by Dalton Wolf
“Scoot, man. I’ve got to talk to you about something private,” Boomer whispered down to him.
With another sigh, Calvin turned off his mic and looked up at his friend. “What about?” he whispered back.
“Brick,” Boomer looked cautiously to the front passenger seat to make sure Brick couldn’t hear them, but the subject of their conversation had his window open and his Ipod headphones on. Boomer considered for a moment, but eventually felt that the combined music and breeze added to the near constant drone of the compressors between them should cover his voice adequately if they were quiet enough.
“What about him?” Calvin asked quietly, watching one of his oldest friends with cautious interest as the unnatural quiet of Kansas City on a week day rolled past.
“He’s been acting real strange, man.”
As they talked, both men watched the freshly mown medians roll by, still eerily empty of sound and movement other than the occasional flaming beacons that once were automobiles. These smoking piles stood watch at regular intervals in various sates of burned-out decay, with the charred remains of at least one zombie at each site as testament to the battles that must be playing out throughout the city, not one of which they had yet been witness to. In every vehicle roasted arms and legs hung out of windows or dangled from roofs by blackened, bar-b-queued tendons. Calvin wasn’t sure exactly what it was about the zombie remains that announced them as such, but everyone knew which parts were Human and which were Infected. The Human corpses just seemed cleaner, fresher. The simple act of wondering if a corpse was a zombie or Human made him realize just how strange things had become since this morning. So to hear someone was acting strange didn’t really give much information to Calvin. “What do you mean by strange?” He asked.
“Well, he’s been really off since the accident, anyway. He gets in more fights and is a bit too lippy and shit.”
“So you think he’s getting too uppity?”
“Fuck you, man. This is serious.”
“Sorry.”
“I mean, I haven’t even wanted to hang out with him except he always finds the nunu for me, you know? But…he got really weird again today, man. He was all hands up on this girl’s tits earlier, in public. And she wasn’t into it. It’s not like they were on a date or anything. He’d just started hitting on her and next thing I know, he’s got a full handful of the Promised Land in his fist. I mean, he played it off as if he was just messing around. She didn’t scream or nothing, and laughed it off, but she had this surprised expression, maybe even a little scared. She and her friends ended up giving us the slip. Then later this other chick shut him down hard. I mean, he went off, calling her names and flipping her off. I had to bring him back down again. I swear, man, I thought he was gonna do something stupid. More stupid, I mean. This was before the attacks and shit went down. I had to step in and shut him down twice in one day.”
“No, this one! This one! Turn there!” Tripper snapped from the jump seat across from Calvin. “C’mon, Brick. Do your job or get out of the navigator seat.”
Brick rode shotgun, but his baby blues were fixed in the distance as he listened to music, refusing to give directions, though he did send Tripper a casual finger in response. Felicia sped up a little when Trip pointed over her shoulder at the ramp they were about to pass. Calvin watched the exchange uneasily. When he returned his attention to the conversation, he found Boomer staring at him with an intense expression and a nod that clearly said ‘see what I mean?’
“Twice huh?” Scooter mumbled quietly, again eying the blonde jock with judging eyes, already regretting putting him up front to get him involved. “That’s not good.”
“I know, right?” Boomer whispered back.
“Did he start drinking hard early or something?”
“No way, man. I brought the brews. He didn’t start until I was there. That I know.” Boomer whispered now from the side of his mouth, looking around eagerly for fast-movers. One ragged one-armed stiff stumbled from behind a burning car and jogged towards them, but Joel put it down before Boomer had a chance to even move his gun.
“Uh-oh. Gotta be quicker than that, Boom Boom,” his friend joked.
“Hey, I gotta get some practice in, man. Give me the next few.”
“Fair enough,” Joel agreed.
Scooter sat up taller in his seat so he was closer to his friend and tried to bring him back on topic. “You think the wreck is still having after-effects?”
“I think he’s lost it, man. He’s not himself anymore. And when the shit started…”
“Go on,” Scooter pushed him for more.
“Man, he just curled up on the ground up against that building and cried. Me and these other guys are fighting off stiffs right and left…blood, fire and moving dead people all around. We could have really used a guy as in-shape as Brick.”
“Some guys just aren’t fighters,” Scooter said, but he knew it for a lie and Boomer did as well.
“That’s bullshit, man. He’ll step up to half the guys in this town if they look at him wrong or at one of us, or the girls.”
“Has he ever actually done that, though?” Scooter asked.
“Well, no, but the situation ain’t ever come up. This was different, anyhow. He freaked, man. I mean, I’m surprised he didn’t shit himself. And now he’s acting weirder.”
“Weirder how.”
“Like he broke.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, man. Like…like something inside him, Like his ego or something…the thing that made him be Brick, the guy who never lost his head or a game or…anything. He, or it, broke when the world did. Maybe he was already bending from the accident and how it derailed his career, but then when this stuff started it was too much and…and he just broke. Right when he was about to make his comeback, this happens. He just ran and I think he’s still running. He needs to get some control or someone is gonna have to do something. He just ain’t all there right now, Calvin.”
