Undead L.A. 2 (20 page)

“No,” Chad answered. “I think now that they have our smell they'll just keep coming until they get through the door.”

“You don't know that,” she shot back, her voice quivering.

“You're right,” he admitted. “I don't have a clue what's going to happen. I'm just glad that I'm right here with you when it does unfold.”

A loud thump on the other side of the wall made them both jump. Chad laughed nervously, shaking his head in disbelief at how things were turning out.
 

“So with the whole world ending, and flesh eating zombies waiting to pick the meat off our bones like a Thanksgiving turkey, you don't regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“I mean, you didn't have to come back for me,” she said meekly. “You could have stayed where you were safe and let the soldiers worry about how to extract me. You really don't regret it?”

“No,” he said in a steady voice, staring her in the eyes. “I don't regret it.”

“Not even a little bit?” she pried.

“Not even a little bit,” he repeated confidently.

“You don't have to say that just to make me feel better,” she told him, her eyes searching his for any sign of second thoughts, and coming up short.

“I'd rather die a million times by your side then live a single life without you, baby,” he assured her, leaning in and softly kissing her lips. “We said forever, right?”

“Forever and ever,” she sighed, a tear escaping her eyes.

He reached over and wiped it away without a second thought.
 

“I sure am going to miss the showers in the survival bunkers,” she laughed, then bit her lip. “The one at your place always runs out of hot water about halfway through washing my hair.”
 

“You didn't seem to mind earlier,” he taunted. “Come to think of it, you didn't even seem to notice.”

“The showers they have down below the mountain are like the ones at some kind of fancy hotel,” she said, her eyes going unfocused as she loses a part of herself in a wonderful memory. “The day they took me I sat in there for almost three hours, crying and thinking about how to get back to you.”

“I guess I'll never know how that feels now,” he stated. “I wasn't there long enough to take one.”

“I don't know what I ever did to deserve you,” she said, leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I'm so lucky to be with you.”

“We'll figure this out,” he promised her, squeezing her hand and trying to make himself believe it as well.

“I know we will,” she agreed, hugging him with every last ounce of strength she had. “We have to. We just have to.”

Chad knew they were just words, that there was little chance of things turning out well for them, but he did his best not to think about it. He let his mind wander back to the safety of the past, back to just twenty-four hours earlier when he'd made the choice that had left him and his lover smack dab in the center of the zombie apocalypse, praying to be rescued.

The growling outside the door intensified as they huddled together.

You didn't have to come back for me
, she'd said.

But he did in more ways than one. He knew that, too. It wasn't just finding her that drove him from the bunker, it was getting away from
them
.

* * * *
 

Chad had been working at the club, just getting set up for the night, when a detail of armed soldiers had burst in as if they were securing a hostile village of enemy combatants in a remote part of Pakistan. He'd shaken his head in disgust at the sight of them, knowing instantly that they were there about Skylar. A bitterness began to blossom as all the pain he'd been trying to ignore came flooding back in.
 

When you're in love and things ain't going well it's like the whole world is a thorn bush
, he thought.
Everything cuts you, no matter which way you turn. Just like everything somehow reminds you of the one person you can't have after they’ve left you.

The lead soldier approached him with his weapon drawn.

“Chad Kastin?”
 

“Who wants to know?” Chad shot back, looking past the soldier to see several uniformed cops standing at the door as well. Their presence was a surprise, since usually it was just the G.I. Joes that Skylar's old man would sic on him when he felt like pulling a power trip.

He's never gone so far as to involve the local authorities in the past
, Chad realized, sensing for the first time that something was off.
 

“Mr. Kastin, my name is Sergeant Major Timothy Underwood,” the solder said as he locked his piercing grey eyes on him in a menacing stare, his weapon and those of his men still trained on the massive former fighter. Chad was used to other guys being threatened by his size, not to mention the heavy tribal tattoos he had running from his wrists all the way up to and around his thick, muscular neck. He just wasn't used to trained warriors sizing him up, and feeling nervous at what they saw.

