by Kidd, Sean
Bunker found his wits and stepped out of the elevator, next to the two men. He rocked the barrel from left to right and pulled the trigger screaming, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”
He was confused when nothing happened and slapped the side of the gun.
He pulled the trigger again, this time, there wasn’t even a click, “It’s jammed.”
“It’s not jammed,” Sawyer exploded, “you need to rotate the barrels. Lift the red safety cover and flip the toggle switch.”
Bunker looked down at the switch. Come to think of it, maybe Beck had shown him that.
Starting the barrels only took a fraction of a second after proper instruction. He rocked back and forth again and pulled the trigger. The rhythmic rattle of the M134 reminded Daniels of the sound Ty’s bicycle made when he stuck a baseball card in the spokes. Only the sound was much louder.
The recoil of the heavy gun pushed Bunker back on his heels. Before he knew it, he was back inside the elevator using the back wall for support. He released the trigger and stepped back out, “Daniels, push against my back and stabilize me.”
Daniels moved behind Bunker, held the ammo pack, and planted his feet on the floor.
“Shoot!”
Bunker pulled the trigger, moving across the parking garage. Bits and pieces of zombies flew everywhere as Bunker mowed down ten, twenty, thirty, at a time. Black ooze coated the floor and ceilings. Sawyer stopped firing and watched as the NATO rounds tore through the rotting flesh. Bunker screamed his war cry again, as the massacre continued.
The sound of exploding rounds ended and the only noise left was the rotation of the barrels.
“You’re empty. Shut her down.” Sawyer ordered.
Smoke rose from the end of the glowing barrels. Daniels stepped out from behind Bunker, admiring the carnage, “Holy shit, you got them all.”
“Ha, ha, I smoked all those bastards,” he cheered.
“That’s not all you smoked,” Sawyer said pointing at one of the Tahoe’s.”
All of the windows were shot out of the vehicle and fuel was pouring out from the bottom.
“Shit,” Bunker gasped.
“Let’s not get all freaked out yet,” Sawyer said, “the other Tahoe is parked on the other side of the lot. You might as well drop the gun. That’s all the ammo we had for it. There’s no sense in lugging that thing around.”
“What am I going to use if we run into anything else?”
Sawyer pulled his Beretta 9mm from his side holster and handed it to Bunker, “You’ll have to use this until we meet back up with Beck. Then we’ll grab you an M4.”
The Beretta felt small after carrying around the M134. It was nice not to be lugging that thing, but Bunker felt very vulnerable again without his big gun.
The three double-timed it to the far end of the parking level. From a distance, the Tahoe looked okay.
“It looks pretty good. You’ve got both sets of keys right?” Daniels asked.
Bunker wondered why they’d need both sets of keys, but thought he’d come across as stupid if he asked.
They were almost at the vehicle, and it looked good. Somehow Bunker had missed it. They hopped in, and Sawyer drove. He stuck in the first key and tried to turn it. Nothing happened. He tossed it over his shoulder and stuck in the second key. The engine started right up.
Bunker let out an, “Oh,” under his breath.
Daniels glanced over at him smiling, “You couldn’t figure out why he had two sets of keys, could you?”
Bunker sat there in silence, ignoring Daniels.
Sawyer let out a light chuckle and pushed the black communicator on his throat, “Beck we’ve got the Tahoe. Can you hear me? Beck, come in. Come in, Beck.”
Sawyer thought he heard a reply, but it was covered with static.
“I don’t think my com-link is making it out of these cement walls. We’re going to have to run inside and get them.”
Daniels looked over from the passenger seat, “You just get us to the back of the building, and I’ll find them.”
Sawyer pushed on the gas and crept over the bodies. The zombies that turned the earliest were more rotted and just squished under the weight of the vehicle. The newer zombies were still firm, and it felt like they were driving over cut logs. On a few occasions, the Tahoe’s tire would drive over a zombie’s head, and the weight of the vehicle would make it pop like a brown paper bag. When that happened, black slime would spray against the wall and release a toxic smell.
