by M. D. Massey
“Alright, alright—point taken. And you could have stopped at the rhyming bit. No need to get all personal and start talking about people’s sexual preferences and what-not. I admit, my name’s as goofy as yours.”
He held up his hands in protest. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I didn’t say nuthin’ about my name being goofy. Goofy it ain’t. Chicks dig Rayden, believe me.”
“I’m sure, kid. Now go flip on that pump number one so I can get the hell out of here.”
As he reached for the gas pump console, the sound of multiple motorcycles surrounded us like a chorus of cicadas. I immediately squatted and duck-walked to the front so I could look out the windows. I spotted at least six headlamps circling the parking lot in the encroaching twilight.
Then, the bikes stopped moving. I saw someone dismount and head toward the front of the store, so I ran and jumped over the counter to hide. Rayden was leaning over a side counter next to the clerk’s window, crushing empty cigarette cartons and other debris as he peered outside. “Aw shit, it’s Cody and his goony friends.”
“And just who in the hell is Cody?” I asked.
He turned to look at me. “Well, he’s sort of my dad—stepdad, really. Sorry mister, but they’re going to take all your stuff for sure, and they’ll probably beat your ass too.”
I grabbed him by the back of his Corey Feldman vintage Army jacket and hauled him off the counter, flipping him around and bringing him down as I squatted to get him at eye level with me. “You set me up kid, didn’t you? Damn it!” I hit the counter next to his head, and regretted it when I saw him flinch away. I could recognize genuine fear when I saw it, and this kid wasn’t afraid of me; he was afraid of the guy outside for sure, who was now banging on the window glass and yelling at us from the other side.
“Rayden, you little piece of shit! Open that gawdamn door right now, or I swear I’ll beat your ass from now until doomsday when I get in there.” He kicked the wall for effect. “Open this place the hell up!”
I let go of the kid and slid back against the opposite counter. “Well, he sounds like a candidate for dad of the year.”
The kid slouched down to the floor with a look of resignation on his face, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “You don’t know the half of it. “
“He hit you?”
“What do you think? Since mom left, suddenly I get all the attention. Not like I blame her, but she could have at least taken me with her.” He paused, and looked at me. “So, what’re you going to do?”
“I got parents in Austin I need to get to, and no time to screw around with this shit. Are these jokers armed?”
He nodded. “Yeah, mostly pistols, knives, brass knuckles, and the like. One or two might be carrying shotguns.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news.” I checked my rifle to see how many rounds I had left. Almost a full magazine, so roughly 25 rounds. The Glock and Kahr were also carrying nearly full mags, and I had spares for each on me. So, I wasn’t in bad shape, but a shoot-out with a half-dozen armed men was going to be a pain in the ass. I needed to come up with an equalizer, fast.
After taking a quick glance around, I grabbed a couple of bottles of lighter fluid from behind the counter and motioned to the kid. “Come on, I have a plan for taking care of these clowns. Help me, and I’ll take you someplace better than this once we clear the way.”
He screwed his face up at me, and I could see he was nervous, even in the dim light. Even if I couldn’t see it, his voice would have betrayed his emotions to me. “You aren’t going to kill him, are you? I mean, I hate him, but I don’t want him dead.”
“Not if I can help it, kid. But if I have to put some holes in these guys, I will. So no promises. Sorry, but I’m no victim. Question is, are you?”
He stood up and brushed himself off. “C’mon, there are some empty glass bottles in the back. You are planning on making Molotovs, right? There’s some dish soap and a small gas can back there, too. I’ll show you where.”
8
Rifle
Within a few minutes, I had put together everything I’d need for a diversion and a way to even the odds. I could hear Rayden’s dad yelling from outside about how he was going to beat him bloody and kill his new queer friend or some such. The guy was really starting to get on my nerves, and truth be told I didn’t think I’d mind busting the proverbial cap in his ass.
Still, this kid seemed like he’d suffered enough trauma in his life. He didn’t need to see his stepdad get blown away by some stranger, no matter how much of an asshole he was. So, my goal was to get these guys neutralized and get us out of here, safe, sound, and without a single shot fired. I told Rayden the plan, and he snickered as he heard me out.
