They were on a wide street, with three story buildings on either side. A car had smacked into a utility pole ahead, shearing it in half, and had travelled a little farther into a fire hydrant. A geyser of water was shooting into the air, the water running down the hill. A live wire from the utility pole was spitting and sparking, just above the cascading water. “We can’t go this way,” Rick said, but when he looked in the mirror, he could see a crowd of twenty or so infected coming from behind.
“Hang on,” he yelled. “I’ve got to bust through!” Rick slammed the car into reverse, and moved cautiously backwards at about ten miles per hour.
“Why don’t you floor it and run them over?” begged Chris.
“Because if we hit them going too fast, we could lose control!”
The Crown Vic smacked into the first of the infected and rolled easily over the body. As if to illustrate Rick’s point, the next two went up on the trunk, and the car slowed. The tires started to slip on something, and their progress slowed even further. Palms and fists pounded the windows and sheet metal of the car. Rick was looking backward as he tried to push the car through the crowd. He had his arm over the back of his seat and was pressing hard on the accelerator, but he wasn’t moving backwards. The rear tires were spinning faster now, losing traction. A palm smacked against the passenger side window, and Sam screamed. Another smack, and a spider web crack appeared. Chris pointed his gun at the window. “DON’T SHOOT!” Rick screamed. Chris turned and looked at Rick, his eyes wide. Three undead had clambered on to the hood of the car and were pounding on the windshield. Rick threw the car into drive and jammed his foot on the accelerator. They moved forward a little at first, then shot forward quickly. One undead fell off the hood, but the other two didn’t let go. Rick went about thirty feet and jammed the brakes on. The two hangers-on shot forward and into the street, the water from the hydrant dousing them both. As one of them stood up, he hit the live wire, and began to dance. The other was halfway to his feet when his companion connected the wire and the puddle, electrifying the entire street. The one who hit the wire caught fire, and after about a second and a half, they both fell down smoking.
Rick threw the car into reverse again and floored it. He plowed through the group of undead and they went flying in all directions. The car spun hard to the right, and Rick felt the wheel pull out of his hands. The Crown Vic completed its spin and ended up sideways against a storefront. Many stumbling forms approached from both directions. Rick was dazed from the impact. When he collected his wits, a group of eleven dead had surrounded the car, smacking the driver’s side windows and the hood. One balled its fist and punched the rear window. On the second punch, the window cracked. Rick reached in the back to get the SPAS-12, and a filthy, bloody hand smashed a hole through the back window and grabbed his arm. Sam started crying, and Chris was hollering. Rick tried to shake off the attacker pulling away as best he could, the undead woman’s flesh coming away in long strips against the shards of broken safety glass. The rest of the window gave way, and the creature started climbing through.
The front window cracked, and Chris leaned over and shot through the window into the face of an undead policeman, leaving a bullet hole in the glass. The shot was loud in the car, but Chris shifted and fired a round into the head of the woman pulling on Rick’s arm. The front window caved in and a former hospital worker in scrubs reached in and grabbed Rick. A young boy, missing the left side of his face was climbing in the back window.
Chris shot the kid in the eye, and it fell where it was, partially blocking the rear window. Rick was fighting with the hospital worker when a deep bass horn sounded behind them. Some of the dead looked up to see a green and white city garbage truck barrelling toward them. The truck sideswiped the Crown Vic, breaking the dead orderly’s grip on Rick, and pushing it thirty feet down the road. A backup alarm sounded, and the garbage truck backed up, crushing all dead in its path. The truck moved forward again, obliterating anything left. A huge man hopped out of the vehicle with a two foot piece of rebar in his fist. He calmly walked across the street and brought the rebar around in a sideways arc, smacking the last undead in the immediate area in the head. There was a sickening crunch, and the former butcher dropped like a sack of potatoes.
The man walked over to the Crown Vic and looked in.
“Name’s Dallas, you comin’?” The man had an unmistakable southern drawl.
Rick and Chris looked at each other, and grabbed their stuff. “C’mon honey, we’re getting out of here,” Rick said, pushing the door open.
