“Put me out of my misery, Joe. I don’t want to see how the other half lives. I’d do it myself, but I’m out. Don’t let me become one of those fucking things!” Jim said, his voice on the edge of tears.
Joe drew his trusty 1911 .45 and held it against his chest. “Jim, I’m sorry.”
“For what? You got nothing to be sorry for, son. You did what you could for all of us. Ain’t nobody gonna blame you for tryin’ to help folks.”
“You guys did so much for us and I promised you safety. I’ve failed you and your people, Jim. It’s been nothing but a total shitstorm and you have busted your ass for us since you got here,” Joe said. Now it was him who was choking back tears.
Jim opened his eyes wide and smile. “I beat the Parkinson’s. You gave me and my people hope, son. That’s all we can ask for.” Jim closed his eyes now. “Goodbye, Joe. You take that girl of yours and your son and get the hell outta here.”
Joe looked at the .45, the hammer already cocked back. “Goodbye, Jim. Thank you for everything. Go with God now.”
Joe quickly pressed the .45 to Jim’s forehead and fired before he could change his mind. He quickly stood and checked the pistol. The slide was locked back. Empty. He released the slide and slid the .45 back into its holster.
“C’mon, son. We’re getting the fuck out of Dodge,” Joe said, bringing his M4 back up.
Rick followed. “Ain’t gotta tell me twice, Dad.”
They moved forward again. Aside from taking out a pair of zombies munching on a former Tazewell resident, the trip was largely uneventful. As they crested a small ridge, the commo building came into view. Since there was little around them, Joe decided to make a quick dash into the building and reestablish communications with ZBRA…and pray they were still coming.
The commo building was the former home of a private ambulance service. Joe hadn’t worked there during his EMS tenure in Tazewell, but knew plenty of people who had. The EMS community was very tight-knit in the small town. Everybody knew everybody, or at least worked a call with one of them. You had to know that backup would have your back, no matter where it came from.
The outside of the building didn’t bode well if there was anyone inside. Large, fist-sized holes were all over the place. Whatever had come by had done one hell of a number on the concrete structure. There was no reason for anyone to be inside, at least no one alive.
Joe expected the building to be empty.
It was not.
He flung the door open, surprised to see someone slumped over the radio. As he got closer, it was another friend, someone who had been with him since the first days of the apocalypse.
It was Balboa.
“Ah, Christ! Balboa!” Joe yelled. He sat his friend upright. As he did, the extent of his friend’s injuries was very apparent. Balboa was missing a sizeable chunk of his face, taken off by a high-powered round, something big. As he looked around the room, the pockmarked holes on the inside matched the ones outside. Something had come by and peppered the building with .50 cal BMG rounds, probably from the Ma Deuce mounted on top of one of the tanks. Joe grit his teeth and swallowed a lump back down. He didn’t have time to mourn his friends, and if he didn’t hurry, he might never get the chance. The radio crackled to life, diverting his attention.
“Condor, this is ZBRA 343. We see smoke coming from your location. If you can copy, ETA is five mikes. Condor, do you copy? Over.”
Throughout the pounding the building had taken, somehow the SINCGARS radio had remained unscathed. Joe scrambled with the radio, trying to locate the handset. He followed the cord. It was still clutched in Balboa’s hand. Tears running down his face, he pried it away from his longtime friend and keyed up.
“This is Condor. Hurry the hell up, ZBRA 343. We ain’t gonna make it five minutes if you don’t. Over.”
“Copy that, Condor. How many people do you have left? Over.”
Joe heard the staccato of gunfire outside. “Not as many as we’ll have if you don’t hurry. Condor, over and out.”
Joe took one last look at his friend. Balboa deserved better than what he got, but dammit, there just wasn’t enough time. Maybe one day they could come back and give their friends a proper burial, but hope for that was fleeting at best. Joe said a silent prayer for his longtime friend and Army buddy. A Glock 17 was clutched in Balboa’s hand. As much as it pained him to do so, Joe took it from his grip and stuck it in his waistband. The .45 was empty and something told him he might need the extra firepower. As he stepped outside, he was glad that he did.
