Winchester Undead (Book 2): Winchester: Prey (12 page)

CHAPTER 27

Cortez, Colorado

February 16, Year 1

“I have no fucking idea where they found something like that!” Jake yelled.

Jake and Bill hunkered behind a concrete retaining wall, while automatic rifle fire strafed the ground above them. The plan to fight back against The Tribe was failing miserably. Seven of his men lay dead. Their school, their sanctuary, was under siege, and they were pinned down in an ambush while trying to sneak back into the school after a scavenger run. This was wrong on too many levels. The Tribe wasn’t supposed to win; they were the bad guys. Jake thought of Sara and his anger raged. His wife, his best friend, had been taken and was being held captive by the violent cult. If she were alive, that is. Most of the women who had taken refuge with Jake and Sara at the school were missing, either captured or possibly killed. The men who remained fought hard, but were armed only with axes, machetes, and improvised weapons. Those worked well against the zombies, but against The Tribe, Jake simply felt helpless.

Jason, the married teenager who was the first to seek refuge with Jake, had left a few minutes before, running away as fast as he could from the machine gun fire, zigzagging as he ran before ducking through a row of houses and towards a construction site to the south. The sound of a large diesel motor rattled through the silence. A manual gearbox ground and crunched with each shift, rattling the air with the approaching sound of an old semi-truck. Accelerating as quickly as the worn motor could muster, an ancient semi-truck burst into view, black smoke pouring out of the twin stack exhausts over the back of the cab as if the truck were burning coal instead of diesel.

The machine gun erupted into a new barrage of fire. Approaching from the rear, Bill and Jake watched The Tribe’s fire dance around the truck, but they couldn’t bring their rounds to target. The truck’s windshield shattered as the truck roared by the pinned-down men.

The automatic rifle fire abruptly stopped, the machine gun silenced. Jake peeked over the top of the retaining wall to see Jason climb out of the bullet-riddled cab with a bloodstained machete in his hand. Jason walked to the rear of the truck where the two ruined bodies of The Tribe’s attackers lay in grotesque horror, killed by being run down and driven over by the truck’s heavy wheels. Surprisingly, only one of the rear dual tires on the trailer appeared flat; the rest of the truck appeared serviceable.

Jason walked to the first man’s body and with a hard overhead swing cleaved the man’s head in two. He walked to the second body and repeated the same motion with his machete. Jake and Bill joined Jason and found the offending machine gun lying on the ground under the truck’s trailer, the barrel sharply bent.

“Damn, that would have been handy to have.”

“Sorry, Jake. This was the best I could come up with.”

“Jason, no, don’t be sorry. You did great. You saved Bill and me. But how did you know the truck would start?”

“I didn’t. I took a gamble. I remembered seeing this truck at the construction site while out on a scavenge, but we never investigated to see if it worked. We just assumed it didn’t work like all the other vehicles. But I figured that being old, it might be old enough to still work. I couldn’t think of anything else to try so that was all I had.”

“Well good gamble, let’s get your new beast back to the school. We’re going to have to figure out the next step.”

CHAPTER 28

Terlingua, Texas

February 16, Year 1

Indifferent to the end of the world, and just like before the EMP attack, the little girl of the Reed family rarely slept in to what could even be considered a normal time, although they had no working clock anymore. Bexar parted the curtains slightly and saw the eastern horizon growing faintly lighter, the sun just starting to rise. The moans of the undead had subsided during the night, and Bexar really hoped that a rat or a javelina or something had distracted them and led the zombies away from the cabin and his family.

Bexar pulled the curtains open a little further and saw some of the undead standing near the cabin as if they were in a trance, not moving, just standing there like they were waiting for something to happen. Keeley was smart for her age, but she was still a toddler, and Jessie worked very hard to keep her playtime quiet or at least quiet enough that she wouldn’t be heard through the thin, rock-constructed walls.

“Jess, I don’t know why they’re like that. Maybe because it was night time? But we’ve seen them move at night before.”

“Maybe because it’s really cold out there and they slow down in the cold? It’s really cold in here too.”

“Fine, start a fire, but keep it small in case we need to put it out in a hurry. And I don’t want too much smoke in the air above us.”

The small wood-burning fireplace in the corner of the living area still had a stack of small cut logs next to it with a pile of wood chips to help get the fire started. Before the fall of civilization, this would have been a romantic getaway destination. It only took a few minutes for the wood to begin popping, and soon Keeley joined her mother close to the fire, trying to chase the chill away.

“What are you going to do?”

Bexar stood with a grimace. His leg hurt—it really hurt—but it didn’t hurt as bad as he would have thought. As a cop, he’d always wondered what it would feel like to be shot and deeply longed to never find out. Thankfully, it had only been a grazing wound. He shuddered to think what would have happened if it had been a devastating shot like what happened to Amber, Malachi’s wife. Actually, he did know what could have happened—he would have died just as she had and hopefully Jessie would have been strong enough to put him down for good before his reanimated corpse could bite her or Keeley. The thought of being a corpse condemned to walk the earth in death made Bexar realize he no longer feared death. He feared becoming a part of the undead.