Rick, Chris, and Sam got out of the car and ran to the truck. Rick climbed up and tossed his bag in, then grabbed Sam and helped her up. Dallas got in the driver’s side. “You next, kid,” Rick said to Chris, “I’ll take the outside.” Dallas put the truck in gear and started forward. Chris had Sam on his lap, and Rick had the AR-15 across his lap.
It was cramped but functional.
“Didja hit an armory or somethin’?” Dallas asked no one in particular.
“No, I’m a cop.”
“Mmm,” murmured Dallas. “Can’t say as I like cops much.”
“No?” asked Rick while reloading a magazine.
“Nope, my daddy was a Texas Ranger. Meanest SOB I ever did come across, and I’ve been aroun’.”
Sam put her hand on Dallas’ arm, “My daddy is nice sir, I promise.”
Dallas looked at her thoughtfully, “Well then we’ll get along fine, me an’ him.”
He put the truck in gear and started forward.
“There’s a power line down in some water ahead, you might want to avoid it.” Chris told him.
“I might just,” Dallas returned. “You know, it’s customary where I’m from to introduce yourself to a man who just pulled your fish out of the fire.”
“I’m Chris, and this is Rick and Sam.”
“Pleasure,” Dallas said as he backed the truck up. He got the truck turned around and started back the way he came.
“I need to get my father,” Rick said.
“Don’t see him fittin’ in here,” said Dallas matter-of-factly. “We’re all full up.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ve got to go get him,” Rick said in an angry tone.
“Keep your hair on officer,” returned Dallas with a sneer. “We’ll find a way. Where is he?
“He lives on 3rd Street , near UCSF.”
Dallas applied the brakes and looked Rick in the eyes. “Near the college?”
“Yeah.” Rick’s brow creased. “Why?”
Dallas raised his eyebrows and let out a big sigh. “Because that’s where I came from. It’s absolute Hell. There’s thousands of these violent folks down there, and the roads are pretty much impassable because o’ wrecks an’ abandoned vehicles. That’s where all the damn hospitals are, and where do folks go when they’re sick, or hurt, or… bit?”
“Don’t care,” Rick said, “I’m getting him.”
Dallas shook his head, “You gonna bring your little girl down there? Is that the plan? I’m tellin’ you, we need somethin’ more concrete than “I’m gettin’ him”, or we’re all dead. Her too,” Dallas said, jerking his thumb at Sam. “You might wanna save your pops, but are you willin’ to kill your daughter t’ do it?”
“No,” said Rick looking distant, “I’m not. Plus my dad would get pissed if I put Sam’s life in danger to save his wrinkly ass.”
“Good, then we’re on the same page.” There was a thump on the side of the truck, and Dallas looked out the window. “One sec.” He pushed the door open hard and knocked over a lone zombie. Ironically, the zombie wore a trash collector’s uniform. Dallas grabbed his rebar and jumped out of the truck. As the creature was getting to its feet, Dallas swung the rebar and connected with its head. It fell, and lay there unmoving. Dallas spat on it and said: “Twice killed asshole.” He looked behind the truck and could see a small crowd of dead lumbering toward him about 50 feet away. Climbing back in the truck, he took one more backward glanc
e at the oncoming mob. “Damn, they’re like cockroaches.”
Dallas put the truck in gear and drove forward. “We’ll need to get us another vehicle,” he said, “This is too cramped as it is, and we can’t fit your pa in here with us too.”
“That’s true,” Rick agreed, “There’s a dealership a quarter mile up that way.”
“Officer, you don’t mean to say you’re gonna steal a car do you?” Dallas asked pointedly.
Sam looked wide-eyed at her father.
“Appropriate, sir,” Rick shot back with a wide grin.
