Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (9 page)

“Well, we didn’t get any scratchers tickets or nudie magazines. I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a grin. “But I did get a whole bag full of chew. You want a can?”

“You know damned good and well that Karen will kick my ass if I start chewing, again.”

“I grabbed some of those apple flavored pouches,” he teased. “She’ll never know. I won’t tell her. I promise.”

“Maybe later,” I replied, and headed for the driver’s seat.

Southard and EMT climbed back inside, and started distributing the junk-food. I snagged some beef jerky and an energy drink. Spec-4 climbed back inside and sealed the hatch in time to take a Mountain Dew and a jumbo Snickers. EMT went for pork-rinds and a coke. Southard put in a chew and grabbed a Dr. Pepper.

“I got you a little something special, too,” said Southard, handing me a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey.
“I figured I owed you a drink for saving my ass, back there.”

“I’ll save that for later,” I said and slid the bottle into my bag.
“Thanks.”

“No prob
lem, man. Just make sure I get a shot or six of that when you crack it open.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Spec-4.
“If we get out of this alive, I think we could all use a stiff drink.”

“Hell, I’d go for one right freakin’ now,” said EMT.

“Not till we’re clear,” said Southard. “We all need to be clear-headed to get through this alive. So just relax and drink your damned coke.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I said. “I want to raid that SPD cruiser parked across the street.
You guys cover me while I search it. That had to be where the faceless chick came from.”

I drove across the street and into the parking lot of the church.
I could see a zombie beating on the glass door of the church. He was dressed in a cheap suit and tie, and was missing his throat and a cheek. Fortunately, he was on the inside and wasn’t making any progress in trying to get out. I pulled up next to the parked cruiser and hopped out.

Southard popped out of the passenger door and started scanning the area.
Spec-4 appeared out of the hatch like a rabbit appearing out of a magician’s hat and nodded at me. I brought up the Mossberg and walked cautiously towards the parked cruiser. The entire area was eerily quiet and not even birds were making any noise. Only the sound of the wind whistling between the tree branches and power lines broke the silence. It was a little unnerving.

The driver’s side door was open and the
lights on top of the car were still flashing. I noticed that there were keys were in the ignition as I leaned into the driver’s side door.. The shotgun was still in the rack, so I took it. I slung the tactical sling over my shoulder and opened the glove box. Inside was a box of .40 caliber ammo. I took that, too. Then I snagged the laptop and the extra radio battery in the console. On the seat was a rechargeable flashlight. That went under my arm.

After I was sure that there was nothing left to take in the front seat, I got back out and tossed the flashlight to Spec-4.
Then I laid the rest on the hood of the Humvee so Southard could stow them inside. As I started to walk around to the back of the cruiser, I saw a puddle of blood and several brass shell casings. A few feet away lay a Glock .40, with the slide locked back. That went in my belt.

Then I popped the trunk and started rummaging through it.
Most of it wasn’t worth taking. There were a couple stuffed animals lying in the corner. Most cops keep a box of toys in their trunk to give to kids they meet on calls. Sometimes it helps to calm them down. It was a great sentiment, but I didn’t think I would need toys right now. I was looking for things that might help us survive this mess. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help myself and tossed a stuffed Elmo doll to Southard.

“Elmo says shoot some zombies,” said Southard in a very good copy of the famous voice.

I grinned and returned to rummaging through the trunk. I’m glad I did too, because I found two duffle-bags. One was apparently the go-bag for the female officer that had been assigned to this car. It had an extra uniform and undergarments in it.

“Hmm, red thong?
Not the usual Law Enforcement issue,” I mused. “It must be a tactical thong.”

There was a pair of tactical boots beneath the uniform.
She had been about Spec-4’s size, so I took the bag. She might need the change of clothes. The second duffle-bag had extra gear in it. Four boxes of 12 gauge ammo in .00 buck, and five boxes of .40 caliber hollow points. There was also a pair of tactical gloves, a PR-24 night-stick, and an S&W M&P
[4]
in .40 in a concealable holster. The holster also held two extra mags for the M&P.

“Paydirt,” I mumbled.

I grabbed the two bags and started to walk away when something else caught my eye. I’d almost missed a major score. In a rack against the backseat was a Heckler and Koch range bag. It was partially covered by a rain slicker, so I nearly missed it. I opened it like I’d just found the Holy Grail. I whistled softly as I unzipped the bag and found an H&K MP-5, chambered in 9mm. The bag also had five extra loaded magazines for it.

“Thank you, All-Father,” I said as I snagged it.

“Wylie,” said Southard. “We’ve got company!”

I turned and headed back to the Humvee in time to see about ten zombies rapidly approaching the glass doors of the church.
While the doors had been enough to stop the one zombie in the cheap suit, I had no illusions about it stopping all of them. They immediately hit the door and began to try to force their way through it. It would only be a matter of time before they got through.

Southard grabbed the shotgun and ammo off the hood and dove back inside.
I tossed the bags to Spec-4 and held on to the MP-5. It went into the seat next to me as I climbed in. As I shut the door, the church doors exploded outwards in a shower of glass. Three of the zombies stumbled and fell, but the rest kept coming. I noticed that they were moving much faster than I had expected them to. In fact, they were starting to build up speed.

I fired up the engine and we roared back out of the parking lot, leaving the small crowd of zombies behind.
Most of them were hauling ass and tried to keep up with us, but to no avail. I named them
Sprinters
. The slower ones seemed to shamble along, so I called them
Shamblers
. They fell behind almost immediately. By the time we were passing the stoplight next to a waffle shop, I could barely see them in the mirror anymore.