“Good for you, pal,” Chad said, unimpressed. “But you and your friends will have to wait like everyone else until we open at six. Sorry, Timmy. I'm still getting set up for the night. Come back later.”

Chad could tell immediately that the Sergeant Major was both shocked and disappointed not to see Chad's disrespectful demeanor change once he learned he was dealing with a high-ranking officer. He got the feeling this man was used to having other guys kiss his ass once they knew who he was, but it wasn't his style.

If this guy expects me to buckle under pressure he's in for a surprise
, Chad thought with some amusement.
I don't rattle that easy, soldier boy
.

“I've been charged with delivering you to General Franks,” the Sergeant Major said, ignoring Chad's dig. “Please come with me.”

“You're wasting your time,” Chad shot back. “Skylar pulled a disappearing act on me about two weeks ago. I haven't seen or heard from her since. And you know what? It's probably that prick's fault if you wanna know the truth. Feel free to tell him I said that! Now if you don't mind, I've got a bar to get set up before happy hour hits.”

“Time is of the essence, sir,” the Sergeant Major testily snapped back. “You can come willingly, or we can bind and gag you, but make no mistake about it my big friend, you are coming with us.”

The soldier took a menacing step forward and Chad felt himself involuntarily raising his fists in response. It was an impulse drilled into him by his first trainer back when he was just learning how to fight as a snot-nosed teenager living over
 

the hill in North Hollywood. Freddie used to smack him upside the head over and over until Chad got to the point that just seeing him made his fists curl, and he’d spring up like a dueling Jack-in-the-box. A dry laugh unexpectedly tore out of him at the memory of those days, how scrawny and pathetic he had once been. He'd been molded into a hell of a fighter in just a few short years.
 

“This is your last warning,” the Sergeant Major barked, stepping back and pointing the weapon at him. “This ain't the ring, champ, and guess what? You're not the real deal. You never were.”

The return dig wasn't lost on Chad. Back when he'd been on a winning streak that earned him respect from topnotch contenders, ESPN had done a write-up on him calling him the next Evander Holyfield. All of that was shattered after a competitor spiked his drink one night at a club. He'd blacked out and woken up in a jail cell with the worst headache of his life. Before his bail hearing, his lawyer informed him that he'd run up a tab and refused to pay it, roughing up the waitress and several security guards. The police were called, and when they arrived Chad allegedly went into full Beast Mode according to several eyewitnesses. When it was over he'd been cuffed and dragged to the back of a cop car, but not before breaking one cop’s leg and leaving another officer in a coma with possible brain damage. Chad told his lawyer that he didn't believe a word he was saying, but his counsel had brought along the morning paper to show his celebrity client that he'd made the front page of the L.A. Times. It was the end of his career, plain and simple. After seeing the video footage, he pled down to aggravated assault and ended up getting a huge fine and five years probation, narrowly avoiding doing time on account of being able to prove that someone had slipped him a Mickey Finn. That hadn't mattered to Freddy though, who had kicked him out of the gym for life.
 

After that, he'd found his way into another life for a while, one that centered on collecting money and doing security gigs for shady people with too much cash. He knew for a fact that some of his employers were drug kingpins and arms dealers, but he also knew he didn't want to give up his newly leased Phantom or his penthouse apartment. All the jobs were terrible, no doubt about it, but there was one that was decidedly worse than the rest—so bad in fact that it had driven him out of the business side of the criminal underworld and into bartending instead.

“In fact, the only reason you're not rotting behind bars right now serving life with all the other dirt bags up in Chino is because that cop lived,” the Sergeant Major continued. “As far as I'm concerned you're no different than those animals.”

He's right and he's wrong,
Chad mused.
For a while, I was one of them...before I turned things around that is
.