The downside to this plan was that I was going to have to gas up using the siphon hose after all. The upside was that I wouldn’t have to kill this kid’s dad. So, all in all I’d say it had more drawbacks than benefits, but such is life. And, I was taking all the cigarettes left in the store so I could use them for bartering later. Rayden’s dad could suck it.
I got everything ready and sent the kid to the front of the store. I could hear his dad yelling and cussing as I scrambled up a short aluminum stepladder the kid had found in the storage closet. We’d quickly cleared out the boxes he’d been using before, and thankfully this proved a much easier way to get to the ceiling hatch and on the roof. Since the kid’s dad and his buddies were too lazy or stupid to figure out how to climb up on the roof of the gas station, chances were good we’d be able to pull this off without a hitch. Probably.
I listened carefully at the roof access opening for the kid to let his dad inside. I heard the click of the deadbolt being turned, and the change in pitch and volume of the blowhard’s voice as he walked inside the place. I also heard the wet smack of meat on bone as he walloped the kid a good one.
“Damn it, boy—what the hell took you so long to open the door, and where’s that feller what was helping you get inside here earlier? Don’t lie to me—I saw him through the glass afore you went and hid.”
Rayden spoke up, and to tell the truth I was almost ready to head down there guns blazing until I heard him speak. His voice was steady as a rock. I guess as far as getting beat by his dad went, this wasn’t his first rodeo. “I was trying to find the keys to the door is all. Shit, if I had known you were going to hit me, I’d have never opened the damn door.”
I heard some chuckling from the other slobs who rode in with the kid’s dad. I guess they didn’t like Cody much, either.
“Quit yer back-talk, or I’ll hit you so hard your no-good whore mother will feel it, wherever the hell she ran off to. Now get me some gawdamn cigarettes and that case of beer you was supposed to bring me four hours ago.”
The kid chimed in again. “Hold your horses, I have it back here. But, I’m going to need some help moving this stuff. There’s a bunch of beer and liquor back here, and it’s going to take more than me to move it.”
“Alright, you little pussy, settle yer whinin’ ass down. Boys, get in here and help my good for nuthin’ stepson with carrying this shit outside. Load it up in that four-by-four and we’ll move it to the clubhouse.” The usual bullshit that guys speak to each other when they’re messing around followed, mostly just Cody’s little gang arguing over who got dibs on what and all that happy horseshit.
Within moments I could hear their voices getting louder as they followed Rayden to the back of the store. It was dark, and we’d moved some boxes in the way to make it harder for his dad’s goons to chase him. I slipped off the side of the building and snuck around to the doors out front, tying them off with some rope we’d found in the back as Rayden kept them distracted.
I climbed back up on the roof and waited to hear the kid give the signal.
Cody spoke up again. “By the way, what happened to that feller? You better not have let him take off with my shit, or I’ll tan your ass.”
“Yeah, well—he got eaten by one of those things. Why do you think it took me
so long? And anyway, if you were so worried about your damn cigarettes and booze, why didn’t you have one of these bozos to come get it? I almost got eaten too, not like you care or anything.”
Bingo, that was the code word. I grabbed the length of rope that I’d tied to the ladder, then stood up and pulled the slack out, stepping on it with one foot to keep it taut. Next, I picked up one of the Molotov cocktails me and the kid had whipped up, lighting it with a pocket lighter I’d snagged from inside. Most of their bikes were bunched up right in front of the store, so I had a clear shot at them from where I stood. I chucked the bottle somewhere at the center of them all, and it made a nice large fireball as it crashed to the pavement, catching three or four bikes up in flames. I imagined that had to be hard on tires and paint, and almost felt bad about it since some of them had nice bikes. But it was just a fleeting emotion.
