I scrambled to find my weapon and found that tossing it had finished the job. The head lay less than a foot from the handle, severed with a ragged piece of wood sticking out of it. It was next to useless, now. I tucked the head into one of my cargo pockets. I didn't want to leave it behind. I might still need it before this was over.
All around me, I could hear the sounds of the dead slapping their hands against the sides of the truck. Since I knew that most types of the dead couldn't climb, I had a moment to catch my breath and to figure out my next move. I slipped the tactical vest on and lay back against the cool metal of the truck to catch my breath. As I lay there gasping with my chest heaving, I saw the head of a zombie emerge over the end of the truck. From the way it was sniffing the air, I knew it had to be a Tracker.
"Great!" I snapped. "The goddamned Trackers can climb, now."
It slipped onto the top and got to its feet. I began to scramble backwards, still on my back. I knew that I didn't have much farther before I would run out of truck. Two more Trackers were emerging and climbing onto the top as the first one came towards me. I could see my own death in their dead eyes. As they closed to within a few feet of me, my left hand found the handle of something solid.
I glanced quickly to see what I had found and smiled when I realized that I had found the handle of a Halligan Bar. It was a heavy-duty all-steel wrecking bar used by firefighters to smash their way into burning buildings. One end was a clawed nail puller and tool while the other end had a sharpened spike on one side and a pry-wedge on the other. The entire thing was made out of solid steel, so breaking it was pretty much out of the question. It could survive almost anything.
With a cold smile on my face, I pulled the Halligan free and got to my feet. Squaring my shoulders and adjusting my stance, I swung the Halligan at an upward angle, catching the first one in the jaw and knocking it flying over the side. It landed in the middle of a group of Shamblers and knocked several of them to the ground.
Quickly, I reversed my swing and drove the prying wedge into the head of the second one. The skull split like it was made of paper and knocked most of the front half of the head off into the water. The rest of it crumpled and tumbled over the side of the truck. I heard it hit, but didn't see where it landed. I was too busy lining up my next target.
The last one lumbered towards me without stopping. I spun the Halligan in an overhead arc and drove the spike down and into the top of its head. It stopped moving instantly and twitched a few times before I yanked the spike free with a crunching slurp of blackened brains. It took one last step and plunged face-first off of the side of the truck and into the zombies below.
I could see more zombies coming in the distance, from both directions. I was in a bad position, almost directly in the middle of the dam. I had to find a way to distract the dead or I'd never make it off of this damned dam. I started looking around frantically, hoping to find anything that might help me get out of this. I found a fire axe and a helmet, but nothing that might be useful. The axe was nice, but the Halligan was a better weapon. I'd be better off if I stuck with that.
Then my hand fell on the flares in my cargo pocket. It wasn't much, but an idea started forming in my head. I grabbed the helmet and stuck it on my head. Then I grabbed the axe and headed for the back of the truck. I wanted to create as big of a distraction as I possibly could. Since bright lights and noise seemed to attract those things, I had a crazy idea. I just hoped that it worked.
I readied the axe and took careful aim. I was only going to get one shot at this. I took a few practice swings, and then drew the axe back over my head. With a scream to the heavens, I threw the axe as hard as I could and hoped for the best. Time seemed to slow down as I watched the axe flip end over end as it flew through the air. I held my breath to see if my aim was good.
What felt like an eternity later the axe hit the target, the back window of the patrol car, exploding in a shower of glass with a massive booming sound. It was so loud that quite a few of the undead turned to see what it was. It was good, but not good enough. I was going to have to make a much bigger distraction. It was time to break something. As Spec-4 could attest, I was damned good at breaking things.
I pulled a flare out of my cargo pocket and struck the igniter. It sputtered for a moment before bursting out with a bright red flame that was easy to see against the rising sun. I let it sputter for a few seconds to make certain that it was going to stay lit, and then I threw it at the now open rear window of the police car. It landed on the trunk and bounced twice before it disappeared into the back seat.
Immediately, the interior of the car was lit up with a hellish red glow. Smoke billowed out of the open windows. Seconds later, the first tongues of flame began to lick the interior.
"Come on, you son-of-a-bitch!" I shouted. "BURN!"
In less than a minute, the entire interior of the car was engulfed in flames. I backed away several paces and crouched low to avoid being seen any more than necessary. I was hoping to get as many of the dead focused on the burning car as possible. I could clearly see the flames leaping skyward as the car continued to burn. Then something unexpected happened. You see, this is the part where my plans tend to take a turn for the worse. The goddamned car exploded.
It didn't just go boom. It blew like a small volcano and knocked me onto my back from the force of the explosion. Burning bits of debris were landing all around me and another car next to it was now on fire. The dead were focused on the burning wreckage now, completely forgetting about me. I kept low and scrambled towards the front of the fire truck to wait for an opening.
When the second car exploded, I wasn't nearly as surprised. I managed to keep my footing and ride out the shockwave. Now there were burning zombies among the burning wreckage. The fire was spreading rapidly. I glanced behind me and saw that flames were now climbing up the back of the fire truck. I was officially out of time. It was time to move. It was time to move, NOW!
