The group headed up the bridge, and approached a car about thirty yards from the plows.
“When I’m in position, you start pulling them towards you,” Ernest said. “I want to make sure my aim isn’t anywhere close to the plows. Don’t want to run the risk of a ricochet. Hillbilly’s already been shot once.”
Emily turned to the tall cowboy. “How is your shoulder, by the way?”
“Stings a little, but I’ve been managing,” Glenn replied, rolling the offending shoulder.
Ernest rolled his eyes. “Don’t let him lie to you, it was a through and through.”
“In the shoulder?” Emily gaped.
“Never underestimate the positive side of super sizing every single meal,” Ernest said. “Provides a protective layer of fat everywhere.”
Glenn glared at him, but bit his tongue. Partially because he was right, but mostly because he didn’t want the city boy to get riled up. He needed to focus on shooting.
Ernest ran up ahead, taking up position behind the car. When he was ready, he gave them a thumbs up.
The group began yelling and clapping their hands, and Susanna put her fingers in her mouth and let out a deafening whistle. Everyone winced and turned to her in shock.
“Myles, no matter how far away from home you get,” Glenn drawled, “she’s always gonna be able to call you back with that whistle.”
Susanna winked. “Oh, he knows.”
They shared a laugh and then continued to yell and hoot. Before long, the zombies at the plow finally started to break away from the survivor and head towards the noise.
Ernest steadied himself, waiting for the creatures to cross his line of sight. As soon as they did, he fired and quickly reloaded with the lever action. His aim was pure, catching the zombies in the side of the head, dropping them to the ground.
His first five shots were perfectly precise, but the gunfire attracted a few creatures in his direction, preventing him from getting a clear shot.
Myles stepped forward with his hunting rifle, to help his comrade out of his pickle. He aimed and fired a few times, hitting the zombies that had turned towards the car. Two heads exploded, giving Ernest the chance to duck out of sight, peering through the windows to keep an eye on the cluster of undead.
The two shots worked well, drawing the attention back to them. When the bulk of them were across the safe fire threshold, Ernest popped back up and unloaded quickly. One by one, the ghouls dropped to the ground, and in a matter of seconds the whole battle was over.
The short man popped out from behind the car and strolled over to the pile of fallen creatures, making sure all of his headshots had been true. “We’re clear,” he finally reported, and the group headed over towards the plow.
The man on top cautiously climbed down, stumbling at the bottom and falling to his knees.
Susanna and Emily immediately rushed over to him, helping him back to his feet. His legs were wobbly, and he felt so thin and wiry through his clothes.
“Are you okay?” Emily asked.
“Wa… water…” he rasped.
Susanna turned her head. “Myles, we need water!”
“Got some in a cooler in the back of the car,” Glenn said.
“On it!” Myles replied, and sprinted back down the bridge to the car to grab a bottle, while the girls gently set Matt on the ground next to the plow so he could lean back against it.
He grimaced as his back pressed against the large tire.
“You’re okay now,” Susanna said, brushing his hair back from his face. “We’ve got you.”
Emily knelt in front of him. “Can you tell me your name?”
“It’s… it’s Matt,” he rasped.
“Just take it easy Matt,” Susanna said gently. “You’re safe now.”
“My mother!” he suddenly gasped, sitting up straight, a wild look in his eyes.
Susanna put her hands on his shoulders, and eased him back against the plow as he dissolved into a coughing fit.
“Take a breath,” Emily said, her voice level and calm.
He took some deep breaths, trying to steady himself, just as Myles returned with a bottle of water. He handed it to Emily, and she opened it for him. Matt took it and chugged half of it in a single gulp, breathing heavy and much clearer afterwards.
“Has he said anything?” Myles asked.
Glenn shrugged. “Just that his name is Matt, and something about his mother.”
“My… my mother and my little… little brother,” the distressed man on the ground said. “They need help.”
Susanna’s brow furrowed. “Where are your mother and brother?” she asked.
“They’re… they’re still in town,” he stammered.
She clenched her jaw and got up, walking away from the group, facing away. Myles shook his head, knowing she was fighting tears over having left somebody to die when they cleared out the town.
“Where are they?” he asked gently, taking a knee in front of the man.
Matt swallowed another gulp of water. “The Sandrock Inn,” he replied. “I don’t know what road it’s on, but it’s a… a few blocks east of the capitol.”
“You were really close to us a couple of weeks ago,” Emily said gently. “Why didn’t you let us know you were there?”
He shook his head. “We… we just got there last week.”
Susanna’s shoulders relaxed, and she turned back towards the group, calming her self-loathing.
“My… my mother, brother and I, we were trying to get through the city,” Matt explained shakily, “thinking… thinking it would be safer across the river.” He took another swig of water. “But… but we got trapped. There were way too many of those things. We… we took refuge in the hotel, hoping it would calm down but never… it never did.” He finished off the bottle of water, dropping it to the asphalt beside him as he pressed his palms to his forehead. “The food ran out… three days ago. I… I had to do something, so I went out to search for food. I ran into a big pack of those… those things, and kept coming west. When I saw the plows I thought… hoped… that someone was out there. And… and I was right!” He looked up at them. “Please… please, you have to help my mother and brother. They can’t survive much longer on their own.” He dissolved into sobs, sitting back against the tire and melting into a blubbering mess.