“I noticed he gave the girls a few odd looks when we got to the Fortress. Maybe they can help him when we get back. Maybe get a meal in him and get some of the alcohol and drugs flushed out. Sarah and Athena are good at talking people down.”
“Man…Calvin. I’m not even sure you should have left him there with them earlier. I was worried.”
“He’s not that bad is he?” Calvin asked in concern.
“I don’t know, man. That’s what I’m saying. That’s the problem. He just ran and ran and ran when we were leaving that place. There were half a dozen of us, and he just ran. He didn’t take one swing to defend himself. He couldn’t even look at them damned zombies. But then when we get to the library, he’s all smiles again. It ain’t right. He ain’t right. And at some point he’s gonna have to deal with this shit.”
“He’s always been a bit iffy about blood, I think.”
“Yeah, but this is life or death, man. Kill or be killed. We don’t have time for that hysterical shit. I should have left his ass on that sidewalk when we pulled out of there.”
“Hey, he’s saved your ass enough times.”
“Yeah, well, we’re even. He saved my ass on the football field, but I saved his whole damn life. I saved his ass three times. A guy died helping that son of a bitch.”
“We can’t have that.”
“Yeah, what if he does that when he’s supposed to have our backs?”
“I’ll talk to him when we get some time, see if we can coax a fight out of him.”
“Honestly, man. I’m not sure you want whatever fight is gonna come out.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” Boomer nodded and stood upright again to give Calvin some time.
The vehicles approached the William T. Fitzsimons Memorial Fountain, pulling Calvin’s thoughts around in circles. Ah, The Paseo, he marveled to himself. If there was ever a more beautiful stretch of busy roadway to be found in Kansas City than The Paseo between I-35 and The Parade at 18th he had never driven it, or hadn’t
been paying attention during the drive. The beauty of the Paseo lay between the divided roadway. This area consisted of a stretch of grassland half-a-block wide and many blocks long with deep green, perfectly manicured lawns and artfully manipulated floral arrangements occasionally scattered with fountains, shrubs, Corinthian arches and at least one memorial fountain. Intersected occasionally by through streets, but never losing its aesthetic appeal, the best stretch basically ended at The Parade. The Negro Leagues and Jazz museums lay just around the corner and always made nice pit stops for any out-of-towners lucky enough to get lost on The Paseo, if they were lucky enough to have the time and also lucky enough to not get car-jacked at a stoplight.
The road continued for another ten miles or so, but this was Scooter’s favorite section. It was simply an unfortunate fact of life that half of The Paseo ran through some of the most crime-ridden areas of Kansas City.
Kansas City. His mind drifted.
The City of Fountains: current record holder for Loudest Crowd Roar at an Outdoor Stadium in the entire world; multiple Sports Championships in the same year; current World Series Champions; current Super Bowl Champions; current MLS Cup Champions; home to some of the best damned Bar-B-Q in the entire world and there was so much more…but none of that meant a damned thing now.
It was all gone.
Well, not gone yet but certainly heading for the door in a hurry, umbrella in hand and hat placed firmly on head. Would they ever get their town back? How many had they lost already? How many were going to make it out of town? Where would they even go?
As they approached the more densely populated side-streets, the barricades barring off the side streets became increasingly more sophisticated, one built with actual fencing materials and manned by guards with radios.
Maybe there was still some hope.
Not bad work for only… How long has it been?
Scooter checked his watch.
18:36.
Six-thirty-six? Only eight hours? Seems like it’s been at least a month. Hell, there are probably people who don’t even know anything is wrong yet, anyone with the flu or who worked last night and slept in. I don’t envy them the shock when they wake up.
“Hey, is there any way we can get the word out to everyone about what is happening?” he asked the others.
“None that I know of,” Tripper replied. “Unless we take over a television station, but you can’t guarantee everyone will be listening.”
“Can’t. The signals are being blocked,” Gus reminded him.
“The Emergency Alert System would be the best,” Scaggs said. “Radio.”
“You’d think it would have already been set off if they were going to do it,” Felicia noted with a grimace.
“The doctor has certainly gotten word out. It’s strange they haven’t done anything about it yet,” Calvin rubbed his chin in thought.
“Nothing we know about,” Tripper said in a conspiratorial aside.
“What do you mean?” Scaggs asked.
“It’s likely that any plan for this scenario includes them either fire-bombing or walling off an infected area,” he suggested.
Damn, thought Calvin. Hit it just about right on the head.
“You guys. There’s something I wasn’t going to tell you, but now I think I should…” Calvin trailed off, uncertain of how to word his news.
“You mean that they’re building a wall one hundred feet around Kansas City?” Tripper asked.
“How did you know?”
“I overheard Doc telling you before, and then confirming it later.”
“Figures. No secrets in the Apocalypse. Well, might as well tell everyone. We’re in the middle of a quarantine zone. As of several hours ago, no one gets out.”
“Wait, what about us?” Scaggs asked.
“No one.” Calvin repeated.
“You mean even when we take your magical carpet out of here we still won’t be able to actually leave?”
“There are places we can go,” he explained.
“Screw that. I want to go home, not to some damned fortified camp or something where we slowly get picked off one-by-one. I want this to be over.”