Leaping to the ground, I smashed the nearest zombie with the Halligan bar and ran for the next car. The zombies weren't paying attention to me anymore. Now they were focused on the firestorm that engulfed the middle of the dam. I had nearly made it to the second vehicle when the fire truck joined in the celebration and exploded. The force of the huge gas tanks igniting threw me to the ground and singed my back and arms with the heat that washed over me.
The massive force of the explosion rocked the dam like a massive sonic boom. The entire dam shook for what felt like an eternity before I managed to regain my footing. I quickly glanced around and realized that the dead had fared worse than I had. They were scattered everywhere and struggling to get up. I had just bought myself some much-needed time to breathe.
Then I heard something that sent chills down my spine. It was the unmistakable sound of concrete cracking. I didn't know if it was from the heat or the explosions. All I knew was that I didn't want to be here if the dam broke. I’ve seen concrete crack from the heat on extremely hot summer days. The heat at the center of that explosion must have been tremendous to cause that much concrete to crack.
I stood up and ran for the end of the dam as fast as my legs would go. I used the Halligan bar to knock anything out of my path, running like the all of the denizens of Hel were right behind me. I could still feel the heat from the fire on my back as the end of the dam got closer and closer.
There were more of the dead coming, so I stopped long enough to light another flare and tossed it into the open window of a mini-van. It had to have been loaded with fuel and other supplies, because it caught fire almost instantly. I didn't have time to wait for it. I just ran for the end of the dam. As I rounded the railing and headed towards the nearest docks, I heard the van explode.
While not as big of a bang as the fire truck, it did a good job. I just hoped the dam would survive the punishment. If the dam went, then we lost everything on the lake. While I didn't care about most of the things, there was the small matter of my son and Spec-4. I had to get back
to them, no matter what the cost.
I sprinted down the slope and onto the dock. There, tied at the end, was the promised boat. It had a large outboard motor and it was loosely tied with only one mooring line. I didn't waste any time and jumped right into it. I quickly cast off the line and shoved the boat away from the dock. Only then did I realize that there was a large crowd of zombies following me down the dock. I had been only moments ahead of them.
Fortunately, the water near the dock was deep. I drifted rapidly away from the dock and watched as the dead lined up and tried to find a way to get to me. Like before, one would occasionally get knocked off into the water and sink like a stone. That was when I realized I was drifting towards the dam. The current from the spillways was pulling me directly towards them.
I scrambled over to the motor and primed the fuel intake valve. The tank looked to be about half full, so I grabbed the handle of the cord and started pulling. It coughed and caught on the third pull. As I engaged the prop and headed away from the dam, I looked back to survey the damage.
The fire was still burning on top of the dam, but I couldn't see any additional drainage. The only place that seemed to be venting water was the open spillways. Despite my nearly suicidal escape from the dam, it would continue to hold back the flood of water that made up the lake. It wasn't going to collapse, today. Not through lack of trying, though. Thank the Gods for small favors. There was a massive black cloud drifting high into the sky. I’m certain that it could be seen for miles in any direction.
Angling the boat back towards the makeshift island, I smiled as I lay the Halligan bar across my legs. I took the maul head out of my pocket and held it up to the end of the Halligan. I could imagine welding the hammer to the end and giving it more power to crush. If I could combine the two, it would make one hell of a weapon. Instantly, I knew how it needed to be combined for maximum effectiveness. In my mind, I could see it clearly.
My new weapon was born. It would be a war-hammer like no other. I had the perfect name for it, too. Brjótanir would be its name. It meant destroyer in old Norse. It would become Brjótanir, the destroyer.
Chapter Eleven
Blood in the Water
"All species capable of grasping this fact manage better in the struggle for existence than those which rely upon their own strength alone: the wolf, which hunts in a pack, has a greater chance of survival than the lion, which hunts alone."
- Christian Louis Lange
I took my time heading back to the floating island. I slipped the Glock, that I had found in the hands of the dead patrolman, out of my pocket and checked it over. Other than being exposed to the elements for over a month, it was in good shape. It was dirty and needed a thorough cleaning, but it might still work.
I took the opportunity to clean it out with water to remove any dirt and debris. Then I scavenged a can of spray lubricant from the boat’s tool compartment and sprayed it down. I worked the slide a few times to make certain it moved freely, and then wiped off the excess with a rag. Once I was satisfied that it was as good as I could make it without a cleaning kit, I hid it in my boot and under my pant leg.
Once I had the gun hidden, I continued towards the island. I didn’t have any ammo for the pistol, but I had a feeling that I needed to hang onto the gun. I still didn’t trust the King or his men. I didn’t really believe that they were going to let us go. I wasn’t about to let them keep us as prisoners for much longer. My patience was quickly running out with them.
When I reached the edge of the floating island, the King and four of his men were there to greet me. They were all armed and had their weapons trained on me as I approached. Or should I say, they had our weapons trained on me.
“So much for being a man of his word,” I muttered.