Emily rubbed his shoulder for comfort, but addressed her group. “We gotta do something.”
“You really want to go back into the city?” Glenn asked, running his hands through his dark hair.
She shook her head. “Want to?” she scoffed. “Hell no, I don’t want to go. But I think we need to.”
“Hell yeah we’re going in there!” Susanna snarled, cracking her knuckles.
Myles grabbed her shoulders, trying to calm the fire in her eyes. “Settle down hon, you’re no good going in there all pissed off.”
She pushed against him, trying to wriggle free, but he pulled her against his chest, kissing the top of her head, calming her.
Ernest clambered up on top of the plow, looking down the other side to survey the eight zombies milling about below. He aimed and popped each of them in the head in rapid succession like he was at a carnival firing range. He paused, looking both ways, and not seeing much of anything in the way of ghouls staggering about.
He hopped back down and rejoined the group. “There were a few of those things on the other side,” he reported, “but even after all the shooting we’ve done, it hasn’t attracted that many of those things.”
“They’re…” Matt stammered through his tears, fists clenched, “they’re out there.”
Ernest nodded. “I don’t doubt it,” he agreed, “but if we haven’t attracted any, they’re probably spread out pretty thin.”
“We’re fleet of foot,” Emily said. “We can get in and get out with no trouble.”
Glenn shook his head. “I think we should go get some of the boys from the ranch to help us out.”
“Please…” Matt
pressed his palms together in prayer. “I don’t know how much time they have!”
Myles shook his head. “Half of them are doing a supply run to Mott today.”
“That’s like a hundred miles from here!” Glenn exclaimed. “What the hell are they doin’ out there?”
The younger man shrugged. “Liquor store run.”
Glenn thought for a moment and then nodded in approval. “Yeah, well, that makes sense, then.”
“So, we’re doing this?” Emily said firmly.
Matt fell into another coughing fit, doubling over and clutching his stomach.
“Somebody needs to get Matt to safety,” Ernest declared. “He looks like he needs some rest and food.”
Myles reached down and took the man’s arm. “Susanna and I will take him.”
“What?” she snapped, crossing her arms. “No, I’m going in.”
“Hon, you’ll be pissed off,” Myles said gently. “You don’t need to be running around zombies.”
She clenched her jaw, and through clenched teeth, said, “But I can kill ‘em all!”
“I know that,” her fiancé said, holding up a hand. “We all know that. But you want to take care of people, right?” He waited for her nod before continuing, “Then let’s take care of Matt. They’ll get his family.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, and let it go, knowing he was right. This would be something that needed stealth, and she was too gung ho to deal with that today.
Glenn pulled out his keys, and tossed them to Myles. “Now, you make sure to take care of my baby,” he said, pointing a fat finger at the young man. “It’s my pride and joy.”
The younger man gave him a bewildered smile at the state of the old junker, but nodded.
“And if you guys could bring our truck up from the south of harbor town, that’d be great,” Emily added. “Get the sense that we’re not going to want to walk back after doing this.”
Susanna nodded firmly. “You got it, Em,” she said. “We’ll put it right here.”
Myles leaned down and hooked one of Matt’s arms over his shoulder, helping him up. They began to move, and then the malnourished man slipped to one knee again.
“Give me the keys,” Susanna suggested, “I’ll go get the car.” He tossed her the keys and she jogged off as the others began working their way up the snow plow.
“Thank you…” Matt gasped weakly. “Thank you, so much.”
Emily smiled down at him. “It’s our pleasure. We’ll get your family.”
“They’re on the fourth floor,” he said. “Room four eighteen.”
“Fourth floor, four eighteen,” she repeated with a firm nod. “Got it. And don’t worry, we’ll bring them back safe.” She hopped up onto the top of the plow, following the others.
Ernest did a quick sweep to make sure nothing was coming, and then hopped down to the ground first. He carefully approached an abandoned truck, and checked around and under it before hopping inside. He turned the key, but there was a clicking noise instead of the sweet rumble of an engine.
He slapped the steering wheel, clucking his tongue, and then got out of the car. “Battery’s dead.”
“Well, that’s a great way to start things off,” Glenn drawled, stroking his bushy beard.
Ernest poked him in the arm. “You need some exercise anyway, hillbilly.”
“With as much as you run your mouth, city boy, you should be in marathon shape,” Glenn shot back.
Emily sighed, shaking her head, trying to hide her smile. “This is going to be a long day.”
CHAPTER THREE
Emily, Ernest, and Glenn headed along the main road to the east towards the first major cross street in Bismarck. They had to get to the north east where the capitol was, and head over to the Sand Rock Inn. As they approached the front edge of the two, there was a pack of thirty zombies at the cross street about thirty yards ahead.
They immediately jumped behind cover on the side of the road.
