Zombie Rush 2 (11 page)

He could feel Charlie on his heels, trying not to trip over his dad’s feet as the truck came closer with each step they took. He felt, more than saw, Charlie raise his gun and almost panicked. Only about half of the zombies had noticed them as yet and a single shot before they reached the truck could not only doom them, but also leave them with their only gun empty.

“Save it, Charlie, hold your fire,” he said over his shoulder as he swung his staff and slammed his buckler into the head of another, not killing any of them but pushing them out of the way. They were grateful that the runners never hung with the hordes or they would be in a pitched battle already.

Dean spun so that his back slammed into the truck with a loud thump as Charlie went for the latch.

“It’s locked!”

“Fuck! In my coat pocket; get it,” Dean said, out of breath as he jabbed the blade in and out of eye sockets as quickly and smoothly as he could with his buckler arm caught between Charlie and the action. Charlie dug the key out and fired one of the barrels to clear two away from the door where he had to be.

He got the door open and jumped in, closing it as he watched his old man fight off several more and was just seconds away from being swarmed. His shotgun blast had alerted the rest, who were making way toward them.

Instead of panic, Charlie became the epitome of calm. He slid the key into the ignition and started the truck then he grabbed two more shells in his hand and opened the sliding window into the bed. He fired the remaining barrel at a zombie pressing in on his dad’s left side before opening the breech and replacing the rounds.

“Dad! Crawl under the truck!”

His dad instantly dropped from view. Charlie didn’t hesitate to fire one, then two, rounds of double aught into the heads of the Z’s, ignoring the ringing in his ears and pain in his shoulder as he dug out four more rounds. He reloaded and the door opened as his father climbed in.

“Back!” Charlie shouted and Dean pressed himself into his seat as much as he could while Charlie fired across his chest into the face of a stumbler.

Dean threw the truck into reverse and floored it, rolling over several of the undead. The truck was big and underpowered, but it was also heavy with a high ground clearance. Designed as a farm truck, it didn’t spin its wheels and it was nearly impossible for anything to stop it.

They broke free of the main horde, and Dean blew his horn to pull them away from the house where they suspected people were hiding in the basement. He swerved when he could or went over them, knowing that at that speed, the 80s-era truck wouldn’t be too damaged from the impacts. Nor would the zombies—unless, of course, he managed to get a head under a wheel.

A couple of blocks later, he cruised at a casual pace because the roads in that part of town were clear of zombies. He glanced at Charlie and was surprised by what he saw on his son’s face. It was a look he had never seen from him, or anyone before, and he didn’t know how to react.

“What’s wrong, Charlie? Are you bit?”

“No, I’m not bit.”

“What is it then?” Dean asked.

Charlie hesitated for a long time before answering. “I hated you.”

He paused, again letting that sentence ring through the air of the truck.

“I fucking hated you just two days ago and dreaded ever seeing you again. Then the world falls apart and you become … this. Where the fuck were you all those years? Why did you treat me like shit for so long?”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied.

Charlie wanted to say more but didn’t know what, so he sat there, caught between rage and awe. Several minutes passed before Dean spoke.

“I was out kissing ass, Charlie. Anybody and everybody’s ass I could kiss to get an extra buck. Your mom wanted a house on a private cul-de-sac, so I picked up more hours and got it for her. Then she wanted a Mini Cooper so I got it for her, and all I had to pay was an extra week away from home every quarter. She then wanted you in special courses because you’re so smart and gifted, but I wouldn’t know that because I was never home. She never considered getting a job so that I could back off a bit. Instead, I drove illegally on the side for cash from farmers and other truckers, but she didn’t care. I know she said she wanted me home more, but she didn’t. If she did, she would have done something to help; instead, she got a boyfriend. Why not? She could get everything in a divorce because I was never there to claim it.”

Dean paused as he wondered how much he should tell his fourteen-year-old son.