6
Hapscomb’s used car lot was surrounded by a six-foot chain link fence, complete with razor wire at the top. The lot had about sixty cars in various states of repair. The newer models were toward the front of the lot, while the clunkers were off to the side and back. There was a narrow, two-story building that housed offices at the back of the lot. Next to that was a beat-up four car garage, also with a second story. The lot looked like it hadn’t been open in a few days, and even better, it looked devoid of infected. Dallas drove the garbage truck up to the gate. There were no infected coming for them, but they would be here soon enough, as the big diesel truck made quite a racket. Rick jumped out of the truck, carefully looking around for infected. Dallas jumped out too, and looked at the thick chain locking the gate. He went to the side of the truck and opened a panel. He came back in a few seconds with some bolt cutters, and was through the lock in five seconds.
“Fifty dollar chain and a two dollar lock,” Dallas rolled his eyes, “Stupid.” The gate was a roll type, and they both rolled it to the left so the truck could get in. Chris drove the truck on to the lot, and Rick closed the gate. Dallas took the chain and wrapped it around the gate poles a few times, finishing it in a chain-knot. “Should keep ‘em out unless they go right for the chain.”
Dallas and Rick climbed back in the truck, Chris sliding to the middle seat again. “You’re gonna stay in the truck and watch Sam.” Rick said to Chris. “Call me on this,” Rick said as he fished a small radio out of his duffle and handed it over, “if you see any of them climbing the fence, or if there are any inside that we didn’t see.”
“Or if there’s more than fifty that show up,” added Dallas. “Don’t want them too thick at the gate when we try to leave.”
Dallas turned the truck around so that the front of it was facing the gate, and then he backed the vehicle as close to the office as he could. Rows of used vehicles were stretched out closer to the office, there was a ten foot walking path, but the truck could go no further back.
“I’m on channel six,” Rick told Chris, “Chris is gonna watch you for a minute, kiddo,” he said to Sam. “Be good and do what he says.”
Sam nodded and held her stuffed tiger tight, “CarefulDaddy.”
Rick handed Dallas the SPAS-12, and he grabbed the AR-15. They both hopped out of the truck, and Rick slung the rifle over his shoulder. He pulled out his Taurus, and they both walked the last 100 feet or so to the building, checking behind each row of crappy cars as they went. Rick looked right, and Dallas left. “I think that Durango will do nicely,” said Rick pointing to a blue Dodge. “I even like the color.” The SUV had a LIKE NEW sign on it, and it was priced at $8995.
“Might wanna grab the Hummer there, chief,” Dallas said pointing back toward the front of the lot. A shiny yellow Hummer was sitting in the early morning sun. It had tinted windows, and the sun gleamed off the chrome on the rear bumper and mirrors. The vehicle was on one of those display ramps, with the nose of the SUV pointing at a 45 degree angle.
“Didn’t see that pulling in, damn that’s nice.”
“Some cop there, Sherlock,” chided Dallas, “Biggest damn thing out here next to my trash truck.”
Rick smiled and they continued toward the office. “How old are they?” Dallas asked.
“Who?”
“Your kids, how old?”
“Kids?” asked Rick, confused. “Oh, Chris isn’t my son; I just met him last night. Sam is eight. Chris lives above me, he’s a computer tech guy or something.”
“Huh. Thought he was about seventeen, go figure.”
“Uh oh...” Dallas said as they neared the front doors. It was a double door set up, and there was a blood smear across the left glass door, the right door was smashed in. The first ten feet inside of the office was illuminated by the doors, and a few windows, but towards the back, it was nothing but inky blackness. “Cover,” Rick whispered.
Dallas moved to the broken door and pulled it open while Rick went on one knee in a firing stance. Dallas kept the door open and Rick stood and walked through. Dallas stepped in after, shotgun at the ready. There was a wooden rack full of keys, and at the very top was one marked “Display.” Dallas grabbed the keys, and they had “Hummer” engraved on a metal tag. “Looks like this is--” he started to say, and immediately three zombies lurched out of two different doors down the hall, shambling straight toward the living men. They began to moan, as they staggered toward the humans. Rick brought his rifle to his shoulder in a firing position, but Dallas put his hand on the rifle barrel and pushed down a little.
“Let’s take this outside, Bubba.”