He'd been in the middle of a big MDMA deal—over a hundred thousand pills of pure ecstasy—when things had gone wrong. They were up on Mulholland waiting for the product to arrive, the jet black SUV parked facing down towards the San Fernando Valley side. Chad and two other guys were only there to make sure things went smoothly for the contact who'd set up the handoff—a low level street dealer by the name of Slim Buddha, who bore a striking resemblance to Drexl Spivey from True Romance. The trouble started when Slim became squeamish and began insisting that everyone do a line of cocaine with him to prove they weren't cops. Chad didn't have patience for that kind of nonsense, and didn't plan on inhaling God-knows-what to prove anything to anyone. He made his feelings known and things quickly devolved, with Slim brandishing a .38 and threatening to dump him over the side of the hill into the bushes. Before Chad had a chance to find out if the asshole was serious, an ambush team that had been hiding in the bushes along Mulholland emerged and surrounded the car, AK-47s drawn and ready. Chad fought his way out, tackling and disarming the one closest to him before knocking him out and taking his weapon. He'd fired a volley of warning shots into the air that caused the others to momentarily scatter, but there was serious money in play and he knew it wouldn't hold them off long. He bolted in the confusion and never looked back, running down Coldwater Canyon towards Ventura Boulevard in the dark, and praying he wouldn't get run down by club kids or eaten by coyotes along the way. He'd been picked up by a kind elderly couple in an old silver Volvo, and dropped off at Du-par's at the bottom of the hill. The next day he'd gone out and gotten the gig at the club as the door guy
slash
bouncer. It meant leaving behind the lavish lifestyle he'd grown accustomed to, but it also meant he didn't have to worry about being murdered at work, at least most nights. He'd worked his way up to tending bar, then becoming manager. Things hadn't been so bad after that.

I've only seen a gun once in this club before right now
, he thought, realizing that the soldiers and the police were all pointing their weapons at him now. His fist quickly became open palms as he raised his hands up in surrender.
All they need now is the tiniest signal from my former fan, Timmy, standing there and they'll light my ass up like a Christmas tree, especially the boys in blue.

He knew it was the last time on Earth he should be cracking wise, but despite the seriousness of the situation, or perhaps because of it, he just couldn't help himself.

 
“Gee, fellas,” Chad said sarcastically, “no need to blow a gasket. If Big Daddy needs to see me so bad that he is willing to send a squad of goons to come get me, I guess I better see what he wants. I'm just telling you, he's going to be disappointed.”

“Not by me and my team,” Underwood assured him, motioning with his automatic rifle for Chad to step out from behind the bar. Chad complied, walking slowly towards the men with his hands still up. One of the police officers came over and cuffed Chad's hands together in front of him.

“Is this really necessary?” Chad asked the man as he cinched the cold metal restraints in place.

“It's just a precaution,” Underwood told him, placing his hand on Chad's shoulder and heading towards the door at a fast clip. The sun was just setting and the light made Chad squint as they hurried him across the parking lot and into a waiting Humvee. Underwood slapped the top of the vehicle, then spoke into a walkie.
 

“The package has been secured,” Underwood barked. “We are in route to home base. ETA fifteen minutes. LET'S GO! ROLL OUT!”

The vehicle was moving before the rest of the soldiers were even aboard. The police cars drove out in front with their lights and sirens on like a celebrity escort. For a moment Chad felt like he was in some action adventure movie, like he'd been called in to save the end of the world. The only thing missing was the camera mount on the front of the military vehicle and a director yelling, ACTION!
 

Like a Jerry Bruckheimer film
, Chad thought,
or some action blockbuster by that asshole, Joel Silver.

The caravan made its way up and over to Santa Monica Boulevard, following it down through West Hollywood and the tall glass buildings of Century City, on into Santa Monica proper. They turned on Ocean Boulevard, heading past the 3
^rd
Street Promenade traffic and the Santa Monica pier with the Ferris wheel glowing and lit up, and headed down the onramp to Pacific Coast Highway. Chad was shocked at how quickly they were able to get to the water from the heart of Hollywood. In normal traffic conditions it might take as long as an hour to an hour and a half to go the same distance. Of course, having a police escort and an armored vehicle full of soldiers wielding automatic weapons significantly helped in that department. No one challenged you for the lane or cut you off when you were legally armed to the teeth, not even the pricks in their newly leased Mercedes.