarskjold
 

Our path took us south to Walnut Lawn. We were still seeing plenty of zombies, but this was a residential area and there weren’t any large groups. As we approached the intersection, I saw flashing lights up ahead. There were two SPD cruisers parked nose to nose, effectively blocking the entire intersection. There weren’t any other vehicles in the road.

“Do we risk it
?” I asked, glancing quickly at the others.

“You wan
t to pull a quick scavenge-job, don’t you?” said Spec-4, grinning.

“That’s pretty much what I was thinking, yeah,” I said.

“Hell, yeah,” said Southard, already checking the magazine on his M-16. “We didn’t pack for an extended outing. I’m almost out of ammo for my 16.”

“Wylie,” cautioned Spec-4, “remember this isn’t a Humvee.
We can’t take that kind of damage and keep driving.”

“Duly noted,” I replied.
"No crashing. Got it."

I began slowing down, and started looking left and right.
We were within a couple blocks of a Mega-Mart Supercenter and I knew that there would be a large crowd of zombies nearby. I idly considered trying for the ammo, but then I remembered my conversation with my wife. She bought all the ammo that they had in 9mm and 12 gauge, and they rarely carried much of the .223 or 5.56mm ammo. This was the closest Mega-Mart to my house, so I figured that this had to be the one she emptied. No sense risking it for nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing, per se, just no ammo that we actually needed.
There would be plenty of food, camping supplies and other gear we could use. Unfortunately, the place would be crawling with zombies. Besides that, Spec-4 was right. We weren’t exactly in a Humvee. I couldn’t just crash in the door and expect to be able to drive back out, again. Not without major structural damage and flat tires, at the very least. We'd most-likely disable the vehicle completely.

There were only about ten zombies in our immediate area.
None of them were close enough to be an immediate threat, and none of them appeared to be moving fast enough to be a
Sprinter
. That was the good news. The bad news was that we were within spitting distance of that Supercenter, and any gunfire would bring down the horde. To make matters worse, we really weren’t in a position to call down that kind of thunder, and live to tell the tale. For one thing, we didn’t have that kind of ammo.

Putting the car in park, I nodded to Spec-4 and Southard.
We all jumped out simultaneously, and headed towards the patrol cars. I reached in my cargo pocket and tossed Southard two magazines for his M-16. By unspoken agreement, Spec-4 covered our six. I motioned for Southard to swing to the left while I went to the right, each taking a different car. I found the body of an SPD officer lying in the front seat. She was still holding the radio mic in her right hand.

Gears in my head began turning at a furious pace.
I had fully expected to find someone dead, or worse. I was even prepared to find only blood. But this was different. This officer had died from a gunshot wound. Actually, she died from several of them. They were large caliber, too. Then I noticed that there were several bullet holes in the car, as well. All of her gear was missing and the car had been picked clean. Her equipment belt was missing and there was a powder burn from a weapon that was pressed to the side of her head. She'd been shot, then executed when she hadn't died instantly. This was very, very bad.

“Wylie!” said Southard. “Something’
s seriously wrong, over here.”

“Fall back to the car,” I said, and started moving. “Now!”

The first gunshot struck me right in the middle of the back. I pitched forward and slammed my head into the doorframe of the patrol car, then fell in a heap with the breath knocked out of me. My back felt like it was on fire and my vision was swimming. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, like it was hammering out a drum solo. I could only barely hear gunshots breaking out around me. Through the pain and disorientation, it hit me. We’d just walked into an ambush.

Rough hands grabbed me around the arm and pulled me to my feet.
I almost lashed out before I saw it was Southard. My vision was beginning to clear, but I still couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in my ears. My head swam from shock and pain, and I tasted blood in my mouth. I could see that Southard was yelling something at me, but I couldn’t make it out. His voice seemed to be distorted and coming to me as if from a great distance.

Behind Southard, I saw two men in jeans and t-shirts coming towards us.
They were both holding AK-47’s, and were firing from the hip. The good news was that they weren’t very good at it. Moving and shooting is a skill, much different than standing at a gun-range and firing at a paper target. It took practice to hit a target accurately while moving. It’s much harder when you’re firing from the hip. Even more-so when you don't know what you're doing. These two looked like they watched too many bad movies. But, even idiots can be deadly.

I could see Spec-4 take a hit and go over backwards, firing into the air as she fell.
Southard let go of my arm and turned to fire at the advancing gunmen. I could stand on my own, but it took major effort. I wanted to go get Spec-4, but I couldn’t make my legs work like I wanted them to. Somehow in the confusion, I had lost my grip on my M-16. I knew it was still hanging around my neck, but I just couldn’t seem to find it. Then I felt my fingers grasp a familiar handle. In that instant, something instinctual took over inside me. I felt the change inside, but didn't fight it. I was now a spectator as my body reacted on its own.

I drew the big .45 Army Colt and leveled it at the advancing gunmen.
Silently, I asked the Gods (I didn’t care who was listening, as long as they helped) to guide my hand. I barely heard the report as I aimed and fired at the lead gunman. The big .45 hollow point hit him just below the neck line of the t-shirt. He went over backwards, blood flying from the wound. I was already turning towards the next target before his body even hit the ground.

The second gunman turned towards me, in total surprise.
He tried to swing his AK around to aim at me, but lost the race. Southard stitched him from groin to eyebrows. He went down hard, flailing like mad as my second round struck him in the forehead. I looked around, and saw two other gunmen approaching from the other side of the street. They were concentrating on us and never noticed Spec-4 setting up on one elbow.