Rick nodded and they backed out the door with the undead following from about fifteen feet. “Cover me, OK?” Dallas said. Rick nodded again. Dallas moved forward, quickly for someone so big, and used his shotgun butt to fell the first undead. The other two kept coming, and he did the same to both. They each started to get up again, so Dallas handed the shotty to Rick and brought out his rebar. It was over in less than thirty seconds, and Dallas wiped his dripping rebar on the shirt of one of the twice-dead creatures. They walked back to the garbage truck discussing their plan.
“Well, at least we’ll be more comfortable in that huge yellow tank,” Rick said, indicating the Hummer with a nod.
“Yeah, about that,” Dallas started, “I’m kinda partial to my garbage truck. It’s high off the ground, and I’m pretty sure I could plow through most crowds of them folks,” Dallas pointed to the gate, where eleven undead had congregated. “Think I might just keep her for a bit.”
“Ok, I’ll take Chris and Sam with me in the Hummer, and you can follow,” Rick said.
“Or, you could gimme that radio, and I could plow the way for you, with you givin’ me directions while we drive.”
“Good idea,” Rick agreed. “The final destination is Alcatraz, via the ship yard at the end of 3rd street. If we get separated, meet us there.”
“Now that’s a good idea,” Dallas told him, “you got a boat?
“Working on it.”
“Wow, stealin’ a Hummer and a boat in the same day? Gonna have to take this up with your superiors.”
“Hopefully we’ll be doing some time together on The Rock, you and me,” Rick laughed.
“And I always said Hell would freeze over before I did anything dumb enough to go to prison.”
Chris stuck his head out the window, “Anytime fellas, look at that,” he pointed toward a huge crowd coming toward them from the south. “Can we go now?”
“Chris, you and Sam are coming with me in the Hummer, help Sam out and grab the bags.”
Rick hopped up into the Hummer’s driver side and started the engine. The vehicle had a quarter of a tank of gas, plenty to get the three miles to his dad’s house and the few miles to the shipyard after that. He backed it off the display ramp, and pulled up alongside the garbage truck. “Let’s go,” he told Sam and Chris.
“What about Mr. Dallas?” asked Sam.
“He’s going to use the garbage truck to help us get through.”
Once everybody was in and buckled up, Rick called Dallas on the radio. “Let’s move, take a right and head north.”
Dallas didn’t respond, but the garbage truck moved forward. The gate was just starting to sag from the combined weight of sixteen undead. The larger crowd was lumbering toward them, two hundred feet away. Dallas hit the gate at about five miles per hou
r, and bent it outward, knocking the undead to the ground. He put it in second gear, and the truck jerked forward. He ran over six prone forms, their bodies breaking like twigs under the frame of the big truck. Rick followed closely behind. They sped down the road, with undead coming at them from every direction. Dallas started slowing down, and Rick told him to take the next right. Dallas stopped the truck and pointed out the window to the left. In the second story window of a consignment shop was a woman frantically waving her arms. The undead were thin in this area, so Rick stopped and got out of the vehicle with his AR-15. He dropped two infected with single shots to the head, moving toward the broken door of the shop.
“No, don’t!” the woman screamed. “There’s a bunch of them inside!” She threw a knapsack and two bags out the window. Rick caught the first heavy bag, and the other two landed on the street.
“Come on lady, we’ve got to go,” Rick yelled, shouldering one of the bags. An undead staggered out of the broken shop door, and he shot it in the throat. It stumbled backward, but didn’t go down. His second shot hit it below the left eye, and it fell back into the shop. There were others behind it, and Rick walked forward, shooting single shots. The woman dangled out the window, and dropped fifteen feet to the street, rolling as she hit the ground. It was a moment before she got up, but she ran to Rick and they picked up a bag each and ran to the Hummer. A thunderous boom echoed through the street, and an undead near the garbage truck flew backwards. Dallas fired another shell from the SPAS-12, and the head of a former business man disappeared in splash of crimson. Chris stepped out of the Hummer and fired at another undead sneaking up on Dallas’ blind side. He missed, and shot again, grazing it in the back of the shoulder.
Run: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller Page 4