“Oh, that’s so gross.” Bunker cringed.
“Trust me,” Sawyer said, “they’re already dead, and they don’t feel a thing.”
The exit was in view now. Only one zombie stood between them and freedom from the parking garage.
“How are you going to handle this,” Daniels asked.
Sawyer laughed out loud, “Bunker just killed two hundred zombies. Do you really think I’m worried about one?”
Sawyer stepped on the gas, and the men felt the acceleration push them into their seats. Sawyer moved the vehicle over enough that Daniels thought he was going to miss the dead man entirely. He cracked the driver side door open a bit and joked, “Batter up.”
He continued to speed up and at the last second pushed the door open striking the zombie. The creature burst like a water balloon.
Sawyer cheered, “Ten points,” as he slammed the Tahoe door closed.
Bunker leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You’re still only in second place.”
The men all broke out in laughter, as they pulled up to the building entrance.
Chapter 38
Not realizing we had missed our new adversary by less than thirty minutes, we left Glens Falls with meds for Chevy and a second Humvee. The new vehicle we acquired was large enough to lower our car count to two, rather than three, thanks to Thurman’s summer job explorations.
Less of a convoy meant less chance of someone spotting us.
After the strategy meeting, we decided to take I-87 to the outskirts of the city and then hop on the back roads there.
My first instinct was to avoid the highway altogether and hide out on back roads until we got close to New York City. But Thurman brought up an interesting point, which probably saved our asses. He suggested staying on the highway as long as possible, reason being, the back roads would lead us through the middle of every town between here and New York City. A mistake I almost made that may have cost us our lives. So the final plan was to avoid people and towns at all costs.
Chevy was riding shotgun while Mom, Sidara and Sage sat in the back. Charger was curled up back there somewhere too, probably next to Mom.
Cowboy was in command of the second Humvee and Sophie navigated. Herman, Thurman, and Luther took up the back. We split up all the supplies and weapons, preparing for the unexpected. We even split up the serum.
If something happened to one of our groups and they couldn’t make it, the second was to proceed to Atlanta without looking back. This may have seemed harsh, but it was about survival now. Keeping that in mind, we took on a new philosophy. It was something I had seen in a mountain climbing movie. They were climbing Mt. Everest, K2, or one of those mountains I’d never see in my lifetime. As the climbers were securing themselves to the mountain, the lead climber was preaching safety, he said, “Two is one. One is none.”
His point was to double up on all safety measures, implying two is better than one, and one meant if something happened, you didn’t have much of a chance.
So that’s how we were handling things now. One group split into two, in case something happened. For the rest of the trip to Atlanta, everything we collected for survival would be split between the two vehicles. Also, the groups would stay the same, so everyone knew where to be if we needed a quick get away.
I still hadn’t heard from dad. We found a phone charger, and while the phone still wasn’t charged all the way, it was enough to make calls and receive messages. I was beginning to become obsessive about it, checking the screen every
few minutes.
Something inside told me my dad was dead. In this case, no news was not good news. I just wanted to know he was alive. Mom never looked at the phone and never asked if Dad messaged. The hurt in her face was beginning to show. I could tell she was upset, but she still took upon that motherly instinct of trying not to show it, to protect me. She knew if I got any messages, she’d be the first to know.
The road was getting harder to see as the mountains blocked the setting sun. I was exhausted and started head bobbing. We needed a place to sleep, and we needed it soon. The question now was, do we sleep in the Humvees, or pull off the highway and find a place.
Another thing I had never considered, was communication between the Humvees. Our Humvee had a military radio in it, but it was useless because Cowboys private Humvee didn’t have anything like that. If I needed to talk with Cowboy, I’d have to pull over. At the next town, we’d have to find ourselves a set of walkie talkies.
The pressing issue now was sleep and where we’d sleep. I slowed the Humvee down and moved over to the side of the highway. The second Humvee pulled up and Sophie rolled down the window. The song Purple Rain was blasting from the radio.