“I’m going to take the motorcycle and lead our new friends outside away from the cabin. Then I’m going to ride to Lajitas to see if I have any better luck finding us a new vehicle.”

“If you could get another motorcycle, I could ride with Keeley in my lap.”

“We really don’t want to do that. We would have to give up what little bit of gear we have left and we would be at the mercy of the weather, never mind having no protection from the undead on the roads at all. Besides, you don’t even know how to ride.”

“I figured you could teach me. Anyway, how come their motorcycles work when nothing else does?”

“I’m not sure. Malachi probably would have known, but I can say that the motorcycle I took from the guy I killed seems really old. I’m not sure what year it is, but I seriously doubt it has any electronics on it at all. Regardless, I learned to never underestimate a hard-core biker’s ability to cobble together some bullshit to keep a beat-up old Harley running with nothing but electrical tape and some barbed wire.”

Jessie ignored the comment. “How are you going to get to the bike with the undead standing around out there?”

“That I haven’t figured out yet, but I was thinking you could throw something out the front door while I sneaked out the back. But I don’t know what.”

Jessie picked up a fake plant in a small ceramic pot. “I bet this would make some good noise when it crashed and broke.”

Bexar smiled while he unpacked his go-bag to rearrange for a quick day-trip. Down to a single AR-15 between the two of them, Bexar took the majority of loaded Pmags, twelve in total. That left a few behind, but he was torn between carrying all the ammo he could and the weight if he needed to move on foot, limping as slowly as that may be. Bexar also chose his multitool, a stripped-down MRE, two bottles of water, the medical trauma kit, and the cheap binoculars he’d taken the night before. Bexar looked around the room and took one of the surplus green wool army blankets off the bed and cut a hole in the middle.

“Why did you do that? Now our blanket has a big hole in the middle.”

Bexar winked at Jessie before putting on his chest rig and shouldering his go-bag. He slung the rifle across his chest and put the big CM Forge knife back in the sheath on his belt next to his pistol. He tossed the wool blanket over his body, sticking his head through the hole that he’d cut in the middle. Some 550-cord made a quick belt around his waist to hold the wool poncho down against the wind.

“See, now I won’t freeze to death on the ride. If you didn’t notice, I don’t exactly have my heavy riding jacket or face fleeces with me, so I needed something. I should be home by sundown. If something happens and I’m not, hold the fort; I’ll be back soon.”

Jessie kissed Bexar before he limped to the back door. She took the fake potted plant in her hand. She glanced out the window to make sure there wasn’t a surprise right outside the door before opening it quickly and throwing the ceramic pot, fake plant and all, into the parking lot, where it landed with a loud crash. Bexar pulled his big knife and exited out the rear door onto the back porch. An undead teenager stood facing the desert, away from the door, in his underwear, looking a bit like he’d had too much to drink at an underage party. Bexar crept slowly behind the walking corpse and drove the knife into the back of his skull.

The body fell, the teenager’s ruined skull hitting the pavement and the knife falling with him, pulling Bexar off balance and onto the ground on top of the body. His right leg throbbed sharply from the sudden movement. Bexar rolled off the body, fighting back the urge to throw up. He stood as quickly as he could and brushed the maggots off the front of his poncho before wiggling the knife back and forth to free it from the skull. Working it loose, Bexar bent to wipe the blade off on the only piece of clothing the kid was wearing, a pair of underwear, but he noticed that the cotton briefs were caked and stained with blood and dried old shit. The thought hadn’t crossed Bexar’s mind before, but bodies release their bowels when they die and apparently that was true even if the body reanimated afterwards.

Bexar shuddered, brushed the remaining maggots off his poncho, and added to the gore by wiping his knife on the green wool. The old Harley was right where he’d left it and surprisingly there was no puddle of oil under it. It started without much effort. The straight pipe exhaust made Bexar’s skin crawl, the noise accosting his tactical sense of the absolute need to be quiet to avoid the undead. Side stand up, Bexar gently rolled on the throttle and blipped the motor a few times as he pulled past the front of the cabin to make sure that every pair of dead eyes were on him.

Regardless of the reason, Bexar was happy to be in the saddle again. Motor-cops are motor-cops because they love to ride, and Bexar was no different. He didn’t realize how much he had missed being on two wheels. Slowly, Bexar rode down the hill towards the highway, blipping the throttle often, leading the undead out of Terlingua like the pied piper. Once on the highway and with a little bit of time before the following mob of walking corpses could reach him, Bexar feathered the clutch, toed the rear brake and began riding in tight circles, tighter and tighter with each figure eight on the asphalt, the floorboards scraping the pavement. Bexar’s head snapped left and right with each turn. The undead continued to close the gap, relentless, so Bexar pointed the front wheel south, rolled on the throttle, and shifted gears. Each time his left heel kicked the shifter into a higher gear, Bexar grabbed another handful of throttle, riding faster and faster while laughing, able to forget his worries for just a short amount of time with an early morning ride through the desert.

