I'm Tired of Zombies | Book 2 | Full Scale War

by Murphy, James W.

  “Don’t know. If the shooter’s that far, we won’t have a chance to get to it.”

  “I’m going to back up and crawl under the tanker, get up and run to my truck. Just shoot his direction. The rounds will get there, but not be enough to kill,” I said and began back crawling under the tanker. On the other side, I crawled until I was behind the front tires then bolted for my truck. I heard another bullet hit metal and Dave cut loose with his M4 on full auto.

  He was raking his rounds back and forth across the shooters position as he’d seen the last flash. I got to my truck and looking back, saw that I was at an oblique angle from where the shooter was so he couldn’t see me. I grabbed my fifty and two magazines and five extra shells then ran around behind the gas station. I found what I wanted and climbed the ladder rungs embedded in the side of the building. On the roof, I belly crawled over to the eastern wall and set the rifle up, loading a round in the chamber then inserting a mag. I now had six rounds ready to go.

  I slid the rifle up onto the lip of the building and heard Dave open up with another mag on full auto. I pulled the fifty in tight to my shoulder and sighted at the spot where I’d last seen a flash, took in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, squeezed the trigger. As always, I jumped a foot when the thing went off, but recovered quickly and sent a second round down range. I saw another flash and moved my crosshairs to it and fired.

  I saw a right arm go flying out from the spot. It sailed through the air for almost thirty yards and landed with an audible slap on the pavement below.

  I heard Dave yell, “HIT!” and saw him race across the street heading for the building where the sniper was. I got up with the fifty and climbed down. I left the fifty at my truck and pulling my M4 around, ran in the direction Dave had.

  “Dave!” I yelled. “Where are you?”

  “Up here,” he answered, yelling. “It’s Chet.”

  My blood ran cold, and I yelled back, “What did you say?”

  “It was Chet. He’s dead. He has one of your .308s, an M4, and a shotgun. I’m getting everything. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Next thing I heard was a single shot. I ducked but realized it was Dave firing. He had shot Chet in the head instead of sticking him with a knife or something. A few moments later, Dave came out of the door and said, “I shot him in the head. He deserved it,” and walked across the street without looking at me, put the weapons in the back of my truck then walked to the big rig.

  I turned and followed, wondering why Chet had ambushed us. We’d never know so I shrugged my shoulders and helped Dave with the truck. He got it started again and still not saying anything, pulled out and headed towards the base.

  Boy, he looked ticked as he pulled away. I slowly walked over to my truck, started it, and just sat there for a moment. Dave would need some space - and time - to cool off. I pulled out and turned to follow. I saw him go over the bridge that spanned the railroad yard. He wasn’t going very fast and I caught up to him quickly. He went through the middle of town, turning left on Pershing Boulevard, heading west towards the base.

  There, he drove through the gate and went straight to the truck we’d found ages ago. Funny, I thought to myself, I was wounded the last time I saw this truck. Dave had stopped and was climbing out of the big rig when I pulled up. He looked at me and smiled. Okay, he was fine again.

  I got out and said, “What’s the plan?”

  “I’m going to load as much of this ammo in the passenger’s side of this thing,” pointing at the rig, “and the rest in the bed compartment. We might be able to get it all.”

  “Okay, let’s do it,” I said. There were thirty cans of ammo and they took up almost all the room the rig had to spare.

  Dave said, “You know where the motor pool is?”

  “Yeah, it’s over near where we left the other truck and trailers, why?”

  “Chains, we need lots of chains and they’ll have ‘em.”

  We climbed back in our vehicles and I led the way to the motor pool building. Dave drove up to a garage door and just rammed it open, then backed out. Several Zs in uniform ambled our direction from inside and opening my door, I began popping them with my M4. Dave soon followed suit after stopping the big rig. We dropped seven of the creatures. It saddened me since they were wearing the uniform of our country.