She shot them both with her Berretta before they reached us.
Two rounds to the chest for each of them. They both fell without knowing who killed them. Southard moved off towards the fallen gunmen, his weapon at the ready. He looked like he was moving in slow motion. My ears still rang and my back was killing me, but I didn’t think that I was bleeding out. The vest had saved my life, again. Spec-4 had been saved the same way.

Spec-4 got slowly to her feet, and I could tell that she was saying something to me.
I just couldn’t hear her or make it out. My head was clearing slowly, but my ears still rang. I could tell that she was hurt, but not as bad as she would have been without the vest on. That was good. By the time she made it to me, the ringing in my ears had subsided somewhat and I could see more clearly.

“Wylie?” she said, hesitantly. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said sarcastically, gently shaking my head. “Never
fucking
better.”

“You’re bleeding,” she said, worriedly.

I tried to put my hand behind my back and touch the spot where I’d been shot, but she shook her head. I was still dizzy and fought to keep my balance as she took me by the arm to help steady me on my feet. I wobbled a bit from side to side as my vision finally began to focus on her face.

“Not from there,” she said
, softly. “From your head.”

Gingerly, I put my fingers up to my forehead.
My face and forehead were covered with blood. I must have busted my head open when I fell. It had to have been when I hit the doorframe of the cruiser. I could feel something that I assumed was blood dripping off of my chin and onto the ground. My face throbbed like I’d just gone ten rounds with a heavy-weight boxer.

“How bad is it?”
I asked, dreading the answer.

“Bad,” she said
, nodding. “Are your ears ringing?”

“Yeah, a little,” I said, spitting out a mouthful of blood
y phlegm onto the ground.

“How’s your vision?” she asked
, helping steady my balance.

“Still a bit blurry,” I replied, slipping my arm around her shoulders.

“And your speech is a bit slurred,” she added. “You may have a concussion.”

“
Great,” I muttered. "Just what I fucking needed."

Southard came back over to us
, looking out of breath. He was carrying four AK-47’s and four pistols. They all looked to be Springfield Arms Mil-spec .45’s. He sat them next to us and started to walk away.

“How bad is it, Chuck?”

“We’re fucked,” he said, turning to look at us and shaking his head. “They shot the shit out of the car. It’s finished. Holes in the radiator, the engine and three out of four tires are flat. Plus, they took out all the windows. They got us good. We're on foot, now.”

“Oh God,” said Spec-4
, looking around nervously. “What do we do now?”

“Gather all
the supplies we can carry,” I said. “We need to move. All that gunfire will be attracting every zombie for blocks.”

Southard returned
from the wreckage of the Charger with our packs. He started loading the confiscated gear into our bags. From the way he was moving, I could tell that he was angry. I couldn't blame him. We didn't even know who those assholes were. They just attacked us without warning or provocation. It was like they had no interest in helping other survivors…only themselves. They must have cut the two Springfield Police Officers down in the same cold-blooded way that they had attacked us.

“Where’d they hit us from?” I asked
, glancing around. “There’s no way that they knew we were coming this way. Fuck, I didn’t even know until a few minutes ago.”

“I think they came from that house,” said Spec-4, pointing at the
little white house on the corner.

“Then that’s where we’re going,” I said
. “Right now. We need to get to cover before we attract too much attention.”

I looked back towards the Mega-Mart and could see the beginnings of a crowd of zombies heading our way.
We didn’t have long before this place would be crawling with the dead. Spec-4 and I weren’t moving very fast, so Southard let us lead and covered our backs. We made it to the house to find the front door standing wide open. It had to be where they came from. I quickly pulled the flashlight off of my belt and shined it inside. I couldn’t see anyone or anything moving.

Since we really di
dn’t have much choice, Spec-4 and I went inside. Southard stood by the door and covered us while we swept through the house. On the table, I found the duty belts and gear from the two SPD officers, complete with duty weapons and shotguns. Lying around the room were boxes of MRE’s and ammo crates. We didn’t find anyone else in the house. It was only a two bedroom and didn’t take much searching to clear it.

“It’s clear,” I
said to Southard. “Looks like the power’s out.”

By the time I made it back to the living room, Spec-4 and Southard were replacing the large wooden bolt that had been set against the door.
These guys had been preparing for this for a while, probably since the first reports came in. Once the door was secure, we did a quick check of the house. All of the windows had been boarded up, and the doors were bolted with 2x4’s.

We found twenty cases of MRE’s and twice that many cases of bottled water.
There were thousands of rounds for the AK-47’s and for the .45’s, as well. Whoever the hell those guys were, they were well prepared. But why take the risk they did to hit us? It was probably for the gear and ammo. We’d never know for sure, though. Dead men rarely explain themselves.

“It looks like the zombies are busy eating the
jerks we just shot,” said Southard, peaking through a crack in the window. “I don’t think they know we’re in here.”

“Then let’s keep it that way,” I said, quietly.
“Let’s try to be quiet and not attract attention to ourselves.”

“Good plan,” said Spec-4.
“But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re trapped in here.”

“For now,” I agreed.
“Let’s pull ourselves together and clean our wounds. Once we re-evaluate our situation, I think we’ll be alright. So long as they don’t surround us, we can look for a way out.”

“We could call for a rescue,” suggested Southard
, shrugging.

“Do you really think they can get to us?” asked Spec-4, hopefully.