Study Butte, Texas

Two motorcycles riding side by side slowed and stopped in the middle of Highway 118 where it intersected with Highway 170. A motorcycle lay in the road, mostly burned. The undead near the burned motorcycle took notice of the new arrivals disturbing the peace of the feeding dead and began shambling towards the two bikers.

“DD, isn’t that Buzzer’s bike?”

“Yeah, and what’s left of that asshole is still under the bike. Fuck, man. Russell is going to be pissed.”

Before the walking corpses could reach them, the two riders turned around on the highway and rode back to the park as fast as they could.

Near Lajitas, Texas

The scenery of the highway meandering through the desert was incredible. The mountains in the distance, the sun rising over the desert floor … Bexar would have really enjoyed the ride if the need to find a vehicle and get back to his family wasn’t his immediate thought. It was a blessing that they were in such an isolated part of Texas. The highway was nearly devoid of any abandoned cars or trucks and Bexar didn’t see a single undead walking on the highway. He shuddered to think what Waco or Dallas was like now.

Bexar passed a fireworks stand on the side of the highway outside of town and stopped the bike. December 26. He hadn’t thought about the fireworks stands being open, selling for New Year’s Eve when the attacks came. Bexar found the stand completely abandoned, but hundreds of Chinese-made fireworks remained on the shelves. Bexar grabbed four big boxes of Black-Cats and a box of sparklers and stowed them in a saddlebag on the still-running motorcycle. Movement from across the highway caught Bexar’s attention. Two elderly corpses walked towards him.

“Loud pipes save lives, my ass. All they do is call the dead to the hunt!” Bexar said out loud to no one before gingerly climbing back on the bike, his right leg still throbbing, and continuing his ride to Lajitas. A handful of modern trucks were parked in the lot for the state park’s visitor center and Bexar really had no desire to investigate it by himself—especially after the fiasco of the first day he and his friends had upon arrival into Big Bend. That memory was still raw. Bexar continued to ride until reaching the edge of Lajitas, near where the resorts were located just off the highway. He rode the motorcycle off the road and parked it on the side stand behind the sign for the Maverick Ranch. Even with basically no chance of passing traffic, he wanted the bike to be slightly hidden from anyone who might pass. So far every other survivor he had met wasn’t someone who wanted anything good. Bexar began towards the highway before returning to the bike and stuffing a small box of Black-Cat firecrackers in his cargo pocket.

Bexar walked in the middle of the highway, approaching the local resort and spa on his left, his right leg throbbing with each step. He turned to walk into the parking lot, uneasy about the hotel and buildings. He didn’t see any movement, but that didn’t mean he was alone. He felt eyes following him through the parking lot. Bexar pulled the front of his blanket poncho aside and held his rifle at the ready.

The landscaping near the entrance to the parking lot had an old wagon in it. Bexar moved to the wagon and crouched down, trying to stay concealed from anyone at the hotel while he tried to figure out his next step. Bexar couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, but there was no movement that he could see. Retrieving his binoculars, Bexar scanned the parking lot. He counted twenty-three vehicles in all, but not one of them looked old enough to have survived the EMP. Bexar saw a new, well-outfitted four-door Jeep Wrangler with two fuel cans on a rack by the spare tire. If he could find a vehicle, he needed fuel.

Bexar stowed the binoculars and crept slowly around the decorative wagon and into the parking lot, careful to stay away from the vehicles and anything that could have a walking corpse hiding behind it. A decorative fence separated the parking spots, so Bexar couldn’t easily cut between parking spots; he decided to walk down the edge towards the Jeep. Parked next to the Jeep was a newer Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows. Bexar edged up to the back of the Jeep and gently tapped on the metal Jerry cans with the back of his knuckles. One of the cans still had gas in it!

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Bexar unlatched the gas can and set it gently on the pavement. Behind him, something slammed into the glass of the Tahoe with a wet thud, startling him. He fell backwards over the metal gas can with a rattling crash. Suddenly, from between the buildings, the feeding call of the moaning undead erupted in the still air. In the rear window of the Tahoe, a child was slamming her head against the glass. Bexar looked again and finally realized that the child was not living; she was beating her head against the glass trying to get her next meal.

The first undead appeared from between the cars by the building. Bexar raised his AR and fired two rounds. The undead body dropped to the ground, no longer moving. The muzzle of Bexar’s rifle followed the movement caught in the corner of his vision. He aimed two more shots and another walking corpse fell to the ground. More moans filled the air. Dozens of undead began to appear, shambling from around the buildings of the resort and the vehicles in the parking lot, from nearly every direction. Bexar dropped his rifle to hang on the sling and pulled the firecrackers out of his pocket and his old Zippo out of his other pocket. He lit the fuse and paper before throwing the Black-Cats towards the approaching undead.

Bexar grabbed the fuel can and jogged as quickly as he could, limping in pain, back towards the motorcycle as the firecrackers filled the air with noise and violence. He cut the corner across the landscaping towards his motorcycle and barely missed the outstretched bony hands of an elderly corpse. The undead face flashed in his memory, ears missing, bottom lip missing and dried blood covering the front of the man’s sweater vest.