Cowboy turned down the radio and leaned across his navigator, “What’s up, hoss?”
“You guys have a radio in that thing?” I asked.
“Yeah, there’s nothing on any of the FM stations, so we’ve been listening to CDs. The guy that owned this thing had excellent taste in music.”
I looked over at the center of our dashboard. Ours had a computer screen that didn’t even turn on, and a military CB radio, “Must be nice,” I joked, “I’m exhausted, I need to get some sleep.”
Cowboy turned the radio off and pushed his Stetson back on his head, “We were just having the same conversation in here too. What do you want to do?”
“The way I see it, we have two options. The first, we can pull over into the median and park nose to nose. That way we can watch each others backs. The second, we can take the next exit and find an abandoned house or a hotel.”
“How big is the next town?” Cowboy asked.
Sophie picked up the map and ran her finger along the red line, “Looks like we’re about five miles outside of Saratoga Springs.”
“Woo-Hoo,” Cowboy said slapping his hands together, “Anyone feel like going to the horse races?”
Saratoga Springs was home to the Saratoga Race Course, the third-oldest racetrack in the United States. It was a favorite getaway for New Yorkers to visit in the summertime, trying their hand at a little horse betting. For some added fun, those visiting the track had the rare opportunity to dress fancy. Men donned their best suits and ties, while women wore chic summer dresses and extravagant hats, adding an elegant touch to their ensemble a popular tradition at the Saratoga racetrack, dating back to the mid-1800s.
While I didn’t share Cowboy’s enthusiasm, the idea of a soft bed sounded a hell of a lot better than the hard military seat I was sitting on.
I thought about it for a minute, trying to convince myself it wasn’t a bad idea but I knew it was. In the end, my ass decided the soft bed was the way to go. I could feel everyone’s eyes in Cowboy’s Humvee staring at me, waiting for the answer. I knew what they wanted, I could see it in their faces.
After a deep sigh, I agreed to the hotel. Cowboy released another annoying sound, that somewhat resembled words in the English language and slapped his hat on his knee.
“We’ll take the lead, you guys hang back a few hundred yards,” I said with conviction. “There’s no telling how infected that town is. I’d like to sneak in, get a few hours of sleep, and be out of town before the sun comes up. And Cowboy, we’re not going anywhere near the track.”
I could see the disparaging look on his face. What was there to get excited about anyway? It’s not like the place was open.
Sophie held up the map, pointing at a small black line, “I think it would be safer if we passed by the center of the city and stayed a few miles outside of it. This place looks a little more desolate.”
“I think that’s a much better idea. Sorry again, Cowboy. No track for you.”
A somber, “Shit,” came from the passenger seat next to me. Chevy was sitting there with his arms crossed.
“What’s your problem,” I asked.
“It’s not fair.”
“I’m confused, what’s not fair?” I asked.
“I always wanted to see the track. I mean, I know no horse races are going on right now, but visiting there for the history would be incredible. Since we’ll probably never be back to New York, this would have been our last chance.”
“That’s a good point, Chevy!” Cowboy yelled over from the other vehicle.
It was pretty clear. They both wanted to see the track.
I looked at the exit for a minute, thinking. Then glanced over to Cowboy, “You guys really want to see the track?”
They both nodded their heads and gave me puppy dog faces.
“Well, like my dad always says, ‘Wish in one hand. Shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.’ We’re not going to the track, you two idiots.”
Everyone laughed out loud, except the two wearing the puppy dog faces. The laughing ceased when the phone on the dashboard buzzed. I grabbed it, staring at the screen and spun around to the backseat, “Mom, it’s Dad.”
Chapter 39
Kane’s brother was just feet from the MRAP, still celebrating when he felt the air forced out of his lungs. He didn’t hear the shot, but he felt the impact in the center of his chest. Lying there, on the edge of consciousness, he slid his fingers across his heart. He searched for the non-existent hole. Fighting to fill his lungs again, he rolled to his side, where he saw a strangely shaped beanbag. It was the size of a golf ball and tarnished with black gunpowder.