“I knew it. I couldn’t do anything about it until I got home that day and caught her, but I knew she was fucking other people. You knew it too, but you wouldn’t say anything to me about it.”

Charlie nodded his head and looked at the floor in shame, having to face his own guilt where his father was concerned.

“I know you hated me, Charlie. I could see it on your face, and I resented you for it. She didn’t hate me; I was her ticket to do whatever she wanted. I was a slave and I hated everything and anybody who made me into that slave. I couldn’t help it. I hated being on the road all the time, but then suddenly, I liked it. It got me away from her and her bullshit and you and your hatred. I hope that you can forgive me for that, Charlie.”

There was a long moment of silence between the two. Not uncomfortable, more a silence created to allow all of the information to sink in.

“The world has a way of stripping a man of all that he feels matters. Your integrity can get stripped from you multiple times on any given day, your faith questioned by the questionable. The one thing they can’t take from you is your pride. You could hold on to that in almost any circumstance … until you get home. Home to a wife who tolerates you. Home to the corner of one closet where you can keep your clothes. And home to a son who doesn’t care if you lived or died,” Dean said, not wanting to put that heavy of a burden on his son, but if they were taking the time to be honest, then honesty is what he was going to give.

He heard sniffling from the other side of the dark truck cab, and he knew that he may have struck too hard. But Charlie had grown a lot in the last two days and was able to compose himself enough to speak.

“I cared … for a while, anyway. But you always made me feel so small and weak. I’m not weak. I would go to school after you humiliated me and intentionally pick a fight with someone bigger than me. I lost a lot, but it somehow made me feel better.”

Dean laughed, much to Charlie’s surprise. “I guess like father like son fits here. I used to do the exact same thing with my stepdad. Until I kicked his ass, that is.”

“So I gotta kick your ass?” Charlie said with a smile.

“If we live long enough, then I’ll be happy to have you kick my ass.” Dean ruffed Charlie’s hair and they both smiled.

“In a way, it’s better now,” Charlie said.

“Some things are better now, I agree; just not enough to want the change, though. Hey, I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I’ll try to do better.”

“Yeah, me too,” Charlie replied.

“Oh oh, we got company,” Dean said as he looked into the rearview mirror.

Charlie turned to see three people in a race with five runners, and it looked like the runners were going to win.

“It looks like Jonah’s dad!”

“How many shells do you have left?”

“Eight, including the two that are in the gun.”

“So do we run and save ourselves, or start kicking some zombie ass?” Dean asked his son.

When Charlie immediately opened the door and stepped outside, Dean smiled and said, “Attaboy.”

They peeled out the doors like Starsky and Hutch, feeling pride and strength in the bond they were forming. As a team, they moved past the living runners who never even slowed down.

“Get in the back of the truck!” Dean shouted as Jonah stopped beside Charlie to catch his breath. Dean uncapped Shaaka and slammed the diamond-cut top of the thick wooden buckler down on the lead zombie’s head, causing it to collapse limply at his feet. Dean was in full adrenaline rush and never doubted for a second that he had cracked the skull, killing it in one swing. Jonah stared, wide-eyed, at the goo oozing from the broken skull until a single barrel blast from Charlie’s sawed-off shotgun jerked him back to reality.

Dean had just shoved Shaaka’s point through the eye socket of the next zombie when he heard both truck doors slam shut.

Charlie never wavered as he lined up his next shot on the closer of two remaining Z’s, suspecting what was happening but not believing it.

Dean wanted to break away and stop the inevitable but knew that would leave Charlie with one slug and two zombies to fight. He just didn’t have the physical weight yet, so Dean lunged, feeling his foot slip in the grey matter from the crushed skull at his feet, which brought his point down and into the chest of the last zombie. A killing blow to the living but barely a deterrent to the dead.

Dean slammed the heavy buckler into the head repeatedly until the neck snapped and the zombie fell to the side, its neck broken, body paralyzed.

