DEAD Snapshot Box Set, Vol. 1 [#1-#4]

by Brown, TW

  Kevin was about ten feet from the side door that opened to the storage area where the ammunition was kept when a young man emerged from a single door beside where a pair of cars were parked. That single door actually went into the main part of the complex.

  “What do we have here, fella?” the man asked as he took off his ball cap and wiped his forehead.

  “Actually just here to pick up some stuff,” Kevin replied casually.

  “Excuse me?” The man pulled up and regarded first Kevin and then Bob who had altered his course from the location of the ammunition and was now headed towards him. “What would you be picking up?”

  “Ammunition of course,” Kevin replied with a laugh. That had been just enough to get the man to look his way and take his eyes off of Bob who was now only a few strides from him.

  As soon as the man’s head turned that fraction, Bob had a knife in his hand. He jumped up onto the small landing just as the man was turning his attention back. The knife flashed and then plunged into the unwitting fool’s throat. Bob pulled it out, guided the man to the ground, and then started back for Kevin.

  By then, Joe and Mark had crossed the rest of the distance and reached the entrance to the ammunition’s storage room just as Kevin opened the door. Kevin stepped inside and gave a pleasant nod to the lone woman who was standing in front of a stack of crates that went to the ceiling. She had a clipboard in her hand and was busily jotting down something.

  “Can I help you?” she asked without even a drop of concern in her voice.

  Kevin was glad that they had not only gotten cleaned up, but they had also been given a fresh change of clothes. He was actually wearing a Liberty High School football jersey. The black did an excellent job of hiding the blood.

  “Here to help you with the inventory,” Kevin lied.

  “Kinda late for that,” the woman snorted. “Figures help would show up after I got most of it done.”

  “Oh,” Kevin could not suppress the mirth in his voice, “we aren’t here to count.”

  Just then, Bob entered behind him. The woman’s expression changed instantly. Kevin turned and saw a slash of bright red blood that had sprayed the once-white tee shirt that Bob had donned. He turned back to the woman, stepping aside to allow his friend to do what he did best.

  Grabbing the first box, Kevin actually winced. Bob was astride the flailing woman, hands locked around her throat as he allowed her to slowly wilt to the ground under his grip. Joe and Mark hurried in and did not need to be told what to do. That was just another thing that Kevin believed put his group of four ahead of an entire town: nobody needed to be told what to do. He supposed that having sign-up sheets and that sort of thing might be fine for some folks, but it simply wasn’t his cup of tea.

  They found a pallet jack and started loading it. A moment or two later, Bob fell in and began to help. They had the first load out and were piling it into the back of the open cargo bay when the sounds of approaching vehicles could be heard.

  Kevin recalled something about that cop leading a group out to bring in more trucks for that silly barricade and considered shrugging it off. He had climbed up into the bay and sent Bob and Joe back to get the next load. Mark was just shoving another crate in when something about the approaching engines got Kevin’s attention: they were slowing.

  “Dammit all to hell,” he swore, causing Mark to look up at him.

  “Problems?” the large man rumbled.

  “I think we’re about to have company. Go grab the others…I think we are gonna have to maybe fight our way out of this.”

  “What?” Mark turned back towards the road as a convoy of various large vehicles slowed where he and Joe had parked their rigs. “Aww, man.”

  “I said go get the others, Trunk!” Kevin snapped. “Let me do the talking.”

  Mark dropped the crate he’d been holding and took off at a jog for the storage shed. Kevin hurried to the cab of the truck and grabbed his binoculars. Standing on the step of the driver’s side, he brought the glasses to his eyes.

  “Fuck me runnin’,” he cursed.

  He saw a few people climb out of some sort of earth mover and a cement mixer. After a small meeting at the dump truck in the lead, they jogged over and climbed into the cabs of the rigs carrying their supplies. He saw the chief lean out the driver’s side window of the big dump truck in front and signal practically right at him.

  “That answers that,” Kevin sighed.

  Joe, Mark, and Bob emerged from the doorway. Mark and Joe both cast concerned glances back towards the road where the convoy was now moving again. It did not go far and Kevin felt his stomach churn just a bit more. They were parking across the exit. There would be no way out now.

  “New plan, boys.” Kevin climbed out of the cab and drew his pistol. “Time to split up. Trunk, you come with me. Bob and Joe, you guys cut through those woods.” He pointed to the right. “Make your way out of their little perimeter and get to the highway. There should be plenty of old beater trucks in that shitty little town that can be hotwired. Meet up at that BI-LO in Easley. We can re-group and figure out what to do from there.”

  The two men nodded and took off at a jog for the trees. Mark stayed silent until they vanished over the edge of the pavement and into the tall grass. “Why are we going back towards Greenville? That place is a—” he began, but Kevin cut him off.

  “A death trap? Yeah, we aren’t going that way. I think maybe we would be better off if we ditched those two and took off on our own.” The big man seemed confused and his eyes darkened a little. “Problem, Trunk?”

  “We’ve been like brothers for a long time, Kev,” Mark replied.

  “We can discuss this later.” Kevin gave the other man a shove. “Time to run.”