  Dave jumped down and went inside. I was closing up my truck when I heard him shoot again, several shots. I ran into the building and he had dropped two more Zs. I had my M4 up and scanned the huge, cavernous building, and didn’t see any more of the things. Dave said, “Clear,” and I the same.

  We both lowered our M4s and began searching the place looking for chains. Dave found a bunch of them and we began dragging them out to my truck. The poor thing would never be the same after this trip what with all the weight it was carrying.

  We’d put all the chains in my truck when Dave said, “Moving on,” and pointed to the west.

  Man, he was moody. I think shooting Chet got to him. I decided that tonight I would try to get him to talk it through.

  We got to the ammo dump and before pulling in, discussed options with the big rig. We decided to put the rig out on the highway heading west. That way we wouldn’t have to make too many turns with the monster and the loads behind it.

  I drove Dave back to the bunker complex and we hooked up my trailer. Inside the bunker again, we got the steaks out and fired up the stove. We would have steaks, peas, and bread with apple jam for dinner. And scotch. Did I mention scotch? I decided we would have scotch. So, I poured us some scotch in our coffee mugs and handing one to Dave said, “To our health and well being.”

  “Here, here,” he said. After taking a health slug of the liquor, he said, “Smooth. All the way down, smooth. This stuff is good. I’ll have another, please,” and held out his mug. I poured him healthy two or three fingers, giving myself another dash.

  “Now we’re talking,” he said. He turned the steaks in the cast-iron skillet and sprinkled some pepper on the meat. They began smelling very good.

  I looked at him and said, “You wonder why Chet was shooting at us?”

  “Yeah, some…you?”

  “Yeah…can’t put a finger on that. He must have known it was the two of us out there. I still think he was bad and was on his way to the doc.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I agree he was bad. Crap, he tried to kill us back there.”

  “Almost makes a Christian cuss, you know…”

  “Yes, I know it. I did some yelling on the way over here and got it outta my system. I think God and I see eye to eye on this one. Chet’s pretty warm right now.”

  “You think he was a false Christian?”

  “Yes, I do. He was as fake as they come. He was too right; you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, though, that it turned out this way. He could have really helped us if he’d been true.”

  “Steaks are done, let’s eat. You pray.”

  I said a blessing and we ate and drank. Did I mention we drank? I think I heard the sun rise…and it hurt. We had finished the bottle of scotch last night. How did I know that? I almost fell on my face when I stepped on the bottle we’d left lying on the floor. My head was still swimming and squinting at the light coming in from the door, which we had not bothered to close last night, hurt.

  I heard Dave outside, barfing up his toenails…and steak. I went out to join him – not to barf, but to relieve myself – and he was so pale, I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You’re mean,” he said between heaves.

  “Not me, you’re the floor show this morning,” I laughed.

  “What happened last night?” he squeaked.

  “I don’t know…all I know for sure is I heard the sun rise…and it was way too loud.”

  “I have a headache. You have any aspirin or anything?”

  “I’ll look in the first aid bag, hang on.”

  I found a bottle of aspirin and gave him three and I ate t
hree. That was breakfast. I fired up the stove and put some water on to boil for coffee. I’d brought a drip pot from the camping stores and put in five scoops to make it strong. I looked up as I saw a shadow and Dave was coming back in the bunker, hanging on to the wall as he came in.

  “Everything is still moving, and my head is spinning.”

  “You do look a little out of focus,” I said with a chuckle.

  He gave me an evil look and said, “Is the coffee ready?”

  “Soon…soon. I’ll give you the first mug.”

  “You’re a real Samaritan, you know it.”

  “I try,” I told him.

  The water began to boil so I slowly poured it over the coffee grounds. The black gold began to rain into the pot. Soon, I had enough for the two mugs and poured the life-giving elixir, handing one mug to Dave.

  He sipped the brew and made some unusual noises as the liquid went down. I was sipping mine, feeling, well probably a lot like he was. It was great going down and mixing with the aspirins I’d chewed earlier would begin to work its magic soon. I said “Mmmm, nice.”