“Well, this is turning out to be a grand idea,” Glenn muttered.
Emily pursed her lips. “We really need to find us some transportation,” she said.
“There’s a big neighborhood to the south of us,” Ernest suggested. “I know it’s in the wrong direction, but hopefully there are some vehicles there.”
Emily glanced at Glenn for his input.
The cowboy shrugged. “Well lead on, city boy, it’s your idea.”
Ernest studied the horde in the intersection, and then spotted trees to the south of them. “Let’s cut through those trees,” he said, pointing.
The others nodded and followed him as he broke from cover, leading them across the street. Glenn stumbled as they got to the road, his gun clattering to the ground, and some of the zombies turned to look in their direction, arms outstretched.
“Good job hillbilly,” Ernest muttered.
Glen didn’t respond, simply grunted in reply, and grabbed his gun, catching up to his companions as they darted across the road.
As they hit the tree line, noises came from within the dense wood. Ernest didn’t stop, knowing they didn’t really have any other option. He just raised his gun and moved through the trees, leading the pack.
There was a ghoul about ten yards ahead coming around a tree, scraping its exposed shoulder on the bark, leaving some rotting flesh behind. He didn’t hesitate, barely pausing his forward momentum, and fired, putting it down with a clean shot to the head.
The noise evoked more moans in the woods, putting him on edge. One by one, more zombies appeared, snarling hungrily at them through the trees, and he fired several more times, clearing them a narrow path forward.
“Keep moving,” he hissed.
Emily and Glenn kept up with him, staying right on his heels. They darted between trees, moving towards the clearing up ahead. As they approached the tree line, several creatures began to form a horizontal line blocking their path to the field.
Ernest stopped and readied his gun to fire, but Glenn bumped him out of the way, barreling forward and rushing the line of the undead. He lowered his good shoulder and plowed through two of them like a linebacker, sending zombies flying into the air.
The other two quickly flew through the hole before it could close around them, and the trio tore for the road by the first house. As they reached it, Ernest turned and fired a few shots, putting bullets into the front few zombies and creating a temporary road block.
“Where are we going?” he asked, keeping an eye on their staggering pursuers.
Emily and Glenn searched frantically, the latter finally pointing to a four by four pickup truck several houses down.
“Got a truck, let’s go!” he cried, and jogged towards it.
Ernest fired off a few more shots before joining them, the trio running for the vehicle.
“Check under the wheel wells,” Emily barked as they reached it.
Glenn furrowed his brow as she reached under the driver’s side tire, feeling around underheat. “For what?” he asked.
“A key, unless you know how to hot-wire a brand new truck,” she replied.
Glenn shrugged and took a tire, and they groped around, hoping to find a magnetic key box, the kind that was popular on late night infomercials. Ernest stood watch as they worked, refilling his rifle with rounds.
“I got nothing,” Emily said with a frustrated sigh.
Glenn stood up from the other side of the truck. “Me either.”
“You two go inside,” Ernest urged. “I’ll cover you.” He watched the forty or so zombies lumbering towards them, and his companions didn’t hesitate, running to the front door of the small one-story home.
Emily tried the knob, but it was locked.
“Stand back,” Glenn instructed, and as soon as she was out of the way, he plowed into the door. It didn’t completely open, but the door frame cracked, and he stepped back, throwing his body into it again, sending the door exploding into the house.
They rushed in, guns raised,
and ran through the house.
Glenn came around into the living room, and saw a figure in the corner, firing and taking its head clean off. He waited for a moment for any more noise, but there was none.
“I think we’re clear,” he called, and Emily returned from the kitchen.
“Same here,” she agreed.
He looked around the front lobby. “Where the hell would keys be?” he wondered.
“Check every tabletop, and by the front door,” she replied, and headed for a line of hooks on the wall next to a mirror in the front hall. There were no keys to be found. She headed for the master bedroom, scanning the dressers and night stands, but everything was empty.
Glenn went into the back bedrooms, finding a pink nursery and a makeshift office. He rummaged around on the desk, finding nothing but a stack of overdue bills and various post-it notes scattered about.
“I got nothing!” he called.
Gunfire erupted from outside, slow methodical shots, but it meant that the zombies were closing in.
“We’re running out of time,” Emily called back, “keep looking!”
“Where?” Glenn demanded.
She looked into the living room as he emerged on the other side of it, and then pointed to the corpse in the corner. He let out a sigh.
“Dammit. Just, dammit,” he muttered, and dropped to one knee to pat the corpse down. He gagged a little over the smell. “Christ man, have you been sitting under a tanning bed since you died?” he grunted, and hurried it up, vigorously checking every pocket and fold in the guy’s clothes. He finally found a set of keys in the right pocket of the jeans, and pulled them free. “Got ‘em!” he cried triumphantly, and stood up.
The gunfire picked up pace, and the duo ran full tilt out of the house. Ernest had climbed into the back of the pickup, standing his ground as the creatures hit only ten yards away. He was rapid firing at this point to hold them at bay.
Dead America The Third Week (Book 8): Dead America, Bismarck Pt. 2 Page 2