  The pair ducked back around the building and headed south. They were in the trees just as the sounds of massive diesel engines rumbling to a stop were heard.

  Kevin ducked under some branches and began to weave through the dense growth. He could hear Mark already wheezing behind him.

  The guy has a massive chest and huge arms, but he can’t run worth a damn, Kevin thought with a hint of annoyance.

  They had not gone far when he spotted a clearing up ahead. Through the trees he was able to make out the shapes of gigantic power line towers. He thought that he might have a better idea about where they were now. Unfortunately, if they turned to the right, they would come out right by the school in just a short distance. The other way was the same direction he’d sent Bob and Joe.

  He was weighing out his options when a voice shouted from his left, “Stop where you are and put your hands in the air.”

  “How many times have I heard that command?” Kevin muttered.

  ***

  Chief Gilstrap was pretty sure he was angrier at himself than anybody else. He’d been about as irresponsible as he could have possibly managed. In his opinion, he had acted just like the bumpkin, backwoods cop those four men had assumed him to be. He’d been a regular country mouse since this whole nightmare began.

  Despite all he’d seen, despite the little he’d learned from a handful of movies, he had just not taken this seriously. Maybe he kept hoping that the government would get a handle on things. Sure, power was out, media outlets had spewed warnings in the last days, but he refused to believe that the world was going to be wiped out by zombies. That was just not possible.

  Now his community was paying the price for his negligence. He had allowed absolute strangers to just waltz in and join perhaps the singular most important mission that the community was undertaking—the gathering of food. Sure, he hadn’t sent them alone, but he had allowed all of them to go out together.

  “Those are our trucks!” Jonathan blurted, pointing at two big rigs sitting just before the intersection with South Norman Street.

  The chief pulled over and grabbed his portable radio. “Ivan, you on?”

  “Right here, chief,” a voice replied almost instantly.

  “I think
we have a problem.” He related what Jonathan had told him as well as a short version of what he’d seen on that horrible recording of the massacre at the market. “I’m at the door and window factory. It looks like they drove one truck right to the fucking ammo storage. I don’t have eyes on anybody yet, but I am going to move in. I need you to come in from the south if they try to make a run through the woods. I know this is going to go down fast, so grab who you can and get moving. I am going to send part of my detail to grab the two rigs these assholes left beside the road. I’ll send them north on Norman and have them circle back to Peachtree. That should cover their most likely route of escape.”

  “I’m already on the move, chief,” Ivan replied. “I have a few men headed for Highway 123 just in case.”

  Adam leaned out his window and gave the word for everybody to get going. One of his team called out, “Where you gonna be?”

  Looking over to the big truck that was pointed out obviously to expedite their departure, he thought he saw movement from back by the ammunition storage. “I am going to block the exit and then a few of us are going to go in on foot and take these animals down.”

  A moment later, he was climbing out of the dump truck. When he drew his pistol, it dawned on him that he had never once found the need to pull out his gun for a call during his entire career in Liberty. He had laughed at the shows on television where cops seemed to have their weapons out of their holster more than in. His wife had told him that he should consider it a blessing. Truthfully, he did. He saw nothing exciting or rewarding about taking another human life. It was possible that he might be about to take four in a very short while.

  He had five of his team with him. He’d told Jonathan to stay in the truck, keep it running, and lay on the horn if he saw anything. He’d been happy when the young man had not made a fuss or insisted on coming along. Besides having the same doubts he had regarding the four men and one woman following him as he hugged the wall of the long building, Jonathan was wearing a cast on his right arm; that made him pretty much useless in a fight.

  He moved to the end of the building and peeked around the corner. The semi was still running, the back still open, but there were no signs of anybody moving around. Edging a bit further out to get a better look, his eyes lit upon a body sprawled on the ramp that led from one of the doors that opened to the main building. He noticed the large pool of dark fluid spread out in a lopsided halo around the corpse.

  It was Isaiah Newkirk. He would deal with his guilty conscience later. The kid’s face still had an expression of surprise and pain etched into it. He held up a hand to signal everybody to stand fast. Having been out in this insane zombie infested countryside with these people for a while, he was confident that they knew what his gesture meant. He didn’t have time to check as he ducked low and dashed for the storage building.

  He edged around the corner and then hurried down the length. Rounding this corner would put him right by the entrance. Pistol at the ready, he stayed low to minimize his chances of being shot—people shooting at adult-sized targets automatically tended to fire high. Holding his breath, he risked a look and saw the open door. Still on alert, his body a spring being tightened almost to the point of snapping, he made it to the door. Looking inside, he saw legs sticking out from beside a stack of crates.

  He listened for a few more heartbeats and was only able to hear his own blood pounding in his ears. He ventured inside, but it only took him a few seconds to ascertain that the place was empty except for the dead body on the floor. He didn’t have the luxury to do anything other than glance and confirm that Gretchen Criss, Granny Criss’ daughter, was dead. Her eyes were dull and staring up at the ceiling without seeing anything.

  He rushed out and waved his team forward as he moved to the next corner of the main building and took a look. If these four tried to slip around the building and back up to the road, Jonathan would’ve spotted them by now and laid on the horn.