Rick was engaging several targets from a distance, lying on the ground to make sure that every shot found home accurately. Joe looked up in the distance. The hospital was in sight, one of the LMTVs making its way back down the hill towards them. Rick was providing sniper cover, picking off zombies that were attempting to get through the wall to the hospital. As Joe looked down, the scope of what they were trying to get through hit home. There were hundreds, if not thousands of zombies still milling about less than a quarter mile away. The sound of the AR-10 firing was drawing a few of them his direction, but they had gotten their dead sights on the hospital and the people trying to get there. Standing between him and his destination was a horde that he had little chance of destroying. He had to come up with a better way to get to the hospital.
The earth rumbled beneath his feet.
The Abrams that they had managed to lose on the other side of town was off to his right and behind him, moving slowly and aiming its turret towards them. They had little chance to run, and even less chance of surviving if they did. Shot to death or eaten. Shitty choices.
But the Abrams stopped just short.
Rick jumped up with his AR-10, aimed it at the tank, and then thought better of it. Even if by some miracle the thing was out of ammo, it could still run them over. Not that it would be difficult to evade the tank, but he didn’t want to press his luck.
The engine died and the hatch opened once again.
Joe waited for what seemed like an eternity, and then a familiar face appeared from the top of it.
“Giving up so easy?” Captain White said.
Joe was flabbergasted. “How in the hell did you get this thing?”
“Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups, my friend,” Captain White answered, grinning.
“Fair enough. You got room for a few more on that thing?”
“Hop on. The other one is around here somewhere. Best not to be here when it…shit. Spoke too soon,” White said. He looked off to his left, seeing the barrel of the other Abrams coming over the horizon. “No time! Get on!”
Joe and Rick clambered on top of the sixty-ton armored machine. Captain White ducked back down into the driver’s seat, leaving the hatch open as he did. Joe had an absent thought as he sat on top of the Abrams, something he didn’t have time to ask White about.
“You know how to drive one of these things?” Joe yelled over the roar of the engine firing.
“More or less. Trial and error, basically,” White answered.
Joe looked back up to see the other Abrams coming fast, the turret aiming towards them. While the tank was capable of handling a direct hit from another, he didn’t want to test that theory. He motioned for Rick to get into the gunner’s area.
“Get in! We don’t have time to…”
Something speeding in from the right caught his attention.
It was one of their LMTVs.
And it wasn’t slowing down.
CHAPTER 20
Curtis, Keith, and Kody were dropping the group off at the hospital when they saw what was coming. Although not surprised, they hoped they had more time. Zombies were leaking through the east entrance of the wall, spilling towards them and gaining in numbers. Where one made it through, a hundred more followed. The wall wasn’t going to hold the rest of them, at least not much longer. They had already taken down a sizeable section of the wall on the other side of town making their entrance, and they wer
en’t far from doing the same thing below the hospital.
Kody helped Angel down from the LMTV. She was the last to exit, making sure everyone else got off first. Curtis and Keith were keeping watch of the undead coming up the hill, picking off several that had made it through.
“Where’s Joe?” Angel yelled. She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just yelling into the group that had amassed at the hospital. All in all, only twenty-five people had made it to the hospital, with several important cogs in the machine notably missing. As Angel looked around through the tired and scared faces, she didn’t see her husband. She also didn’t see Cornbread, Jamie, Balboa, Larry, Boyd, and several others. Only one familiar face stood out.
“Reggie! Where are they?” Angel yelled.
Reggie wiped sweat from his brow, obviously working his ass off for the last half-hour. “I dunno, Angel. I ain’t seen ‘em yet. I got twenty-five here, myself included. We lost half the goddamn town, honey.”
“Dammit!” Angel exclaimed. She spun around to Curtis, Keith, and Kody. “Joe’s not here! We’re missing him, Rick, Larry, Balboa…a whole shitload of them!”