Just as I was reaching the overpass that crossed over the interstate, I had to hit the brakes hard.
We screeched to a stop, narrowly avoiding running into an overturned pick-up truck. The entire bridge was clogged with abandoned vehicles. Glenstone was blocked for as far as I could see. All around us were signs of violence and death. Many of the vehicles had broken out windows and blood on the doors.

“Hand me the binocs,” I said, and held up my hand.

Southard handed me the binoculars and I stepped out of the Humvee.

“Damn it, Wylie,” said Spec-4.
“Warn me before you jump out.”

She popped back out of the turret to cover me while I surveyed the area.
It didn’t look good. I could see one of the cars that had left the Dollar store. It was only a few hundred yards farther up the road. They’d managed to get between some of the vehicles until they were trapped. They couldn’t go forward and there was no room to turn around. About twenty zombies were already surrounding the car.

I was about to tell everyone to grab their gear to mount a rescue when I saw the driver’s side window shatter.
Then the screaming began. The four occupants of the car were systematically dragged out by the zombies. I had to close my eyes when I realized that one of them was a child of about six. I couldn’t look any more. I lowered the binoculars and looked down. I felt like being sick. I forced myself to turn away and get back in the Humvee.

“We can’t get through that way,” I said.

“There’s no use in taking the interstate. It’s blocked,” said Spec-4, patting me on the shoulder. She’d seen it, too.

“Glenstone’s blocked,” I said.
“We can’t go that way. Any suggestions?”

“How about the road at the last stop light?” said Southard.
“We can catch it right there by the waffle place.”

“We can try it,” I said.
“Our only alternative would be backtracking all the way around the old cemetery.”

“
Waffle Road it is,” said Spec-4.

“We’re all gonna die,” whined EMT.

“Shut the hell up,” snapped Southard, giving him a dirty look.

I turned around in the middle of the road.
It was only about fifty yards back, and the first of the
Sprinters
was just arriving as we turned left next to the waffle place. I swerved and crunched the first three as I made the turn. The remaining three slammed into the side of the Humvee at full speed. I felt the impact jar the vehicle, but it didn’t cause us any damage. I can’t say the same for the zombies. Blood streaked down the passenger side rear window as they slid to the ground. Then we were heading down the road.

Behind the
waffle shop, the traffic had been thick. Abandoned cars clogged the road, but there looked to be just enough room to slowly pick our way through. We might have to knock the occasional vehicle out of the way, but for the most part it looked passable.

“If we’re lucky, we should be able to get through,” I said.

I should’ve known better. My luck wasn’t exactly legendary.

We picked our way through several blocks of traffic, passing a hotel and a bunch of apartment buildings.
The area was crawling with zombies. We kept going at a fairly slow pace, picking our way around cars until we were within sight of an intersection with a Stop ‘n’ Rob. There were several apartment buildings on our left hand side and I could see numerous zombies lying dead in the parking lot. At that point, I had to stop because the road was completely blocked with abandoned cars. I noticed that one of the apartment buildings had hastily constructed barricades blocking the entrances to the bottom floor stairs.

“Hey, look,” said Southard, pointing.
“Think there’s survivors in there?”

Before I could answer, we heard a gunshot and a bullet impacted with the side of the Humvee.
Then the bullets began to rain down on our vehicle from a wide assortment of weapons. I could see a group of
gangster wannabe’s
on the top floor balcony, shooting at us. They were using everything from pistols and shotguns, to a Tech-9 and an AK-47. EMT dove back into the floorboard and stayed there.

“Glad we’re in an Up-armored Humvee and not my Charger,” said Southard.

I recognized a couple of them right off the bat. I’d seen most of their faces in Bravo Pod, and had taken at least three of their mug-shots, personally. Most of them had rap sheets as long as my arm, with crimes ranging from drugs to armed robbery. One of them had resulted in the death of a college girl, but had somehow gotten thrown out of court on a technicality. Show’s what an expensive unscrupulous lawyer can do for you. Two of them had been arrested for selling dope to kids. They were both still on probation. If there really was any justice in the world, they’d all be in prison right now.

“I know most of those assholes,” I said. “Chuck, I bet you’ve arrested most of them at one time or another.”

“Yeah, I remember that fucker with the dreadlocks,” said Southard. “He spit in my face a few months ago.”

“Yeah, you
should
be glad we’re in the Humvee. They’d have shot at a cop car, too.”

“Don’t they know they can’t punch through this armor with gunfire?” said Spec-4.

I wasn’t worried about the small-arms fire, but the Molotov cocktail that hit the ground about twenty yards away got my undivided attention. It wasn’t even close, but it did catch a parked car on fire. The second Molotov was much closer, but equally as ineffective. If they hit us with one of those, then armor or no armor…it was going to do some damage. It might even catch our fuel tank on fire and kill us all.

“Wilder, light ‘em up!”

Spec-4 popped up out of the hatch and immediately brought her M-16 up to fire. A third Molotov cocktail hit about ten yards away and she had to take cover back inside. I swear I could feel the heat of off that one, myself. But seconds later, she popped back out and took aim. Before the little gang-banger bastard could throw another one, she shot him right between the eyes. He flailed around like he was in some sort of modern-dance video and hit the ground.

The fourth Molotov had been lit, but he died before he had the chance to throw it.
It fell and exploded right next to him. There must have been numerous other Molotov’s prepared and ready, because the fireball completely engulfed the balcony that they were standing on. Three others didn’t make it off the balcony in time to avoid the conflagration. Within seconds, the fire was spreading to the rest of the top floor and licking out the windows onto the roof. Without firefighters to respond, that entire block of apartments would burn to the ground.