“Hey, at this point we don’t even know how many cities have been affected or will be, much less whether there will be any place to go in a week. You should keep trying to get in touch with your family and friends. Let them know the situation and that it’s not a joke. Send texts. Maybe they’ll go through eventually.”
“I’d rather tell them in person,” Scaggs muttered.
Here we go again, Tripper thought.
“But at least I’m stuck with a cool crew and a handsome new boyfriend. I guess I can hang for a while,” she grinned ruefully.
Ok, not where I thought she was going at all, he corrected himself.
“Watch out! There’s a massive group in your way,” The Doctor informed them.
Athena must have put him to work monitoring the video for us, Calvin realized.
“Can we get around it?” he asked, enlarging the picture on his monitor to zone in on the mass the doctor was warning them about. Each vehicle now had its own video feed, but the former library had much bigger monitors in the meeting rooms.
“No. Not without backtracking, anyway,” The doctor replied. “You may need to go lateral for several blocks and come back after you pass.”
“We’d probably have to go all the way back across the river to do that. Many of the side streets are being barricaded now.”
“Then you’re going to have to just shoot your way through this group. And when you get to about 27th, I won’t be able to guide you, because that’s on the other side of a hill from the tower. I can see nothing.”
“Roger that,” Scooter replied, seeing the same thing on his tiny monitor.
“Ok. You heard him. Lock it down. Make sure all of the windows are closed. Let the turrets do what they do, Trip, no need to waste our ammo.”
“Ok.” “Agreed.” “Right.” He received in response.
“Try to keep to the center line of the road, Felicia,” he cautioned.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
“I’m not your boss,” Scooter replied.
“You hear anyone else in this group giving orders?” she asked snarkily.
“I…no. I just…don’t call me boss, please.”
“Sure thing, Chief.”
“I’m not comfortable with that either.”
“Look. Someone has got to get me out of this mess. I picked a guy, and you’re the leader of his group. That makes you our leader. Get me out of this thing, and I’ll call you Scooter or even Calvin if you wish. But until you either get me free, or get me or yourself dead, you’re Chief or Boss, or Captain
“Do not call me Captain.”
“Right, Chief.”
“There!” he pointed. “Turrets, make us a corridor. Stay to the center. Trip, keep an eye on those civilians,” he ordered in a rush, trying and failing to enhance his calm.
“Right, Chief,” Boomer and Trip said together.
“Crap.” Calvin grumbled.
The dead had been forced out or blocked from entering the side-streets by the car-based barricades and had funneled into a mob between two streets. The cautious civilians were not killing them, however, instead content to just make sure they couldn’t enter their neighborhoods. Perhaps they had already learned how precious their ammunition was and had decided to let the dead be if they weren’t being attacked. Perhaps they were being humane. Calvin and his friends did not have that luxury. The turrets mowed a path before the Hedgehog, but when one shuffler went down, others would instantly fill the void, sometimes falling down, other times successfully stomping over their fellow Infected. Both vehicles were forced to slow to a crawl to avoid excess body damage and while the repeated bashing of bodies might not permanently damage the vehicles, it sure did make one hell of a mess.
“There are too many of them!” Boomer called out. “We need to get clear for a minute an
d pick a light spot.”
They were wasting a lot of ammo with little positive return. And now some of the zombies were crawling onto the hoods, only feet away from the semi-open turrets. This was quickly getting out of hand. But then Scooter noticed something. Something he’d noticed earlier, but then quickly forgotten. “Go. Just run into them,” he suggested. “Keep it between five and ten. No, even slower.”
“Ooh, gross!” Felicia exclaimed.
“Not liking this,” Gus agreed as his foot lightly pressed the pedal, sending the Wagon forward with a quiet grumble into and over the bodies blocking their path, pushing down zombies that stood before them.
The heavy impacts stopped. Zombies were pushed backwards into more zombies, who fell on top of the already dead again zombies until there was a writhing mass of dead things composing a demented, rocky path through the streets over which the vehicles climbed with little issue. The Hedgehog bobbed up and down and they could feel the crunching of bones through their military issue seat cushions. Those in the wagon had to traverse even larger mounds, having to climb both the zombies they pushed down and the piles of dead the Hedgehog had already run over.
“No. No. No. I can hear the skulls pop!” Felicia squealed, trying to cover her ears, steer and hold her rifle at once.
“Reminds me of Jeeping in the Rockies,” Trip hooted.
“Shut up, Trip,” Scooter snapped. “Just keep going. Save the ammo. Stop shooting them,” he added to Boomer and Joel. “Most of them get pushed out of the way if they’re not already lying on the ground dead...dead again, I mean.”
The second Joel stopped shooting the ones in front of the Hedgehog the rest could see that he was right. As they continued, most of the zombies were actually pushed from in front of the vehicle, as long as their speed stayed under 5 mph. Once they had slowed, Felicia only rolled over a few dozen more before they cleared the seething mass of death and once again traveled down mostly empty streets. The wagon once again pulled back a half block to give the others a cushion, everyone cautiously eying the barricades on either side until they finally reached a seemingly abandoned 28th street. But it only seemed that way.