The three of them stood together watching the truck speed off, the taillights getting smaller in the distance.

Dean turned to Jonah. “I’m guessing those weren’t your parents.”

Jonah shrugged. “Nope, never seen ’em before.”

Moaning from the approaching horde of stumblers started to overwhelm all other sounds, with the exception of Dean’s favorite word.

“Fuck!”

Chapter Nine

What It Is

“Ladies and gentlemen, once again we have Lieutenant Lisa Reynolds,” Tasha said and sat back in her chair, motioning for Lisa to start speaking. Lisa could tell as soon as she walked into the room that something was different between her and Tasha, but she didn’t know what. Her stance or posture seemed to be a little more guarded and there was a definite chill emitting from her suddenly cold irises.

“Hello again. I allowed some videos to be published that display what it is like out in the city right now. I didn’t try to hide it because it is what it is, and I need to be honest with all of you as to what lengths I will go to ensure our survival. The days of jaywalking tickets and probation violations are over. There are no jails. There are no judges or courts … no prison or Walmart. It is all gone and we are what remain.

“I don’t know why it’s clear to me as to what we have to do and why we have to do it, but it is. Unless, of course, I’m delusional—but that, my friends, is for you to decide.

“If so, then don’t follow me and have me arrested for killing that racist slaver because I deserve it. I looked him dead in the eye and pulled the trigger without regret because I knew … 
I knew
that every victim after today would be
my
victim, not his. Mine because I allowed him to continue to exist. Is that a God complex? I don’t know. I believe it’s the result of their own action more than anything else. We’re taught that every action will have an equal and opposite reaction. Well, physics just got real.

“If you choose to live like an animal, then people like me are here to make sure that you die like an animal. This is not my law or my rules; this is natural law. The sick must perish in order for the strong and healthy to flourish. That’s simply how it is.

“Let this be a warning to any of you who have not made it to the safety of the compound yet. There are gangs of drug addicts, murderers, thieves, and rapists out there looking to exploit you and your children. Slavery of many sorts is alive and well.

“There is a serial killer on the loose in the city right now. His name is Doctor Webber, a physician in Mount Ida. There are some walking around with his photo if you need to see it, but he is real and he will kill you in the most horrific manner and possibly even cannibalize you. His last victim was tied spread eagle on a building front. When the zombies came to feed, he watched, even delaying the inevitable just so he could revel in the man’s terror. He has blond hair …” Lisa continued with her description as Tasha made all sorts of disapproving eyes at her.

“Good people; unite and stay strong. And don’t let the scum left in this world bring you down. Thank you,” Lisa finished, and Tasha went right into music.

“What the hell is your problem?” Lisa snapped.

“My problem? Really … my problem, you say?” Tasha looked at Skit, who just shrugged, not knowing what was going on.

“That’s what I said; what is your fucking problem?”

“You walk through town killing anybody on a whim, and then you come in here and tell the people to do the same as you. Then you draw the attention of a serial killer to my station and ask what is wrong with
me
?”

“You are way out of line here, Tasha. They were slavers and rapists—and possibly murderers—that I killed out there.” Lisa reached into her pouch to pull out a piece of material which she threw on the table in front of Tasha.

“They were waving this, Tasha. Do you know what they would have done with you when they found you?”

“This? What is this?” Tasha asked as she lifted a corner of the flag.

“The official colors of the local Ku Klux Klan. You, being a pretty black woman, would have made a nice addition to their stables. Of course, they’d have to whip the uppityness out of ya first.”

“It is hard to believe that they still exist in this world,” Tasha said regretfully.

“This world? Or do you mean the world we had a few days ago? Because in
this
world they have free fucking reign until someone steps up and takes care of them. I am that someone, Tasha, and I took care of them. So judge me for it, or don’t judge me for it; it doesn’t really matter. Lord knows I am going to have to deal with a shit storm about this when I get back to the compound as it is.”