  Knowing that Ivan would be coming up from the south, that left east. Motioning to his team, due east was the direction that Adam Gilstrap took off in. He stayed cautious, but also knew that he needed to move with urgency and purpose. That was the only way that he was going to have any chance at catching these murderous bastards if they had opted to try and escape to the east back towards the heart of town.

  They were just emerging where Tillman and Clemson intersected when the sound of an engine turning over snapped his head to the left. He took off at a sprint, the sounds of heavy footfalls behind him letting him know that his team was right on his heels. About two-thirds of the way up Clemson, there was the boom of a shotgun and a scream. Seconds later, an old blue Ford pickup was just backing up onto the road. Adam Gilstrap stopped cold and brought his pistol up. He only had a second or two to make his decision.

  He sighted on the head that he saw through the back window and was about to shoot when a fire truck appeared at that end of the street, effectively blocking the exit. The truck veered suddenly and tried to cut through the yard of the house at the end of the road. It clipped a tree as a second big red response vehicle arrived. The pickup slammed into the first fire truck with a metallic crunch. A plume of steam signaled the death of the pickup, but both doors flew open indicating the passengers were apparently fine.

  The one with the long hair had just managed to get a few steps when somebody that had been riding in the back of the fire engine flew through the air and tackled him. The other one fared even worse. Two large men decked out in the protective gear of the roving patrols which included a lot of modified football equipment slammed into him like he was a lineman’s sled.

  Looking around, the chief searched for the other two. Already, some of the people who had been housed in the residences in this small neighborhood were coming out onto the porch to see what all the racket was about.

  “Sumbitches tried to steal my pickup!” an angry voice shouted. “Didn’t have the decency to ask, just hotwired the damn thing and was taking off.”

  Chief Gilstrap walked up to see Craig Whalen standing where there used to be a gate. Now, all that remained was a bunch of twisted metal. He was cradling a big double-barrel shotgun that still had bluish smoke drifting from the business end.

  “How about you go give the fellas some help securing those two,” the chief suggested. The look he saw on Craig’s face told him that those two would be getting exactly the sort of treatment he hoped for. Turning back up the street to the growing number of citizens, he called out, “Anybody see two other fellas sneaking around? One of ‘em is a beefy sort, the other is tall, has reddish hair and a goatee.”

  The looks on the faces he could see told him that the other pair hadn’t been spotted. He cursed under his breath and almost as if in response, his radio crackled.

  “Got eyes on ‘em, chief!” Ivan reported, more than just a hint of excitement in his voice. “They took off when I told them to surrender. They went back into the woods and are on the run towards Southern Vinyl.”

  “Taking them alive is not, I repeat not a priority.”

  The chief turned to the onlookers who all had varied expressions of confusion on their faces. This needed to be remedied. People were still trying to live life as if things were mostly okay. The level of denial was on a massive scale, and part of it was because maybe only a small percentage of the citizens had actually seen an animate zombie up close and for real. That was going to have to change if there was going to be any chance for the people of Liberty to have at least some shot at survival.

  “I need a vehicle,” he called. He felt his annoyance grow as they all seemed to be looking to each other for a volunteer. “NOW dammit!”

  That did it. A young man started for him, digging in his pocket as he hurried over pointing to the driveway he’d just come from. “It’s the red Chevy, chief.”

  Taking the keys with a quick nod and a thanks, he hurried over and jumped in the driver’s seat. Bo Summers hopped into the passenger seat. Bo Summers was perhaps as la
rge as the big man from the foursome, but not in a gym-created way. Bo was what the chief considered country-boy big. Even this early in spring, he was already sporting a farmer’s tan. His hands were massive slabs of callous from bucking hay and other backbreaking farm work. He’d been on every mission so far that the chief had helmed and had not complained or griped even once.

  “What’s going on, chief?” Bo asked as they did a quick turn around and headed for Maplecroft which would take them to Ruhamah and back to where they had left the big trucks destined for the slowly expanding barricade.

  “You mean besides the zombie apocalypse?” The chief gripped the steering wheel tight as he took the left turn in a wide skidding slide.

  “You really think this is it?” Bo asked in a voice that sounded very much unlike the tough guy he had known for over four decades.

  “I think it is worse than we can imagine. I think that we might be fighting a losing battle…but I also think we will do whatever we need to do until we can’t do anything else.”

  “And what about these four pieces of garbage? How did that happen?”

  The chief swallowed the bitterness in the back of his throat. “My fault. I guess I didn’t want to believe folks would go rotten so fast.”

  “You’re a damn cop, Adam. How the hell can you not think there are bad people who will take advantage of this?” The huge man threw his arms up gesturing to the countryside they were driving past.

  “We ain’t seen this sort of thing here in Liberty, at least not on this level. Not saying we are all angels, but it’s not like we have murders and rapes happening every day.” Chief Gilstrap sighed. “But you’re right…I dropped the ball on this one.”

  “Dropped the ball?”

  “Can we do this later?” the chief said as he brought the car to a stop beside the dump truck. Jonathan was leaning out the window with a confused look on his face.

  “What is going on?” The man opened the door and managed to climb out using the three rung ladder to help get down.