  Dave slid down the wall of the bunker to the floor, moaning the entire slide.

  “Are we going to make it home today?” I asked.

  “Maybe after the second pot of this stuff…maybe.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. My head didn’t hurt as bad this time.

  Dave said, “My head feels like one of those rockets hit it.”

  “Come on. Back outside so we can get more oxygen. Come on,” I said grabbing his shirt and pulling him up. “Outside and breathe.”

  “You’re mean.”

  “You’ve already said that this morning. I even agreed with you…a little. Come on dude, breathe deeply,” I told him as we leaned up against my truck. “Feel the warmth of the sun and breathe in the fresh air. Drink that coffee and get recovered.”

  “Why in the world are you so upbeat this morning? You made me drink all of that last night didn’t you…this is your fault.”

  “Not,” I yelled and quickly ducked and staggered to the back of the truck out of his range. When I stopped, I had to grab the tailgate as my head was spinning a little.

  “You’re just as screwed up as I am, huh.”

  “I guess. The world is spinning a bit to the left this morning and it usually doesn’t do that.”

  “I’m going to curl up and take a nap…after another cup of coffee that is,” he said going back inside to refill his mug. I followed him in and refilled mine, too. We sat on some ammo boxes and drank the brew. When he emptied his mug, he lay back on the ammo and promptly went back to sleep, soon snoring noisily.

  I was doing much better than he, so I went outside, started his truck, and drove it and parked it behind the fuel tanker, as close to the rear bumper as I could, even touching the big rig. We would chain the truck and trailer to the eighteen-wheeler and tow the whole works home.

  I charged my M4, looked around and walked back to the bunker. The stroll did me good, and I figured I’d about recover by the time I got back. I was walking along, whistling, when I heard a cackling off to my left. I brought my M4 around not recognizing the sound. A moment later I heard it again and this time knew it was a chicken, or chickens. I walked over to the fence of the home I was near and looking in the back, saw thirty or so of the nicest looking Rhode Island Reds I’d ever seen. First thought was dinner tomorrow.

  Second thought was to gather as many as I could and take them home. I jumped the fence and looking for something to put them in, I saw a stack of bamboo chicken carriers to the side of the garage. Eureka.

  I got two of the carriers and setting them in the corner, began driving the birds towards the two. It was like herding cats at a tuna factory. The way I was feeling, this wouldn’t last long. I needed a better way to corral these things. I stopped my herding and stood there looking at the feathered morsels. I looked around the yard and there was nothing to help me. I knocked on the garage door and hearing nothing, busted in. Inside was a big net on an eight-foot pole with a shovel handle – perfect.

  Back outside, I slowly approached the flock and using the net slowly moved the birds to the corner of the yard. There, I swung the net from the side and literally scooped four of the feathered beasts into the net. I emptied the birds into the first carrier and went back for more. I used the same tactic and moved the birds into the corner near the garage, again sweeping a few into the net, netting five that sweep. This was getting too easy.

  At the end of my chicken round up, I had thirty-one birds in six carriers. I carried one to my truck and put it in the back. When I’d tied down the last carrier, I was whipped. I went into the bunker and Dave was still sleeping so I nudged him with my foot.

  He sat straight up, looked around dumbly and said, “We’re not home yet?”

  I burst out laughing and said, “Man, you’re funny. Come on, get up and let’s get ready to leave. I have locks in my truck we can use to lock these bunkers up. Come on sleeping beauty, get a move on.”

  He finally did, buttoned his shirt, and decided to make more coffee. I didn’t argue. I drank down a bottle of water and he, looking at me funny, said, “Why are you so thirsty?” I busted a gut laughing and he said, “What?”

  “Look at the time,” I told him.

  “Geeze, how long was I out?”

  “Long enough for me to put your truck out by the tanker, and walking back, I scored over thirty Rhode Island Red chickens for the ranch. Be nice and I may even give you and Julia a few.”