“Okay, okay … I’m sorry. What about the serial killer though? Should I come to the compound with you?”

“Can’t. You are way too valuable here doing what you’re doing. And for the most part, he supports you in this. After all, you’re attracting more victims to him, but that will also be his downfall. We’re sending down a rotation of twelve soldiers as we speak; they’re going to stay here with you for a while. With them and your wingmen, you should be all right. He’s not known for his courageous attacks,” she said.

“Do you think it was all that smart telling everyone about him? I mean, there could be some panic,” Tasha said, a little uncomfortable with how Lisa might react. She seemed to be on edge or hopped up on something. Something inside of the policewoman was burning hot, an intense energy that she could hardly restrain.

“I know how I’m coming off right now, Tasha. I realize that I am hitting some sensitive issues hard right now and may come off as calloused. People need to be afraid,” she said. “People need to feel fear, or they are not going to make it to the compound, and the compound needs as many bodies as it can get. Especially right now.”

“Why now, Lisa? What is so urgent? Why not take a moment and get it all set up?” Tasha asked.

“This is still the beginning stages. We have lost most of the people to this virus already. Soon—very soon—food will run out for the dead and they will start to wander. They will follow their nose just like Tonka would and their nose will lead them right toward food. We are food to them, Tasha. We have to be trained, supplied, and ready for them,” Lisa said, leaving Tasha staring at a wall as her mind worked.

Finally, she turned back to Lisa, her face twisted into an unrecognizable expression. “The Horsemen.”

“I’m being serious here, Tasha. Don’t go all religious with this, all right?”

“I know that you don’t believe, but a lot of us do and I am sa—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t waste your fucking breath, because I don’t give a shit what it is. It is just my job to fix it,” Lisa said, resolute in her conviction not to fall into any mumbo jumbo and simply deal with it.

“Now we can either build a holding pen for victims, where people sit back and wait to be air lifted to La Ti Da, which doesn’t exist, or we can establish our ground and take back what is ours, and for that, I need fighters—not sheep. But first, I need survivors. The ones who survive both the zombies and some brilliant, yet sick, butcher who masturbates to fear. Those are going to be the ones who set this world straight, and we don’t have the resources or time to waste on bottom feeders.

"Now, if you don’t want to help me anymore, I get that. You have already done enough to earn your place with us, so your home isn’t threatened. I would sure like you to be on board with me though and keep your beliefs to yourself.” Lisa’s tone or stance never wavered and she spoke as directly and honestly as she could, but her mind was made up; Tasha had to buy in or bow out.

“I’m with you, Lisa. Of course, I am. It’s all just a little hardcore for me, that’s all.”

“You and me both, my friend; you and me both.”

“You can’t stop me from expressing my views on the radio.”

“You are the source of news for all people right now, Tasha. Not just Motown fans and not just Christians. If you want to create a show that played for an hour then you had better represent all faiths, or we will push some needed people away.”

“I can do that. I would enjoy doing that. The Jihad perspective and Buddhist teachings; even Nostradamus’ quatrains.”

“And Atheists.”

“Atheists?”

“Oh yeah, we have a perspective on this too. Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

“So we headin’ back?” Skit asked once they were back on the streets. More and more often, they were seeing skid loaders and trucks instead of zombies and even ran across an assault force that had started clearing buildings. A few who did not know who she was even handed her pictures of Web, and for some reason, that made her feel as if she was doing her job. If she couldn’t protect them, she could at least inform them.

Lisa and Skit heard shouting from a building across the street, and as they moved in, Tonka flanked right. Sedge just watched, not knowing what to do. Lisa pushed through the people trying to get out of the building, only to end up in a lobby of sorts.

A mass of dead humanity was falling down an open staircase; only one guy swinging a four-foot chunk of rebar confronted them at the bottom. He moved like he wanted to know karate or judo but had gleaned his skills from watching Jet Li movies. The man’s long ponytail swung back and forth as he kicked and spun with an awkward grace that made Lisa think of Buck and the first time she met him. Buck, however, had been successful at keeping the infected at bay; this guy was too closed in and was soon going to be overrun.