Kody glanced around the group, and then back to town. From where the hospital sat, it was easy to see about a third of the town. Joe had plans to extend the wall out to their current position, but they’d never been able to get caught up enough to do anything. Kody scanned the bottom of the hill, and back towards the center of town.
“Shit! I see ‘em! They’re down at the commo building, but one of those tanks is right on top of them!” Kody said. He ran over to the LMTV and grabbed his rifle. The 6x Leupold scope on the weapon gave him much better sight at distance.
“The tank has stopped. It’s…holy fuckin’ shit. It’s Captain White! He’s taken one of the tanks! Hot damn!” Kody exclaimed. He swung his rifle off to his left, eyeing the other Abrams fast approaching. “Shit! The other tank is hot on their ass!”
“Then tell them to haul ass up here!” Angel yelled, trying to see what Kody saw.
“I can’t! Radio got busted all to shit earlier! Hang on…they’re getting into the tank! Shit! They got company…no wait…that’s…”
Kody pulled the scope from his eye, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He covered his ears and turned to Angel who was regarding the bearded man with a very puzzled expression.
Angel looked confused. “What? Who is it?”
“Roman. That LMTV is loaded with C4. I’d say that other tank is about to have a shitty day. Might want to cover your ears and open your mouth.”
Angel still looked baffled.
“When that thing goes off, it is gonna…”
Angel looked up in time to watch the LMTV explode.
* * *
A little more than a hundred yards away, Larry was once again running for his life. While Joe had the luxury and luck of having sixty tons of armor to help out, Larry had a wall of zombies a hundred deep and a hundred wide between him and the tank. It did no good for him to yell for help, the group of undead before him was louder than the tank. They weren’t looking his way, and why should they? They had another tank barreling down on them that looked like it meant business. Larry had bigger problems. His family was in trouble. The motel in town was commonly used for a communal living area. There were plenty of rooms for everyone, and it was located close to the edge of town near the east gate. In the event of an emergency, everyone living in the motel could quickly get from there to the gate and out of town.
Only his wife and children hadn’t been able to.
As Larry ran to the stairs, he could see why.
Despite the overwhelming number of walkers slowly shambling about, there had been a few that were a little quicker than the others. Those quicker-moving ones had managed to pin down a few people just shy of the motel and were voraciously chowing down on several fresh bodies on the ground. The ones who weren’t eating away at the citizens had slowly started to climb the stairs to the second floor of the motel, inching their way towards Paige and the boys.
Ignoring his own personal safety, Larry sprinted, leaping over the still-bleeding bodies of his friends, desperate to get to his family. They had precious few minutes left to get to the hospital, and it didn’t look like they had a second to lose. One crawler grabbed at his leg as he leapt over them. It didn’t take much for Larry to lose his balance and he tripped up, gracelessly spraining his ankle. Searing pain shot through his lower leg as his ankle bent at an awkward angle, sending him to the ground. Hobbling on his good leg, he stood and tried to move forward. He still could, but it was going to slow him down considerably. Grabbing the railing, he steadied himself and hopped up the railing.
“Paige! Paige! Come on! We’ve got to go!” Larry yelled as he hobbled up the stairs.
As he crested the top of the stairs, the zombies below took notice of the moving buffet yelling at their appetizers. One by one, they lost interest in their current feasting and shifted their attention towards the moving feast making his way up the stairs.
“Larry! Help me get the boys! They won’t budge!” Paige yelled at her husband.
Larry hobbled over to his family, watching Joe and Rick climb into the Abrams as he did. The chopper wasn’t going to leave without them, but they still had precious little time. Larry limped to his sons, both still huddled near the floor, scared to death. Even growing up in the post-apocalyptic world around so much death and destruction, they were still just kids.
Larry tried his best to get his boys to move, but they were as frozen in fear by the undead as Larry was by the fact they were running out of time.
“C’mon, boys! Daddy’s gonna take you guys away from the monsters, but we gotta go now!”