Beyond the projectile, a man approached, who looked like he’d just walked out of the mountains. His old country hat and beard flapped in the wind. He spoke with a southern drawl, which seemed strange considering they were a hundred miles from the Canadian border, “Oh, she sure do sting, don’t she?” he said, bending over, looking at Kane’s brother.
“I got this off a dead cop,” he said, holding up what looked like a shotgun, but it had a bright orange plastic butt and fore-end.
“It’s one of them non-kill guns.”
Kane’s brother sat up from his prone position, rubbing his chest, “I believe the word you’re looking for is non-lethal, sir.”
The mountain man pointed the barrel of the gun, inches from Kane’s brother’s forehead, “I betcha it’ll be lethal at this distance,” he jawed, “What do ya think?”
Kane’s brother used two fingers, gently pushing the barrel away from his forehead, “I don’t disagree with you, friend. I’ll be honest, I’m not too familiar with this sort of weapon, but if I were a betting man, I’d bet you were right. Right or wrong, if it were all the same to you, I’d rather not find out. I’m not quite sure why you decided to shoot me with your beanbag gun, but it was quite rude and stung like the dickens. If you just give me a second to get up, I’ll properly introduce myself, and I’m sure we can figure this out. Let’s start with pointing that gun in a different direction and telling me what you want.”
“You don’t make the rules, and I tell you how it’s gonna be. You keep your ass situated right there on the ground, where I can see you. I don’t give a shit what your name is, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll be driving away in that fancy rig of yours.”
“So that’s it my friend? Do you want my vehicle? You could have just asked, and I would have given it to you. You didn’t have to shoot me in the chest with that idiotic gun.”
“Why do you call it idiotic?” the mountain man questioned. “It took you down, didn’t it?”
“Yes, it did take me down and the reason I call it an idiotic gun is because an idiot is holding it.”
“What the hell are you talking like that for? Are you crazy or something? Watch yourself
, or I’ll put a beanbag right through that big brain of yours.”
Kane’s brother glanced up at the MRAP’s passenger side window, and back at the mountain man, “I don’t think my brother is going to let you take our vehicle.”
“What brother?” the man questioned.
“I know he’s hard to see, with the glare of the windshield, but my brother Kane has had his MAC-10 pointed at you the whole time. Before you have a chance to pull the trigger, you’ll feel thirty 9mm rounds pass through your body, before you hit the ground. And I must tell you; Kane is not as nice as I am. Why I’m willing to bet, you’ve angered him to the point where he’d like to cut you up into little pieces, just because you’ve shot me with your beanbag gun.”
The mountain man felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He worked up the nerve to take his eyes off of Kane’s brother long enough to glance up at the MRAP. He stepped back looking through the glare, revealing the sadistic looking man staring back out the window through his mirrored sunglasses.
“Oh, you see him now, don't you? It seems you’ve put yourself in a quandary. That’s Kane, and I’m afraid, my dear friend. You’ve upset him.”
The mountain man stepped forward staring at the man inside of the vehicle. He knew he had the upper hand, and prepared to turn and run. He spun around and found himself staring down the barrel of a revolver. It was pointed right between his eyes.
Kane’s brother was smiling at the mountain man, “Look’s like we got ourselves a Mexican standoff.”
The mountain man dropped the shotgun and raised both of his hands above his head.
Kane’s brother looked down at the orange excuse for a weapon, “Uh-oh, you seem to have dropped your gun. I guess that’s the end of our standoff.
That’s unfortunate, my hillbilly friend. Your silly little gun was the only chance you had to make it out of here alive.
I guess Kane and I are going to have to cut you up into little pieces while you’re still alive. After all, a promise is a promise.”
The Mountain Man slapped the barrel of the revolver away and took off in a dead sprint toward the tree line.