“Skit, start swinging,” she said as she pointed out toward the far side of the room, wanting him to distract the crowd away from Ponytail. Tonka went with him as Lisa started to line up precise shots up close to the bobbing stream of hair.

She tried to clear out over his right shoulder, taking two out that were dangerously close to swarming the man.

“Step right!” she shouted.

The man did as she instructed but not nearly far enough for her to make the shot. Her eye was locked on a zombie that was moving with such distinct purpose, she knew it was going to score on his left triceps. He spun in a pseudo-karate move, almost putting his arm right in the creature’s mouth. It bit as she fired; she saw the spray from the bullet hitting his arm before entering the zombie’s brain via the roof of its mouth.

The man was frozen in place as he stared at the bullet wound in his arm. A large arm reached over Lisa’s shoulder, grabbing Ponytail by the collar and dragged him backward out the door. She heard Ponytail start to sob, which dissipated the farther away he got.

The room was open and Lisa started to pick her shots more carefully as she heard Skit grunting with every swing and Tonka dragging down bodies to snap their necks. The maneuver didn’t kill, but paralyzed the zombies and seemed to come way too easy to the canine. She switched magazines when they had ten or so left—none of which were runners—and it was like standing them up in a shooting gallery at the county fair.

Soon she and her team left the building only to find Ponytail on his knees as a woman brought a revolver down toward his forehead.

“For Norman’s love?” the woman with the revolver asked.

Ponytail nodded his head gently and pointed his eyes toward the ground.

“For Norman’s honor,” he whispered.

“Hold it! Wait, wait, wait one fucking minute here!” Lisa shouted and people gasped as they recognized who was amongst their group.

“What in the fuck do you think you are doing?”

“I’m bit,” Ponytail said to her with the dim light of resignation in his eye. “I choose to go with dignity, like Norman did.”

“First off, you weren’t fucking bitten. I shot your dumb ass because you wouldn’t move out of the fucking way. Next time I tell you to step right, step right, dammit.”

“Oh … I’m sorry,” Ponytail replied.

“It all right; I’ll get over it.” She meant it but for some reason, him apologizing to her for her shooting him struck a chord with the entire group and some chuckles rang out. “Sit down now and let me have a look.

“I am Lieutenant Reynolds.” He nodded, already knowing that. “Let’s take a look at your arm. The rest of you, I appreciate that you are following procedure, but be certain they are actually bitten before you take such drastic actions.” Her eyes landed on the woman who was to take the shot. She was visibly shaking while looking at man she was ready to shoot in the head.

“It’s all right, honey, he’s okay. What is your name?”

“Lois, Lois Talbot.”

“You were doing the right thing, Lois, so relax. What is your name, mister?” Lisa said in a chiding fashion.

“Paul Talbot,” he replied then added, “I like the new hair look, or lack of it.”

“Thanks, Paul Talbot,” she said, deciding she was going to call him P.T., although, for a completely different reason than his name being Paul Talbot. “Are you two husband and wife?”

“Siblings.”

“Damn, you got ice water in your veins, Lois. That is cold blooded. You too, P.T.; fending off the Z’s like that so the rest could get out … nice job,” Lisa said, which was merely just banter in order to calm the situation as their adrenaline settled down. “I’m going to call you off for the day though. The rest of your group can stay out, but you two I want back in the compound pronto.”

“I’m good; it is only a flesh wound,” P.T. said.

“This isn’t a Monty Python movie, P.T.; ordeals like this cause you to lose focus, especially if you’re not used to it. You need to relax for twenty-four or forty-eight, get some grub, and sleep. You can trust me on this or just do what I tell ya, pissing and moaning all the way. It doesn’t matter because it is what’s going to happen.”