  He was giving me a real confused look and I knew he wasn’t getting what I was saying so, elaborating, said “Dude, while you were sleeping, I was out working. I moved your truck and trailer out to the rear of the tanker so we can hook it up after you got up. On the way back, I heard some chickens and looking in the back yard of one of those houses over there,” pointing to the west, “I found over thirty Rhode Island Red chickens. I broke into the garage and found chicken carriers and a net, caught the lot, and now have six chicken carriers in the back of my truck with thirty-one chickens. If you’re nice, I just might give you and Julia a few of them.”

  He was still looking at me weirdly and he got up, going outside. A moment later, he came back in and said, “Dude, I thought you were pulling my leg. We having fried chicken for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, grinning. “Let’s go home.”

  It was nearly noon. We filled our mugs, cleaned up, policed the dishes and sleeping gear, and loading up, locked the bunkers and pulled out. The chickens cackling in the back were music to our ears.

  We pulled up next to the tanker and looked around, got out and chained the two trucks together using every bit of chain we’d found. Dave was confident saying he would make it home with the load with no problems. Famous last words I thought. We had to jump the big rig again and once the thing was running, Dave said I should lead as if he pulled into my place first, he’d be seeing Ruth’s bullet holes before he could get out and explain.

  We took off heading west and to home. We reached I-80 without incident, other than slowing for an elk herd of about five-hundred animals, and to view two bull moose, dueling it out in a marshy area. That was a real treat to see.

  Heading down the pass on I-80, we passed Laramie and turned onto Highway 130, for home. Dave had been true to his word and we’d had no trouble with his load. I turned down the road on the final leg to my place when I noticed he was slowing before he turned to follow. I pulled up and watched him almost pull past the dirt road then turn into the dirt. He had to go very wide so everything would fall in behind him. The trailer bounced on the corner and thankfully, the tires held.

  He slowly pulled up next to me and said, “It might be a good idea to drop my truck just before your lane. I don’t think I’d make that turn with the length of this convoy.”

  “Okay, that makes sense, come on.” I started forward and he followed. I turned into my lane and stopped, and he stopped out on the road. Tog
ether we unchained the truck and trailer and he jumped back into the tanker. Up the hill as I pulled in next to the steps, Julia and Ruth came bounding out with smiles as wide as the Mississippi River.

  Dave came up the hill in the tanker and their faces broke into looks of wonder. “What is that thing?” Julia asked.

  “That is a full gasoline tanker. About eleven thousand gallons of fuel, enough to last us a long, long time,” I told them. “Julia, would you pull out an ATV and take Dave back down the hill?”

  “Uh, what for?” she asked, confused.

  “For his truck and trailer, we’ll explain later,” I answered.

  “Are those chickens?” Ruth exclaimed.

  “Yeah, thirty-one of ‘em. I found ‘em in Cheyenne and caught every one of ‘em myself,” I told her.

  “No way, you didn’t,” she said, dubiously.

  “Yes, I did. Corralled them and caught them in a net. There are six carriers full of the beasts.”

  “Wow, you two are full of surprises. Did you find ammunition, too?”

  “Yes, and we brought home enough to last us almost a lifetime. We’ll need to go back with all four trucks to get the other stuff. It was a gold mine.”

  Dave drove up with his truck and trailer and Julia parked the ATV back in the garage. Once we were all together, I said, “I have some bad news for you, too.” The concerned looks from Julia and Ruth told me they didn’t want bad news, but I said, “Look, we’re both okay so it can’t be that bad. However, we had a run in with Chet. He started shooting at us while we were filling the truck and we had to fight back. I got him with the fifty. We’ll never know why, but it’s over. We left him where he fell.”

  Ruth looked down and Julia looked at Dave, who shrugged his shoulders. Ruth looked up and said, “Okay, then, it’s done. We having fried chicken tomorrow night?”

  Dave and I busted a gut laughing and he said, “That’s exactly what I said this morning when he showed me all those chickens.”