I heard one of the toothless wonders downstairs holler out to the rest of the crew. “Hey, what the hell is that? Looks like our bikes are on fire!” The shuffles of feet, some stuff getting knocked over, a lot of cussing and yelling, and the sounds of fists beating in futility on the front door of the store filled my ears. Soon I saw the kid’s face pop up out of the trap door. I gave him a hand up, then hauled up the ladder behind him.
He slammed the door down and locked it back up tight, then turned to look at me with a mix of fear and excitement on his face. “You sure they’re not getting out that front door?”
“Not for a while, kid. Now let’s haul ass before they figure out a way to bust through that front door glass.”
I was no sailor, but I knew how to tie a decent knot; that rope would hold them inside, and since there was a security plate on the door, there was no way they were going to cut it from the inside. Until they smashed through that hurricane glass, they were stuck. Even so, I wasn’t counting on them taking long to get through it, and sent the kid on ahead to the truck while I started shooting gas tanks on the bikes that hadn’t gotten caught up in the fire. Then, I threw the other two Molotovs at the bikes that weren’t yet on fire and hauled ass to the truck with the sounds of gunfire and breaking glass erupting from behind me.
“Won’t be long before they get out of there and steal a car to chase us, kid. With it being dark, we need a place to hole up. Got any ideas?”
“Yeah, just head out toward Kerrville and turn right on 98. We can hide out on the other side of the lake, I got a place won’t no one find us, at least not till morning.”
I followed the kid’s directions and parked in what looked like empty park land, hidden in a thicket of trees on the south side of Nimitz Lake. I took the cab of the truck and let him sleep on my camping mattress in the back, and I kept one eye open as I tried to catch a few winks without letting those morons from back at the gas station sneak up on us and catch us flat footed. After midnight I realized that we’d lost them, at least for the moment, and managed to get a few hours of rest.
I woke up before sunup and roused the kid from sleep. We shared a breakfast of water, Power Bars, and jerky in silence, then I pulled out my atlas and a small flashlight and consulted with him as we ate. “Rayden, I’d like to avoid Kerrville if possible. It’s not a big town, but I’m worried about running into large groups of infected. How Ingram dodged that bullet, I don’t know, but I’m assuming Kerrville is going to be worse.”
He nodded and cleared his throat. “Shit, are you asking me for directions? I can’t even drive yet, man.”
“Good point.” I chewed my lip and looked over the map some more. “Well, I was planning on taking back roads to Austin, but I guess we’ll just have to plow straight through Kerrville. The next hurdle will be Fredericksburg, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” I put the atlas up, reloaded all my mags, and we headed out.
As we drove into town the sun was starting to come up, and soon we could see smoke billowing skyward all over the city. I’d smelled it the night before, but now we could see thick clouds of it floating up from fires that were raging in various buildings and businesses all across town. We were in the city limits proper already, and it wasn’t too long before we started seeing deaders shuffling around the area. They were obviously attracted to sound, and before long we had them coming at us from all directions as I drove up the street to the bridge crossing the Guadalupe River. I just managed to dodge a few of them, but was forced to run a couple over at low speed in order to make the bridge.
Once we were on the bridge, it was more a matter of dodging cars than people to get through. After leaving the bridge we continued north at a decent pace, dodging larger groups of deaders and more than a few car accidents and abandoned vehicles. We passed the courthouse, which was a pile of smoldering embers, and on through downtown Kerrville. There were numerous restaurants and other businesses along this road, and more often than not we saw deaders milling about inside, banging on windows or crawling over corpses as they responded to the sound of the truck as it passed by.
This place was a ghost town, or it would have been if it weren’t for the hundreds upon hundreds of deaders that still occupied its streets. I continued to zig zag down the road until we were nearly out of town and in sight of the intersection with I-10.
The whole overpass had been taken out, and in its place was a massive pile-up of charred and smoking cars, trucks, tractor-trailers, and debris. As I slowed down and we drove closer, I could see the remnants of an airliner fuselage in the debris, as well as a piece of a wing that was sticking out of a Dairy Queen like a discarded toy.
Rayden gaped at the carnage and whistled out one long, high note. “Holy shit. I ain’t never seen anything like this. Not in my whole life.”