“Listen to Daddy! Let’s go!” Paige pleaded.
Something must have clicked in the children’s minds. Maybe it was the true fear of being trapped, maybe it was them becoming instantly stronger in character. Maybe it was just the fact that Daddy was there and could make all the bad stuff go away. Whatever the reason was, they clung to Larry and Paige, desperate to get away.
“Daddy! We love you! Don’t let the monsters get us! Please, Daddy!”
Larry scooped up his youngest boy, ready to get the hell out of Dodge. With tears running down his face, he reassured them.
“Daddy’s here, guys! I love you guys so much! Daddy’s gonna get all of you away from the monsters, but we gotta hurry!” Larry said, clutching his youngest child. Just a few more minutes, just a little while longer. They were on their way out of town. They would have to start over, but at least they were alive. Larry calmed himself and tried to give his mind a break for a moment. Cloudy judgement was no way to go into such an emergency. Larry shook his thoughts loose and calmed his wife and kids.
Their reprieve didn’t last long.
As Larry turned to pick up his oldest son, he saw the LMTV barreling down the road, headed straight for both of the Abrams tanks. The large truck, while armored and decent-sized – didn’t have a chance in hell of taking out either one of the armored beasts. It didn’t have to. Before Larry could decipher what was about to happen, his family – all four of them – turned to watch the LMTV make it about ten feet short of both tanks before it exploded.
For Larry, Paige, and their children, the world went dark.
CHAPTER 21
As Joe was sliding down into the Abrams, he saw the LMTV coming. Initially, he thought the truck was on its way to the hospital, loaded down with survivors and gear getting ready to make good their escape.
That wasn’t the case.
No sooner has Joe’s ass hit the seat, the world shook. For a moment, he felt weightless. It was an odd feeling, one that he could scarcely remember having before. Maybe those times racing down Harris Lane in high school were close; hitting the top of the road and the road dropping away sharply. That feeling of weightlessness in his gut, that odd sensation was close to what he felt.
And then he slammed back down into the seat.
T
he world buzzed. His ears rang. Little black dots appeared in his vision. Something had knocked them up into the air. Something big. Something hefty enough to raise a sixty-ton piece of armor and drop it back down like it was a Tonka toy. Joe laid there and tried to focus his vision and regain his hearing. Smoke filled the cabin of the Abrams. Lights flashed. A strange buzzing sound cranked in the enclosed space. Maybe it was the tank, maybe it was something wrong with his hearing, he couldn’t tell.
“…all right?” Words sounded like metallic echoes. His hearing was slowly coming back. It was like trying to talk on the phone while ringing the bells of Notre Dame, but at least it was there.
Joe blinked away the water from his eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was from the tank or his own natural tears, but it blurred his vision nonetheless. He quickly wiped his face.
“Rick! White! You guys all right?” Joe yelled, unable to control the volume of his voice.
A hand landed on his leg.
It was Rick, and he was alive.
“Holy hell! I think I shit my pants!” Rick yelled, coughing in the smoke-filled cabin. His face was dirty, his lip was bloody, and he was as disoriented as his father and Captain White, but he was otherwise no worse off.
“Get…get the hatch open! We gotta get out of here and find out what the fuck just happened!” Captain White yelled. He wasted no time getting on his feet – as they were all unceremoniously planted on their collective asses – and getting up to the hatch. Smoke rolled out from the exit as they exited the tank.
Captain White was the first out, followed by Rick and then Joe. Each man was dazed and confused, but still kicking and still capable of fighting. Once on top of the tank, they surveyed the damage.
The LMTV was unrecognizable. The mangled mess of metal and rubber was no longer identifiable as a vehicle. The cab was torn clean from the rest of the chassis, laying roughly a hundred feet away and in just as bad a shape as the rest of the body. The hulking mass of charred metal was on fire, spewing forth copious amounts of black smoke from the burning diesel and oil.
Six Feet From Hell (Book 6): End Game Page 12