I needed to bide my time and wait for the right opening to make my move. I just had to be patient. However, having said that, patience has never been one of my strong suits. Maybe I would have to make my own opportunity. That certainly sounded more like something I would do.
I raised my hands over my head and waited while two of them grabbed my boat and secured it to the edge of a dock. I waited for them to finish before I moved. I didn’t want to get shot by mistake. Although, that would be right with the way my luck usually runs.
“Now hand over that big-assed crowbar you have,” said one of the men, pointing at my Halligan bar.
Reluctantly, I handed it to him and he snatched it out of my hand as if I was about to attack him. Either the King had these guys scared to death of me, or they had less courage than the Cowardly Lion. Still, a coward can kill you just as quickly as a professional can, but more than likely it would be by accident. On the other hand, he might just shoot you out of fear. Either way, I didn’t want to get shot. It wasn’t exactly “Plan A” material.
“Now empty your pockets,” demanded the same man.
He was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt that said “Beach-house Marina” on it in white letters with a white logo of a shark riding a surfboard. He also had on a Missouri Tigers ball-cap and dark sunglasses. His long blonde hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. Not exactly the image of a soldier. He looked more like a bartender.
I handed him my remaining road flares, the badge and the head off of the axe. I was hoping he wouldn’t give me a pat search. Even a rookie officer would find the pistol in my boot. I breathed a sigh of relief when he had me stand up and slap my pockets for him. He didn’t hear any sounds or see any bulges, so he motioned me onto the deck beside him. No one offered to give me a hand. Once I was standing on level with them, I turned and smiled at the King.
“I’ll be taking our gear and my people, now,” I said. “We’re leaving.”
“Not so fast,” he replied, grinning. “I want to have a little talk with you before you leave.”
“Fine,” I replied, not returning the grin. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You certainly know how to make an impression,” said the King, gesturing at the dam that still had fires raging across it. “You put on a hell of a show.”
“So glad to be of service,” I answered, sarcastically.
We headed inside the main cabin. We were left alone and spent the next several hours discussing the Gods, our tattoos and even the Einherjar. After some time, we came to the conclusion that we both had been having the same dreams. Both of us were being called to fight against the hordes of the dead.
While we were talking, I saw a bag of ammunition. While he was using the bathroom, I palmed a box of 9mm ammo and slipped it into my cargo pocket. When I excused myself to use the bathroom, I quickly loaded the magazine and chambered a round. I would only have the one magazine, so I would have to make every shot count.
We broke to eat supper, just as the sun was setting in the west. It turned the lake a molten golden color. It would have been a breathtaking sight had it not been for all of the dead wandering around on the shore. That certainly kept things in perspective. I couldn’t speak for the King, but it made me remember the danger we were in.
Dinner was more fish and a large pot of beef stew. I could tell it was canned, but I really didn’t care. Real food was better than MREs, any day. Spec-4 and Elliott were both at the table, but no one was talking very much. Spec-4 wouldn’t look me in the eye and Elliott seemed anxious. I wasn’t certain what the matter was, but I had the feeling that I was going to find out, soon.
It was completely dark by the time we finished our meal. There was enough tension in the air to feel it on your skin. I waited until the serving girls took away the plates before I decided to break the silence and speak up to our “host.” Even I was surprised by the strength of my voice.
“So, when do we get to leave?” I demanded. “I’m ready to head back. I’m sure that they are, too.”
“Soon,” said the King. “Why the rush?”
“We have other things to worry about right now,” I said, my tone still gruff.
As if by magic, three men appeared from the next b
oat. They were all armed with our gear and wearing our body armor. The way that they were heading for us, I had no doubt that they weren’t coming for a social call. They quickly moved across to our boat and fanned out, covering any possible exit that we could make to leave the boat. Well, any except diving into the water.
“I think we’ll be enjoying your company for a bit longer,” said the King, not looking up at his men.
He had a look of feral glee on his face and watched us intently. I didn’t make any sudden movements. I slowly slipped my hand below the table and raised my foot. The goons were on the far side of the table and couldn’t see what I was doing through the tablecloth. Very carefully, I removed the Glock from my boot and held it next to my thigh. I was just waiting for the right opening.
“When are you planning on releasing us?” snapped Elliott, rising to his feet. “I thought you were supposed to be a man of your word!”
Everyone was watching Elliott and no one was watching me. I also noticed that none of the goons had their weapons trained on any of us. Despite the weapons and gear, they still lacked any real training. None of them had any instincts for this, at all. They didn’t even seem to notice that I had gotten to my feet, until I opened fire.
My first round hit the first goon in the forehead, dropping him to the deck like a stone. Before anyone could react, I shot the second goon through the left eye. He staggered and fell over beside the King. Goon number three at least tried to bring up his weapon. I shot him twice in the face before he managed to get off a single shot.
I had the pistol leveled right at the King before the last body hit the deck. Unfortunately, I was also staring down the barrel of his pistol. We were at a standoff. Neither of us was going to flinch first. I could tell that, unlike his men, the King had training. I could see that from the way he held his pistol. He no longer had the bearing of the oafish King. The man that stood transformed before me was a warrior. I could see it in his eyes.
Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 17