I shook off the jitters starting to sneak up on me and tried to stay on task. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad. The real problem for us though is getting through this mess.” I scanned left and right as we got closer to the wreckage, picking out a clear path to the right. “I’m going to head down that way and see if there’s a place we can cross the highway. Keep your eyes peeled for trouble.”
We were forced to drive on the shoulder as I headed east, following the merge lane that once took traffic from 16 onto I-10. Again, there were abandoned cars and trucks all along the road clogging the way, and many of them were occupied by the dead—some of them less dead than others. Thankfully, about 100 yards east we were able to drive down a rain culvert and cross under the highway to the other side. As we passed the westbound side of the highway, I saw a small group of adults huddled under the overpass, warming themselves around a small fire. They looked haggard, dirty, and lost. I drove on despite their cries for help.
Rayden shook my arm. “You ain’t going to stop?”
“Can’t save everyone, kid. If I tried, you and me would be dead before the day was out. Look around you. This is a zombie apocalypse, true shit hitting the fan, the end of the world as we know it scenario. And it’s only going to get worse. My goal is to get to my folks, head back out to the boonies, and then do what I can for any survivors who might be holed up around my area. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help those folks, but right now the risk factor is too high.”
He nodded. “I guess you’re right. Still don’t seem fair, though.”
“It isn’t, kid. It damned sure isn’t.”
As I pulled back onto the highway, I reflected on the fact that I was feeling copacetic as hell. I kept waiting for another panic attack to hit, but they never came. I honestly didn't know if that meant I was broken, or fixed. Regardless, the fact that it took the onset of a zombie apocalypse to get my head right certainly said something about the nature of my psychological make-up, that was for sure. If things ever got back to normal, I'd have to get a t-shirt made that said, "Killing Zombies Saved My Brain" or something like that. Then again, if things ever got back to normal I’d probably start losing my shit again, too.
About ten miles down the road we came across a sight for sore eyes. It was a gasoline tanker, left right there in the middle of the road, without
a soul around in sight. I stopped the truck a ways down the road and pulled out my binos, scoping the area out for a good ten minutes before we drove up on it slow and easy.
There was zero movement in the cab or around the vehicle, nor could I see anything moving in the juniper trees and live oaks off to either side of the road. Vegetation was sparse along this stretch of highway, but it didn’t mean there couldn’t be someone out there waiting in ambush, so I asked Rayden if he knew how to shoot a rifle.
“Does a bear shit in the woods? I mean, I never shot one like yours, but yeah, I can shoot.”
“Well, that’s good, because we’re almost out of gas and I’m going to need to find a way to get some fuel out of this tanker so we don’t end up stranded like every other dumbass on this road. That means I’m going to need you to pull overwatch while I’m gassing up the truck.”
He grinned. “Just like Call of Duty. Hell yes!”
“Hang on there, Jack Mitchell. This ain’t like a videogame, not at all. There’s no save game to go back to, no extra lives, and no setting the game to easy mode to make the baddies easier to frag. I need you to be serious about this, because I’m going to be counting on you to keep my ass alive if something goes wrong.”
He sized me up and laughed. “Look around, man. There’s no one out here for miles! What could go wrong?”
“Everything. So I want you on the roof of this truck with that rifle and the binos, scanning the area and shooting anything that moves and looks hostile. If it’s a deader, headshots only. If it looks human, fire a warning shot at its feet first. I’ll come running if I hear you fire, anyway.” I showed him how to operate the rifle and chambered a round. “Got it?”
“Got it!” He grabbed the rifle and jumped out of the cab. I sighed and prayed that I wasn’t making a mistake, and grabbed the gas cans out of the back along with the siphon hose. I stalked up to the cab of the semi with the gas cans in one hand, using the siphon hose as a carrying handle, with my Glock in the other hand. The cab was empty and had the keys in it. I turned the key and sure enough, the truck had run out of fuel. Since most of these trucks ran local routes, carrying enough diesel to drive up to 1,000 miles, I figured this guy must’ve been in a hurry when he’d taken off without filling up.